Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal property of
JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
.. yes, that was probably the best way to describe it. Hermione Jane Granger,
smartest witch of her generation and bookworm extraordinaire, was utterly enraged with the
stupidity she’d just overheard.
Over the last five months, herself and Harry had been alone in a tent, traipsing over the
United Kingdom in the hopes of finding Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes, ancient spelled items
that prevented his death. Until they died, he’d be immortal. Bastard.
However, three months ago, the third member of their Trio, Ronald Bloody Weasley,
had pissed off in the middle of the day, ranting about how Harry had no idea and no hope,
leaving them alone. She’d been distraught, of course, since they always did their best work as
a trio. But recently, it’d been just her and Harry, and it allowed Hermione to fuel some of her
cleaner fantasies about what it would be like to live with the Boy-Who-Lived in a more.
Hermione, naturally, hadn’t told Harry about her burning desire to make babies with
him, since the prat seemed utterly clueless about women. He’d dated two girls previously,
Cho ‘Hosepipe’ Chang and Ginny ‘Broomstick’ Weasley, and both of those relationships had
been utterly pants. What Harry needed, she kept telling herself, was to sit down with a good
bookworm and bump uglies.
Of course, Harry was thicker than a brick sandwich when it came to these things. Even
when Hermione had been sitting crying, feeling abandoned by Ron (and the Wizarding world
in general), Harry hadn’t come up to her and offered a nice, comforting shag. She knew that
he had ‘issues’ from the Dursleys, but it couldn’t get much plainer; distraught, horny girl and
buff, good-looking lad. Sex equals happies.
And now, after hearing the.
.. the complete bollocks he’d just said! She could feel her
lips twitch as she growled. All because of three stupid sentences from her friend: “She’s like
my sister. I love her like a sister and I reckon that she feels the same way about me. It’s
always been like that.”
A sister? A fucking
? She most certainly did
think of Harry as her brother.
Instead, when she thought of Harry, she pictured whipped cream and erections, custard and
nipples, and her favourite, him sticking his outy bit in her inny bit. Repeatedly. Often.
And he’d just said she was his bloody sister! Prat!
Hermione thought evilly.
I’m not his fucking sister.
.. I’ll show him I’m not his