School Days Revisited by Luvscharlie

The sun was setting on the unusually warm September day when she found them there in the study of number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Such serious expressions on their handsome faces as they poured over piles of books scattered about the desk and floor. Merlin, was there anything sexier than men—her men—hard at work in the midst of what served as a semi-makeshift library and office with its enticing scents of old books, parchment and ink?

Harry sat behind the large wooden desk, his tie loosened and his feet propped up. She was certain if she could have seen the chair from her vantage point, its front two legs were nowhere near touching the ground. We've talked about that.

Ron was sprawled across the sofa, his leg flung over one arm of it. She noted that his tie had long since gone the way of his shoes as he wiggled his toes. His shirt was open halfway down, and the ginger hair that peeked through the opening was damp with perspiration. Pleasant sensations coursed through her when he rubbed at the curling hair on the nape of his neck. Suddenly, he tossed his book across the room with a growl of frustration.

As the book landed with a loud crash, Harry nearly flipped his chair; he grabbed for the desk to steady himself. He can't say he wasn't warned many times over of the dangers of not keeping all of the chair legs on the floor.

Ron picked up a quill made of white peacock feather (a present from Percy last Christmas, which had been the source of many jokes about his older brother's choice of gifts) and held it between his teeth before dipping it in an inkwell balanced on the arm of the sofa. Then, he started writing on a piece of parchment. He had best hope ink doesn't get on that sofa. We've talked about that, too. He put the feather back between his teeth and hummed in a way that was clearly annoying Harry.

A few more minutes, judging from the glares Harry was tossing Ron's way, and Harry would send a book sailing across the room at his head. She had little doubt of that as she turned and headed for the stairs. She knew them far too well. After all, one did not spend months cramped in a tent together without coming to know them in ways no one else could. They belonged to her, and she to them. That was simply the way of it.

They had been working long nights on the new project Minister Shacklebolt had assigned them and she was beginning to feel more than a bit neglected. Working was one thing, she did her fair share of it too, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Perhaps, desperate was a bit overly dramatic but….

Regardless, tonight she had quite a treat for them. Something new; something they hadn't tried before; an experiment of sorts, if you will. This was something she had no doubt would take their minds completely off this all consuming new project, leaving it as little more than a faint memory.

She took a final look in the mirror, grabbed a book from the shelf as a prop (for realistic effect, of course), and headed back down the stairs.

She stood in the doorway of the study clad in her old Hogwarts uniform. It was now two sizes too small for her and the skirt barely covered her white, cotton knickers. She had enhanced the outfit with four inch heels that were a particular favourite of Harry's, and which hiked the skirt up that much farther, so that it could only be accurately described as indecent.

The skirt was not the only piece of the uniform that was too small. Not even an enlarging spell had worked on the v-necked sweater striped with the colours of Gryffindor House. Her breasts had grown quite a lot since their sixth year and using a bra that enhanced her cleavage, she was nearly spilling out the top of it. She would have worn a blouse and tie beneath it, but when she tried them she had popped the buttons on the too-small blouse and settled for tying the tie around her bare neck.

She wore her hair loose tonight, and her curls hung in attractive ringlets rather than their normally wild and frizzy state thanks to a new Wonder Witch product George and Lee had created. She had donned more make-up than was her normal fare, finishing it off with a shade of bright red lipstick that Ron had a particular affection for.

She personally thought she looked a bit of a slag in the too-small costume and heavy make-up, but she was not disappointed by their reactions when she cleared her voice and said, "Good evening, Professors. So sorry I'm late for class." She used her wand to transfigure the nearest chair into a desk identical to those at Hogwarts and sat down as primly as the skirt would allow, folding her hands in her lap.

For a moment… or twelve… you could have heard a quill drop in the room. Ron made several attempts at speech, but words seemed to fail him. Hermione opened her book and clasped her hands over it as though she were waiting for class to begin.

Harry recovered his ability to speak first, just as she knew he would, and with a wave of his wand, the books and research materials they had been hard at work on were vanished neatly away. The big, wooden desk was now bare, and he took a seat behind it motioning Ron forward.

"Professor Weasley, I do believe Miss Granger was late for class. What shall we do to punish her?"

At Harry's words, Ron's recovery was instantaneous. She was amused at his exuberance; he wasn't about to be left out of this kind of play. "I think we might start with having her write lines."

Harry shot him a look, but Ron was off the sofa and standing behind her before he could voice his skepticism. She was disappointed. She had expected much better of them, something deliciously naughty. Writing lines on a piece of parchment was about as not-sexy as she could imagine. Were they serious?

Ron brought her an inkwell. Apparently they were. She would play along… for now. He placed a small owl feather quill in her hand, then took a seat on the edge of the desk which Harry still sat behind.

She glared at them, each in turn, and dipped the quill, which looked as thought its best days had passed, into the ink. The tip of the quill hovered above the paper, and she could feel Ron's eyes boring into her. "What shall I write, Professors?" she asked, then looked pointedly at Ron and ran her tongue over the lipstick that had been chosen because it was his weakness.

"Do that again, young lady, and I'll turn you over my knee." Harry's tone was authoritative and she shot her next glare directly at him. He wouldn't dare. He looked at Ron, then answered for the both of them, "How about 'I will not be late for class'?"

"Original," she said with a sneer.

She pressed the quill to the parchment and they both watched as she wrote the first few lines. She was growing quite impatient. This was not what she wanted, and she seriously considered taking Harry at his word.

Writing proved difficult, as her sweater was too tight for breathing comfortably, as was the skirt. Ron crossed the space between them as she dipped her quill back in the ink and began another line. He brushed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She anticipated feeling his lips on her neck, but did not. What she felt was a whisper of a touch, so feather-light that it raised goosebumps on her flesh. She turned a bit and saw that he was rubbing the peacock feather lightly over her neck.

Ron's resolve was cracking, not that it was any surprise. He always broke first, patience not being one of the virtues which he held in high regard. No game they played was ever half over before Ron caved first. Harry cleared his throat loudly before he spoke. "Professor Weasley, do you think you might stop touching our student?"

"I might… but probably not," Ron said, his lips following the feather as it brushed its way across the back of her neck. "Merlin, you taste good," he said, lips near her ear.

Hermione turned toward her "professor" and gave him an irritated growl. "Professors do not taste their students, Ronald. Either behave yourself and play the game correctly, or I quit." She stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout, secretly loving his lack of control, and crossed her arms over her chest in a huff, forcing her breasts farther out the v-neck of her jumper and making Ron's eyes bug out.

"Damn, Hermione."

"Professors do not swear at the sight of their students' breasts either," she said, raising up to put a knee on the seat and leaning over the desk to give him a better view.

"Most professors have not had the pleasure of seeing their students' tits up close and quite as personal as I have had the opportunity to see yours, dear student." Ron's hands palmed her tits, thumbs raising her nipples to hardened points, as he kissed her hard. "Now who's not playing by the rules of the game?"

"Either one of you!" Harry's palm hit the desk, resounding like thunder in the confines of the study and causing Ron and Hermione to jump apart… though only momentarily.

Ron took pleasure in goading Harry when they played games such as this. Grabbing Hermione by the shoulders and forcing her to stand, he walked her towards the desk at the front of the "class," which Harry still sat behind. "Look what you've done. You have made Professor Potter quite angry." Ron's words were a mere whisper, spoken so close to her ear that they raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "This calls for a punishment much more drastic than writing lines, don't you think, Professor?" Hands running down her upper arms and around, Ron pinched her nipples.

Giving Ron a smile of acknowledgment, Harry seemed once more content to be a part of the game. "Oh, absolutely, Professor. We can't have her setting a poor example for the other students, can we?"

Ron winked at Harry, something passing between them that Hermione wasn't a party to, then he tugged her around the desk his hands squeezing her tits roughly. "What shall we do with her, Harry?"

Hermione giggled at his slip.

"What shall we do with her, Professor Potter?" Ron repeated.

Anticipating being pushed over the desk and shagged senseless at any moment, Hermione yelped in surprise when Harry jerked her none too gently across his lap. "What do you think you're doing? Let me up this instant."

"Back talking your professors." Ron clicked his tongue in disapproval, as Harry raised her skirt. She wasn't sure whose, but someone's hand came down on her bottom with a stinging slap that made her lurch forward in a reflexive attempt to get away. Harry held firm, pinning her tightly against his thighs despite her kicking feet.

Feeling what she thought was Ron's finger slide between her kicking legs and against the white, cotton material of her knickers, dampening it as it slid against her folds raised goose flesh on her thighs. "I'm not sure these are regulation school uniform knickers."

"And I'll have you know they certainly are, Ron Weasley! Do you know what I had to go through to— OW!" The sound of two hands simultaneously connecting, one with each cheek, could be heard, she felt certain, at the house next door.

"What shall we do about a student who so blatantly disregards the rules and wears these non-regulation knickers, Professor Potter?"

"Ron, I said—"

"That's Professor Weasley to you, young lady. Now hush," Harry said, bringing his hand down twice in quick secession across her bottom, leaving her squirming, but silent. "I think Professor Weasley, that it would set a very poor example for the other students—"

"What other students?"

—SMACK—"if we allowed her to continue wearing them."

"You, Professor Potter, make an excellent point," Ron said, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her knickers, tugging them down and tossing them aside. He leaned forward, lips beside her ear. "Nice and pink already."

Holding fast to her theory that Ron would break first, Hermione crooked her finger at him, running her tongue seductively over her top lip and the lipstick that she knew he loved. He growled deep in his throat, tangled a hand in her hair and kissed her hard, slipping his tongue between her lips.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Harry wasn't finished.

She jumped as his hand connected with her tender bottom, biting Ron's lip and drawing blood in the process. "You bit me," he said.

Harry tugged her hair, as though commanding a puppet show to slip her from his lap and bend her over the desk, using his weight to hold her there. He brought Ron forward with a tilt of his head, a silent signal that was readable merely from the time they had spent together and the knowledge gleaned from it. He brushed his thumb over Ron's offended lip, removing all traces of her lipstick, then kissed him gently.

Harry looked at Hermione and muttered a terse, "Stay," that he punctuated with an exceptionally hard slap. He pulled at the button on Ron's trousers, cursing when it didn't give right away. Ron brushed his hand aside and made short work of both button and zip, pushing his trousers down around his knees. Taking Ron's cock in hand, Harry began to stroke.

"Fuck, 'arry. That's just—"

Hermione whimpered at being ignored. It was her game after all, and here they were playing it without her.

"I think our student is displeased with the way we are handling her punishment, Professor Weasley." Harry wrapped an arm around Ron's waist and walked him over to stand directly behind her, one hand still pumping Ron's cock, with slow strokes. "Whatever shall we do with her now?"

Ron's response was a garbled moan. Hermione knew the sound well and wiggled her bottom in invitation. Harry pushed forward, positioning the tip of Ron's cock at her entrance and stroking it slowly once, twice, thrice across her folds before tugging and forcing him to take a step back.

She barely heard the words Harry whispered into Ron's ear. "Perhaps we should punish her like that, leaving her wanting as we toy with her."

Ron gurgled, but somehow managed an audible reply. "I'm reasonably certain that doesn't just punish her, mate," he said, swallowing hard. "You haven't felt how bloody wet she is."

"True," Harry said, teasing his fingers over her entrance with the hand that wasn't making Ron tremble more with each leisurely stroke from base to tip. "Mmmm." Harry slipped a finger inside her. "Our naughty little student is quite wet. Tell me, Professor, what do you wish to do to her?"

Hermione prepared herself to feel Ron's cock slide into her. She was ready. Who was she kidding? She was dripping with desire for him. Instead, Ron shoved Harry aside and came to stand before her. "I want to watch my cock slide between those gorgeous red lips while you fuck her."

Smiling up at him in reply, Hermione pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock and flicked her tongue teasingly across the head. She could hear Harry fumbling with his zip behind her as she licked Ron from base to tip, across the top and back down again. He grabbed her by the neck, teeth gritted. "No more teasing."

She took him into her mouth as Harry entered her, feeling him brush aside her curls to afford himself a better view as his cock slid in and out of her bright red lips. The game of teasing had them all at a frenzied point. There was no turning back; their play had gone past the point of passion and straight to desperate, carnal need.

They set a rhythm which never failed to surprise her; Ron sliding out of her mouth as Harry slid into her cunt. She throbbed with need for them, pressing back against Harry with each thrust, as she held eye contact with Ron. Harry pressed his thumb against her clit and she hummed the word 'yes' around Ron's cock. It was enough to send him over the edge. He grasped the desk, pulling out and spilling onto the rug as he came. He'll be cleaning that up.

It was her last coherent thought as Harry's thumb and forefinger flicked and twisted her clit. She came hard, bringing him with her and leaving them both gasping and panting on the desk.

"C'mere," Ron said, pulling her into his arms and using his wand to Side-Along Apparate the two of them up to the bedroom. She heard the soft pop of Harry's entrance as they shed the remainder of their clothes, and then undressed her. Ron tucked her beneath the sheets and slid in behind her, as Harry folded his glasses, placing them carefully on the bedside table for easy access, and slipped in on her other side.

There were murmured terms of endearment as they stroked her hair and kissed her lips. She yelped as Ron sidled up behind her offending her still red and burning bottom with his touch.

"Tomorrow night," she said, "I'm the teacher, and neither of you will sit comfortably for a week when I'm done with you."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. "We're not working late tomorrow."

"Not unless it will earn us extra detentions," Ron replied as they snuggled down to sleep.

Fin.

A/N: Originally Written for the 2009 hp_springsmut exchange on Live Journal.