by Van © 2015
		Chapter 4

Dramatis Personæ

And for the use of confused muggles:  The Harry Potter Wiki  (Beware the occasional howling advert.)

Hermione gasped and sat up in bed.  The top sheet and blanket fell away, exposing her upper body.  Her skin was flushed and shining with sweat and her hair was tousled and damp.  She panted through flaring nostrils and her pert breasts heaved, her erect nipples poking against the damp cotton of her tank-top.  Eyes wide, Hermione stared across the darkened dorm room.  The first rays of the dawn were shining through the window and the nightlight lantern was still glowing, providing enough light for her to see Ginny sitting up in her own bed.  She was also flushed, shining, and panting, and her Holyhead Harpy pajama top was visibly sweat-stained.

"I... I believe there's something wrong with the stove," Hermione said quietly.

Ginny blinked and pulled her, long, straight, damp hair from her face.  "The stove?  Oh, yes, the stove.  That must be it."

Neither Gryffindor was going to suggest that their damp, flushed, and overheated conditions were more probably attributed to a night of vivid (and erotic) dreams.

"Did you cast a Replenio spell on the fuel bin?" Ginny asked.

"This time of year?"  Hermione stretched, climbed from between the rumpled, damp covers, and stretched again.  "Of course not."  Free of the stifling bedclothes, she was now chilled and her arms covered in goosebumps.   She shivered and managed a weak smile.  "Shower?"

Ginny leaped from her bed and pulled on her green, Holyhead Harpy robe.  "Try and stop me."

Defense Against the Dark Arts (7)

---

Hermione raised her hand and was called on by Cassie.  "Please, Professor, can you tell us something about magical defense using wand-less magic?"

Today Cassie was wearing a gold and bronze dress under her academic robe and was as beautiful and glamorous as ever.  She paused to flip a lock of her short, lustrous brown hair from her smiling, gorgeous face before replying.

This solicited quiet sighs from several of her male students and slightly annoyed frowns from a few of the females.  It was impossible to dislike Cassie Nightingale, but did she have to look that beautiful all the time?  How could a witch of seventeen or eighteen possibly compete?

"The topic at hand is the use of physical objects as protective talismans, Miss Granger," Cassie said.  "I'm more than willing to discuss wand-free conjuring at a future date, but not today."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione sighed.

Cassie's smile broadened.  "Your curiosity is understandable and commendable.  With Headmistress' permission, I will prepare a lecture on the topic for a future faculty and student symposium."

"That would be wonderful, Professor," Hermione gushed, then noticed Ginny's expression.

"Suck up," Ginny mouthed silently, covering the admonition with her hand and a cough.

Hermione was deciding whether to be abashed or offended, then received a surreptitious and encouraging wink from Cassie and felt instantly better.

"Protective talismans fall into three categories: warning, passive, and active," Cassie lectured.  "Warning talismans are of limited value.  It is much better to rely on vigilance, especially in dangerous settings, rather than hope to be alerted of an unexpected magical attack milliseconds before it happens."  She strolled to the back of the class, every step followed by the adoring and/or attentive eyes of her students.  "Passive and active talismans are much more useful, or can be."  She focused on a Hufflepuff student in the middle of the class.  "Mr. Strandhart, can you tell us the difference between passive and active protective talismans?"

In the opinion of most of his female classmates Corbin Strandhart was a somewhat beak-nosed, geeky lad, but it was recognized that he would probably grow into the patrician good looks of his older male relatives.  "Passive talismans are shields, Professor, while active talismans can be used to parry or even attack."

"Excellent," Cassie beamed.

Corbin blushed and smiled at the gorgeous, exotic American.  This caused several of his female classmates to exchange looks of disgust and roll their eyes.

"In a very real sense," Cassie continued, "each and every one of you possess a powerful active talisman."

"Our wands," Ginny said quietly.

"Exactly, Miss Weasley," Cassie nodded.

The class concluded with a discussion of the magic armor worn by Aurors in ages past, a practice which actually continued into modern times.  The leather boots, bracers, collars, and long coats worn by many of the Ministry's Aurors were not totally affectations.  To varying degrees and with questionable efficacy, standard Auror garb was imbued with protective spells.  As homework, Cassie assigned a scroll on the topic of the pros and cons of passive and active talismans in combat situations.

As Hermione, Ginny, and Luna were leaving the class, Ginny smiled.  "I've got it!  I'll make Harry a talisman bracelet."

"That will be pretty," Luna intoned.

"I'll make it manly," Ginny huffed, "not pretty."

Hermione seemed skeptical.  "A bracelet?"

"Woven from wrope vines," Ginny explained, "and imbued with the Incarcerous spell.  He'd have to renew the spell now and then, but don't you see?  It would be like an Incarcerous booster."

"Especially if he wears it on his wand hand," Luna agreed.  "I can help you focus the spell as you weave the actual bracelet, if you like.  I once did something similar to decorate a parasol handle, only with lambswool thread and a snapdragon vine.  Unfortunately, the snapdragons proved to be aggressive."

Ginny gazed at Luna for a beat.  As was often the case with Luna Lovegood, Ginny wasn't sure how she should respond.  She decided to go with wounded pride.  "I want to do this myself," she huffed, then noticed Hermione's warning stare and heaved a sigh.  "But help would be nice.  Thank you."

"You're welcome," Luna responded.  "I hope there's pudding with dinner."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a smile.  The evening meal was some hours away.

"I have quidditch drills to supervise," Ginny explained as she hurried away towards Gryffindor Tower to change.  As the Gryffindor team captain, it was Ginny's responsibility to teach the fundamentals to the junior players.

"I'm going to start on my homework," Hermione said, and headed for the library.

"I'm going for a walk down to the boathouse," Luna said, walking at Hermione's side.  The corridor that led to the lake side of the castle wouldn't branch off for several yards.  "I like to clear my head before reading," Luna explained.  "The words seem to slide in easier if there's no clutter behind my eyes."

The next night passed with more vivid dreams in Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione's dream had a Charlotte Brontë theme, or perhaps Daphne du Maurier.  The Prince Regent (the future George IV) was in Buckingham Palace, Louis XVIII was on the throne of France, and Miss Hermione Granger was somewhere in Cornwall being chased across the moors wearing a series of high-waisted, Empire-style gowns that were ripped from her shuddering body on a depressingly regular basis.  This exposed the underlying chemises, but then they too were ripped from her shivering, mortified form.

And who was doing all this chasing and bodice-ripping?  Draco Malfoy, of course, resplendent in riding boots, skintight pants, poofy shirt, an elegantly tied cravat, and a tailcoat with a ridiculously high collar.  He also wore gloves and was carrying a riding crop, and there were the usual yapping, howling dogs and a whinnying horse.  Draco's handsome, haughty, aristocratic face dripped scorn and his long, pale-blond hair fluttering in the breeze as he laughed his evil, maniacal laugh.  Draco was having a very good time.

Hermione ran, Draco pursued, Draco caught her, and she was stripped, bound, and gagged—with Hermione's sad little hands beating against Draco's chest like a pair of frightened doves and struggling for all she was worth.  "Let me go!  You blackguard!  Bounder!  Scoundrel!  Have you no pity?  Mrrrf!"  Then, Hermione was either thrown across Draco's saddle or dragged stumbling on her bare feet on the end of a rope behind his horse, and was taken back to Malfoy Manor.  Alternatively, a carriage ride was involved, which let Draco get in a little pregame caressing and kissing.

Once they arrived at the mansion, Draco would Have His Way with her.  Not to put too fine a turn on things, he diddled Hermione silly... repeatedly.  Then, somehow (and it was never really clear exactly how) Hermione discovered and donned another chemise and gown, escaped the mansion, and found herself running back across the moors.

Hermione ran, Draco pursued, Draco caught her, Hermione was stripped, bound and gagged—lather, rinse, repeat.  It was dreadful!  Absolutely dreadful!  And the sex was not at all satisfying.

And then, things changed.

Just as Draco was about to catch Hermione for the umpteenth time, dashing Lord Ronald Weasley appeared!  As a Captain in the Royal Dragoons, he was resplendent in his crimson tunic (with gold trim), white sash, and gold and black helmet with a long, fluttering horsetail crest.  With him was his good friend Sir Harry Potter, Agent Extraordinaire of the Home Office.  Sir Harry was dressed much like Draco.

Lord Ronald was armed with saber and carbine and Sir Harry with a brace of pistols, but the weapons remained in their sheath, saddle-holster, and tucked in Harry's cummerbund, respectively.  The Captain and Agent thundered up and leaped from their steeds, just as Draco was getting serious about ripping Hermione's bodice, again, and gave the degenerate cad the thrashing he so richly deserved.  They then escorted Hermione to the nearby Jamaica Inn.  Somehow (and once again it was never clear exactly how) Hermione's gown and chemise would get ripped, gently this time, and she'd find herself making love to Lord Ronald.  And sex with Lord Ronald was satisfying.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

As for Ginny, her dreams were also melodramatic and romantic, but with a different theme.

Ginny awoke on a tropical beach, waves lapping against her legs, the sun glaring in her eyes, and wearing nothing but a wet, sandy, and ripped chemise and a corset.  Her long red hair and lightly freckled skin were also wet and sandy and she was being eyed by a rather ominous looking crab.  The creature scuttled away when she showed signs of life.  "You better run, Crabcakes," she huffed.  "I missed breakfast."  She stood, stretched, and turned to face the sea.  Across a turquoise lagoon breakers thundered against a jagged reef, and impaled on that reef was the wreck of a sailing ship.  It was hulled in several places and its tattered sails flapped like so many ragged banners.  As she watched, the wreck broke apart and slid into the sea.

It all came back—the storm, the crashing masts and rising water in the lower decks, the looks of grim desperation on the faces of the captain and crew, and finally, the order to abandon ship.  But launching a ship's boats in the middle of a tempest is always an iffy proposition, and Ginny remembered being swept into the roiling ocean by a rogue wave as she tried to climb into a longboat.  And then... nothing until she awoke on the beach.

Ginny had been very lucky—or not.

She turned to face the interior of the island, and watched as a dozen dark-skinned maidens stepped from the jungle.  All were about Ginny's age, wore nothing but grass skirts and necklaces of sea shells, were armed with wicked looking spears, and had long, straight, black hair.  Oh by the way, they all looked exactly like the Patil twins, every one!  Padma and Parvati Patil were fellow Gryffindors and generally didn't run around Hogwarts more or less naked and brandishing spears.  But then, Ginny didn't make a habit of running the halls in a ripped chemise, either.

"Hello," Ginny said with a friendly wave.  "Nice day for it, don't you think?"

The Patil tribe's response was more spear waving and a melodious but angry yodel.  Ginny turned and ran away down the beach.  The howling Patils pursued.

Spears were chucked in Ginny's direction as she ran.  All were near misses, thank goodness, but they made the Patil natives' attitude quite clear.  Up ahead a more-or-less impenetrable jumble of jagged volcanic boulders loomed, but a convenient trail off to one side led into the jungle.  Ginny made the turn onto the trail, dodging more spears as she went, and disappeared into the green foliage.

Jungle birds cawed, monkeys hooted, and twisted roots and low hanging branches did their best to trip her up.  The Patils were still in pursuit.

Suddenly—"Oh, bother!"—Ginny tripped on a vine stretched across the trail at ankle height, fell forward into a hidden net woven from more vines, it closed around her flailing body, and—Sproing—she was hoisted into the air!  The net full of Ginny bobbed for several seconds... then came to rest.

Ginny managed to part her red hair, comb it from her face with her fingers, and found herself surrounded by the glowering Patils, who weren't above prodding her with the tips of their spears.  Ginny forced a smile.  "Uh, hi.  What's for lunch?  It isn't me, is it?"

Without a word, the Patils freed Ginny from the trap, lashed her wrists and ankles together, slung her from a pair of spear shafts, and trudged into the jungle.

Dangling and swaying, Ginny watched the jungle pass.  Green canopy overhead, twisted tree trunks and the occasional flowering vine to either side, the scenery was lush, exotic, and beautiful, but quickly became monotonous.

Suddenly, they left the forest, entered a large clearing, and approached a village of thatched huts surrounded by a palisade of sharpened logs.  Ginny was carried through the gate, lowered from the spears, her ankles freed, and her wrists retied behind her back.  The village was populated by more Patils, all female, and all Padma and Parvati clones.  None of them seemed happy to see Ginny Weasley.

Directly ahead was the largest and most "magnificent" hut in the village.  A pair of curtains across the doorway parted and another female figure emerged.  She was not a Patil, and was dressed in thigh-boots of black leather, a loincloth of pastel-pink silk embroidered with golden thread, a leather vest, and crossed bandoliers festooned with knives, a brace of flintlock pistols, and tiny powder horns, each holding a single charge of gunpowder.  A sheathed scimitar was slung across her back and her long, straight, blue-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, except for her bangs and a pair of long, narrow braids that framed her smiling face, and she was—

"Cho?" Ginny muttered, blinking in surprise.  It was Cho Chang, Ginny's Ravenclaw classmate!

"I'm a badass pirate," Cho said (unnecessarily, given her costume), then gestured towards Ginny.  "Gag the wench!"

"Must you?" Ginny sighed.  "Mrrrpfh!"  A pair of Patils had stepped forward, stuffed a rag in her mouth, used a second cloth to tie a tight cleave-gag through her mouth and under her tousled red hair, then stepped back.

"Bring her to... The King!" Cho ordered, and Ginny was hustled through the door and into the "palace."

Ginny's squinted as her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness.  She was hustled forward, thrown to the ground—onto a large Persian carpet, actually—and found herself facing a golden throne.  Lounging on that throne was—"Mrrrfh?"—Harry Potter!

Harry was, in a word, piratical.  Thigh boots with folded tops, tight trousers, a poofy shirt of red silk, open to the waist, a sash/cummerbund of black silk, sword, daggers, pistols, etc., etc.—piratical.  A tricorn hat with a long plume sat atop one of the throne's back posts at a jaunty angle.  Harry had a tropical fruit of some sort impaled on a dagger and was munching on its peach-pink, moist flesh.  Juice dripped from the corner of his mouth as he gazed at Ginny with an amused smirk.  He needed a shave... which was kinda sexy.

"Look what washed in on the tide," Cho sneered, standing to one side with her hands on her hips.

"The Honorable Ginevra Weasley," Harry purred, "daughter of Third Sea Lord Arthur Weasley.  It would appear her marriage to Viceroy Thomas has been called off."

"Or delayed until daddy pays a ransom," Cho chuckled.  "She's got to be worth at least a little gold."

The Dread Pirate Harry's eyes were still on Ginny.  "Cho?" he said quietly.

"Yes, Your Worship?" Cho purred.

"Go pillage something."

Cho rolled her eyes, then turned and stomped from the hut.

Ginny's heart was hammering in her chest and her bosom heaving.  She whimpered through her gag and batted her green eyes.

Harry tossed the half-eaten fruit from his dagger, rose from the throne, and sauntered towards his captive.  "You're more precious than gold," he said as he dragged Ginny to her bare feet and pulled her into a close embrace.  He ripped the already ripped chemise from Ginny's shivering body, used the dagger to slice through the laces of her corset, deftly sheathed the dagger, then ripped the corset away, as well.

Snogging ensued, a lot of snogging, as well as other amorous activities.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

Lunch was roast grouper with a brown butter glaze and lemon and papaya compote, paired with a nice Pinot gris.

Morning arrived and Hermione and Ginny awoke.  As had been the case the morning before, they were flushed and sweaty; however, they felt oddly refreshed.  One would think two nights in a row of erotic dreams would have been taxing, but no, they were ready to face the day—after a quick shower, of course.

They rolled out of their respective beds, donned their robes and slippers, and started for the washroom, but Hermione called Ginny back.

"Hey, look!" Hermione said with a broad smile.  "They've sprouted!"

It was true.  Three green tendrils, each with a pair of tiny dark-green leaves, had emerged from the soil in Ginny's borrowed pot.

Ginny hurried over and grinned.  "All three seeds!"

"I guess they aren't difficult to germinate," Hermione said.

"Either that or I have a gift for Herbology," Ginny chuckled.

"Based on your O.W.L. score," Hermione drawled, "it's a hidden gift."  Oh, look!"

Ginny had been about to stick out her tongue at her teasing friend, but her eyes widened.

The three spouts were about six inches in length, and as the girls watched, they shuddered, leaned together, and intertwined, forming a single tight strand.

"Like cord," Ginny sighed, "or baby rope."

"It's moving something like a tentaculas plant," Hermione observed, then her smile faded.  "Wait, did you sterilize the pot and soil before leaving the greenhouse?"

"No, why should I?" Ginny responded.

"There's a theory that the tentaculus family of plants can move because of a symbiotic fungus," Hermione explained.  "It's possible our wrope seedlings are infected with that fungus."

"They're not moving much," Ginny said defensively.  "Look, they've stopped."

Hermione shrugged.  It was true.  Now that they were tightly intertwined, the sprouting vines had stopped moving.

"Shower," Ginny announced, and headed for the washroom.  Hermione gazed at the twisted sprouts for a few more seconds, then followed.

When the girls returned to their dorm that night to get ready for bed, the sprouts had grown to something like two feet in length, had wrapped themselves once around the oak staff, and were trying for twice.