Day 3: Animagus Heat/Semi-Public/Something Made Them Do It

Day 3: Animagus Heat/Semi-Public/Something Made Them Do It

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet, eerily so. Where once laughter and chatter filled the corridors, now only the faint echo of footsteps could be heard, mingling with the distant sound of stone being mended by magic. The damage wrought during the final battle against Voldemort had left its mark—shattered walls, torn tapestries, and cracked floors were only the physical scars. The emotional ones, Minerva McGonagall thought grimly, would take far longer to heal.

She stood in the Great Hall, surveying the space with a critical eye. The enchanted ceiling, usually a perfect reflection of the sky outside, was now flickering weakly between blue skies and storm clouds, its magic strained from the damage it had suffered. The long tables where students once gathered were gone, reduced to splinters during the battle. Only the head table remained intact, though even that showed signs of wear.

Minerva's heart felt heavy as she lifted her wand, muttering a quick spell to repair a section of the wall that had been blasted apart. The stones shifted and reassembled themselves, but it was slow work. Every repair seemed to sap more of her energy than it should, leaving her feeling drained, both physically and mentally.

"You're overexerting yourself again," came a familiar voice from behind her.

Minerva turned, her brow furrowing as she caught sight of Hermione Granger standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, a look of gentle concern on her face. The young witch had returned to Hogwarts after the battle, determined to help in any way she could, and Minerva had been grateful for her presence. Hermione's meticulous nature and strong magic had proven invaluable in the cleanup efforts. But today, Minerva found herself bristling slightly at the concern in Hermione's tone.

"I'm fine, Miss Granger," Minerva said, her voice clipped, though there was no harshness behind it. "There's still much to be done."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking over Minerva with a knowing look. "You haven't taken a break in hours, and you look exhausted."

Minerva pressed her lips together, unwilling to admit how drained she felt. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion from repairing the castle—it was the weight of everything that had happened, the loss of colleagues, students, and friends. And yet, there was something else nagging at her, something she couldn't quite place. A strange warmth had been building in her chest, a restless energy that left her feeling… unsettled. She had assumed it was just the stress of the situation, but now, standing in front of Hermione, she found it harder to push aside. She knew she should go see Poppy, but she also hated getting any sort of treatment. She still remembered her time in St. Mungos after the five stunners to the chest thanks to one Dolores Umbridge. 

"I'm perfectly capable of managing," Minerva said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Hermione didn't back down, stepping further into the room and raising her wand to repair another section of the wall. "You don't have to do this alone," she said softly, her magic weaving through the stones with practiced ease. "We're all here to help."

Minerva watched her, her gaze lingering on the younger witch for a moment longer than necessary. Hermione's presence had been a balm to her over the past few days, a steady, reliable force amidst the chaos. But now, Minerva felt a strange tightness in her chest pulsing, an unfamiliar heat stirring beneath like a bubbling cauldron. 

She cleared her throat, turning away to focus on another section of the Great Hall. "Thank you, Miss Granger, but there are areas that require more experienced hands."

Hermione's lips quirked into a small smile, though she didn't argue. "You're as stubborn as ever, Headmistress," she said lightly, moving to another part of the room.

Minerva ignored the playful jab, though she could feel a faint flush rising to her cheeks, the warmth in her chest growing more pronounced. She shook her head, blaming it on the physical strain of the day. It had to be stress—it couldn't be anything else.

As the hours passed, the two witches worked in relative silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of magic or the sound of stone shifting back into place. But with every spell, every movement, Minerva found herself growing more aware of Hermione's presence. It was subtle at first—the sound of her soft footfalls, the way her magic flowed so naturally, so effortlessly—but as the day wore on, it became harder to ignore.

Minerva's body was betraying her. The warmth in her chest had spread, now pulsing through her veins with an intensity that left her feeling flushed and slightly light-headed. Her hands trembled slightly as she cast another spell, and she had to grit her teeth to maintain her composure. This wasn't just stress. This was something else.

She stole a glance at Hermione, who was focused on repairing the shattered windows at the far end of the hall. The sunlight streaming through the broken glass cast a golden glow around her, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the concentration in her eyes. Minerva's breath hitched, her body reacting to the sight in a way that left her both startled and confused.

No. It couldn't be.

Minerva's mind raced as she tried to suppress the growing heat inside her, but it was becoming impossible to ignore. Her heart pounded, her skin felt too tight, too warm, and every breath seemed to make the air thicker, heavier. She was in heat. She had been so focused on the battle, on the aftermath, that she hadn't even noticed the signs creeping up on her until now.

She cursed herself silently. It had been years since her last heat, and she had thought herself beyond such distractions. But now, standing in the ruined Great Hall, with Hermione so close, the familiar ache was settling in, and Minerva wasn't sure how much longer she could control it.

"Headmistress?"

Hermione's voice broke through Minerva's spiraling thoughts, and she turned quickly, trying to school her expression into something neutral. But the concern in Hermione's eyes was unmistakable.

"You're pale," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "Are you feeling all right?"

Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't lie, not to Hermione, not when her body was betraying her so completely. The heat had already taken root, and it was only a matter of time before Hermione noticed.

"I…" Minerva faltered, her voice unsteady. She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as Hermione stepped closer, the younger witch's presence making the heat flare painfully in her chest. "I'm fine," she said at last, though it came out weaker than she intended.

Hermione didn't look convinced. She reached out, her hand lightly brushing against Minerva's arm, and the contact sent a shock of warmth through Minerva's entire body. Minerva stiffened, her breath catching as the heat surged, pooling low in her abdomen, and she had to fight to keep from visibly reacting.

"I'm not so sure," Hermione said softly, her touch lingering for a moment longer. "You've been pushing yourself too hard."

Minerva's eyes fluttered closed for a brief second, the scent of Hermione's skin filling her senses, the gentle pressure of her hand on her arm making her pulse quicken. When she opened her eyes again, Hermione was watching her closely, her expression filled with concern—and something else.

"I just need a moment," Minerva said, her voice strained as she gently pulled away from Hermione's touch, her body aching from the sudden loss of contact. "Perhaps some fresh air."

Minerva didn't wait for Hermione's response. She turned on her heel and walked quickly toward the exit, the cool air of the corridor beyond beckoning to her like a lifeline. Her pulse raced, and her skin felt too hot, too tight. Every breath seemed to fan the growing fire in her chest, making her feel trapped in her own body. She could no longer deny what was happening—her heat was taking over, and it was coming on fast.

The moment she stepped out into the hallway, Minerva leaned against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes as she tried to calm herself. But the respite was brief. She could still feel the lingering warmth from Hermione's touch, the way her scent seemed to cling to her skin, intensifying the already maddening ache coursing through her body.

Merlin, she thought bitterly, this was the last thing she needed. How could she focus on repairing Hogwarts when her body was betraying her like this? Worse still, how could she possibly keep her composure around Hermione when every glance, every accidental touch made the heat flare painfully inside her?

But before she could get her thoughts in order, she heard footsteps behind her. The familiar sound made her stomach twist, both in anticipation and dread. Hermione.

"Headmistress?" Hermione's voice was closer now, filled with concern, and Minerva cursed under her breath. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Minerva straightened, trying to regain control over her body, though her pulse quickened as Hermione approached. "I'm fine, Miss Granger," she said, though her voice sounded far less convincing than she would have liked. "There's no need to worry."

But Hermione wasn't so easily deterred. She stopped just a few steps away, her brow furrowed as she watched Minerva closely. "You don't look fine," she said softly, her tone gentle but firm. "I can't help but notice you're… well, you're trembling."

Minerva froze. She hadn't realized her body had started to tremble, a subtle but undeniable sign of the heat building inside her. It wasn't just the warmth anymore—her muscles felt tense, her skin overly sensitive, and there was an ache low in her abdomen that was becoming harder to ignore.

"I—" Minerva faltered, her breath catching as Hermione took another step closer. She could smell her now, the faint scent of parchment, lavender, and something uniquely Hermione filling her senses and making the heat flare even more intensely. Minerva's heart pounded, her chest tightening with a mix of panic and desire.

Hermione stepped closer still, her hand reaching out to gently touch Minerva's arm once more. "Please, let me help," she said, her voice filled with concern. "You've been under so much stress—"

The moment Hermione's fingers wrapped around her arm, Minerva felt the world tilt.

The touch was electric, sending a shock of desire straight through Minerva's body. Her skin prickled, her muscles tensing, and her breath hitched in her throat as a flood of heat pooled low in her belly. It wasn't just the physical sensation—Hermione's closeness, her presence, had awakened something primal in Minerva, something she had been trying desperately to suppress.

Minerva's eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, her body reacting instinctively to Hermione's touch. The ache that had been simmering inside her suddenly intensified, and a rush of want—of need—washed over her, so powerful it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to distance herself, but her body… her body ached for more.

This wasn't just stress. This was heat. And she was in it—fully now, the signs unmistakable. The tension in her muscles, the restless, almost unbearable sensitivity of her skin, the low, pulsing desire coursing through her veins—it was all too much.

Minerva opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Hermione's. The concern in Hermione's expression only made it worse, amplifying the guilt she felt. Hermione had no idea what was happening, what she was doing to her, how every touch, every step closer was unraveling Minerva's control.

"Miss Granger…" Minerva's voice came out as little more than a whisper, her throat dry, her body trembling beneath Hermione's touch. "You… shouldn't…"

But Hermione didn't let go. If anything, her grip on Minerva's arm tightened slightly, her brow creasing with worry. "You're burning up," Hermione said softly, her hand sliding down to Minerva's wrist, her fingers brushing against her pulse. "Minerva… you need to rest. You're clearly unwell."

Unwell. That was one way to describe it, Minerva thought grimly. But what she felt now wasn't illness. It was something far more intense, far more dangerous. She could feel the heat growing, her skin becoming too hot, too sensitive, and the ache between her thighs was becoming unbearable. Hermione's hand was like a brand on her skin, igniting a desire she had been trying so hard to push away.

Hermione's touch—so innocent, so filled with concern—was driving Minerva wild.

"You don't understand…" Minerva began, but the words caught in her throat as Hermione stepped even closer, her hand sliding up Minerva's arm, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"I'm just trying to help," Hermione said softly, her voice so kind, so gentle, that it made Minerva's heart ache. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

The problem was, Minerva couldn't. Not without confessing everything—her heat, her desire, the way Hermione's touch was making her want to lose all sense of control. And that was something she couldn't afford to admit. Not now. Not ever.

Minerva's breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at Hermione, her mind racing, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself back. She could feel the pull between them, the undeniable attraction that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. But now, it was amplified by the heat, making it impossible to ignore.

She needed to pull away, to distance herself before she did something reckless. But when Hermione's hand slid down her arm, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her wrist, Minerva's control finally snapped.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She grabbed Hermione's hand, her grip firm but not rough, and pulled her closer, their faces just inches apart. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching as Minerva held her gaze, the heat between them palpable.

"Minerva—" Hermione started, but Minerva cut her off, her voice low and strained.

"You shouldn't have followed me," Minerva said, her voice trembling with the effort of keeping herself in check. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

Hermione's eyes softened, her concern deepening as she searched Minerva's face. "I'm just trying to—"

"Stop," Minerva interrupted, her breath hot and ragged. She could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the ache between her thighs becoming unbearable. "Just… stop."

Hermione froze, her eyes wide, and for a moment, they stood there in silence, the air between them thick with tension. Minerva's heart pounded in her chest, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself back, but she couldn't let go of Hermione's hand. She couldn't pull away.

Minerva's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she stared into Hermione's eyes, searching for something—anything—that might stop the inevitable. But there was nothing. Hermione's expression was filled with concern, yes, but beneath it, Minerva could see the flicker of something else. Something that made her pulse quicken, her heart ache.

Desire.

Minerva cursed herself. She shouldn't have let it get this far. She should have pulled away the moment she felt the heat building inside her, the moment she realized what was happening. But now, standing here with Hermione so close, her scent filling her senses, her touch igniting a fire inside her—she couldn't think straight. She couldn't breathe.

Her body was betraying her, the heat overwhelming her senses, clouding her mind with need. Her grip on Hermione's hand tightened, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in, her lips brushing against Hermione's in a desperate, fleeting kiss.

Hermione gasped, her body going rigid for a moment as their lips touched, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned in closer, her breath catching as Minerva's lips lingered against hers, soft and trembling. It was a kiss filled with longing, with a desperation that Minerva couldn't contain.

But as quickly as it began, Minerva pulled back, her heart pounding, her chest heaving as she realized what she had done. Her eyes widened in horror, her body trembling as she looked at Hermione, who stood frozen in place, her lips still parted, her eyes wide with shock.

"No," Minerva whispered, her voice filled with regret, with guilt. "No… I shouldn't have… Hermione, you need to go."

Hermione blinked, her hand still caught in Minerva's grip, her expression a mixture of confusion and something else—something more vulnerable. "Minerva, I—"

"Please," Minerva interrupted, her voice cracking with the strain of holding herself together. She could feel the heat pulsing through her, her body trembling with the effort of keeping herself in check. "You don't understand. I'm not myself right now. You need to run. Get away from me. Please."

But Hermione didn't move. She stood there, her gaze locked on Minerva, her lips still tingling from the kiss, her heart racing. There was a moment—a heartbeat—when something shifted between them. Hermione's eyes softened, and instead of pulling away, she stepped closer, her free hand reaching up to gently cup Minerva's cheek.

"Minerva," Hermione whispered, her voice soft but steady. "I don't want to run."

Minerva's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat as Hermione's words sank in. "You don't understand," she said, her voice strained, almost pleading. "This isn't… you don't know what you're doing. It's my heat. It's—"

"I doesn't matter," Hermione said quietly, cutting Minerva off with a soft, gentle kiss.

The kiss was different this time—slow, deliberate, filled with tenderness. Hermione's lips moved against Minerva's with a softness that made Minerva's heart ache, made her body tremble with the need to surrender. But she couldn't. She couldn't let Hermione get caught up in this, in her heat, in her uncontrollable desire.

Minerva groaned softly, her hands gripping Hermione's shoulders as if to push her away, but her body refused to obey. Every instinct, every fiber of her being was screaming for her to pull away, to protect Hermione from what she was feeling. But the moment Hermione kissed her again—more insistent this time—Minerva's resolve began to crumble.

"No…" Minerva whispered, her voice trembling as she broke the kiss, her breath hot and uneven. "Hermione, you don't understand. It's not me… it's my heat. It's making me—"

"I don't care," Hermione interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. Her eyes met Minerva's, filled with something raw, something unguarded. "And I… I want you, Minerva. I've wanted you for a long time."

Minerva's world seemed to stop.

The heat pulsed inside her, her body aching with the need to be touched, to be claimed, but her mind was spinning, struggling to process what Hermione had just said. Had she heard her right? Hermione… wanted her? But how? Why? She had been so careful, so controlled, never allowing herself to act on the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. And now…

Minerva shook her head, her grip on Hermione tightening as she fought to regain control. "No… no, this isn't right," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You don't know what you're saying. My heat… it's dangerous, Hermione. It's—"

Hermione's hand moved from Minerva's cheek to her lips, silencing her with a gentle touch. "I know about animagus, their traits coming out in times of great stress," Hermione said softly, her voice filled with quiet determination. "And I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of this."

Minerva's heart raced, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself back. But the truth was undeniable now—the heat was consuming her, her body aching with the need to be touched, to be filled. And Hermione… Hermione wasn't running. She wasn't afraid. If anything, she was standing closer, her eyes filled with an intensity that left Minerva breathless.

"Please," Minerva whispered, her voice breaking. "You don't understand what you're doing to me."

Hermione's gaze softened, her thumb brushing lightly over Minerva's bottom lip as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against Minerva's skin. "Then show me," she whispered.

Minerva's heart skipped a beat, her body reacting instinctively to Hermione's closeness, to the scent of her skin, to the feel of her lips hovering just inches away from hers. The heat was unbearable now, pulsing through her veins with a force that left her dizzy, trembling. She wanted—no, needed—to let go, to give in to the primal desire that was coursing through her, but she was terrified. Terrified of what it meant, of what she might do if she gave in completely.

But Hermione wasn't backing down. Her lips brushed against Minerva's again, soft and insistent, and this time, Minerva couldn't stop herself. She kissed her back, harder this time, her body pressing into Hermione's with a desperate need that had been building for far too long.

The kiss was fierce, filled with all the longing and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface for months—years, even. Minerva groaned softly into Hermione's mouth, her hands sliding up to tangle in Hermione's hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to pull away, but her body had already surrendered, the heat overwhelming her senses.

Hermione's hands moved to Minerva's waist, pulling her even closer, her fingers digging into the fabric of Minerva's robes as if to anchor herself. The kiss grew more heated, more urgent, and Minerva could feel the fire in her chest burning hotter, fiercer, threatening to consume her entirely.

But just as quickly as it began, Minerva broke the kiss, her chest heaving as she pulled back, her body trembling with the effort of keeping herself in check. "No," she whispered, her voice thick with desire and regret. "This isn't right. I… I can't control it, Hermione. You need to go."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes dark with desire as she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against Minerva's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Not now."

Minerva's heart pounded so loudly in her chest that it drowned out every rational thought she had left. Hermione's words echoed in her mind—I'm not going anywhere—and with every second that passed, Minerva's resolve slipped further and further away.

The heat inside her was unbearable now, a wildfire coursing through her veins, demanding release. Her body trembled with the effort of holding back, of trying to protect Hermione from what was happening, but Hermione's touch, her closeness, made it impossible to think straight. All Minerva could feel was the overwhelming desire that pulsed through her, clouding her mind, drowning her in need.

Hermione's fingers brushed against Minerva's cheek, her touch soft, tentative, but filled with an unspoken promise. "Minerva," she whispered, her voice low, full of longing, "I want you."

Those three words were Minerva's undoing.

She had fought it—fought herself—so hard, but there was no fighting it now. The primal urge to claim Hermione, to make her hers, was too powerful, too overwhelming. With a low, desperate groan, Minerva's last thread of control snapped.

In one swift motion, she grabbed Hermione by the waist, pulling her roughly against her body. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce, urgent, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been simmering between them for far too long. Hermione responded immediately, her arms wrapping around Minerva's neck, her fingers tangling in her hair as she kissed her back with equal fervor.

Minerva couldn't stop herself. Her hands roamed Hermione's body, sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her closer, needing to feel every inch of her. The heat between them was suffocating, their bodies pressed together in a desperate tangle of limbs and desire. There was no room for thought, no space for anything but the raw, unbridled need that had taken over.

With a growl, Minerva pressed the girl back against the cool stone wall of the hallway. The contrast of the cold stone against Hermione's heated skin made her gasp, her breath hitching as Minerva pressed her body against hers, pinning her in place. Hermione's legs trembled, but she didn't back down—if anything, she leaned into Minerva's touch, her fingers sliding down to grip the headmistress's robes, pulling her closer.

"Minerva," Hermione gasped, her voice trembling with desire as her hands fumbled to undo the buttons of the older witch's robes. Her fingers were shaking, her movements unsteady, but Minerva couldn't wait. The heat inside her demanded more, demanded now.

With a sharp, impatient motion, Minerva grabbed the front of her robes and yanked them open, the fabric falling loose around her body. She didn't care about finesse, didn't care about taking things slow. All she could think about was the burning ache between her thighs, the primal need to take Hermione, to claim her.

Her hands slid under Hermione's shirt, her fingers rough as they grazed Hermione's skin, pulling the fabric up and over her head with a desperation that left no room for hesitation. Hermione's breath hitched as the cool air of the hallway hit her bare skin, but Minerva didn't give her a moment to adjust. Her lips found Hermione's neck, trailing heated kisses down her throat as her hands moved to Hermione's waist, tugging at the waistband of her trousers.

Hermione moaned softly, her body arching into Minerva's touch, her hips instinctively rolling against Minerva's as she helped her shove the trousers down, leaving her completely exposed. The air between them was thick, heavy with the scent of desire, and Minerva's mind was spinning with the intoxicating mixture of Hermione's scent and the overwhelming need coursing through her.

"Hermione," Minerva growled, her voice low, rough with desire as her fingers slid between Hermione's thighs, finding her already wet, her body trembling with anticipation. "I… I can't stop."

"Then don't," Hermione whispered, her voice breathless, filled with the same need that had taken hold of Minerva.

Minerva didn't need to be told twice.

With a low groan, she slid her fingers inside Hermione, her movements rough, desperate. Hermione gasped, her back arching against the stone wall, her hands gripping Minerva's shoulders as her body responded instantly to the touch. Minerva's thumb pressed against Hermione's clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make her cry out, her breath coming in short, breathy moans.

Minerva's body trembled with the effort of holding herself together, but it was useless. The heat was consuming her, her body moving on instinct, driven by the primal need to claim Hermione in every way possible. Her fingers thrust deeper, faster, her thumb working in perfect rhythm, and Hermione's moans grew louder, her body trembling with every touch.

"Minerva," Hermione gasped, her voice breaking as the pleasure built inside her, her fingers digging into Minerva's shoulders. "Please… don't stop."

Minerva pressed her body against Hermione's, her fingers moving faster, harder, her thumb pressing more insistently against Hermione's clit. She could feel the heat building between them, the tension coiling tighter with every movement, every breath. Hermione's body was trembling, her hips bucking against Minerva's hand, her moans echoing in the empty hallway.

"I… I can't," the girl groaned, her voice thick with desire as her body trembled with the effort of holding back her own release. "I can't hold on."

Hermione's body convulsed, her breath catching as the orgasm crashed over her, her muscles clenching around Minerva's fingers as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her. She cried out, her hands clutching at Minerva, her body trembling as the release consumed her completely.

Minerva didn't stop. Her fingers continued their relentless rhythm, working Hermione through every last pulse of pleasure until her body was shaking, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

When it was over, Hermione slumped against the wall, her chest heaving, her body still trembling from the intensity of the release. Minerva leaned against her, her heat was satiated for the moment with claiming the girl.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the only sound in the hallway the echo of their ragged breathing, the weight of what had just happened settling between them.

Finally, Minerva pulled back, her hand gently cupping Hermione's cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over her flushed skin. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice soft, filled with a mixture of guilt and relief. "I couldn't…"

"Don't apologize," Hermione said softly, her eyes meeting Minerva's, filled with affection. "I wanted this… I wanted you."

Minerva's heart ached, her chest tightening as she looked at Hermione, the heat still lingering between them, but the guilt slowly ebbing away. "You don't understand… my heat… it's—"

"I do understand," Hermione interrupted, her voice gentle, her hand reaching up to touch Minerva's cheek. "And I know it isn't over yet."