
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7871845.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Poppy_Pomfrey
  Character:
      Hermione_Granger, Poppy_Pomfrey
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt/Comfort, Unusual_Sexual_Situation
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-10-21 Words: 4553
****** Remedial Healing ******
by Hijja
Summary
     Hermione has a problem – Madam Pomfrey has a solution, of sorts.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Written for the Fall Femmeslash Fest. Thanks to
     Seventines and Waterbird for the beta, to FPB for the midnight input,
     and to Aspen for organising the Fest!
"But I'm writing an Arithmancy test tomorrow!"

Poppy Pomfrey sighed and stared down at the agitated Gryffindor from her one-
inch height advantage.

"Miss Granger, I've given you five doses of Draught of Murtlap in the last two
months already, not to mention that I suspect the 'emergency ration' I handed
to Miss Patil yesterday went down your throat as well."

Soft pink spread into the girl's white face. "You've forbidden me to use Muggle
medication," she objected with a small pout. "It's never been so much of a
problem before. I need to be able to study!" she finished on a near-panicked
note.

Poppy sighed inwardly.

"Miss Granger, you're taking Advanced Potions this year. As long as Professor
Slughorn insists on taking a leaf out of Professor Snape's book and feeds you
the resulting concoctions, no matter how faulty, you're forbidden to use any
more drugs, especially any of non-magical origin."

Noting Granger's wounded look, as if 'faulty' and 'potion' should never appear
in the same sentence in her case, Poppy snorted delicately. She recalled only
too well the girl's six-week stint in fur after playing around with Polyjuice
Potion. Granger had the grace to blush.

Poppy took in the girl's pinched face, her slightly stooped posture and the way
she grimaced every so often, and softened a little. Witches in puberty could
suffer from very bad monthly cramps when their increasing hormonal activity
reacted with all the magic they were doing. And this one handled more magic
than most, not to mention that she might still feel the aftermath of that Death
Eater curse from last summer, which had wreaked havoc on her intestines.

"Have you... asked your dorm mates to help you?" she inquired, as gently as
possible.

The girl stared, confusion written all over her face. "But... you said they
shouldn't sneak me painkilling potions!"

Poppy gave another long-suffering sigh and remembered that this girl was
Muggleborn. And Muggles could sometimes be very strange about very simple
things.

"There are naturalmeans of dealing with the cramps," she explained. "Massage,
for example, is quite helpful..." Granger's expression vacillated between
puzzled and inquisitive, without showing any sign of dawning comprehension. "So
is orgasm, Miss Granger."

The girl's cheeks turned a bright red that would have been amusing if her
embarrassment wasn't so painfully acute.

"Oh bugger," Poppy heard her mutter, and then her hand flew to her lips.

"Not quite, Miss Granger," Poppy drawled. "That might be too extreme,
considering your age and condition."

Not to mention that despite Harry Potter's saviour complex and young Ronald
Weasley's painfully obvious infatuation, neither would be prepared to help out
with this.

"That's not-" Granger pressed one hand against her burning cheek and looked
down at her shoes.

"Not appropriate, I know. I apologise."

Poppy recalled that the girl was not only Muggleborn, but that she also spent
part of her holidays at the Weasleys'. And Molly Prewett-Weasley, as Poppy
recalled from her own school days at Hogwarts, had been the worst prude of a
witch ever. Just how she'd managed to produce seven children with that attitude
was a mystery to rival that of the Philosopher's Stone.

"What did you mean to say, Miss Granger?"

The Gryffindor squirmed, as most Prefects would after using profanity in front
of the staff.

"I... just remembered Parvati and Padma asking if I needed... 'helping out',"
She bit her lip. "I didn't get it. They found it pretty funny."

Poppy studied the embarrassed face in front of her. There were so many more
important things to worry about than an adolescent's period pains, and yet...

Almost against her will, Poppy offered, "Look here, Miss Granger, it's time for
me to attend to Miss Bones's Splinching trauma..." She paused. "If you really
want me to... 'help you out', make yourself comfortable over there-" she nodded
at one of the curtained examination cubicles - "and wait until I can make time
for you."

Granger stared at the curtains, and Poppy smirked to herself. This particular
cubicle had to be quite familiar to her. After all, Granger had spent a month
behind those curtains a few years back, recuperating from felinisation. The
ears, Poppy recalled, had been rather adorable.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked over to the potions shelf
and picked up the Animans Unguent she would need. Behind her, the curtains
quietly rustled shut.

                                      ***
The Hufflepuff girl was right on time, limping ever so slightly over to the
winged armchair Poppy had Summoned from her office. Bones slumped down into it
with a sigh of relief.
"No walking stick?" Poppy inquired and put the jar of unguent on the table.
Bones smiled wanly. "It feels better today."
Poppy nodded and pulled the girl's skirt up and her knee sock down, then drew
her wand to prod the girl's thigh. It hardly quivered, though Bones grimaced a
little. Her knee did not protest the prodding either, nor did her calf. But
when Poppy tried her ankle, it delivered a spirited kick in her direction.
Poppy evaded it easily and tutted at the forward limb.
"It seems much improved," she told Bones. "One or two more rub-downs and you
should be as good as new." She cast a quick nonverbal "Immobilis!" on the
rebellious ankle, lifted it up onto the footstool, and began to apply the
sweet-smelling Unguent to Bones' leg, paying special attention to the foot.
While a Splinching injury was usually easily mended - provided they found the
misplaced body parts in time - convincing limbs cast away in extreme
concentration that they actually wanted to belong to the body again was
trickier. Especially for a beginner who had not yet mastered the skill of
reassembling herself after Apparition. Still, Bones was well along on the path
to full corporeal unity again.
And yet the girl did not look much happier when the salve had soaked into her
skin, even after her leg had been unspelled and her ankle seemed more docile
than before.
"Are there any other ailments?" Poppy asked suspiciously.
The girl bit her lip, then buried her face in her hands. "Why did it have to
happen to me," she burst out. "Mum and dad have so many other things to worry
about, and I wanted to make them proud of me, for-" She broke off.
"For your aunt?" Poppy asked, suddenly understanding. When Bones just nodded
miserably, Poppy put her hand under her chin to lift her head. The girl's eyes
were brimming. "Look here, Miss Bones," Poppy began sternly. "Have you any idea
how rare it is for students to manage any kind of movement during their first
Apparition lesson? It shows that you have a gift for Apparition - as, if I
remember right, had both your father and your aunt Amelia. Unless you work
yourself into a state of panic over a minor slip, I'm sure your Apparating
skills will be a credit to your family."
"Are you sure?" the Hufflepuff mumbled.
"Quite, Miss Bones," Poppy replied. "Now I'd like to see you again tomorrow
afternoon at the same time - and I'm positive that you will be able to
participate in next week's Apparition lesson without any adverse effects."
This time, the girl's smile looked a bit more sincere as she made her good-byes
and walked out, her step considerably lighter than when she'd come in.
                                      ***
Through all of it, Granger had been as quiet as a mouse in her cubicle, if
indeed she hadn't slipped out and left already. Perhaps she'd lost her nerve
and decided to return to her dormitory to experiment on her own, Poppy mused,
half-hopeful.
But when she rounded the corner and pulled back the heavy curtain, the girl was
still there, sitting on the bed with her shoes slipped off and her knees pulled
up protectively against her chest. She immediately let go to sit properly as
Poppy stepped inside, but the slight hunch of her back and the pinched face
told Poppy that she was still hurting.
Albus would not approve, she knew. But then Albus had more important things to
worry about - himself, most of all - and wasn't likely to have ever suffered
from monthly cramps either.
"Well, Miss Granger, you may start by lying back," Poppy addressed the
Gryffindor matter-of-factly, and watched the girl bite her lip before she
pulled up her feet again and gingerly sank back on the crisp white sheets.
Poppy remembered that strong set of front teeth, recalled shrinking them after
a nasty hex a few years back, reducing their slight oversize. She'd played
along then, feigning ignorance and inwardly smiling at the girl's guilty
delight. Those Muggle parents of hers would have let her walk around with metal
mesh in her mouth, where magic could fix the problem in a heartbeat.
Poppy shook her head and sat down on the corner of the bed, careful not to
corner the Gryffindor. Granger was nervous enough as it was.
The girl had grown into a young woman over the past few months. There was the
slight swell of breasts underneath the white school blouse, which had not yet
been visible during the frantic scramble to save her life from the Death Eater
curse a year ago. Poppy reached for the blouse where it was tucked into the
loosely fastened waistband of the skirt, and tugged it free. Considering how
most girls of Granger's age wore their skirts as tight as possible to create a
slender silhouette, Granger was obviously in pain. That, or just plain
sensible.
"Relax as much as you can," Poppy advised as she undid the three lowest buttons
to bare the girl's stomach. "Close your eyes if you like. Don't think about
anything - just let your body respond as it wants."
Granger's skin was pale, but very soft under Poppy's fingers. She ran her hand
over that tempting skin, firmly but without pressure, more massage than caress.
Granger's nervous breathing quieted into a soft murmur as Poppy rubbed her
belly gently, loosening the cramped muscles that quivered under her fingertips.
As soon as the girl's eyes drooped shut under the steady touches, Poppy moved
to undo the hooks of her pleated skirt, leaving both ends to slither off her
hips like discarded snake skin.
The brown eyes snapped open again, wide and accompanied by a nervous 'v' above
the bridge of her nose.
"You are to relax, Miss Granger," Poppy repeated, as businesslike as you
please. "That means as little constriction of your stomach and reproductive
parts as possible." She administered a stern look. "Of course you are free to
depart at any time should you feel any discomfort."
Granger's throat moved visibly as she swallowed, but she made no move and
finally shook her head a little.
"Very well, then." Poppy did not suppress the twinkle in her eye, since Granger
was unlikely to notice. The girl was famous for reading books, not people. In a
tickle that had nothing of the soothing massage she'd applied before, she ran
her index finger down the girl's exposed lower stomach, swirling it once around
her navel only to see the strong teeth leaving a small dent against the pink of
Granger's lower lip, before tracing the waistband of the girl's knickers. No-
nonsense underwear, Poppy registered with approval. Plain white - if soft -
knickers with only a little bit of lace trimming at the waist. None of the
garish minimal cuts some of the Muggleborns sported on occasion, which had even
the house-elves gasping in shock during washing duty.
Through the half-undone blouse, she could see that the girl's bra was a
matching white with a bit of lace inlay. Poppy knew that Granger would be more
comfortable if she undid the bra too, but decided it would be too much for the
Gryffindor's high-strung nerves.
She traced the waistband a few times, then slipped inside to caress the ample
swell of the girl's hip. Supple and healthy without being thin, her nurse mind
registered. Perhaps a bit too pale from too little fresh air and too much
poring over dusty tomes in Irma Pince's realm. Straying lower, Poppy felt the
crisp prickle of the girl's pubic hair under her palm, as untamed as the
springy brown mass of Granger's hair.
Although her spectacular appearance at the Triwizard Yule Ball had been the
talk of the school, beauty was not something that came naturally to young
Hermione Granger. Having been a plain girl herself who grew up into a plain
woman, Poppy admired the Gryffindor's seeming disregard for her appearance; she
seemed to court homeliness almost actively. Devoid of robes and most of her
clothing, however, Poppy had opportunity to observe the advances that
approaching adulthood had made on the girl. A strong, smooth body, the sweet
curve of her breasts under the school blouse... No, not quite so plain out of
floor-length robes and for once not staggering under a bulging bag of books or
covered in blood and curse marks from battling Death Eaters.
"Would you turn your legs a little to the outside, please," she requested in a
polite tone of voice designed to soothe the girl. Clearly embarrassed but
heartened by the minimal demand, Granger finally turned her knees, exposing
more pale thigh and nicely rounded calves. Both her knee socks had spiralled
down around her ankles.
Smiling to herself at this display of obedience, Poppy trailed one nail a bit
further along the girl's mons, leaving a distinct, if gentle line. She couldn't
fail but register the instinctive flex of Granger's buttocks, or the way her
knees twitched in the desire to press her legs together.
"You're not wearing a Muggle tempo, are you, Miss Granger?" Poppy asked, only
to be surprised at the mischievous grin that curled around the Gryffindor's
mouth. If she smiled like this more often, no wonder the youngest Weasley boy
had been bouncing around her like a lovesick Crup for years.
"No, I'm not using a tampon." Then Granger stilled, and her smile wore off.
"You're not... I mean, I'm... you can't touch me there." She was very flustered
now, and Poppy decided on the spot that no, she would never need to know how
Severus Snape - or Horace Slughorn, for that matter - got his supply of monthly
blood for potion-making. Perhaps Slytherins really lived up to their
reputation. He'd certainly never asked her, nor had any other female colleague
ever owned up to it. Minerva would have killed him! Maybe you could buy it
bottled in the apothecary's, like Armadillo bile?
"No, Miss Granger, I think there are less... sticky options," she told the
flushed girl who, predictably, reddened even more. Poppy raised an eyebrow.
"I'm sure you can't be completely unfamiliar with the concept of self-
pleasuring?"
The way Granger's teeth dug into reddened lips was just too delightful for
words. "Yes - but not... never at those times. It's..." She fell silent.
Dirty, Poppy finished mentally, and sighed. Muggleborns could be so forward in
some respects, and so full of hang-ups in others.
"We'll make sure to preserve your modesty then." She let her hand travel
between the girl's thighs, probing gently. There was the small bump of a
sanitary pad, flimsy but rough under the soft inlay of the knickers. "Muggle or
magical protection?"
"Magical," Granger said, eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. "Mum owled me pads
though half of third year, but Ginny showed me the magical ones over the summer
at the Burrow."
Poppy, who had instructed her share of Muggleborn witches in the advantages of
wizarding hygiene products, nodded her approval. A handy Vanishing Charm on the
surface took care of the bleeding without spills or leaving a lot of rubbish to
be disposed. It was much preferable to the Muggle thing, really.
She traced the outline of the little bandage, noting the girl's twitch. No hint
of scent either. The obnoxious floral compositions some of the newest pads
sported gave particular offence to Poppy's potions-refined nose. A very
sensible young woman, indeed!
Splaying one hand on the girl's belly to resume her careful stroking, she
slipped the other one teasingly between Granger's legs, moving along the
opening of her vagina on the way down, teasing the downy insides of her thighs
on the way back up, every so often slipping a finger underneath the elastic to
tickle that most vulnerable point where hip met thigh.
Granger's breathing did come more laboured, threatening to hitch every time
Poppy skimmed down the crotch of her knickers. Poppy could distinguish the
folds of labia underneath cotton and pad, peeking slightly open like a shy
snapdragon. She was aware of the small nub of the girl's clitoris before she
even brushed it, just from the way Granger's muscles trembled every time her
thumb approached it. Poppy's other hand kept running over the soft skin of
Granger's belly to soothe the aching ovaries below, alternating gentle dips
underneath the waistband of the knickers to card through pubic hair with
feathery brushes along the lacy rim of the girl's bra under the half-unbuttoned
shirt. The Gryffindor shivered at the way the lace scraped against the
sensitive undersides of her breasts.
Poppy had the thoroughly unprofessional urge to cup her hands around the soft
entirety of those breasts, to brush her thumbs over the nipples in their lacy
covering until they hardened into tight, aching redness. And then to peel off
the bra and attend to them with lips and tongue, teeth... Which, regretfully,
would be completely improper, not to mention guaranteed to spook her little
patient.
Instead, she swirled her thumb with provocative pressure over the pad where it
hid the girl's clitoris, as if to take her own wayward impulses out on Granger.
The girl gave a strangled sound and unconsciously raised her hips, biting down
on her innocent bottom lip once more. It wasquite swollen from repeated abuse
now, giving Granger's face an almost pouty quality. Poppy returned to trace the
outlines of the girl's flushed nether lips right down to the perineum where the
pad ended and where running a nail along the fabric of Granger's knickers
produced a shudder and another shifting of hips. Discarding the straightforward
approach, she gave the clitoris a wide berth now, although her constant rubbing
on the pad had to translate into a light but maddening friction against that
most sensitive nub, until Granger squirmed in frustration.
Poppy found a gentle rhythm of stroking between the girl's legs, rubbing cloth
and bespelled fabric against swollen flesh, always keeping a keen eye on the
Gryffindor's face to make sure the stimulation did not cross the line between
rough and painful. From the tensing muscles in thighs and calves, and the
delicate flush that spread from face to neck, she had to be quite aroused. But
the pad's Vanishing Spell swallowed any trace of wetness - blood and juices -
without fail, which put poor Granger at an even greater disadvantage; the
friction was much more acute without any fluids to soothe the rub.
Fleetingly, Poppy wondered what - or whom - the girl saw against the shuttered
insides of her lids; the Weasley boy, famous Harry Potter, Weasley's pretty
sister, or some vague ideal? It didn't matter, really, although the image of
Ginevra Weasley's spectacular hair fanning out over Granger's pristine white
underwear and pale skin was quite enticing.
The girl's mouth was half open, teeth bared in a feral grimace that a lover
would feel compelled to soften with a kiss. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and
her hair was coming free of its ponytail, hanging in a snarled mass around her
shoulders. Hands fisted restlessly in the sheets under her, crumpling the crisp
fabric. Poppy could smell Granger's scent as she twisted under her fingers. A
healthy whiff of iron - life's blood, so very different from the injuries she
was used to treating - sweat from the creases of her thighs, and above all the
earthy-sharp tang of arousal. Granger's hips moved to increase the pressure of
Poppy's fingers on her clitoris, urgent and unrhythmic.
Without warning, the girl's back arched like a young cat's as she thrust her
pelvis against Poppy's hand in frantic urgency, securing herself a rough, final
scrape against her core. For one short moment, her whole body sang like a
bowstring drawn to breaking point, her head, thrown back into the pillow,
highlighting the sharp triangle of her chin. She drew air into her lungs in the
near-painful mewl of a strangled kitten, then slumped back, her eyes still
screwed shut.
Poppy looked down at Granger's legs, splayed artlessly on the mattress as if
her bones had been Vanished. A thin line of red ran down her thigh where the
pad must have slipped during her writhing. Quickly, Poppy wet her index finger
and caught the trail before it could spill onto the sheets. She stuck the
finger in her mouth, tasting the drop of blood with the tip of her tongue,
metallic and primal, flavoured with just the slightest hint of the girl's
juices.
She smiled down at the slack face, the moving eyelids, revelling in the secret
taste that would mortify the Gryffindor if she knew.
Winded as she was, it took Granger less than half a minute to open her eyes,
and Poppy could read an impulse to curl into a ball and roll away in the taut
lines of Granger's thighs and calves.
"Don't!" Poppy admonished quickly, splaying a palm on the girl's belly. "Calm
down. Breathe. Let the heat fill your belly. Feel how it chases out the pain."
She smiled thinly as the girl obeyed with a shuddering breath, sinking back
down on the bed, her face softening and her flight response arrested for the
moment.
"Commit the sensations to memory, Miss Granger. Protective warmth and pleasure.
If your body knows it, you'll be able to conjure it up again when you need it -
even if there is no time to slip away and touch yourself." She smirked wickedly
as Granger's eyes peered open in shock at her candour. "Quite like that
wandless spellcasting that Professor Snape is trying to teach you." She looked
at the sharp line that crinkled the girl's brow. "No, it's not magic - just a
reminder for your body that it knows how to fight those cramps."
The fine, wild curls plastered to the girl's temple looked so inviting that it
hurt almost physically not to press a kiss to them. Poppy compromised and
carefully brushed the strands behind the girl's ear.
"You have done exceptionally well, Miss Granger," she said, aware - staff
rumour being as virulent as it was - that the Gryffindor was highly susceptible
to praise. The girl nodded mutely as she sat up and reached for the buttons of
her blouse.
Experiencing an irrational moment of bitterness, Poppy took hold of her wrist,
stopping the jerky movement and commanding the girl's attention. After a
moment, Granger looked up at her with lost brown eyes.
"You are a witch, and a woman, Hermione," Poppy said, her voice low and intent.
"That body of yours may hurt you from time to time, but it also has the means
to more than make up for that." Surely Granger, whose name was bandied about in
the staff room as the most gifted student at Hogwarts since Tom Riddle of ill
fame, had to understand this.
"There is nothing-" she gave Granger's arm a squeeze of emphasis - "nothing
about it that you should ever feel ashamed of."
She let go of the girl's wrist and slipped off the bed. Her shoes clattered
audibly on the polished stone floor. She looked back at the faraway expression
on the girl's face against the backdrop of rumpled sheets, and added, "It would
make me quite happy if you could come to accept that."
Granger sat there with both hands resting in loose fists on the mattress. Poppy
watched the near-imperceptible upward tilt of her chin, the glint of
determination that crept into her eyes and crinkled their corners. As easy to
read as any Gryffindor, although Poppy would gladly admit that she'd have made
a worthy addition to her own Ravenclaw house.
When the girl finally rose, her movements had regained a degree of fluidity
that she had not displayed before. She deftly redid her buttons, fastened her
skirt over the hem of her blouse, and bent over to fastidiously pull up her
knee socks - which displayed the curve of her buttocks to advantage. Finally,
she rescued a wayward piece of red Muggle elastic from her disheveled hair. She
wound it around the unruly mass twice, taming it into a half-knot. Her eyes met
Poppy's, calm, brown and bright as a falcon's, although her breath was still
coming fast and her cheeks were warm.
"I will think about it," she said, the tiniest twitch tugging at the corner of
her mouth. "I should get back to the library. Thank you for your advice, Madam
Pomfrey."
"You're welcome, Miss Granger."
Poppy's eyes followed the girl as she walked out of the door, head determinedly
upright. It gave her a sudden flash of pride.
She held on to the pole that kept up the cubicle curtains and permitted a deep,
shaky breath to escape her lips. The force of her own arousal nearly doubled
her up, but she forced it down with deep, measured breaths. A wand flick, and
the gargoyle-shaped water tap turned its head and spewed cold water into a
ready cup, which lowered its rim coyly. Floating the cup into her hand, Poppy
took a few greedy swallows, luxuriating in the cold spill on her tongue. It
washed away the taste of Granger's blood, but she could still smell the girl on
her fingers over the antiseptic blandness of the water.
She laughed once, short and breathless, at the intensity of her own response,
then pushed it to the back of her head. This was not the time for self-
indulgence! Quite the opposite, it was time to put together the cocktail of
potions that would see Albus through another night of traipsing through
memories with young Potter.
It was not that she begrudged the boy whatever tutoring might keep him alive
and ahead of You-Know-Who, of course, but, like all adolescents - like the
young woman who had just marched out of the door - he was blind to the needs of
others. Apart from herself, Minerva and Severus, no one even suspected that
Albus' lengthy absences were a smokescreen which allowed the frail old man to
battle the corroding effects of Voldemort's curse in the confines of his bed.
Poppy frowned down at the crystalline phial in her hand that held Essence of
Bezoar. Albus should be resting, or preferably be treated at St Mungo's Spell
Damage Ward, instead of exposing himself to the strain of ancient memories and
the draining presence of a demanding student... Not behaving as if he had
nothing to lose, while relying on Snape to provide him with stoppered
appearances of health.
Not the time for self-indulgence indeed, and yet, in the privacy of her four-
poster tonight, Poppy knew she would treat herself to the image of Granger's
pliant body. These were bleak times, where pleasure was rare and had to be
enjoyed wherever it could be found.
                                   ~ finis ~

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