All You Want Episode 1 - Harry Potter

Start our Harry Potter fanfiction podcast with an Eighth Year return to Hogwarts from Hermione Granger’s point of view. Voldemort is gone, Harry and Ron begin Auror training, and Hermione plans a true academic year. Gossip about the Golden Trio swirls, leadership roles shift to Ginny Weasley, and an unexpected encounter with Draco Malfoy hints at slow-burn tension. Neville Longbottom, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, and Theodore Nott round out a post-war cast as Hermione faces curious “growth spurts,” strange instincts, and a mystery that pushes her straight to the library.

In this episode

• Post-war Hogwarts and Eighth Year dynamics
• Hermione’s choice to study instead of becoming an Auror
• Tabloid rumors about the Golden Trio
• Head Girl duties for Ginny and shifting house politics
• Hermione and Draco’s first charged conversation on the Hogwarts Express
• A puzzling change among the Eighth Year boys that Hermione is determined to research

Transcript

**Chapter 1: In Which It All Stops Making Sense.**

Eighth year at Hogwarts was going to be Hermione’s year. After dedicating six years of her academic life to Harry and Ron, she was finally ready to focus on herself.

Voldemort was dead, most of the Death Eaters were imprisoned, and Harry and Ron were busy training to become Aurors. Now, Hermione was returning to school, where she could fully immerse herself in her education, just as she had always dreamed.

This year was a chance for her to engage in extracurricular activities simply because she wanted to, not because there was a pressing need to save Harry or the wizarding world. Yet, as she walked through the halls, she noticed the sympathetic looks from her peers.

Many believed she was attending school as a way to escape or hide, convinced there was some sort of rift between her and her best friends. The tabloids were relentless, proclaiming that the “Golden Trio” had fallen apart and were no longer speaking.

The leading theory suggested that she and Ron had broken up, with Harry siding against her. What nonsense.

Hermione and Ron had hardly been a couple. They had talked about it, considered it, but in the aftermath of the war, they both felt the need for space to discover themselves as individuals before attempting to build a relationship.

Hermione had suggested they wait a year and then revisit the idea. By then, she would have completed her NEWTs and chosen her mastery, while Ron would have finished the most intense part of his Auror training.

They would both have a clearer idea of what they wanted. The expectation from much of the wizarding world that they should have been engaged by seventeen was simply absurd in Hermione’s eyes.

Despite the surprisingly good gender equality in some areas, the wizarding society remained oddly antiquated in others. Because she chose to attend school instead of rushing into marriage, the tabloids were convinced that something scandalous had shattered the Golden Trio.

The very thought made Hermione scoff inwardly as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and continued on her way. her head.

She had spent months living in a tent with her best friends, fighting battles and saving the world together. She was not about to become permanently attached to them just to appease an overly curious public.

Becoming an Auror held no appeal for her. She had faced enough challenges and had no desire to include camping or dueling in her future career.

What she wanted was time for herself—to study, to focus on her own interests, and to decide her path without worrying about keeping anyone alive or avoiding expulsion. Eighth year was hers, and hers alone.

She hugged Harry and Ron, kissing each of them on the cheek at Platform 9¾ before practically skipping onto the train. Finding an empty compartment, she bustled in and pulled out all her textbooks for review.

Although she had read them over the summer, the chaos of rebuilding had made it hard to feel like she’d absorbed everything as thoroughly as she wanted. Just then, Ginny popped her head in to say hello, her Head Girl badge proudly pinned to her uniform.

Hermione remembered how nearly hysterical with joy Molly had been when Ginny received the honor. For a fleeting moment, Hermione felt envy at missing out on a position she had once coveted.

It hadn't been a surprise, though. Minerva had come to discuss the matter with her.

Ginny and Neville had shown exceptional leadership at Hogwarts, especially under the Carrow twins. By all rights, the position should have been Hermione’s the previous year, but she had declined it.

She was already feeling overwhelmed trying to fit in all the classes she wanted to take. A quiet academic year without any leadership responsibilities was what she craved.

The Head Girl badge had gone to Ginny, and Minerva had offered Hermione a prefect position as well, but she had turned that down too. As the journey to Hogwarts continued, the door to her compartment suddenly swung open.

Draco Malfoy dashed in and quickly disillusioned himself. Across from her, Draco Malfoy had just finished disappearing when the door swung open again, revealing Daphne and Astoria Greengrass.

“Granger,” Daphne said stiffly, pursing her lips as she glared down at Hermione. “Did you see Draco pass this way?”

Hermione blinked in surprise.

“I’ve been reading,” she replied. With a sigh and an eye roll, Daphne turned to leave with her younger sister.

Hermione returned her attention to the pages of her arithmancy textbook, the sound of their footsteps fading into the rhythmic click of the train wheels. After a moment, she raised her gaze and arched an eyebrow at the empty seat across from her.

To her astonishment, the emptiness shimmered, and Draco slowly reappeared. “Lying for me, Granger?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow with a slow, deliberate cadence.

“I never thought I’d see the day.”

Hermione shot him a pointed glare, then did a double-take. Draco seemed considerably larger than she remembered from just three months ago at his trial.

He was broader, more muscular, and somehow taller. Even if he had taken up an intense fitness regime, it didn’t explain the deepening of his voice, which seemed to have dropped another octave.

She blinked a few times to regain her composure. “I didn’t lie at all,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

“I simply said I was reading.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie,” he replied, his voice low and growling, sending an unexpected warmth through her. Hermione felt a rush of heat, fidgeting in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with his presence.

Her neck tingled with tension. Why was he growling at her?

It was both disconcerting and infuriating. “Also, how are you not even a prefect?” he continued, scrutinizing her.

“I assumed you’d be a shoo-in for Head Girl. I thought I was the only one not in a leadership position.”

“...one stripped of her position.

Even Pansy got to keep her prefect status, and she actually tried to hand Potter over.” 

Hermione flushed a deep shade of scarlet and squirmed under his gaze. It felt as if his gray eyes were tracing every inch of her.

She had never felt so oddly uncomfortable around anyone before. A bead of sweat trickled down her brow as an inexplicable heat began to bloom in her lower abdomen at the sound of his voice.

She tried to brush it off. “I didn’t want any leadership positions this year,” she said, her voice a bit too shrill as she crossed her legs.

“I have a lot of classes I want to take. It’s not like I need it for my resume.

If someone asks why I wasn’t a prefect for Eighth Year, I can always show them my Order of Merlin.”

Malfoy chuckled, a sound rich like chocolate and velvet, and she could almost feel it against her skin. She made a strangled noise and pressed herself into the opposite corner of the compartment.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s got you so bothered, Granger?” he asked, and Hermione could swear she felt the vibrations of his voice travel down her spine, igniting something deep within her.

Her eyes widened, and suddenly, she was desperate to escape. A warning echoed inside her, telling her that something significant would happen if she didn’t get away.

She jumped to her feet and grabbed her satchel. “Nothing,” she blurted out, her throat feeling tight.

“I need to go.” Without waiting for him to respond, she dashed from the compartment. Once inside the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and neck, trying to cool down and make sense of what had just happened.

There was something about Malfoy that unnerved her in a way she couldn't quite articulate. She had always prided herself on having a clear head.

She was not the kind of girl who blushed or became flustered so easily. because she found a boy attractive.

But she had to admit, Malfoy had gotten fit over the summer. When she heard his voice, she felt herself half-melt into a puddle and, before she knew it, snapped at him and fled.

It was as if being near him had awakened something deep within her, stirring a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t quite control. She felt like a mindless, irrational pile of hormones—all because of Draco Malfoy.

Of all people! The historic bully, the pureblood elitist.

Even if he were the most handsome man on earth, it wouldn’t make up for his lack of character. Her crushes had always started with character first and looks second.

She admired Gilderoy Lockhart for his supposed accomplishments and Viktor Krum for his sincerity and kindness. But that didn’t mean she had a crush on Malfoy!

Not at all. He was simply… attractive.

It was perfectly normal for a girl to appreciate a man on an aesthetic level, and that was all there was to it, she told herself firmly. There was no reason to act unpleasant toward him because of it.

She straightened up, changed into her school uniform, and found a new compartment. It turned out Malfoy wasn’t the only Eighth Year male who had transformed over the summer.

When she laid eyes on Neville Longbottom for the first time, she found herself slightly bug-eyed. Anthony Goldstein and Theodore Nott had also changed dramatically.

There were several other Eighth Year boys whose names she didn’t recall, all of whom seemed to have grown as well. From her seat in the Great Hall, she stared at each of them, feeling a mix of disbelief and astonishment.

While the boys had plenty of admirers, most of the other students didn’t seem nearly as flustered as Hermione was. “Hermione, could you pass the ham?” Neville asked in a low voice.

Hermione nearly toppled out of her seat at the sound of his voice. Hermione swiveled to stare at him, her mouth agape.

No one else even looked up, as if it were perfectly normal for boys to speak in voices that vibrated the air around them. Neville stared back at her, confusion etched on his face.

“What—did you just say to me?” Hermione managed to choke out. “I asked for the ham,” Neville replied, his voice low and resonant once again.

Hermione gasped, then quickly grabbed the tray and shoved it toward him before standing up. “I need to use the loo,” she muttered, escaping the scene.

Once in the girls' bathroom, she tried to cool down for half an hour before making a dash for the safety of the library. She couldn't wrap her head around what was happening to her.

Why did it feel like she was the only one affected by the sudden growth spurts? It was utterly bizarre.

The library proved to be unhelpful; there were no resources on growth patterns. All the books on wizarding reproduction were tucked away in the restricted section, and she wasn't sure she was curious enough to approach any of her professors for a permission slip.

She wished she had Harry’s cloak of invisibility. Deciding to wait it out, she thought it wasn’t urgent.

In the meantime, she would simply avoid Malfoy, Nott, Goldstein, Neville, and the others. She had plenty of academic work to focus on, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

As it turned out, it was slightly harder than she anticipated. The moment she heard their voices echoing down the hall, she would jump, breaking out in a sweat.

She barely managed to keep from panting as she fled. The library and common areas felt like a plague zone to her.

During classes with any of them, she cast repeated cooling charms, sat as far back as possible, and refrained from answering questions, knowing her voice often came out high-pitched and wobbly. Her behavior felt painfully uncharacteristic, and it didn’t take long for Malfoy to corner her after Potions in the third week of class, just after she had blown up.

Hermione stood before a cauldron for the first time in her academic career when Malfoy approached her. “What’s wrong with you, Granger?” he demanded, his voice low and authoritative, sending a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, she found herself wondering what it would be like if he growled like that against her neck. She nearly moaned as she forced herself to back away from him.

He was so close that she could smell him—an alluring scent that was almost edible. The thought of running her tongue along his neck and the inside of his wrists crossed her mind, and she shook her head, trying to regain her composure.

“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me,” she replied firmly, skittering away and rubbing her wrists together in an effort to relieve the inexplicable tension.

Malfoy stepped closer, inhaling sharply before stopping short. His eyes locked onto hers, and he shook his head in disbelief.

Suddenly, his expression twisted into shock. He clamped a hand over his nose and mouth, as if he were about to be sick.

Without another word, he turned and rushed away. Hermione stood there, dazed, watching him go.

She sniffed her shirt, confused, trying to figure out what had made Malfoy so nauseated. She smelled fine—maybe a little musky, but only if she practically buried her nose in her clothing.

He was so spiteful; he probably faked it just to mock her. Her face twisted in irritation as she straightened up, rubbing the base of her neck where it still ached.

She started toward the library, but as she reached the door, she heard Anthony’s voice. In a hurry, she turned around and rushed back to the Gryffindor dormitory.

Her neck and wrists still tingled, and she rubbed at them, feeling as though a tension was building that nothing could relieve. When she finally reached Gryffindor Tower, she squared her shoulders and made her way to the top of the girls' tower.

Ginny had her own private room because she was Head Girl. Hermione knocked softly on the door, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over her.

When the door opened, Ginny greeted her with a warm smile. “Hermione, is there a student issue?” Ginny asked, pulling the door wider and inviting her in.

“Oh, no. Um, I just had a question,” Hermione replied, stepping awkwardly into the room.

“I don’t know if it’s weird for me to ask this, but I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t know something?

Well, then I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.” She cracked a smile and settled onto the edge of her unmade bed. “Have—” Hermione hesitated.

“Have Neville and some of the other boys in Eighth Year grown a lot over the summer? I feel like they have, but I’m the only one who’s confused by it.”

The smile faded from Ginny’s face, replaced by a distinctly guarded expression.

“Well, they had their final growth spurts,” she said, her tone becoming vague. “You probably never noticed it happens because most wizards graduate before it kicks in.”

That made sense.

Malfoy, Neville, and the others were eighteen. It wasn’t as if Hermione usually encountered that many eighteen-year-old wizards.

“Is that common?” she asked. “Do wizards normally have growth spurts that late?”

“Some do,” Ginny replied, her voice tightening.

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Harry and Ron didn’t.”

“Well, as I said, some,” Ginny’s tone was defensive.

“Not all wizards do. It’s pretty arbitrary.

Bill and Charlie did, but most don’t, and that doesn’t make them any less. It’s not as if it happens to some wizards because they deserve it.”

Hermione stared at her, puzzled.

“I think I’m missing something.”

“It’s—” Ginny began, then waved her hand dismissively. “It’s a pureblood thing, generally.

It’s not really something people talk about.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, realizing that people were intentionally keeping this information under wraps. Ginny sighed.

“Basically, it’s just something random that happens to some wizards, but it usually doesn’t mean anything. At least, it doesn’t mean anything to you or me or probably anyone we know.

Just—ignore it.”

“Right,” Hermione replied, realizing it was a touchy subject in the wizarding world. She made a mental note to approach it delicately if she ever felt desperate enough to bring it up with McGonagall.

The next day, Hermione woke up with a fever. Her whole body felt heavy, her lower abdomen ached, and she was horrifically aware of a strong desire she couldn’t ignore.

The base of her neck throbbed so much that she was tempted to rub it against the bedpost for relief. Her wrists felt similarly restless, and she ground them against each other, hoping to ease the discomfort.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore the growing emptiness inside her. It was overwhelming, and she felt like the world’s most scandalous woman.

What was wrong with her? She must have caught something—some wizarding disease that made her neck and wrists ache, heightened her sensitivity, and left her feeling like she might burst if she didn’t find a way to satisfy her longing.

She bit back a groan and dragged herself out of bed, determined to see Madam Pomfrey. Crawling to the door, she half-stumbled down to the common room.

“Hermione?” 

The sound of Neville’s voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she suppressed a moan as she turned to see him standing across the room. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

She shook her head, unable to find her voice. An overwhelming urge to be close to him washed over her.

If she pressed her wrists against his neck, she was certain the ache would vanish. She longed to feel his lips against her skin, to crawl into his arms and escape the discomfort.

The thought of being with him in that way was both thrilling and desperate. "Mind-blowing," Hermione murmured, blinking in disbelief.

She shook her head sharply, trying to clear her mind. "I’m sick," she admitted, her voice small and shaky as she backed away, huddling against the wall.

"It’s probably contagious. You should send for Madam Pomfrey."

Her wrists throbbed intensely, and her body felt overly sensitive.

She found herself rubbing her left wrist against her sternum, seeking some comfort. Suddenly, Neville's expression shifted.

From across the room, she noticed his eyes darken until they were almost black. The gentle, open look he usually wore vanished, replaced by something more predatory—an expression that stirred something deep within her.

He seemed powerful and dangerous, and the ache between her legs sharpened. His gaze was locked on her, and he moved swiftly across the room.

"Come here," he said in a low, coaxing voice. Heat flooded through her, causing her to flush as she turned toward him, letting out a small, involuntary sound.

"I’ll take care of you," he promised. "Let me take care of you."

As she began to reach for him, a sudden thought struck her.

Neville was dating Hannah Abbott. Panic surged through her, and a wail escaped her lips as she recoiled, hunching her shoulders up around her sensitive neck.

"No," she said, fiercely squeezing her eyes shut. She could feel Neville's breath against the back of her neck, and she bit back a moan.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, sending tremors through her body. He nuzzled the base of her neck, and she whimpered, arching her head back instinctively.

"No..." she struggled to think, but his large hands were on her, nuzzling firmly against her neck, breathing deeply against her skin. It ignited a fire in her mind, drowning out all rational thought.

"Ohhhhh," she shuddered as Neville pressed closer. He pressed her against the wall, his hands exploring her aching body.

She turned, arching her back and exposing her throat to him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his lips grazing her skin.

A thrill ran through her at those words. She felt ready to do anything he desired, longing to please him in return for his care.

Her wrists were pinned against the common room wall, and she could feel the roughness of his stubble against her neck as he began to kiss and lick her skin. Her body responded with a spasm of sensation.

Suddenly, a horrified voice broke through the moment. “What on earth?

Oh my gosh!” Ginny exclaimed. “Stupefy!”