Slave
A/N: My muse, Maggie, is simple girl. All she likes are plot bunnies and reviews. So be kind to Maggie and feed her review cookies please.
Big thanks to my beta Lbandoly for her hard work. She has spent countless hours editing and providing plot help for my stories. She makes my writing possible.
No copyright infringement intended. All characters are the property of JKR, Scholastic, and any number of other companies with more money than I've ever dreamed of seeing. I didn't make any money off of this, so please don't sue.
Edited: March 3, 2011 for SPaG
She didn't know how she had come to be in this situation. Well she did, but she didn't want to admit it even to herself. She would lie to herself so many times in a day that she'd lose count. You would think that lying to yourself would be a difficult task, but she found it wasn't. Often times she thought that it was one of the easiest tasks she had ever undertaken; this from a woman, who had undertaken some very difficult tasks over the years. Some long before she should have been able to complete them. The most notable task was brewing a master's level potion at twelve.
It wasn't that being held between the two fine examples of of the male form was difficult. No far from it in fact. These acts they shared were by no means difficult. Hedonistic for sure, painful on occasion, entirely provocative, always pleasurable, but they were never difficult.
In fact if she had to admit it, her only difficulty with the situation was what she had given up to achieve the ends to her means. She had sold her very soul to the devil in the eyes of people she had once respected. She had done so with good cause. Or at least that's what she kept telling herself. But still, to those with condemning eyes, she had sold herself out to the very people she had spent so long fighting against. They weren't wrong, only missing a few salient points.
It was all cut and dry really. Simply sleep with them, service them, become their property in exchange for the safety of a dear friend and her lover. The volatile mix of fire and ice would be left alone to live their lives in peace away from the bigotry that had poisoned their world nearly into extinction in exchange for hers. They would be free of the one person who truly could have broken them apart. He would still his hand, even should he want nothing more than to lift it to defile what comfort they had found in each other, in exchange for her.
She told herself that she hated it. Hated them. That she hated what they did to her and how they made her feel. That she hated the feel of their hands on her body. One's calloused and rough from use; the other's soft and fine. She told herself she didn't like the way they invaded her body, filling her to the brink in perfect unison with one another as if they had never hated it, cursed her and humiliated her. Or worse that she didn't like it when they seemingly fought with her between them, one thrusting in while the other pulled out making her feel like a proverbial seesaw of bliss.
She told herself she didn't like the feel of him laving her most private areas with his tongue and invading her with his fingers while she pleased the darker of the two with her mouth.
She swore she didn't like it when they pinned her between them one white blond head suckling the left side of her neck from the front while the dark-haired one did the same to the right side from behind her. She would curse them for marking her so vividly that no manner of make-up muggle or magical could cover the deep purple bites and bruises that splotched her creamy skin but she never tried to deny them the chance to do it again.
She swore she hated that she had given herself, her body, as a willing slave to the two men that held her so firmly between them even in their sleep as if she would take wings and fly away at the slightest provocation.
She always hated that both were older than her by double, old enough to be her father. She hated that they knew more than she could, even with all her brains and book smarts. She hated that they always bested her.
But she didn't. She didn't hate the change in personality that she had manipulated them both into. She didn't hate that they no longer hated her, degraded her, humiliated her and scoffed at her. She didn't hate the feel of their hands on her skin or their greedy mouths gently sucking on the sensitive parts of her neck. She didn't hate the feel of his tongue laving at her while the other was buried balls deep in her mouth. She didn't hate when they worked in perfect time with one another filling her to bring her to the edge of bliss, or better, when they worked in a perfect opposition that always sent her careening over the edge of reason into orgasmic heaven.
No when she was honest with herself, Hermione had to admit she loved this. She loved them as astounding as it seemed. She wouldn't give a moment of it up for anyone else. What woman would? To be given the opportunity to be used and pleasingly abused by two of the most powerful wizards of the age for their personal perversions. In her mind it was a win-win situation. Well at least on the off chance she wasn't lying to herself, which was most of the time
She had never once figured that Severus and Lucius would accept her offer for an exchange of services. She expected to be told, or worse, shown in no unashamed manner that Draco and Ginny could and would be ripped apart for daring to love each other in the face of so much hate. She hadn't expected the two to present her a trade over and above any she had originally envisioned that was the substance of fantasies. To be asked to share herself with both of them completely, without reservation, at once until Draco and Ginny split on their own or until they tired of her.
She hadn't expected to not only like it, but to crave their attentions. She hadn't wanted to feel loved and needed by them. It had just happened. Six months spent in their bed being whatever they asked her to be and she had done the one thing she thought impossible to do. She had fallen in love with not one but two former Deatheaters and couldn't for the life of her think of anything better than the feeling of having the two of them buried deep within her oh so willing body as often as possible showing her in the only way they often seemed to know how, that they felt the same way.
The ever studious, ever knowledgeable, ever logical Hermione Granger had traded her mind, body, heart and soul to two men. One was dark of completion, one of light, but both wholly wanting of her. If anyone asked (no one did), they required her to be there. After all it was she that came to them and made the request for a truce. But the truth of the matter was she wanted to be there. To be between them from now till the end of eternity. She liked being the catalyst that allowed the two to be together without being something they didn't want to be.
She had made a difficult bed to lie in and now she found that it wasn't so difficult at all. In fact it was rather warm and comforting. Two hard, lean bodies always on either side of her keeping her safely nestled between them.
finite incantatum