Hermione stared blankly up at the darkened canopy above her bed. Her breath came harsh and fast, bare breasts heaving up and down with each frantic gasp for air. Her left hand clutched one breast, squeezing hard, even as her right hand, slick with her own juices, moved languidly between her widely splayed and trembling legs. Her fingers gently teased her folds or brushed lightly against her clit as she slowly came down from an explosive orgasm.
How? She wondered. How exactly did she get here? Lying in her bed, in the middle of the day, furiously getting herself off. She hadn't even been able to wait until the evening when she could be sure her dorm mates would be asleep and unlikely to suddenly walk into the dorm. To be fair, she was pretty sure she knew how it happened. It all really started on Christmas Day, three weeks ago.
And it was all Harry's fault. Harry and his damn two little words!
As her breathing started to even out, and her racing pulse slowed, her mind cast back over the last three weeks, thinking over everything that'd happened, and everything she'd learned.
#####
The spinning was relatively brief as Hermione was swept away from the Leaky Cauldron. A mere handful of seconds later, she was stumbling out of the fireplace at the Three Broomsticks, barely catching her balance before she fell over.
Collecting herself, she started brushing off her clothes when a tingling sensation passed over her body and all of the soot suddenly vanished.
"Good evening, Miss Granger, and welcome back."
Hermione started and looked up into the stern visage of her Head of House.
"Oh! Professor McGonagall. Thank you, and thanks for meeting me, as well, I know it's late," she said, smiling at the stern scotswoman.
"It is not a problem, Miss Granger," the professor said in her usual Scottish burr. "As you said, though, the hour is late, so let us be on our way. Madam Rosmerta, thank you for the use of your fireplace," she added, turning to the buxom owner of the tavern where she stood behind the bar.
"Not a worry," she said, waving away the thanks. "We wouldn't want to see any students stranded, especially not during the holidays. Have a good trip up to the castle and a Happy Christmas to you both."
Hermione and the professor both offered her a 'Happy Christmas' and left, stepping out into ankle deep snow and a frigid, biting wind that had Hermione shivering in moments. She pulled her coat tighter around her body, wishing that she'd thought to dig out her winter cloak before she'd Floo'd in.
The professor quickly cast a warming charm over her and led the way, at a rather brisk pace, to one of the horseless carriages that was waiting nearby. Once they were both inside and the door was securely shut, the carriage started moving, carrying them up toward the castle. Four small orbs of light, one in each corner of the carriage, gave plenty of light for them to see each other, even in the dark of night.
"From your letter, Miss Granger, I understand that you are returning to us early due to a family emergency. I trust it isn't anything too terrible?" Professor McGonagall asked and Hermione shook her head.
"No, Professor. Not too bad. My father's sister and her husband were in a small accident and they just need a little help for a few weeks while they recover. The problem is that they live in Florida, so, we really didn't have many options but for me to come back early."
"Well, I am pleased to hear that your aunt and uncle will recover. And I am sorry that your time with your parents was cut short."
"It's okay, Professor. Yes, I was disappointed, but these things happen. Just have to make the most of it, right?"
McGonagall nodded, her lips, possibly, twitching into the tiniest of smiles. "Indeed," she said, acknowledging Hermione's point.
A moment later the small smile vanished, if it had even actually been there, and the professor's expression grew even more stern.
"While we have this time, I would like to discuss another letter that I received a few days ago, from your mother."
Hermione very carefully did not groan. She refused to act like a sullen teen in front of her favorite professor. No force on Earth, however, could have stopped the flush that stained her cheeks.
"Yes, Professor?" she asked, quietly.
"Her letter did not delve into specifics, however she did express a concern that you are, or may soon be, sexually active. She also had questions over whether or not muggle contraceptive medicines would work properly on a young witch. Have I missed anything, Miss Granger?"
"No, Professor," Hermione said, while inside her head she was silently cursing her mother.
"To be perfectly honest, Hogwarts has few specific rules about consenting sexual activity, beyond barring boys from the girls dormitories, and, of course, getting caught will result in detention and a loss of House points." At Hermione's surprised look the professor almost smiled again.
"We are not stupid, Miss Granger," she said. "Teenagers will be teenagers. If we suspended or expelled students for having sex, then easily half, or more, of our upper year students would likely be missing from the castle at any given time. That being said, do not mistake that as permission to engage in such activities."
Hermione shook her head again. "Of course not, Professor."
The older witch eyed her speculatively for several minutes before she spoke again.
"I try, very hard, not to have favorites amongst my students, Miss Granger. My sense of professionalism demands it of me. In you, however, I see a great potential. You are an exceedingly bright and capable young witch, and I would be extremely disappointed to see that potential squandered by an early pregnancy. That is the one other hard rule. A pregnant witch may not continue her education. So many risks exist in the learning of magic that they present a very real danger to both mother and child. Any witch falling pregnant while at school is automatically expelled until the child is born, at which point, she might attempt to resume her studies."
"Professor… I'm not… I mean, I haven't… and I don't have any… any plans to…"
Professor McGonagall nodded at Hermione's fractured mutterings for a moment before she lifted one hand, motioning for the girl to stop. "Miss Granger, be honest with me. I believe you in regards to your status. However, can you tell me, with absolute certainty, that there isn't a young wizard at the castle that you might wish to be closer to, in the future?"
Hermione lowered her head, staring at the floor between her shoes as a vision of green eyes darted across her mind.
"I thought as much. That is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Granger. I just hope that you exercise the levelheaded caution that I know you to be capable of. And, of course, that your work in class will not suffer." As she was speaking the carriage came to a stop by the steps leading up to the castle's entrance and the professor immediately opened the door and stepped out into the cold, movinging aside so that Hermione could join her.
"Now," she said. "Your mother was quite insistent that you see Madam Pomfrey. We can do that now, as she was warned I might be bringing a student by, or you can wait to do so in the morning. Personally, I would recommend getting it out of the way now, so that it won't interfere with your Christmas, tomorrow."
"Let's go now, then," Hermione nearly whispered, still unable to look at her Head of House. She nearly jumped when a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder, and she found herself looking up into the older witch's eyes.
"As I have already said, there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, child," she said, gently. "This is all a natural part of growing up, and in my thirty-three years teaching here, I can assure you, I have done this very thing many, many times. None of this changes how I, or Madam Pomfrey, will think of you as a student, or as a person."
Feeling somewhat comforted by her reassurances, Hermione forced a small smile and nodded her head before she was suddenly following along as Professor McGonagall set the same brisk pace through the castle and up to the Hospital Wing on the third floor.
Striding through the doors, Professor McGonagall led her to one of the beds and directed her to sit before she moved off through the Wing in search of the resident Mediwitch.
"Miss Granger?" Poppy Pomfrey asked as they came into view and she gave the Mediwitch a small wave. "I must say I'm rather surprised to see you here. I have always felt you had more sense than most," she said as her wand danced through a series of diagnostic charms. "Ah, more sense than usual, I see," she muttered with a pleased smile on her face. "Good to see that you're a discerning witch, young lady. So, what are we doing here if Miss Granger is not active?"
"Her mother is of the belief that she will likely be active, sooner than later, and, after speaking to her, I find that I must agree with Missus Granger's assessment."
"So, starting her potions, then?"
"Perhaps. There were other questions regarding-"
"Excuse me?" Hermione interrupted. "I'm sorry, but this is all rather difficult enough already without you two talking about me as if I'm not sitting right here, listening to you."
Both witches blinked in surprise for a moment before Madam Pomfrey recovered herself.
"Quite right, Miss Granger. That was terribly rude of us. If you'll please just sit back, I will be right back with some potions and a few questions for you." With a flick of her wand a set of privacy screens erected themselves around the bed, leaving Hermione alone to wait for the matronly Mediwitch to return.
Thirty minutes later saw one thoroughly red faced witch leaving the Hospital Wing with her Head of House, a vial filled with a light pink potion clutched tightly in one hand.
What possible reason was there for her to ask how many times I masturbate per week? Or if I was able to reach orgasm each time? she thought, bemused and completely embarrassed.
There were no immediate answers forthcoming and in a surprisingly short period of time, she found herself standing in front of the portrait of the lunatic Knight, Sir Cadogan, who had taken over guard duty for the entrance into Gryffindor Tower after Sirius Black attacked and damaged the Fat Lady's portrait on Halloween. Professor McGonagall gave the password and the portrait swung open without the usual challenges and posturing that occurred whenever a student had tried to enter the tower since he took over the post.
"I am familiar enough with that particular potion to recommend that you prepare for bed and lie down before you drink it," she said, after a glance around told them that the Common Room was empty. "It tends to kick in quickly. Just leave the empty vial on your nightstand and it will be disposed of."
She nodded her understanding and after a brief 'goodnight' headed upstairs to her dorm, quickly stowing her bag and changing for bed. She brushed her teeth and returned to her bed with a glass of water in hand. Climbing into bed, she sat up against the headboard, her legs beneath the blankets and reached out to pick up the vial, holding it up to stare at the potion contained within.
According to Madam Pomfrey, that particular potion would prevent her from getting pregnant for three months. There were other potions that lasted longer but they came with greater risks and side effects. The only real side effect mentioned with the potion she held in her hand was the potential of a slightly increased libido, which she thought was rather counterintuitive, but who was she to complain? Since she was informed that muggle birth control would do absolutely nothing in a witches system, potions were required.
Shaking her head, to rid herself of her rambling thoughts, she uncorked the vial, scrunched up her face in preparation for the vile taste she was about to experience, and quaffed the contents as fast as she could. After she swallowed, she blinked, and stared at the empty vial in her hand, surprised that it hadn't actually tasted terrible. She couldn't really place the flavor, but it wasn't bad at all. Shrugging she set it down on her nightstand and drank down half of her water to wash the potion residue from her mouth, and then wormed her way down under her blankets, already feeling slightly dizzy as the potion began to work.
In moments, she was fast asleep and would not wake until early the next morning.
#####
Late in the evening on Christmas Day, Hermione found herself back in her bed, sobbing into her pillow. The day had started out well enough. When she woke that morning she felt wonderfully rested and bounced eagerly out of bed, showering and dressing quickly in anticipation of surprising the boys with her presence.
They were definitely surprised, too. Well, Ron was surprised. Harry had seemed quite excited and happy to see her when she walked into their dorm, Crookshanks held in her arms, to find the two of them talking over a broomstick. After the initial excitement, a flash of hurt had flitted across Harry's face, and she reminded herself that she still needed to apologize to him for not looking at him the day she'd left to go home.
Before she could do that, however, things had descended into chaos. The broom had apparently been sent anonymously, and from what Hermione gathered it was easily the most expensive broom on the market. Immediately, she worried that it had been sent, after being jinxed or cursed, by Sirius Black. By all accounts Black was out to get the boy she might be starting to admit that she fancied, more than a little bit. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he could have done something like that.
Then, Crookshanks had leapt from her arms in an attempt to get at Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, and the resulting row had ruined any chance of her getting Harry alone to talk to him. If that had been the extent of things, that all wouldn't have been too bad. But then she'd gone and done something monumentally stupid. She went to Professor McGonagall to tell her about the broom. Their Head of House had immediately agreed with her idea that it was possible Black could have sent the broom and she had quickly moved to confiscate it so that Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch could inspect it.
The row that came from that. had been one for the ages, and Hermione had the feeling that it was going to be a long time before Harry forgave her, if he ever did. Why couldn't he understand that she was only worried about him? Why couldn't he have given her a chance to explain herself instead of immediately siding with Ron?
Eventually, she cried herself out and went into the bathroom to wash her face, grateful that all of her dorm mates had chosen to go home for the break. Returning to her bed, her eyes landed on her bag sitting on the chest of drawers and a sudden memory popped into her head. A memory of a brightly wrapped package with three books stacked on top of it and she scurried over to snatch up her bag, setting it down on her bed.
Opening it, she dug around and quickly located the package, which she pulled out and let the bag drop to the floor. Climbing into her bed, she sat in the middle, her gift sitting in front of her and she carefully unwrapped it, a sense of curiosity humming through her as the paper fell away to reveal the contents were wrapped a second time with plain brown paper and resting on top was a sealed envelope.
That's right, she thought. Missus Markell said to read her letter first.
She quickly picked up the envelope and tore it open, pulling a few crisp pages of stationary from within which she unfolded and pressed flat against her thigh before she picked them up to read.
-Hermione
I have known you for a long time, now, haven't I? Ten years at least. It has been a real joy to watch you grow into the beautiful young woman that you've become and I can only imagine the wonderful adult you will eventually be.
I'm afraid that, by the time you look through these books, you will know quite a bit more about me than you probably want to, and I can only hope that what you learn won't change your opinion of me. At least, not negatively.
Years ago, my late husband and I engaged in a certain kind of lifestyle. One misunderstood by many and seen in a negative light by many others. I assure you now, it is a very special kind of relationship and, if shared with the right person, can be extremely fulfilling and rewarding. It all depends on the degree one wishes to engage in.
The other day, when you first came in after being away at school, I noticed the titles of the books you were checking out, and, I'm sorry to say, I read the paper where you'd written down some of the details behind your search. I immediately felt that I might have had an inkling as to what it was you were searching for. I didn't say anything for two reasons.
If I did say something, and it turned out I was mistaken, it could have been mortifying for the both of us.
I wasn't certain that, even if I was right, if I had the right to bring this information to the attention of a fourteen-year-old girl. I'm certain your parents would not be at all happy to learn what I've done. However, since I knew you would be away at school, soon, I felt it was important that you get some solid information from me, as opposed to the skewed information you might come across elsewhere.
I'm certain, now, after the last few days observing you that my initial instinct was correct, so I feel better giving you this information, but I want to follow this with a warning. If you decide to explore this, you will need a partner. Be very, very careful who you choose. You will be placing your full trust in your partner and that trust can easily be abused.
Please be cautious. Be safe, and be sane, Hermione.
When you open the package, you'll find four different books. You should start with the smallest of them and when you pick a partner, if you do, have that person read the next one before anything else. Communication will be key. Neither of you can be afraid to speak your minds. Talk honestly and often. Do not let anything fester.
I hope to see you back soon, Dear.
Happy Christmas and good luck.
Amelia Markell
By the time she finished the letter Hermione's emotions had vacillated from embarassed to indignant to confused. She read through it again but found things to be no clearer the second time around, so, she set the letter aside and unwrapped the books. The smallest of them was stacked on top so she immediately picked it up, moved back toward the head of her bed, and opened the blank cover to read.
Ten minutes later, with her face flaming a brilliant red, she slammed the book shut. As she went about burying all four books at the bottom of her trunk, the fluttering sensation in her stomach and the telltale warmth pooling between her legs told her that her flaming cheeks were not the only reaction she'd had to what she'd just read.
#####
Three days passed where Hermione felt a disturbing sense of déjà vu harkening back to the first months of her first year when no one wanted to be her friend, or even spend time around her when they could help it. Ron did nothing but snipe at her whenever she was in hearing, but the worst thing, was Harry.
Harry would simply remain silent whenever she was in the same room and absolutely refused to even look in her direction. Each time it felt like a needle of pain being driven through her chest and she took to avoiding the areas of the school that she knew Ron and Harry tended to frequent. The Common Room and the Great Hall being the two most common. She would visit with Hagrid, or spend her time in the Library, working her way through law books in an effort to help Hagrid with Buckbeak's case. Since it was also a place that neither boy tended to go to if they could help it, it afforded her more opportunities to avoid them.
Despite her issues with her friends, her mind wouldn't leave her alone and frequently wandered back to the books she'd hidden at the bottom of her trunk. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger flat out refused to learn a new topic. Considering what the topic in question was, she didn't feel she was being unreasonable, but she still felt odd, abandoning a learning experience as she was.
Over the rest of the week, Hermione found her thoughts drifting more and more towards those books, and every time they did, she found herself torn. On the one hand, she couldn't believe what she'd read, or that Missus Markell could think that she, Hermione Granger, could be involved in that. It was the complete antithesis to what she believed in.
On the other hand, the part that had her feeling the most confused, was just how turned on the little she'd read had gotten her. Even thinking about it, days later, had her nipples hardening inside her bra, a disturbingly pleasant shiver running through her body, and a warm tingling sensation between her legs that kept getting more and more difficult to ignore.
Finally, on New Year's Eve, while everyone else still in the castle attended a small party in the Great Hall, she returned to her dorm immediately after dinner to relax with a long, hot shower. She stood beneath the spray, relishing the sensation of the nearly scalding water running across her naked body. She took her time cleaning herself, firmly ignoring the jolts of pleasure that shot through her each time the rough material of her washcloth dragged across her nipples.
Eventually, her body and hair were completely cleaned and she had no more valid reasons to stay in the shower, so she turned off the water and stepped out, drying her body with a large towel and her hair with a charm from her wand.
She dressed herself behind the closed curtains that surrounded her bed before she stepped out to hang up her damp towel and brush her teeth. At that point, she had run out of things to keep her busy, and she found herself standing in front of her trunk, just staring at it for several long minutes as her teeth worried at her lower lip. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her white t-shirt, bare feet brushing across the rug beneath her as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Turning to her nightstand, she opened the top drawer and retrieved her wood handled hair brush and sat down at one of the vanities that stood against the wall opposite the row of beds to brush out her long hair. In the reflection of the mirror, she could see her trunk over her shoulder, and even as her hands worked, she couldn't stop staring at it.
"Oh, honestly," she finally burst out, slamming the brush down on the vanity as she stood and strode purposefully over to the trunk. Dropping to her knees, she reached for the latch, then hesitated.
"They're just some books," she muttered, steeling her resolve as she roughly threw open the lid. Books, school supplies, extra robes, and a few other knickknacks stared up at her and she quickly, and efficiently moved things around until she uncovered the four troublesome volumes she had so resolutely hidden at the very bottom of the trunk.
Hermione reached inside and pulled out the smallest book, briefly eyeing the other three for a moment before shaking her head. No, Missus Markell said to read the smallest book first. She firmly closed the lid and climbed into bed, book clutched firmly in one hand before she turned and drew the bed curtains shut.
With a tap of her wand, a small orb set into the headboard lit up, casting a gentle glow over the space within the curtains so that should would easily be able to see in order to read. Knowing she was stalling, she still took a few minutes to rearrange her pillows and blankets so that she was sitting up comfortably against the head of the bed before she finally took up the book. With her knees drawn up, feet flat against the mattress, she opened the book against her bare thighs and immediately decided to search for something specific and important.
Definitions.
Dom: A person who exercises control (from dominant-contrast with sub)
Submissive: or "sub" for short. Person that gives up control either all the time or for a specified period (not to be confused with "bottom" or "slave").
Neither definition was particularly informative and she couldn't help but wonder which role Missus Markell seemed to think fit her. The words in the woman's letter about trusting her partner suddenly floated back into her mind and she had two sudden and visceral reactions.
First, her mouth dropped open in utter shock as she realized that Missus Markell thought that she was submissive! That was the only explanation for needing complete trust in a partner. The Dom controlled the submissive, so the person given that control needed to be someone the submissive trusted absolutely.
Second, her face turned a brilliant, flaming red, again, as it clicked into place that her favorite Librarian was implying that she intended to begin a deviant sexual relationship, sometime in the near future, as that was the only reason she would have need of a 'partner'.
Sweet Merlin, she hadn't even gotten back into the reading, yet, and already she felt as if her cheeks could burst into flames at any moment! She took a deep breath and started reading, trying to look at the information as learning something new about the world, and not that it might in any way apply to her.
That first book was relatively short, giving a brief explanation of BDSM and, what she learned was known, in the short form, as a D/s relationship. For some reason, that abbreviation irritated her. The capitalized 'D' next to the lowercase 's', implying that the Dom was above the submissive, better than, superior to, even. Her eyes narrowed furiously at one point as she compared it to the way people like Malfoy treated her because her parents didn't have magic.
This was abuse! Plain and simple. How could people condone this kind of thing, much less actually participate in it? Horrified, but finding herself strangely unable to stop reading, now that she'd gotten started, and her ire was well and truly riled up, she quickly completed the first book and stormed over to her trunk to pull out another one. She skipped over the second book which was supposedly for the benefit of whatever 'partner' she chose (as if that was ever going to happen, she scoffed) and grabbed the largest of the four books before snapping her trunk closed and returning to her bed.
Making herself comfortable she opened the book and began to work her way through it. In a very short period of time, her complexion had turned an even darker shade of red, her blush pronounced on her neck and her upper chest, extending even under the neckline of her shirt. While the book contained plenty of information, it was the accompanying images that truly hit her.
One of the first she came across was of a naked, well endowed, blond woman. She was lying on her back on a bed that had been stripped to the mattress. Her arms were stretched above her head, her wrists secured by leather cuffs that were attached to a length of chain which stretched out of the shot and toward the upper corners of the bed. Her legs were similarly spread, and her ankles secured with another set of cuffs. Her back was arched, thrusting her breasts out and up, her mouth open wide in what might have been a moan or a scream as a hand, holding a lit candle above her, dripped hot wax across her large breasts.
In another, a naked brunette stood with her back to the camera, her arms stretched high over her head with the short chain between the leather cuffs at her wrists looped over a hook suspended from the ceiling. A man, fully dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows was in the process of swinging something at the woman. The item was blurred, in the act of swinging through the air, but she assumed it was some kind of flogger, based on the red marks across the woman's back, buttocks, and the backs of her thighs.
For another hour, Hermione read and studied the photos. By the time she put the books back in her trunk and locked it, she went to bed determined to ignore her flushed and tingling body's desire for release.
She was not submissive, she firmly told herself. She was not the kind of depraved individual that would engage in or enjoy something like what she'd just read. The only reason she was more aroused than she'd ever felt before in her life was due to her abrupt exposure to what amounted to pornographic material, in her opinion.
Despite what she told herself, it was several frustrated hours of adamant refusal to do what her body demanded of her before she was able to fall into a fitful, restless sleep.
#####
New Year's Day, Hermione woke to find her body still tingling, or perhaps tingling again if her vague recollections of her dreams were anything to go by. Just before coming fully aware, still hovering on the cusp between asleep and awake, a memory flitted across her mind. A single sentence, spoken in her own voice.
Is that an order, Mister Potter?
Then, her conscious mind asserted itself, and the brief memory faded away.
Letting out a sigh she started to turn onto her back but suddenly froze, her eyes shooting wide open, breath catching in her throat as a jolt of pleasure shot through her body from between her legs.
Taking a moment to take stock of herself she looked down the length of her body, just to confirm what she was feeling and, for several moments, she laid perfectly still trying to think what she could possibly have dreamed to have her waking like this.
She was lying on her right side in the center of her bed, her sheets and blankets apparently kicked to the foot of the bed sometime during the night and her left hand was inside her knickers and between her legs. An experimental curling of her middle finger had a whimpering moan escaping her lips as she confirmed that, yes, her finger was buried deep inside her, at least up to the second knuckle.
By the time she removed her finger from her pussy and her hand from her knickers she was panting slightly and realized that both hand and knickers were completely soaked. How long had she been playing with herself in her sleep?
With no answers forthcoming she headed quickly for another shower, cleaning up much more rapidly that morning than she had the night before. She dressed in a pair of jeans, a plain green t-shirt over a matching white set of knickers and bra and a dark jumper that she pulled on over the shirt for warmth. Socks and boots followed and she grabbed her bag, heading out of the dorm and down the stairs, passing through the empty Common Room on her way to the Great Hall for an early breakfast. A glance at her watch told her breakfast would be served just about the time that she arrived.
With a light breakfast in front of her, she let her mind wander as she ate, trying to decide what she was going to spend her time on that day, and just the act of trying trying to settle that left her feeling despondent. For a few moments, she entertained the thought that Harry and Ron had ruined her. Before becoming friends with them she could easily spend hours, even days, absorbed in her books with no problems whatsoever. To be fair, she could still do that, but it was nowhere near as fulfilling as it used to be without that simple human interaction breaking up her day.
It was a sobering revelation for her to realize just how much she truly needed their friendship. Well… she felt she might miss Ron as a friend if they could not repair the rift between them, but honestly, the boy tasked her to no end, so it might just be a slight relief not to have that aggravation in her life. The thought of losing Harry from her life, however, had her feeling physically ill and she pushed her half eaten breakfast away, too nauseated to eat another bite.
That was not going to happen, she decided. She would be patient, but she would repair the damage to their friendship. On that matter, she was absolutely determined. In the meantime, she needed to keep busy, so she stood and made her way to the Library, intent on continuing her research for Hagrid.
Two days later, the rest of the students returned and Hermione wanted to flee the Great Hall early during the Feast when she overheard Ron telling the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, that Harry'd received a Firebolt for Christmas, only to have it confiscated because of her.
What kept her from running was the look on Harry's face while Ron was busy verbally tearing her down. It was clear that he didn't exactly agree with the lanky redhead. The expression on his face was decidedly uncomfortable and his body language showed it as well in the way that he subtly moved away from his friend and simply focused his attention on his dinner. That, more than anything, gave her some sense of hope that it wouldn't be too long before they were back to how they'd been before Christmas.
To Hermione's great relief, classes resumed the next day and her Time Turner came out from where she'd hidden it in her school trunk. Ver the next four days she was far too busy to worry about Harry, Ron, books full of perversions, or anything else, really, but her class notes and homework.
It wasn't until the start of the next class week that she'd settled back into her routine enough to start asking questions. Late at night when she sat by herself in the Common Room working on her essays or revising for her classes, her mind started to worry over the problems most immediately facing her. It wasn't until she woke the next Saturday that she finally decided to list and attempt to confront the issues facing her head on.
First, she'd promised Harry that she'd find a way to deal with her stress, and she hadn't come across anything. She honestly couldn't say she'd even tried, having been so distracted, at first, by those two little words, then by the disturbingly enticing books that were still hidden at the bottom of her trunk after the bout of reading she'd done on New Year's Eve.
Second, there was the issue of Missus Markell somehow getting it into her head that she seemed to be the submissive type. What possible reason could the older woman have had to think that? She was an advocate for equal rights! She despised the very idea of people being subservient to others, least of all herself!
Third issue she was facing was the near constant level of arousal she seemed to be feeling. Was this a side effect of the potion Madam Pomfrey had had given her? Every night her dreams were filled with vague images from the second book she'd been reading and whispered words that sent a pleased flush through her body and set her pulse racing.
Her fourth problem was the estrangement from her friends, and that she wasn't entirely certain how to fix, yet.
The biggest issues, was that Hermione knew that this state of affairs was unsustainable. She was just as stressed as she had been the night she'd made the promise to Harry. Perhaps even more so as she'd added estranged friends and strange books causing her multiple levels of frustration to her problems.
The information in the books Missus Markell had given her wasn't going to vanish from her thoughts because she wished it to. And her embarrassing state of arousal was something outside of her conscious control no matter how vexing it was to experience it without relief or explanation. She simply couldn't continue like this forever, something had to give.
Okay, Hermione, she thought. Look at this logically. What issues are you facing that you can tackle immediately? Find something you can do something about and just… do it, already.
After a few moments to think she decided that the only thing she could do, right at that moment, was continue reading the books she'd been given. Why she'd want to, she wasn't sure. But maybe if she understood more, she could think about it less?
Shrugging, she quietly got out of bed and opened her trunk, carefully moving things out of the way until she could reach the two books she'd already looked at, one completed, the other, perhaps half way.
Once back behind her curtains she opened the book to where she'd left off, leafing through a few pages.
Look at this logically, not emotionally. What is the apparent draw to this lifestyle? Why would people put themselves through something like that? she thought, staring wide eyed at an image of a woman being whipped. An actual whip!
She shook her head and flipped through a few pages until she reached a section that was titled 'From the Mouths of Subs'.
Intrigued, she settled in to read. The section appeared to be a series of essays and letters written by subs about exactly what she'd been wondering. Why they do it. She skimmed through four of them before the fifth caught her attention.
If you were to ask most people that I work with or that knew me in my everyday life if they thought I was submissive, they'd probably laugh and say something along the lines of 'No way in Hell' or 'Have you actually met her?'
The reason for this is that, in my early forties as of the time of this writing, I have spent twenty years of my life working my way to a relatively high position in a multinational company. I won't tell you which one both for their sake, and my own. I am a Department Head at work with thirty-five employees working under me. I sit in on meetings with the C.E.O and assist in negotiating deals with client companies and with rival companies.
In my life, in my work, in my home, I am NOT submissive. I work for what I have. I earn my place.
But as you can most likely imagine, such a life is rather filled with many different sources of stress. The business world is still very much largely favored toward men. As a woman, I have to work significantly harder for the same recognition. I decided, long ago, that I could be bitter about that and become a person I likely wouldn't like if I'd met me. Or, I could find an outlet for my stress. Find a way to let go of the worries and concerns that would bottle up otherwise until I was ready to explode.
That's what my Dom does for me.
He gives me a place where I can simply 'be'. Where my only worry is pleasing Him. My only concerns are behaving as He wants me to behave. My only thoughts are to follow His direction. In the most simplistic terms, He gives me an order, I carry out that order, He praises me for following His command.
I have no worries, no concerns, and no stress when I am His plaything to use as He wishes. In the end, I trust him, my Dom, my husband, to give me that freedom of control. He let's me let go of the many, many choices and decisions that I must make every single day.
When we started this, I made one choice, and that was to not have to make any more choices when we are in a scene. The choices are His, and I am simply there to play my part.
But in the end, that's what it all comes down to. Choice. I CHOOSE to give him control over my behavior, my actions, even my pleasure and my pain. I choose to let Him decide if I have earned the right to cum. I choose to allow Him to punish me if I have earned a punishment. I trust that He will not abuse the gift that I have given Him.
Also, I know that, at any time, I can choose to end a scene and that he will immediately stop whatever we are doing and I will return to being me, and not his sub at that time. If I really need to I can end it, I simply choose not to.
The rest of the letter fell to the wayside as Hermione stared at nothing for some time, her mind whirling as thoughts and memories chased themselves in circles.
Find some way to relieve your stress, Miss Granger, or I might have to give you detention.
Yes, Sir.
Good girl.
"Son of a bitch!" she blurted out, the book falling from her hands to land on the bed and somewhere in the dorm, one of the other girls made a startled sounding noise at her exclamation and rolled over in their bed. She thought it might have been Lavender.
Quickly, she grabbed her wand and cast several silencing charms at her curtains until she was sure that no one would hear her and then scrambled for the book again. She paged back to the beginning, her eyes quickly scanning over the previously read material, but with a different perspective in mind. When she'd read it before, she'd thought of it as something wrong, something disturbing, but the dynamic described made more sense with that unnamed sub's words resonating in her mind.
Choice.
It all came down to choice.
Choice and trust, Hermione would say once she'd read her way through more of the material. By the time she caught back up to that letter she put that book aside and picked up the first one she'd read, quickly skimming through it, finishing both sometime after all of her dorm mates had likely left for breakfast.
She was far too excited to eat, however. She felt she was on the cusp of understanding something, all she needed to do was work through the problem.
"Okay," she muttered to herself. "Where exactly did this start?"
It started when Harry had called her a 'good girl' and she'd been confused about her reaction to those words.
Frowning, she cocked her head to the side, staring blankly at the curtains that covered the foot of her bed. Something about that didn't feel right. Reaching for the larger book again, she paged through it to the sub's letter and rapidly skimmed the words, her eyes stopping on a single line.
In the most simplistic terms, He gives me an order, I carry out that order, He praises me for following His command.
"Merlin, I'm an idiot!"
Without conscious thought, her right hand rose through the air until her palm struck her forehead with a loud 'SMACK' and she sat there, hand clutched to her head and her eyes as wide as they could possibly go.
Find some way to relieve your stress, Miss Granger, or I might have to give you detention.
"Harry gave me an order."
Yes, Sir.
"I carried out that order, or agreed to do so, at least."
Good girl.
"Then he praised me for following his command." She shook her head, her bushy mane bouncing wildly with the violent motion. "Dammit, I was looking at my research back home wrong from the beginning. I was only focused on the two words that caused a noticeable reaction, I didn't even consider that it might have been a series of connected exchanges."
As she'd read back over all the material, her mind had been on fire. She was so distracted with the excitement of discovery that she'd been unaffected by the images she'd seen, unlike her first time looking through. She picked up the larger volume again and idly started paging through it, ignoring the text to instead focus on the images, looking them over with a fresh eye, and a fresh understanding.
The first woman, the blond getting wax dribbled across her breasts, her facial expression showed pain, yes, but a careful study of the image showed a wet patch on the mattress between her widely spread legs.
Flipping a few pages, she found another image. This one showed a woman on her knees, her arms bound behind her back with rope. Standing in front of her shown from his bare chest down, was a man. Though the woman's body blocked most of him, it was evident that his trousers were undone, and he was holding her head tightly, with one hand fisted in her hair, obviously forcing her to…
Hermione shuddered, her cheeks darkening as the ever present arousal she'd felt for weeks, forgotten in her earlier fervor, reared its head again and for a moment, her mind conjured an image of herself in that woman's position, letting that man use her mouth.
Unbidden, a small moan slipped past her lips before she clamped them shut and turned the page.
Page after page, she tried to imagine herself in the place of the women depicted and before she knew it she was more turned on than ever before. She could feel the damp patch in her knickers growing the longer she sat there.
"Merlin, I can't think like this," she moaned and tossed the book aside. In seconds her damp knickers and her shirt joined the book and she was lying back completely naked on top of her blankets.
Her left hand found her right breast, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger and her muscles jerked as a bolt of pleasure ran through her body and seemingly straight to her clit as a loud moan escaped her.
Her right hand slid between her legs and she marveled for a moment at just how wet she was, her fingers gliding easily through her folds and across that aching bundle of nerves that sent arcs of electricity through every inch of her. Her mind replayed image after image with herself replacing the women in each scene. Bound tightly, crawling along the floor, bent over a black clad males lap as one cupped hand descended toward her bare, reddened arse.
She didn't know how long she spent, but she knew it couldn't have been very long at all before she felt the familiar tightening sensation in her stomach. Incoherent moans poured from her mouth, her head thrown back as her fingers circled her clit over and over. Her body trembled, muscles coiling tightly until she felt like a rubber band, stretched to the breaking point.
Just a little bit more was all she needed and she suddenly reached lower and plunged one finger deep into her aching pussy. The sudden invasion of that single digit, coupled with her thumb mashed against her clit sent her over the edge and her hand tightened painfully on her breast as a certain raven haired wizard's name erupted from her mouth in a barely coherent scream as she came completely undone, moaning her way through the single most explosive orgasm of her life.
#####
Coming out of her thoughts over the past three weeks, she realized that she was feeling cold and she wormed her way under her blankets, still completely naked, but completely uncaring. With her immediate needs taken care of, she realized she had a new problem.
She might have found a way to deal with her stress, as ordered. A small grin turned up her lips when she considered that this probably had been one of the furthest things from his thoughts when Harry'd given her that particular command. He was just trying to help her.
Anyway, she might have a way to deal with her stress. But she didn't know, for sure. After how she'd just reacted, and with her new view on the subject, she could admit that, perhaps, Missus Markell may have pegged her correctly. She just might have a submissive streak in her.
There was, however, really only one way she could test this theory, and there was only one person in the world she could possibly look in the eye and ask them to help. It was all his fault, so he should be the one to help her with this, and besides, if there was anyone she could trust not to abuse this situation, it was Harry Potter.
