For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 54: Revising and Devising
Hermione frowned down at the scrawl of her professor's handwriting in her journal, a squirming sensation of wrong-doing crawling in her belly. Feeling slightly sick, she read his comments.
Hermione,
It astounds me that I received report of your stupid, thoughtless pleasure excursion to Diagon Alley from a source other than your report in this journal. I was under the impression that you were committed to partnership in this endeavour—that it was your intention to be a source of comfort and satisfaction to me, rather than one of frustration, annoyance, and irritation. I see that I was mistaken. By what stretch of so-called logic could you excuse a detour to Diagon Alley as safeguarding yourself? Will it be necessary for me to require you to never step out the door without an escort? Respond to me instantly with an explanation of this inexcusable lapse in judgment. The clock is ticking.
SS
Hermione put the journal away from her angrily. It was so unfair! He had told her to look after Taffy, hadn't he? And he had never told her not to go to Diagon Alley! How was she supposed to read his mind?
Still, he was obviously concerned for her. Didn't he frequently mask his caring with some expression of aggravation? She opened her bottle of ink and took up her quill, frowning. Why did it feel as if she spent half her time placating him?
She wrote a complete report of her day, including her visit with her parents, their acquiescence to her plans to 'stay with friends' while revising for her NEWTs, and the meeting with Simon in Diagon Alley. She wrote clearly and concisely with no emotion evident in her account. When she had finished writing, she set the journal aside, leaving it open to watch for her Master's reply, and took up a book to read.
It was a terrible struggle to concentrate on Ancient Runes when she was distressed about Severus, so she was relieved when his spiky writing began to appear on the page of her journal.
little one,
Your account was very thorough, and I am pleased to say that it is consistent with the report I received from a former classmate of yours. No, I did not hear from Hadrian; it would not occur to him that you would not immediately apprise me of the happenings in Diagon Alley. I heard of the encounter from your 'saviour', however unlikely a one he might be. You may, in future encounters, feel confident that he means you and your friends no harm, though the same cannot be said for his associates. It is, moreover, imperative that you continue to publicly demonstrate your usual disdain for and distrust of him, so that his usefulness may continue.
As for your desire to be of use to t, that is a laudable aim. I have no fault to find with that desire. My concern is with your inadvisable impulse to put yourself in the way of danger. Think before you act! This is no game, and there are no second chances in war. Remain within the walls of Roissy House, and if you must leave the house, carefully consider every possible consequence of your decision to leave its sanctuary and be prepared for any eventuality.
Although I acquit you of defiance, I cannot allow the incident to pass unpunished. The purpose of your punishment is to bring home to you how very serious your error in judgment was and how dangerous it would be for you to repeat such behaviour. Therefore, you will not be allowed to climax for the next three days. Each night when you go to bed, you will follow these directions:
(1) Strip naked (2) Remove your anal plugs from the box on the top shelf of the wardrobe (3) Take the smallest plug and lubricate it well (4) Kneel in the middle of the bed and lubricate your arsehole, pushing gently inside with your fingertip and spreading a generous amount of lubricant (5) Insert the plug into your arse (6) Remain on your knees and stimulate your nipples for five full minutes, pinching, twisting, and pulling until your cunt is wet (7) Put your fingers on your clit and rub it until you are on the cusp of orgasm (8) Take your hand away from your cunt and remain still until the urge to climax has passed (9) Repeat steps 6 through 8 until one hour has passed (10) Remove the plug, take it to the bathroom sink, and wash it thoroughly before putting it away (11) Record the entire process in your journal, including the number of times you masturbated to the edge of orgasm without coming.
On the fourth night, you will receive new instructions. I have full confidence that you will obey me in this, as you have done in all things, my pet. If you like, when you are rubbing your hot little clit, you may imagine how rigid my cock will grow as I read your report, and how hard I will come for you when I wank to images of you with my plug in your arse.
Your Master,
SS
Hermione read his answer with wildly fluctuating emotions. She was pleased at his use of 'little one', happy that he responded positively to her account of the day, intrigued at the insinuation that she was to trust Malfoy, and simultaneously repelled and aroused at his instructions for her punishment.
She picked up her quill, wrote a quick reply, promising obedience, and went into the bathroom to wash her hands and face before dressing for dinner.
She was seated next to Kell at the table, and over their soup, as the others discussed other things, Hermione quietly asked about the process for Claudius to find a Master for Kell.
'He actually sends out letters to Doms he knows, who are either without submissives, or who are members of a community other than ours, where there might be single Doms,' Kell said, her eyes darting to Reg's empty chair before coming to rest on her untouched soup.
'Do you have someone in mind?' Hermione asked her curiously. 'Will he let you pick someone?'
Kell took up her spoon and dipped it into the rich broth her bowl. 'I will have a say in choosing,' she answered. 'And if I have met someone or know someone I think is a likely candidate, I can ask to have that person contacted.'
Hermione considered this. 'Did you put in any requests?'
Kell turned to look at Hermione, her expression strangely flat. 'No,' Kell said. 'I haven't met anyone in particular whom I fancy.'
Hermione felt a stab of something dangerously close to pity. 'You will,' she said with forced conviction. 'You'll meet someone amazing.'
Kell's lips twitched into a strained smile. 'Yeah,' she said, taking a sip of soup. 'Yeah, I will.'
After dinner, Hermione excused herself and spent two hours with the Ancient Runes book. Doggedly, she fought through translating two spells. The first was a simple charm to purify water; the second was a rather more complex Healing Charm. Though she had no dirty water to cleanse, she went into the bathroom and cast a strong Lumos. The very light break-out of acne on her forehead, a common precursor to her period, greeted her from the mirror. She frowned and raised her wand, duplicating the wand movements described in the book and speaking the incantation.
A sensation, first cold, then hot, touched her skin, and the unsightly pimples faded to near invisibility.
'Not bad,' she muttered, tracing her fingers over her forehead. 'I'll have to remember that one.'
Satisfied that her translation had been correct, she returned to her room and put away the book, a flutter of excitement in her tummy as she thought about what she would do next. It wasn't nearly as thrilling as being with him, but doing something at his command was always arousing, even if it was something very simple.
Kneeling on their bed with the lubricated plug in her hand, she stared at it, thinking it was too big to fit. Still, she knew that thinking about it too long would be a mistake, so she bent forward, bracing herself on one hand, and reached behind her to insert the plug. Immediately she felt the resistance of the muscles, the sensation that what she was attempting was unnatural. She took a deep breath and continued to push. The plastic device was in her body now, even if only minimally, and the sphincter muscles were burning. She paused, breathing deeply, imagining how pleased her Master would be at this obedience—she had to think of him, because if she thought about herself, she would never complete this task. After a while, she began pushing again, painfully aware of the widening of the plug, stretching her sphincter muscles ever wider—oh, surely this wasn't really considered to be a pleasurable experience! It felt wrong; she had a strong urge to push, as if she were having a bowel movement, to expel the foreign object. Again, she stopped, taking deep, slow breaths, thinking how much easier this would be if he were here, inserting the plug, speaking to her constantly in his silky baritone, the very sound of his velvety voice compelling her to obedience with the promise of pleasure to come.
Thinking of him as if he were here, watching her, brought a thrum of want to her quim, and she bravely pushed the plug farther in, breathing in deeply. She stretched and stretched and suddenly, she felt the widest bit of the plug move past the ring of muscles, and the rest of the plug was in, the flange resting against the soft cheeks of her bottom. Hermione sucked in a great breath, relieved to have persevered and accomplished her goal. She remained as she was, bottom in the air, shoulders on the counterpane, until she thought she might be able to rise again to her knees. She worried that the plug would fall out, but she was relieved to note that it did not. She noticed that her knees were protesting the prolonged contact with the slightly rough weave of the bedspread, and she wished she had thought to kneel on the sheets, instead. Still, she had accomplished only a part of her assignment; there was more torment to come.
She glanced at the clock, seeing that it was ten. She had to masturbate for an hour without coming. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself now; the only way out of this situation was to follow instructions and get it done. She had accepted the beautiful black collar about her throat, knowing that she would be required to do things she did not like. The only question for her to answer was whether or not she trusted him. If she trusted him, then she knew that there was something in this exercise of benefit to her, whether she could see it now or not.
Kneeling up, feeling an unnatural fullness in her rectum, she began to stimulate her nipples. She squeezed her breasts, then grasped her nipples, pulling on them as he would do, pinching and twisting. The nipple stimulation seemed somehow to draw her attention more to her filled bum, spreading a confusing sensation from her breasts to her arsehole … and oh yes, her cunt felt it, as well. After less than two minutes of plucking at her nipples, she desperately wanted to touch her clit, for it ached and burned. She pinched her nipples, holding them firmly between her fingertips, imagining her Master fastening her nipple clips to them, and she laughed softly. When he had first clamped her, she had thought it was terrible, and now, she wanted her clamps, for she knew they would somehow compound the sensations she was experiencing now, making her hotter and wetter and more in need of her Master's cock.
Thinking of him, of his erect shaft, brought a moan from her throat, and she was pleased to see her five minutes of nipple rubbing were up, and she could finger her clitoris. She licked her fingers, knowing she didn't need to, that she was already slick, but having her fingers in her mouth made her think of having his ridged penis there, of swirling her tongue over it, tasting his salty arousal, and she whimpered, even as the tips of her fingers touched her aching centre, sending her careening towards orgasm.
Horrified, she took her hand away, clamping her thighs together, hoping to fend off the threatened climax. She breathed raggedly, forcing herself to relax, to calm, and she bit her lip in frustration, her hands fisted on her thighs. That had been a close call. Sweet Nimüe but she wanted to come! She had completely forgotten about the foreign object in her arse, but she thought about it now, feeling its anomalous presence in her body, keenly aware of its wrongness.
After another minute or two, she touched herself again, and almost immediately her body hummed with arousal. She dipped her fingers into the pool of liquid at her opening and spread it up, three fingers lightly applying pressure to her clitoris as her other hand trailed up her ribcage to her breast, lightly pinching. She rubbed a circular motion against her slick nub, feeling the way the fullness in her bum accentuated her pleasure. Her hand trailed to the other breast, then quickly from erect nipple to erect nipple, back and forth, causing her to breathe faster and faster. One more good rub of her clitoris would bring her off so nicely, intensely—but she wasn't to do it, was not allowed to come—and with a terrific exercise of will, she moved her hands again to the tops of her thighs and held off, teeth gritted.
Dear Merlin this was difficult! She opened her eyes and looked at the clock, seeing that only a quarter-hour had passed—she had another forty-five minutes to persevere through this exercise before she would be finished!
Torn between dissatisfaction and desire, she swallowed and started again, knowing fingers coaxing her slowly along the road to orgasm, her mind cognizant of what her clitoris could not imagine—that she would refuse herself satisfaction over and over again, as a show of obedience to her absent Master, her tightly stretched nerve endings lured repeatedly to the edge, only to be left in their jangling state for three long days.
Fuck a duck.
On the morning of the fourth day, Hermione was happy to wake up to find her professor's spiky scrawl on the first empty page of her journal.
little one,
I am very pleased by your completion of your assignment, including detailed written accounts. I will be supplying you with further instructions for today's well-earned orgasm, so remain close to your room and check this journal frequently.
You have done well and will be rewarded.
No, there are no details with which I can provide you regarding my current activities, though you may rest assured that I read each of the entries detailing your adventures in private, with predictable results.
Your Master,
SS
Hermione hugged the journal to her chest with a self-satisfied smirk worthy of even her Master. The notion of his arousal in response to her writing—and the accompanying predictable results—filled her with glee.
She put aside the journal and went to bathe, noting how her body reacted to the touch of her hands upon her own flesh. She was like a pistol primed to shoot, simply waiting for her Master's finger upon her trigger, even if his finger would be represented by her own, today.
After breakfast, she hurried to her room to check her journal, but he had not yet written to her. Disappointed, she called Pitty to request a lunch tray in her room, giving as her excuse her revising, and she settled down to continue puzzling her way through the last spell in the Ancient Runes text. She had been working on it all of the two previous days, but had thus far been unable to translate the runic script into understandable words.
She kept her journal open on the table which served as her makeshift desk, glancing at it frequently even as she worked on her translation. At mid-day, Pitty brought chicken pie, and Hermione ate it almost absently, with one eye on her journal and her mind taken up with the mystery of the ancient text.
But at four o'clock, she pushed away from the table, a piece of parchment covered with her handwriting clutched in her fingers. She pulled her wand and swished and flicked as she read what she had written, murmuring strange, unintelligible words as she went. She repeated the exercise four times, then stood, ready to give it a try. The spell which had taken so long to translate was supposed to rejuvenate a dead organism. Hermione was repelled by the idea of trying to reanimate a dead animal, but she had no problem with trying the spell on the sadly wilted houseplant on the table by the door. Pitty had placed it there after Professor Snape had departed, perhaps hoping to cheer Hermione, but Hermione had been unable to take any pleasure from it, to the point that she had failed to water it. Now the philodendron was wilted and limp, and in her opinion, the perfect subject for her experiment.
With the spell firmly fixed in her mind, Hermione traced the wand motions through the air, focussing on the houseplant with intent, the unfamiliar words of the incantation ringing through the silent room. With the final slash of her wand, red light shot towards the browning philodendron, and before the magic light had faded from her eyes, the plant was lush and green, the picture of houseplant health.
'How odd!' she murmured, stepping forward to rub a shining green leaf between her finger and thumb. 'Well, at least I know I translated it properly.'
Satisfied, she turned to tidy her work table, noting that the last page of the journal remained stubbornly blank. She had just recapped her ink bottle when a commotion outside her window drew her attention, and she hurried to open up to the tiny owl fluttering there.
'Pigwidgeon!' she cried, allowing the creature into her room.
Pigwidgeon hooted in a friendly manner, looking quite proud to have successfully found her. Hermione carried him to the table, where the remains of her roast beef sandwich lay upon a plate, and she gave the meat to the bird as she sat down to read the note, scrawled in Harry's untidy hand.
Hermione,
We've got something for you, and we need for you to have it as soon as possible. I hope your studies have been successful, because we need something translated as soon as possible. We can't come to you, but we're waiting for you in a secure location. Remember where we went the summer before fourth year—the place where we slept on that trip? You'll find us there. Please come as quickly as possible.
Love,
H & R
Hermione whirled away before the love from her two best friends had penetrated her brain. She began pulling on her sturdy boots, her cloak, and her thick gloves. She knew precisely where Harry and Ron were. They were waiting for her in the woods near where the Quidditch World Cup had been held that summer, where the Death Eaters had shown themselves en masse for the first time since the night Harry's parents had died.
Hermione wrote a quick note in case someone came looking for her before she was able to return, and she left it prominently displayed in the middle of her work table. Checking to make sure her wand was in her pocket, she turned on the spot and Disapparated.
She did not see the spiky script of her Master as it began to materialise in her journal.
She arrived in the swiftly darkening wood with her wand in her hand, ready to defend herself. No one was there, she was quick to note, and she began to move through the murk beneath the trees, her ears straining for any sound.
'Hermione!'
Harry and Ron appeared as if from nowhere, tucking the Invisibility Cloak out of sight as they advanced on her. They exchanged quick hugs, and she was comforted by their familiar scents. Their faces were thin, they both needed a shave and a good bath, but their grins were as they had ever been, and she was filled with a rush of affection for them.
'I've been so worried,' she told them.
'We hated to have to leave you,' Harry assured her. 'We'd have come looking for you if Snape hadn't promised he had you hidden somewhere safe.'
Ron shook his head. 'Who would've ever thought the git would be useful? But he's helped quite a bit, actually.' He sounded almost regretful.
'Where are you staying, Hermione?' Harry asked, his dear face open and affectionate, his green eyes without guile.
'It's Secret-Kept,' she told him. 'I'm unable to tell you.'
He nodded gravely. 'That's good—safer for you. Are they Order people?'
Hermione shook her head. 'It's no one you know, but they're very kind to me. I just wish you were somewhere as nice.' She took his hand and squeezed it, distressed.
'We're doing all right,' he assured her. 'We manage.'
Ron didn't speak in support or refutation of this statement; his eyes moved constantly about the clearing where they stood, alert for the presence of others. Harry seemed to take note of this and settled down to business.
'We found the book Snape told us to look for,' he said, producing a small book from his cloak pocket.
Hermione reached for it, feeling the power of the object before her fingers touched it. The leather binding was supple in her hands, but when she opened to a page in the middle of the book, she found the writing to be faded and difficult to discern, though she recognised the pattern of the Elder Futhark runic characters. 'It's going to be hard to read it,' she said, 'but I'll give it everything I've got.' She slipped the book into her own pocket. 'What am I looking for, exactly?'
Ron answered her. 'It's a counter-spell for the one that Wormtail used to revive Voldemort,' he said grimly, and Hermione looked at him with admiration. She had never heard Ron pronounce the Dark Lord's name so fearlessly before. He noticed her look, and he shrugged. 'Living on the run kind of puts things in perspective,' he said grimly.
Impulsively, Hermione reached out her arms to her best friends, pride of their handling of the situation and fear for their futures flooding her simultaneously. The boys stepped into the group hug, and they held one another for a long moment, their arms about one another and their heads together, the only sound their breathing … Until a harsh voice broke the twilit silence.
'How touching,' Severus Snape snarled, and Hermione and the boys broke guiltily apart, as if they had been caught in wrong-doing, each of them looking warily into the enraged face of their erstwhile Potions master.
