(Rated R for sexual content and themes,
which will become apparent very, very soon.)
Hermione felt a chill. The room had also become darker as she'd sat on the bed, contemplating the parcels from Madam Malkin's. Perhaps a fire was in order. She rose, catching the satin garment before it slid off her lap and onto the floor. Laying it aside, she took out her wand and stood before the fireplace.
"Incendio," she murmured.
A fire sprang to life. She laid her wand down on a small table nearby and then rubbed her hands together to warm them, lost in thought for some time.
"Oh, this is silly," Hermione said to the fire crackling merrily. There was no one else to hear her, after all. In spite of this, she checked that the door was locked, then crossed to the open window and tugged at the already closed curtains.
Now or never, she sighed to herself. Not that it was a chore. She definitely felt something thrilling -- an odd chill -- when she held the white satin corset up to her chest and stood in front of the mirror. OK. It seemed to be the right size, so why not give it a try?
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, taking twice as long as normal to undo them. But, Hermione wasn't the sort of person to back down once she'd decided to do something.
She ducked out of sight of the full length mirror on the wardrobe door once she had shed the Muggle clothing that had been so repellant to Madam Malkin. After taking a deep breath, she stepped into the tiny satin garment and pulled it up past her knees and thighs, then tugged it over her hips.
The corset fit like a glove. Actually, it was tight, very tight, once the satin ribbon had laced and tied itself. Hermione had an inkling then that this might be an enchanted garment. She hoped she could get out of it without causing damage, else she'd have to explain in person when she returned it. The thought of that made her blush.
She giggled when she finally had the nerve to look at herself in the mirror. Nervously, she ran her hand down the shiny fabric, so smooth and... she didn't have words for the feeling.
"My goodness! That's quite a get-up!"
Hermione jumped and looked around as the mirror continued, "Sure it's big enough for you dearie?"
Try as she might, she could not pull the top up enough so that it entirely covered her (and this made her blush, too) breasts. The darker aureoles peeked out of the fringed ruffle like a shy sunrise and the lace rubbed against her nipples. Any moment, they might spring out and, even all alone in her room, that was an uncomfortably weird feeling.
"Really, something a tad larger would be nice, too, wouldn't it?"
She closed the wardrobe door, retreating (fleeing was more like it) from the mirror, and sat in the big stuffed armchair next to the fireplace, still tugging on the top of the corset. The bottom of the garment was tight, too, she noticed as she settled into the chair. The small strip of satin in the back chafed her buttocks and the silky fabric in the front pushed on her, making for an odd throbbing sensation.
She was uncomfortable in about five places at once and didn't quite know how to remedy any of it.
What would Lavender say if she could see this? Hermione sat back, eyes closed, and wondered. The top of this thing, though, it felt as if... She squirmed and her breasts tried to escape once more, so she pushed them back inside... and thought of other fingers, of Thomas' fingers moving down Lavender's neck. From there, it was only... When they were alone, those two, did he touch her like this?
Her breast had completely worked free of the corset and the lace tickled the back of her hand as she brushed her fingers over her nipple and thought about the boy's long fingers, reaching down and--
Flash! -- her eyes flew open in surprise and -- Flash! -- she was blinded by brilliant white light. Stunned, she could only gape as her vision returned and showed her a truly terrifying sight:
Rita Skeeter stood not three feet away, holding her little camera and grinning as Crookshanks might, upon swallowing a small rodent he'd been toying with for hours.
Hermione opened her mouth, but nothing more than the beginnings of sentences came out. "Wha-- How'd y-- Why--"
"Cat got you tongue, Miss Granger?"
The way that woman said her name made Hermione shiver. But, she didn't feel cold, far from it. A hot blush, painful in its intensity, began in her chest and crawled up her neck like a dragon roused from sleep. For a moment, she could do nothing but let it wash over her, then she sat up in the chair, gripping the arms and pushing herself back against the cushions.
"What gives you the-- How did you get in?"
"Get in? Oh, the usual way," Rita Skeeter said and opened the large crocodile skin handbag on her arm, dropping the camera inside. She wore a long black cloak trimmed with a dark fur collar. In firelight, the jewel-encrusted glasses glinted but the eyes behind them were hidden in shadow, making her face -- from penciled eyebrows to heavy, angular jaw -- look not quite right. Mixed with the expected hardness, there was excitement in the way her jaw twitched as she spoke.
"Oh, I'm not here to write a story, no. I came for a more private chat, a bit of girl-talk, you might say."
A very bad dream. A nightmare. I've dozed off next to the fire, Hermione thought, closing her eyes momentarily. This can't be real...
"That's quite fetching on you," remarked Rita Skeeter. "I'm rather pleased with my selection. Aren't you?"
Hermione's eyes flew open; the nightmare theory seemed less likely by the minute. The woman stood over her, now less than two feet away, clutching a photograph in her thick fingers. The two-inch scarlet fingernails obscured most of it, but not the shock on the face of the tiny, motionless girl in the picture.
"You planned this! You--you set me up," Hermione spluttered.
"I wouldn't be where I am today, if I missed opportunities." Rita Skeeter flashed a very satisfied grin. "I had forgotten how meddlesome you are, Miss Granger, until I heard your sanctimonious preaching this afternoon to that girl -- your classmate, I suppose. I've been very busy over the past year. Yes, I have adhered to the terms you forced on me, but all that is over now. I start on a speaking tour to promote my autobiography next week. The book should do very well--"
"It's full of lies and half-truths," Hermione interrupted, unable to contain herself. "I did manage to force myself to look at it. How can you--"
"I write what people want -- no, expect -- to hear. Perhaps a little license is taken occasionally."
"License!" Hermione sat bolt upright in the chair, meeting Rita Skeeter's cold stare without flinching. "You don't even mention how you collect your muck, about your-- that you're an Animagus."
"No, I'm saving that for Volume Two," she replied, her jaw clenching in obvious irritation. "You see, I did register with the Ministry recently--" She grimaced. "--in case someone such as yourself decided to become annoying and tiresome about that."
"But, you've been an Animagus for years! It's obvious."
"Your word against mine, Miss Granger. Oh, you could make some trouble, I won't deny it. You're a Prefect, aren't you? Such a model student. Well, perhaps you wouldn't want all of Hogwarts to know about your preferences in, um, undergarments. Other questions might be raised...."
"Blackmail!"
"Call it what you like," Rita Skeeter chuckled and grotesque shadows, products of the flickering firelight, played across her face and her massive tower of blond curls. "But, I won't have you interfering, not with this book coming out. I'm also in some rather delicate negotiations at the moment for a contract to ghostwrite the autobiography of a very high-up official in the Ministry. I'd prefer it if we could come to an understanding, you and I."
She pushed the photograph closer to Hermione, then pulled back as the girl made a reflexive grab for it.
"Tut-tut, Miss Granger," she smirked, holding the photograph high as Hermione leapt out of the chair.
She tried to snatch it a second time from Rita Skeeter's scarlet talons and faltered, suddenly feeling vulnerable: trapped in the wickedly tight corset even as it threatened to expose her in a very uncomfortable and embarrassing way. She stumbled and fell back against a little table next to the chair, sending whatever lay atop it to the floor. Amidst the sound of breaking glass -- some knick-knack for which she'd have to pay later -- she heard her wand clatter and roll on the hearthstone.
Hermione scrambled to reach the wand, while keeping one eye on Rita Skeeter who was rummaging in the large crocodile skin bag that dangled from the crook of her arm. It might have been comical, like a lady holding up the queue at the bus by interminably searching for change, except for the malicious frown on Rita Skeeter's face, amplified by the uncertain firelight. She took all this in as she dived along the rough hearthstone. Her fingers closed around her wand just as she heard the woman mutter something to herself.
"What? Oh, this will do."
As Hermione scrambled to her feet and raised her wand to start a stunning spell, she heard a sharp crack. She tensed, expecting a curse. A thin, black ribbon shot toward her, covering the distance between the two of them in an eyeblink.
"Finite Incantatem," Hermione managed to gasp, realizing too late that this wasn't a curse at all, but a braided leather rope that wrapped itself tightly around her wrist, accompanied by fiery pain lancing up her arm.
She dropped the wand, her hand writhing in helpless agony, and felt a sharp tug. Then, a violent jerk forced her to her knees. As she struggled, the braided leather slithered up her arm, as if it were alive, as if it had been a real snake. She looked up to see Rita Skeeter holding the end of the leather strip by a black handle, highly polished and curiously shaped. The woman's face was suffused with a peculiar serenity that she didn't at first comprehend.
"This--this whip," Hermione spat, for she recognized it now for what it was, "has an illegal enchantment on it. And you--" She struggled with her free hand to loosen the leather's magical grip on her arm.
"I think it's much improved," laughed Rita Skeeter as she hauled the girl roughly to her feet, pulling her closer. "Muggles are extremely fond of this sort of toy, but so crude about using it."
As Hermione continued to claw at the black braid, Rita Skeeter went on, "Perhaps you haven't seen my first book -- written under a pseudonym, it's true --The Wizard's Exquisitely Complete Guide to Bondage and Discipline. No? It was a big hit last Christmas season and the profits helped keep the wolves away from the door."
Hermione ceased struggling. Her heart pounded and her breath came in short, ragged gulps. She had only the vaguest notion of what Rita Skeeter was saying; the words themselves were dangerous and made her heart race even faster. She forced herself to meet the woman's eyes, although the look fixed there caused a violent quake inside her, totally unrelated to the pain from the whip that was lashed around her arm.
"Don't know what I'm talking about, Hermione?" she whispered, digging the nails of one hand into the girl's shoulder. "You might enjoy it, mmmm? Yes, perhaps you need a lesson..."
"What?" Hermione shook her head in an attempt to rouse herself from this odd torpor that seemed to engulf her (This was a nightmare, after all), brought on by a mixture of strange sensations and even stranger words.
"I don't know what you're--"
"Don't you? Many wizards find my lessons very stimulating and... enjoyable. Why, Cornelius Fudge is one of my biggest, um, fans, if you see what I mean."
Hermione did and felt sick to her stomach. At least, she thought that throbbing feeling was nausea. She swallowed hard and looked away. Why wouldn't her head clear? (No dream could be this bizarre.)
Once again, the dream theory fell apart as Rita Skeeter raked long fingernails, gleaming scarlet in the firelight, across one of her breasts (Please, please let this be a dream) and expertly pinched her nipple. It proved exquisitely painful.
~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Perhaps Hermione should have squashed Rita at the end of GoF and saved herself a lot of bother. Of course, that would have removed the premise for this little tale... which will reach its conclusion in the next part.
Stay tuned.
~CLS