For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 45: The Return of Professor Snape
When the door closed behind her, Hermione felt herself sagging just a bit in relief. Her back pressed to the door, she lifted her fingers to her collar and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The looks on their faces! It had been such a high, after enduring all the condescending assurances that everyone in residence knew her Master better than she did, to have no less a personage than Master Maximus himself inform them all that Hermione was the collared submissive of Severus Snape.
Without opening her eyes, her fingers stole into her pocket, and she withdrew the sealed letter which had been wrapped up with her box of treasures. She passed the parchment beneath her nose, but she could detect no scent of him on the paper. Moving away from the door, she sat down on an armchair before the fire and broke the seal on the letter, her hands trembling.
little one,
I hope this missive finds you well. If the thing was done as planned, Rafe delivered your collar to you in the presence of the denizens of Roissy House, and your status is now clear to all. I am very pleased that you accepted the arrangements I made on your behalf in the event of our unplanned separation. You are, by now, aware of the nature of my situation. I will continue on as I am until all is finished. If something should prevent my return to you, first Rafe, then Hadrian, have been entrusted with seeing after you. You may, of course, choose to return to your parents' home. Continuation in the lifestyle does not require residence at Roissy House, but extreme discretion is necessary to safeguard its inhabitants. For now, until the matter at hand has been resolved, it is my wish that you remain where you are, for you will be safe there.
In the natural order of things, I would have instructed you most carefully in the protocol of visiting at Roissy House before taking you there. Because our plans were disrupted, you have been ill-prepared for your sojourn. It will please me greatly if you will seek out instruction from t or Elinore to discover how you are to go on amongst the people you will meet on party weekends. I fully expect you to acquit yourself well and to make me proud of you.
In general, you are to be unfailingly respectful of the Dominants whom you will encounter at Roissy House. If you are introduced, you may make eye contact and a small curtsy. If you are not introduced or if the Dominant does not speak to you first, then do not initiate conversation. Your collar should protect you from the unwanted attentions of other men. If someone is so rude as to contravene that rule, seek out the company of Hadrian. He will soon set all to rights.
Above all, be assured that you have my full confidence. I am completely convinced that you will conduct yourself at every turn in such a way as to make me proud to be your Master. When I come for you, whether for a visit or to carry you away for good, I am sure I will hear nothing but good of you from my friends. Until that time, you are permitted to comfort yourself with pleasure as you will. You may avail yourself of your toys, your hands, the water spray—any implement with which you may bring yourself to orgasm is permissible for you to use. You must continue to apprise me of each occurrence, as per your previous instructions, as well as continuing to record your sleep, your food, and your revision. It would not be at all remiss for you to write an account of each day you spend at Roissy House. If I have the chance, I will write to you via your journal. If I do not, be assured that I am reading what you write with thorough attention.
If the opportunity arises, I will visit you. Until then, be a good girl.
Your Master,
SS
P.S. It might not be remiss to spend extra time revising in Ancient Runes.
Hermione sat staring at the parchment, hearing in her mind his voice speaking the words he had written. Even seeing his handwriting was an event for her, bringing back the ache she frequently experienced, a heat between her thighs which translated as well to a longing in her heart that could not be quenched. Still, she had his permission now to relieve herself, and she set the letter aside, standing and locking her door before disrobing and resuming her place before the fire.
Lightly, she ran her hands over her breasts, remembering his pleasure in their shape and softness. Stroking her nipples to peaks, she then utilised pressure on each side, imagining his arousal when he applied her clamps—it never failed to make him hard when she endured pain for him. The twin aches in her breasts stoked the fire below, increasing the slick want in her quim. Still, she held off, maintaining the pressure on her nipples, determined to endure it for him as if he were watching her. The idea that he might be doing so coaxed an audible moan from her throat, the memory of his cock, swollen and needy, liquefying her very core—sweet Merlin, how she needed him! At last, she stroked her hands down her torso to her labia, parting the lips with the fingers of her left hand, while the fingers of her right slid against her clitoris. She arched into her own touch, wanting to prolong the pleasure—but it had been a few days, and her need was great. With no restriction to prevent her from doing so, she rubbed her clitoris in a circle until she cried out, collapsing limply on the cushions.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she pressed her face to the arm of the chair, wondering when another hand than her own would touch her again. She reminded herself that she was in his own room—he might very well have sat in this chair before—and she was oddly comforted.
She stood and went to the wardrobe, taking down a warm nightdress, and retrieving her journal and the bit of her blanket from the box, she climbed into the bed and took out her quill. Lovingly, she riffled through the pages until she reached the ones upon which she had not written. Dipping her quill in the ink stand, she began to write.
The next morning, she found her way down to breakfast on her own. It was, perhaps, not surprising that t and her husband did not appear for the meal. Kell was present, but spent the meal sitting silently at Master Claudius' feet. She kept her face averted, seeming quite miserable, and Hermione's heart went out to her. Kell was almost certainly in her Dominant's black books.
Elinore went out of her way to make Hermione feel welcome, chatting with her about commonplace things over their teacups. After breakfast, Hermione retired to her room and pulled out her schoolbooks. Her whole life might be in turmoil, but that was no excuse to skive off revising.
She established what was to become her regular schedule for the next several days: breakfast, revision, lunch, revision, dinner, socialising, and alone time in her room, including frequent masturbation and explicit descriptions of same in her green journal. By Wednesday, she was so firmly entrenched in her routine that she was taken aback when Pitty visited her that afternoon, interrupting the translation of a particularly thorny Ancient Rune text, to deliver a note from t.
Hermione,
I know you'll forgive our absence … and silence. We've had quite a bit of catching up to do, but we feel quite up to company today, and we'd like for you to be our first guest. Please come for tea at three o'clock. We'll be completely informal. Pitty will escort you up. See you then!
~~t
Hermione set the note aside, smirking. Hopefully, one day in the not-too-distant future, she and her Master would be holed up in her room for a few days, catching up. For now, it would be nice to see t again—and to become better acquainted with Master Maximus, Severus Snape's best mate.
Pitty left her outside a door on the second floor, and another house-elf—Grate, according to the name embroidered on his tea towel—admitted her to the elegant suite of rooms. She passed through a small foyer into a sitting room, where Rafe Lestrange, also known as Master Maximus, lazed upon a sofa with his adoring wife and submissive, t, seated upon a cushion at his feet. He looked significantly better: his colour had improved, his cheeks had filled out some, and he looked well-fed and rested. Taffy looked radiant, her cheeks flushed with colour, her eyes brilliant. Hermione reflected that the one-time 'shop girl' looked prettier now than she had ever done when Hermione had been jealous of her. On the coffee table before Taffy was a well supplied tea tray. Rafe gave Hermione an engaging grin and waved her into an armchair across from him.
'Welcome,' he said.
Hermione sat, smiling at her hosts. 'Thank you,' she said, feeling slightly awkward. She'd been with Harry and Ginny and Ron and Lavender when they were snogging in the common room, but she'd never been in company with two people who had so obviously scarcely risen from their shared bed to receive her. She found herself amused and slightly aroused. How she missed her professor!
'Are you settling in well at Roissy House?' Rafe inquired, lacing his fingers through his wife's abundant, silky hair and exerting slight pressure to bring her cheek to rest upon his knee. Then he began to stroke t's hair as absently and pleasurefully as one might the pelt of a pet cat.
'Yes, I am,' Hermione admitted. 'One falls into a routine, after a bit.'
Taffy nodded, smiling, submitting to her Master's caresses with evident enjoyment.
'Are you getting on with your revision for your NEWTs?' Rafe inquired.
Hermione glanced at him, surprised. 'I am, yes,' she admitted.
Rafe laughed. 'Yes, he told me you're a swot,' he said teasingly, and Hermione felt her face flush. 'He said he had encouraged you to pay particular attention to Ancient Runes,' he added, musing.
Hermione sat forward a bit. 'Yes, he did,' she said. 'Do you, sir, happen to know why?'
Rafe's dark brows knitted, but he gave a sharp shake of his head. 'I don't know specifically,' he said. 'I am not as deep in His Lordship's counsels as is your Master.' His hand briefly cupped Taffy's cheek, then slid down to stroke her throat. 'I can't say that I would want his place, to be honest.'
Hermione nodded at this comment but did not speak. She didn't know what to say. She could only assume that Severus Snape was a more essential member of Voldemort's team than was Rafe Lestrange. All things considered, she would probably prefer for her Master to be less involved—but it was not her choice to make.
'No, I can certainly understand that,' she said at last.
Rafe smiled again, a genuine lightening of his features. 'So, Hermione, what do you think, so far, of D/s?'
She grinned. 'It takes my breath away,' she said honestly. 'Well, he takes my breath away, and he knows exactly what I need, usually before I know it, myself.'
Rafe nodded seriously. 'It's his job to know,' he said. 'Severus takes his Domination quite seriously, you know.'
With no warning, Rafe twined his fingers in the hair at the nape of his wife's neck, tugging her head back and leaning over to share a deep upside-down kiss with her. When he released her, he said quite audibly, 'Serve out the tea.'
'Yes, Master,' t said, rising to her knees and reaching for the tea service on the coffee table.
Hermione watched as t prepared her husband's tea and pivoted to pass it to him. Then she turned her blue eyes on Hermione. 'Milk and sugar?' she asked cheerfully.
Hermione nodded. 'Two sugars,' she said.
When all three of them were sipping tea and nibbling freshly baked ginger newts, Rafe said, 'Do you have any questions for me?'
Hermione didn't hesitate. 'How did you come to be called Master Maximus?' she asked.
Rafe laughed, a full-bodied sound which echoed around the room. 'Oh, Severus would like to be here to answer that one for you,' he assured her. He took another drink of his tea before he answered. 'It was all Sev's fault,' he began.
Taffy darted a sly look at him, and he pinched her chin. 'You're an impudent girl,' he said, his voice caressing, and Hermione knew that t was delighted to the core of her being to be thus addressed.
Rafe looked back up to meet Hermione's gaze. 'When Hadrian and Elinore brought Severus and me back to Roissy House to introduce us to the inhabitants and to begin to teach us about D/s, it seemed to me that everyone had Roman names.' He grinned. 'Even Rodolphus and Rabastan had better names than I did. So, when I began training, I chose my own Roman name. It's how I'm known in the community, but my closest friends still call me Rafe.'
All three of them laughed, then, and Hermione began to feel at ease with them. It was fascinating to see a D/s couple who were obviously in love with one another interact in their own home. Her professor had told her once, 'Master Maximus and t are a special case,' and Hermione could clearly see that this was true. Of course, her experience with D/s couples thus far had been restricted to the interactions between Hadrian and Elinore and Master Claudius and his two submissives, but still, she had seldom seen a couple even outside the lifestyle more besotted with one another than Rafe and Taffy Lestrange. Her time with them passed much too quickly, and it was with some regret that she rose to leave them—but it was clear that the tension between them was rising again, and they needed their privacy.
'Will I see you at dinner?' Hermione murmured as she gave t a goodbye hug.
Taffy glanced over her shoulder at the smouldering eyes of her husband. 'I don't think so,' she said, sounding slightly breathless, and Hermione could only give her an extra squeeze.
'Have fun!' she giggled, and with a final wave to Rafe, she left the room, smiling all the way back to her first floor abode.
Over the next few days, the Lestranges began to make appearances at meals, and when they did, Hermione felt much more included in the table conversation. It was at one such after-dinner gathering in the sitting room that the mystery of t's easy camaraderie with Reggie Bardulph was explained.
'Sprout always said you'd make a bad end of it,' Taffy shot at Reggie hotly, clearly on the losing end of an argument.
Reggie straightened up from his lazy sprawl indignantly. 'She never did!' he cried. 'The old girl had nothing but good to say of me—I think she had a soft spot for me,' he added smugly.
Hermione looked back and forth between them. 'Wait—do you mean Professor Sprout? At Hogwarts?'
Reggie turned to her instantly. 'Yes—she was our Head of House.' He shot a dark look at Taffy, who was no longer attending to him but curled up in the curve of her husband's arm. 'Miss Perfect Prefect over there was a constant thorn in my side.'
Hermione was dumbstruck. Of course, it made perfect sense that anyone in England who had attended school would have gone to Hogwarts. In fact, she could easily see t as a member of Hufflepuff House, loyal and hardworking, although she would have pegged the indolent, sometimes unkind Reg as a Slytherin. But it was difficult for her to imagine these people as students of Professor Snape.
Elinore put her thoughts into words. 'Oh, yes, Hermione, it's always amusing when new members of the community meet Severus for the first time. They are universally horrified to discover their old teacher amongst the practitioners of D/s.' Elinore laughed merrily, and Hadrian took her hand in his, smirking in amusement.
Kell murmured to Master Claudius and moved to sit beside Hermione on a pouf near the fire, taking care to give Reggie wide berth. 'Are you excited about the weekend?' Kell asked her sotto voce.
Hermione glanced up into the other girl's bright eyes. 'What's happening this weekend?'
'It's the full gala weekend,' Kell said excitedly. 'Friday night is the formal dinner and socialising, which is the best time for the Doms and subs who aren't already hooked up to meet someone. Saturday night is fetish night, when we all dress up and show off, and there's plenty of play going on in the dungeons.'
Hermione smiled, feeling a tug of envy at the notion of play in the dungeons. 'Are you allowed to play?'
Kell shot a glance at Master Claudius, who sat with Vi on a pouf at his knee, her long blond hair cascading over his dark trouser legs as he caressed her. 'With permission,' she said. 'He's only denied me once, and it was as punishment.' She bit her lip and sighed. 'I deserved it.'
Hermione frowned. 'But how does that work, if you're collared to him?'
Kell blinked at her. 'This?' she said, touching the red patent leather collar. 'This is only a training collar. He's my training Dominant, but it's not the same as being collared by him.'
Hermione digested this information, nodding slowly. So, up until the time her professor had accepted her offer of submission, he had been her training Dominant. If he had brought her here before collaring her, would he have put a training collar on her? It was all rather confusing, she had to admit.
'So, you're permitted to play with another Dominant if you're only wearing a training collar?' she asked.
Kell gazed into the fire, a dreamy look in her eyes. 'If your Master commands it, then you can be given to another Dom for play, even if you're collared to him.'
Hermione froze in horror. Her Master could give her to someone else—Reggie Bardulph, for instance? Or Master Claudius?—and permit that Dominant to use her as he would? She couldn't keep the look of distaste from her face, but Kell was lost in her own thoughts and didn't see.
'But yes,' Kell continued, 'if a Dom asks for me, Master Claudius can give permission for me to play.' She shivered, and a smile touched her lips as she turned shining eyes back to Hermione's face. 'One of these times, I'm going to meet the Master who will want me—and I'll want him—and that changes everything, Hermione.'
The tone of yearning in the other girl's voice pulled at Hermione's heart, and she reached out to pat Kell's arm. 'Yes, you'll find your Master,' she agreed warmly. 'It does change everything.'
Kell covered Hermione's hand with her own, her face saddening. 'I'm a right cow, talking about all this when your Master is away,' she said. 'It must be terrible.' Kell darted a glance again at Master Claudius before leaning closer to Hermione and whispering, 'Is it true that he broke Master Maximus out of prison?'
Hermione nodded once. 'And I haven't seen him since then,' she said. 'He's written, and Master Maximus says he's fine, but I will be easier in my mind when I can see him with my own eyes.'
'And feel him with your own body,' Kell added with a grin, and Hermione could only laugh in agreement.
The next day was Friday, and even at breakfast, Hermione could feel the hum of activity in the house. Everyone, including the house-elves, had things to do to prepare for the incoming guests that night. Taffy stood from her place beside her husband and gave him a long kiss before coming around the table to Hermione. Kell looked up from her teacup avidly. 'Is it time?' she asked.
Taffy smiled down at Hermione. 'Kell and I have a surprise for you,' she said. 'We're going shopping!'
Kell grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her up. 'Your Master wants us to outfit you for a gala weekend,' she said.
Hermione turned to Taffy. 'You've heard from him?' she asked, feeling a stab of disappointment that her professor would contact Taffy.
'No,' Rafe answered, and Hermione turned to face him. He sat at ease, a cup of coffee and the Daily Prophet on the table before him. 'No, Hermione, he sent his instructions with me—but I'm afraid I haven't been able to spare t to take you shopping before today.' His smile was almost impish. 'You understand,' he added, dipping his head so that his unruly fringe fell over his eyes.
Hermione watched this performance indignantly and turned back to t. 'He's impossible!' she said, torn between laughter and annoyance.
'He knows it, believe me,' Taffy assured her, and leading her into the hallway, she called for Pitty to bring their cloaks.
Out on the street in the brisk January air, Hermione felt her spirits brightening. She hadn't been outdoors since arriving at Roissy House and hadn't realised how much she missed the sun, weak though it was. The three girls set off on foot.
'It's a bit of a walk from here to Diagon Alley,' Kell confided, 'but we can always use the exercise, right?'
Taffy snorted. 'You just want to be out from under Vi's thumb for as long as possible,' she accused.
Kell laughed mischievously. 'Can you blame me?' she asked.
Hermione glanced at Kell. 'Is she unkind to you?' she asked.
Kell shrugged. 'Not unkind, no—but she's not very warm—neither of them are.'
Hermione thought about that as they angled onto Brook Street. She would never have characterised Professor Snape as warm, either—not until the first time he wrapped her up in a blanket and held her until she stopped trembling. Even then, the warmth stopped at the door, until her next session with him. No, it wasn't until he relented and accepted her offer of submission that she was fully enveloped in his warmth, and now she was like a fly trapped in tree sap. She could not pull herself free to escape, but she felt no desire to do so, either—she was entirely content to become encased in the amber of her professor's possession.
They passed Claridge's and turned the corner onto New Bond Street, and Hermione stopped abruptly.
'What's wrong?' Taffy asked, reaching to pull the black fur rimmed hood closer about her face.
'I don't have much gold,' Hermione said. 'I spent most of what I had on Christmas gifts. I hadn't planned on needing new clothes.' She frowned. 'My parents will put more gold in my Gringott's account soon, but I don't have any funds for shopping now.'
Taffy pulled a battered leather purse from her cloak pocket and pressed it into Hermione's hand. 'It's taken care of,' she said kindly.
Hermione extended the purse to her. 'I can't take gold from you,' she said, mortified.
Understanding touched t's face, and she linked arms with Hermione, gently tugging her along the street. 'That's not my gold, silly,' she said. 'Severus sent it for you. He didn't want you to spend your funds for smart clothes for a gala weekend, but he did want you to be properly attired.'
Hermione felt her face flame. 'I don't want to take his gold,' she whispered, embarrassed.
Kell linked arms on Hermione's other side. 'Well, you're not doing it for yourself, are you?' she said reasonably. 'You belong to Master Severus—people who look at you will interpret what they see as a reflection of him—and he wants you to look fabulous.' Kell grinned down into Hermione's face, and Hermione felt herself relaxing again. 'So be a brave girl and accept your fate!' Kell advised. 'You're going to look smashing at the party, and that's that!'
Upon their return to Roissy House that afternoon, windblown and laden with carrier bags, Rafe Lestrange stalked down the marble hallway and closed his hand imperiously about Taffy's wrist, marching away without a word or a backward glance. Hermione looked anxiously at Kell.
'Is t in trouble for something?' she asked.
Kell grinned and grabbed the carrier bags t had abandoned. 'I wouldn't think so,' she said. 'Master Maximus is … well known for his appetites.'
Hermione couldn't help a small chuckle. 'Do you know what Master Severus is known for?' she asked curiously.
Kell glanced at her soberly. 'Intensity,' she said shortly. 'No one knows about his appetites because he keeps himself reined in all the time—he never expresses emotion in public—it's why everyone was so shocked to know he'd collared you.'
They had reached the staircase, and Hermione started up first, glancing back over her shoulder at Kell. 'You know an awful lot about Professor Snape for someone who's never met him,' she said mildly.
Kell nodded. 'It's true,' she said. 'But I spend loads of time sitting with Master Claudius, not speaking. I hear his conversations with the other Doms—and even he and Vi talk about it. Face it, sis—you're the talk of town in D/s world!'
Hermione made a face, but she knew it was true—the D/s community was a small one, and her presence at Roissy House, wearing Severus Snape's collar, was causing quite a stir.
Hermione put away her things and took a long bubble bath, luxuriating in the scented water. Later, wrapped in her dressing gown, she sat down with her journal to record her meals and her activities. As she opened her journal to the marked page, her heart stopped in her chest, for there, before her eyes, was his handwriting.
little one,
I know that your first weekend gala at Roissy House is a daunting prospect, and would be even had I been there to properly prepare you for it. As it is, many allowances will be made for you, as a young girl present for her first party without her Master in attendance. Stay close to Hadrian or Rafe and their wives, behave with decorum, and hold your head up proudly.
Before you begin to dress for the party, strip bare and assume the submissive's pose. Spend ten uninterrupted minutes in contemplation of all the lessons I have taught you and feel my presence in your mind and your soul, for I am, indeed, within you.
Know that I am ever watching over you.
Your Master,
SS
Hermione shed her warm dressing gown and fell to her knees upon the rug beside her bed, assuming the submissive's pose and feeling her professor's burning black eyes roving over her skin. Her nipples peaked in arousal, and the throbbing began low in her belly, and she remained as she was for far longer than the ten minutes he had requested, feeling his presence singing inside her like her own personal Siren's call.
Kell knocked on her door at six o'clock, an hour in advance of the official party time, and Hermione rose to let her in. Kell was lovely in a simple blue gown which exactly matched her eyes. It clung to her curves and fell to the tips of her shoes. Her red patent training collar had been replaced with a plain gold one, unadorned save for a small platinum disk with the word 'Trainee' engraved there.
'Let's do your hair first,' Kell said, and Hermione obediently sat before the dressing table. 'Remember to be respectful of the Dominants,' Kell reminded her, 'even the ones you already know. Whereas you might chat and carry on with Rafe in private, when you're in public, you'll avert your eyes and call him Master Maximus.'
Hermione looked sceptical, but Kell was adamant.
'Believe me, this was one of my first major mistakes,' she said urgently. 'We don't really have a true idea of how to go on in D/s society—well, I have a little bit of an idea now, but you are clueless—and it is always, always best to err on the side of caution.'
Kell combed the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion through the bushy mass of Hermione's hair, her face scrunched with concentration.
'People will be curious about you. They'll want to meet you and talk to you. But they shouldn't ask nosey questions. Remember that you are the keeper of your Master's reputation in his absence, and everything you do and say—'
'—reflects on him!' Hermione snapped. 'I know, I know!'
Kell glared at her reflection in the mirror. 'Don't think I don't know exactly how you feel,' she said soberly. 'I'm only harping on this because I don't want to see you make the same mistakes I made.'
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. How would her professor want her to answer?
'Thank you for caring about me, Kell,' she said at last. 'I'm a bit of a swot in school—I tend to learn quickly and retain the knowledge, and I'm not generally an impulsive person.' She smiled ruefully at Kell in the mirror. 'I promise, if I get in a tight spot where I don't know what to do or say, I'll excuse myself and go find someone safe.'
Kell completed the application of the hair potion and stepped back. 'There you go, swot—long straight hair.'
Hermione jumped from the bench and whirled, feeling the unfamiliar non-bushy mass swinging about her head. 'Thanks, brat,' she said, and the two submissives grinned at one another, their friendship sealed by the adoption of insulting nicknames.
Hermione slipped into a black thong and pulled sheer black stay-ups up her legs before shedding her dressing gown and taking her evening gown from the wardrobe rail. It was black and strapless, a corseted bodice that pushed her breasts into prominence and left her milky skin unadorned, save for the black leather collar at her throat. The skirt fell to mid-thigh, and Hermione was a bit worried that if she raised her arms up, the tops of the stockings would show.
'What about not showing my legs to other Doms?' she had hissed to t in the shop.
'Your Master's instructions are that your apparel should show you off, as he would do if he were here,' Taffy had answered inexorably.
Now Hermione slipped her feet into the spiky black pumps and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her makeup was minimal, a touch of mascara, colour on her cheeks, and sheer pink upon her lips. Her shoulders and the expanse of her chest above the corset were like porcelain against the black of the dress. Her hair fell thick and brown to her shoulder blades.
'Not bad, for me,' she muttered, twitching at the bodice.
'You look fab,' Kell informed her. 'Come on!'
Rather than the family dining room, Kell led her to a more formal room along the broad marble tiled corridor. They slipped into the room and Hermione was struck by the press of humanity and the brightness of their garb. She had an impression of a great number of people, ranging in age from herself to a gentleman who was older than Hadrian by quite a bit, if one were to judge by his wrinkled face. In between, it seemed to her that most of the people present were of her professor's age group, with the Dominants appearing to be in their early forties and the submissives in their mid to late thirties. The men were all in Muggle white tie, rather than the dress robes one saw at Hogwarts parties, and the women wore lush Muggle evening gowns.
Kell pulled her forward, and Hadrian Hunter met her with a smile. 'You girls look lovely,' he said, genuine admiration in his eyes. 'Hermione, I would like to introduce you to some people who would very much like to meet you.'
Kell immediately deserted her, sliding into the crowd and seeking out Master Claudius, and Hermione found herself surrounded by a smiling group of curious people. She quickly lost track of their names; four of the wizards she met were on the Board of Directors for Roissy House, and to each of them, Hermione gave a tiny curtsy and deferentially averted her eyes. Three of the directors also introduced her to their submissives, and before long, Hermione was completely at sea. She would never be able to remember all the names!
To her relief, t materialised from the crowd and stopped before her, eyes wide with admiration. 'Hermione—you look stunning!' she whispered. 'He would be so proud!'
Hermione flushed with pleasure, smoothing her hand down the black skirt. 'Really?' she said. 'Well, you picked out the dress, after all.'
Taffy was ethereal in an ice blue satin dress which rose to her throat, ending just below the platinum and aquamarine collar she wore, a perfect match for her wedding ring set. But when t turned to lead Hermione to her place at the dinner table, Hermione saw that her friend's back was completely bare, almost to the cleft of her buttocks.
'Heavens,' she said softly. 'I see what you mean about your husband liking to show you off.'
Obviously pleased, Taffy turned impulsively and enveloped Hermione in a hug, whispering in her ear, 'Perhaps one day your husband will be showing you off here, too.'
Hermione pulled away from her. 'My Master says wives make notoriously poor submissives,' she said, her cheeks flaming with colour at the very notion of being married to her professor.
Taffy propelled Hermione into her chair at the table and sat down to her right. 'Famous last words,' she sniffed dismissively.
Kell slipped into the chair to Hermione's left. 'Why are you blushing?' she whispered as she spread her napkin over her lap.
'Never mind,' Hermione answered, willing the colour to recede.
Dinner was quite elaborate, and Hermione found that she could not eat nearly everything that was served. She kept her head down and picked at her food, comforted to be seated between her friends. Had her Master been present, she knew, she would have been far less comfortable. He was training her, opening her up to all that the lifestyle had to offer and to her full potential—had he been present, he would have been placing her in confusing situation after confusing situation, instructing her as they went and waiting to see how she would handle each hurdle.
I don't care! she thought fiercely. I would rather be confused and embarrassed with him here than miserable without him.
At last, dinner was completed, and a number of Dominants retired to the Dominants' Study to smoke cigars. The rest of the party went across the hall to the reception rooms, which had been thrown open into one large room. Hermione was surprised to see that the furniture had been moved to the periphery and that here was a small orchestra on a dais at the end.
'Wait!' she said in panic, turning. 'No one said there would be dancing!'
She was mortified to see that she spoke to no one. Kell was chatting merrily nearby with a small group of wizards and witches in their twenties, and t was nowhere to be seen. Elinore seemed to sense her distress, and the older witch glided to a stop at Hermione's side.
'What's the matter, my dear?' she asked solicitously.
'The dancing—no one mentioned dancing,' Hermione said. 'I don't know the protocol—I don't know what to do!'
Elinore drew her to a chair at the side of the room and motioned for her to sit. 'Don't fret,' she said soothingly. 'The girls ought to have told you, but never mind. It's simple enough. A collared submissive may dance with her Master or with any other Dominant whom her Master gives her permission to dance with. In general terms, you may also dance with any Dominant with whom you stand upon family footing—for instance, the Dominants with whom you live. You could dance with Hadrian or Rafe or—'
'Or me,' Reg said merrily, cutting across Elinore rather rudely.
Elinore shook her head indulgently. 'Or with Reggie,' she agreed. 'Even if he does leave a bit to be desired in the behaviour category.' She waved to someone at the door and began to glide away. 'The Julians are here,' she said as she left.
Hermione stiffened in her chair, keeping her eyes averted. 'I would prefer not to dance,' she said politely.
'I'm perfectly safe, you know,' Reg said, frowning at her. 'Odd that you would accept Snape's collar and be worried about the likes of me. At least I'm not a …' He trailed off without finishing his sentence.
Hermione pressed her lips together and refused to look up. She had no desire to dance; if she had her druthers, she'd be upstairs, revising. Perhaps, if she were a true participant in this community, she would be interested in socialising with the other submissives and their Dominants, but truly, all she wanted was her room and her journal and her warm, woolly dressing gown.
'Look, I'll show you,' Reg said, and Hermione looked up to see him walking away from her. 'I'll dance with Kell.'
At the sound of her name, Kell turned, and seeing who had spoken, her eyes grew wide, giving her the look of a deer caught in the headlights of a Muggle automobile. What was wrong with her? Hermione knew that Kell wasn't permitted to be in a room alone with Reg when Master Claudius wasn't present, but wasn't that rule relaxed during these social occasions?
Reg spoke to Kell, who looked at her feet, then glanced at Hermione, and at last, she took Reg's hand and joined him on the dance floor. There were a few couples dancing, and Kell and Reg began to dance with surprising grace, as if they had done so before.
'Poor girl,' Elinore said, and Hermione turned to see her hostess had returned. 'She's had a rough time of it, but we all have high hopes that she'll be successfully placed with a Master, this time.'
Hermione studied her friend as she danced with Reggie Bardulph. For all their grace, they were still uncomfortable with one another, Kell staring at Reg's buttonhole, and Reg staring stonily over Kell's head.
'They're together and apart, all at the same time,' Hermione murmured.
Elinore made a 'tsk' sound. 'Well, it's no wonder,' she said.
The dance ended, and Kell pulled away from Reg and went back to her friends. Reg glared after her for a moment, then he descended upon Hermione again.
'See?' he said easily. 'I'm as safe as a vicar. Dance with me.'
Hermione sighed. 'If I dance once, will you leave me alone for the rest of the time?
Reg touched his wand. 'On my honour as a wizard,' he vowed.
With a distinct lack of grace, Hermione stood and accompanied Reg to the dance floor. 'I was hoping to see Jacquie and Diana tonight,' she said, placing a hand on Reg's shoulder and clasping his hand with the other.
'Old Bobby doesn't usually come for dinner and dancing,' Reg said with a sneer in his tone. 'He'll be here to flaunt them in their nakedness tomorrow night, and they always give a dungeon demonstration after lunch on Sunday, but they usually skip Friday night.'
Hermione looked up at him frankly. 'If you're so bored by it all, why are you here?'
He scowled. 'Where else am I going to find a witch who enjoys being tied up for sex?' he demanded.
Hermione scoffed. 'If that's all you want, try an advert in the Sun.'
Reg snorted. 'Of course it's not all I want. I want a witch to yield her will to me—to trust me to choose for her.'
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
'Stop that!' Reg objected. 'You look just like him when you do that.'
Hermione glowed with delight. 'Do I really?'
'No, you're not nearly ugly enough, but it's still quite off-putting,' Reg grumbled.
The dance ended, and the two walked back to the side of the room. 'May I speak frankly?' Hermione said.
Reg glanced at her narrowly. 'All right,' he agreed.
'I think it's possible that you send mixed signals,' she said. 'You don't draw enough of a distinction between yourself and the submissive.'
Reggie Bardulph glared at her, his lips pressed together in a tight white line of fury.
Hermione stopped and looked up at him. 'You might consider finding a couple willing to train you,' she said serenely. 'Not all Dominants go through formal training, but the best ones do.' And giving Reg a shining smile, Hermione turned and left him.
The rest of the evening felt like a primer in why she desperately missed her Master. She wandered from group to group, seeking peace and finding only conversation and interaction that made her ache for him.
A lean, dark-skinned Dominant stood with his equally dark-skinned submissive near the orchestra, with a cluster of Dominants around them. The submissive wore a turquoise gown of a stretchy fabric, and her Dominant had lifted her breasts from the bodice of the dress. As he spoke with his friends, he methodically pinched and twisted his submissive's nipples, his deep-voiced conversation liberally peppered with the moans of his woman.
'Nyalla has made great progress in anal intercourse, haven't you, my slut?' the Dominant said, bending his head to kiss the submissive, and for a long time, they kissed, their mutual passion evident to all. 'We'll show everyone tomorrow, won't we, pet?' he said, lifting his face from hers.
'Yes, Master,' the woman said, her Jamaican accent roughened with her palpable need. 'Please.'
Hermione turned from them, her quim throbbing from the casual demonstration of their sexuality. She hovered on the edge of a group of submissives, thinking she would be spared the sight of amorous touching by joining their conversation.
'Oh my God,' said a fortyish woman with short bronze hair, 'have you seen the way he's hung?' She held her hands apart at an impossible distance, and all the women laughed. Hermione bit her lip and looked away, her memory flooded with mental pictures of her Master, fully erect, the purplish head of his cock exposed and glistening, ready to …
She turned and gave her head a shake. Sweet Merlin, how she needed him! Her nipples tightened against the unforgiving whalebone bodice, and her quim throbbed with the memory of his hands … his tongue … his cock impaling her flesh, driving her wild. Overheated, she exited the reception room at the far end of the hallway, closest to the family sitting room door. She could slip in there, make her way to the staircase, and retire to her room. No one would know she had left early—she wouldn't be missed—she could bring herself off in the privacy of her room and write about it in her journal, and in that tiny way, she would share this night with her professor.
She heard voices in the hallway behind her, but she continued to creep toward the double doors of the sitting room, focussing on them as if her salvation lay behind them.
'Hermione!'
That was Taffy's voice, calling from a fair distance away, and she turned to see t standing halfway down the long, broad hallway, one arm out-flung in the general direction of the foyer. Hermione looked questioningly to Taffy, her lips parted to speak her query, and she was aware of people coming to the doorways, lining the length of the enormous corridor, their attention directed to the foyer, as well.
Hermione had begun to run before her mind had properly identified and interpreted the image of the tall, dark figure emerging from the entrance hall into the corridor. She spared not a thought for whether the tops of her stockings would be revealed as she ran. It was a miracle that she did not twist her ankle or fall off the soles of the high-heeled shoes, and it later occurred to her that perhaps the pumps had been charmed to prevent her from falling. As it was, she fairly flew down the length of the hall, no longer aware of the avid faces of the other guests who lined the passageway, her only focal point the man striding toward her with no attention for anyone but her.
Vaguely, she heard Rafe shout, 'Good one, Sev!', but his voice was mere background to the pounding of the blood in her head. As she drew closer to him, she saw that he wore black trousers and a tight black high-necked jumper. She saw the snarl on his lips and recognised it as his signature predatory look—the one that made her cream her knickers—and she knew when he stopped and braced his booted feet upon the marble floor, it was not a halt in his headlong flight to hold her, but preparation to receive her irrepressible flying jump as she hurled herself at him.
In the next instant, she was in his embrace, her arms wrapped about his neck, her legs wrapped about his waist, the scent of his aftershave bathing her senses as he kissed her savagely, his fist wrapped proprietarily in her hair. The dinner guests as well as the musicians had all crowded to the doorways and out into the hall, and the crowd of them burst into spontaneous applause at the unprecedented sight of Severus Snape accepting—welcoming, even—the joyous adoration of his eighteen-year-old collared submissive.
Clinging to her Master like a shipwreck victim to a rock, Hermione was sure she heard Hadrian Hunter's voice mutter, 'Well I'll be damned.' And in the next moment, wrapped protectively against his lean body, she experienced the squeezing of Side-Along Apparition, and they were alone in their room.
