For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 58: Studious Ignorance
The Healer visited at daybreak, and after a careful examination, she cast the telling spell—the pearlescent shape of a womb hovered over t's abdomen, with the persistent little pulsing red spark shining on. Taffy burst into tears, and Hermione cried with her, weak with relief that the baby had survived the bleeding.
'But what caused it?' Taffy asked. 'How can I be sure it won't happen again?'
'We can't know for sure,' the Healer replied, 'but we can keep you here for a while and make sure you're completely well—and the baby is safe—before we send you home.'
Breakfast was served after the Healer left, and t balked at eating. Hermione sympathised over the tasteless fare, but she gently bullied t into eating some of it anyway.
'For the baby's sake,' she reminded her friend, nudging the plate of dry toast closer.
Taffy smiled a frail, watery smile. 'For the baby,' she agreed, taking up a small dish of porridge.
Vi arrived soon after, laden with knitting needles and wool, and the two older witches were happily settled over their wee baby things as Hermione departed for Roissy House.
She hurried to her room to check her journal, desperate for news of her Master and Rafe—to know if they had safely returned from their adventures.
She wasn't disappointed, although the message left her feeling a bit sick with horror.
little one,
Our Lord was quite unhappy with Maximus, and I am afraid he was punished for his impulsiveness. With the image of his hands on you burned indelibly into my mind, I cannot say I was the most sympathetic of friends. Perhaps I would have done as he did, had it been you in hospital, but I would like to think I have the strength to resist temptation with so much at risk for so many.
You were magnificent, my pet. I know very well how you feel about having a man other than your Master kiss and fondle you. You deserve a reward of commensurate value, and I regret that I am not there to provide it for you. I have in my mind the treat in store for you, and when next we meet, you will receive it. I will tantalise you by mentioning that it will involve your blindfold, your ball gag, your nipple clamps, your flogger, and my sustained, undivided attention.
I know your imagination can provide enough detail to make your delicious little slit slick and wet with need. For now, you may satisfy yourself in any way you wish, providing you speak my name as you come.
Matters are building now to a crescendo. I cannot say for certain that it will be the outcome for which we have worked and sacrificed; there are too many variables for me to be able to postulate. Certainly, the successful completion of the translation over which you labour would be a significant step toward victory, providing your classmate possesses the necessary skill to cast the spell.
In conclusion, my own, I ask that you devote your energies to your special project, that you stay within the confines of Roissy House when you are not paying short visits to our friend in hospital, and that you safeguard your wellbeing in all ways.
Your Master,
SS
P.S. – Leave a short message when you have read this entry, for I will begin taking a leaf from your book—I will destroy each message when you've received it, for obvious reasons.
Hermione sat back, feeling a tangle of confused emotions. She had tended to her Master after a punishment from Voldemort, and she hated to think of Rafe reduced to the same condition. It hurt her a bit to think that Severus would not have come to her as Rafe had come to Taffy—would her Master not rush to her side if she were in danger of losing their child?—but at the same time, there was a ruthless streak of practicality in Hermione. Many people were denying themselves for the sake of the Light, and it would be tragic if it were all undone by a foolish choice made by someone thinking only of his own personal welfare or that of his immediate family. Wartime made sacrificers of them all, didn't it?
It was gratifying to know that her professor had hated seeing her in Rafe's arms. Hermione had cried in the St Mungo's storeroom, but she had washed her face before returning to t and holding her while she cried. Hermione would never tell t what had happened in the corridor. If Rafe chose to tell her, that was his prerogative, but for her part, she would prefer not to know something hurtful, if the knowledge served no good purpose, so she would do Taffy the courtesy of keeping her mouth shut. Still, it was daunting to think that Severus might have thought Rafe deserved a bit of Voldemort's torture for endangering them all—and for putting his hands on Hermione.
The flash of heat between her thighs when she read of her planned reward—and yes, her imagination was definitely up to the task of providing ample details to drive her mad with longing—had been delicious, but it could not persist in the face of the sobering news about the coming culmination of the war. The spell was the most important factor in what was coming—the spell hidden in the book she had, as yet, failed to translate into sensible English. She had to succeed in wringing a working spell from the ancient runes in the book Harry had given her, or the Dark might triumph over the Light—and Hermione was not at all sure that life under Lord Voldemort would be worth the living.
Pushing aside all thought save the need to get to work on translation, she took up her quill and scratched a quick acknowledgement of her Master's message, knowing the next time she opened her journal, his note would be gone.
At dinner that night, most everyone was quiet. Kell was the only exception. Reg was at table; Hermione wondered if he was back because of Kell's apparent interest in Master David, but she did not voice the question. Kell's ebullience carried an almost manic edge as she chattered about Master David and her proposed visit to him in Dorset the following weekend.
'He has a small house, but one bedroom would be set aside for my use, and I would be permitted to decorate it,' she said brightly. 'He said he has no objection to me finding a job, either.'
Hermione looked up from her soup, surprised. 'I've never asked you what sort of work you prefer, Kell,' she said.
Kell's grin was infectious. 'Since I left school, I've worked at a few different wizarding primary schools,' she said. 'I teach the ickle ones their reading, writing, and sums.'
Hermione grinned back, easily able to imagine Kell in that role with small children. 'That's brilliant,' she declared.
Reg snorted. 'Don't know why he's looking for a live-in submissive if he can't afford to support her,' he muttered into his creamy chicken soup.
'He can support me!' Kell retorted, her face flushing.
Hermione glanced between them, wondering at Kell's abrupt mood change from cheerful to stormy.
'Just because he's willing to let me work doesn't mean there's something wrong with him!' she added shrilly.
'Kelly,' Claudius said, and the tone in which he spoke the name was enough to make Hermione sit up straighter and direct her attention back to her food. Kell was obviously hovering close to crossing the line established for her behaviour, and Hermione put soup in her mouth, silently hoping that her friend would back down before she got in trouble with Master Claudius.
Hermione excused herself after dinner, pleading the need to study, and she retired to her room to struggle fruitlessly with the ancient runes until she was too weary to continue. She desperately needed a bit of inspiration to provide the necessary break—a realignment of her perspective that would allow a new standpoint from which to work.
Just before sleep, she wrote of this in her journal, admitting as well that she had not brought herself to orgasm that day. It was difficult to think about her own gratification with so much riding on her ability to translate the ancient runes into a usable spell.
In her dream, he sat on the edge of her bed, one long-fingered hand smoothing the tangle of her hair away from her face. His pale, narrow face stared down at her, faint ambient light providing enough illumination for her to delineate the large, hooked nose and burning black eyes.
'You're neglecting yourself,' he said without preamble. 'I value you as a sexual creature. You must not permit that part of you to shrivel.'
Hermione stared up at him, disoriented. Even his scent was proper, the signature aftershave, now overlain with the smell of unwashed man, as if he had not bathed since last she had seen him. 'Are you really here?' she said, grasping his robes in her fist.
'You're neglecting the history, as well,' he added, as if she had not spoken.
'Tell me what to do!' she cried, sitting bolt upright in her bed, but she was alone in the cold room, the fire in the hearth burned down to mere embers.
With a muttered imprecation, Hermione flung the bedclothes back and scrambled to her work table, but instead of taking up the infuriating book written in ancient runes, she took up her History of Magic text and dived beneath the covers again, snapping her fingers to light the candles on her bedside table.
She dozed again near daybreak, her heavy History of Magic book open on her chest. She did not hear Pitty's entrance, nor did she wake before the tea in the pot left on her work table was dead cold. Thankfully, though, Pitty had built up the fire again during her visit, so that when Hermione woke with a start at midday, the room was warm as she scuttled into the bathroom to relieve herself. There was something hovering just on the edge of her consciousness—something to do with history—but she couldn't grasp it.
She took a quick bath, dressed, and went down to the dining room, her stomach rumbling at the smell of shepherd's pie. The only person present was Elinore, and she smiled when Hermione took her seat.
'We missed you at breakfast,' she said. 'I hope you won't mind me saying that you're looking a bit tired, Hermione.'
Hermione sighed. 'I'm really struggling with my latest assignment,' she said. She didn't suppose that Elinore Hunter really knew or cared about her studies, but it was a relief to speak of them, nonetheless. 'Where is everyone today?'
'Vi and Kell went to sit with t,' Elinore said. 'Reg is at work, and Hadrian and Claudius had business out of town, today.'
Hermione looked up eagerly. 'How is t?'
Elinore smiled. 'She's doing better. The Healers want to keep her for several days, to monitor her and feed her up a bit and make sure the baby is in good health.'
Hermione relaxed. It was good to hear that Taffy was getting stronger, and she was happy to know Vi and Kell were with her. She felt a bit guilty not to be with them, but she was the only one entrusted with the job of translating the spell; it wasn't as if she could hand the task off to someone else.
'You said you're having some difficulty with your assignment?' Elinore said, her tone warm. 'That must be very frustrating for you.'
Hermione nodded, digging into her pie. 'There's something I'm missing,' she said. 'I've even dreamed about it a couple of times.'
'Perhaps if you explain it to me, it will do you good,' Elinore suggested.
Hermione drank deeply from her glass of milk before she wiped her mouth and spoke again. 'All right,' she said and began to explain, in broad outline, the history of the runic language and her current task.
'Well,' Elinore said when she had done, 'what does your history book say about the runes themselves? I can't remember that I learned anything about Ancient Runes in History of Magic class.'
Hermione shook her head and accepted a dish of treacle tart from a house-elf. 'I can't find any reference in the history book to runic language. There's a section that talks about how magic was hidden from the Muggles in the first and second centuries but nothing specifically about runes themselves.' She dipped her spoon into the clotted cream and licked it clean. 'I may need to visit Flourish and Blotts to find a reference book.'
Elinore made a sound of distress, and when Hermione looked up, she said, 'I'm just remembering how your last visit to Diagon Alley went,' she said apologetically. 'I wouldn't want you to be in trouble with Master Severus for disobedience.'
Hermione sighed deeply and pushed the pudding away from her. 'I don't want that either, but I feel as if I am being forced to work without my greatest asset.'
Elinore nodded, her brow knitted. 'I know you miss him,' she said gently.
'No!' Hermione said with some force. 'I meant the Hogwarts Library! I don't know how I can be expected to do the necessary research without having access to research materials!'
'I see,' Elinore said, clearly nonplussed.
Hermione stood. 'I apologise for being dull company,' she said. 'I really need to go back upstairs. Thanks for listening.'
Elinore inclined her head. 'You're welcome, my dear. I sincerely hope you discover the information you need.'
'So do I,' Hermione responded soberly and returned to her room.
She wrote in her journal that night of her dream and her desire to visit the Hogwarts library. Her Master's response was almost immediate and not entirely unpredictable.
Hermione,
You will under no circumstances leave Roissy House to visit Hogwarts! The school is under constant surveillance, and other than coming knocking at the door of my Lord's headquarters with a collecting tin for the charity bazaar, you could scarcely go anywhere more fraught with danger. You cannot persist in this stupid, thoughtless disregard for my constant warnings, or I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.
Yes, I have both read and understood the nature of your dilemma; I am not without sympathy. I am doubtful that a trip to Flourish and Blotts will avail much, but if you must go, do so only with Hadrian, Claudius, or Reg in attendance, and go under a Disillusionment Charm.
Do not despair, my pet. Soldier on, and if there is a God—which I daily doubt more surely than the day before—you will one day receive your just reward.
Your Master,
SS
Hermione scowled over this message, scribbling a quick reply that she had read and understood it so he could purge it from his journal. How could he expect her to do the job she'd been assigned if her persisted in denying her access to the resources she needed? If a Disillusionment Charm would suffice for Diagon Alley, why would it not suffice for Hogwarts? Why did he persist in doubting her magical abilities?
Nevertheless, at breakfast the next morning, Reg spoke as soon as she entered the dining room. 'I'll be ready to leave for Diagon Alley at ten o'clock,' he informed her crisply.
Hermione longed to say she wouldn't go, but her common sense won out over her irritation. The important thing, she reminded herself, was to find the information she needed to solve the puzzle of the rune translation.
'I'll meet you at ten,' she responded, forcing herself to add, 'Thanks, Reg.'
Out in the frigid February air, Hermione found her spirits improved, if only to be outdoors, under the pale blue winter sky. She cast a sideways glance to Reggie, only to find him scowling as he scanned the area, his wand hand out of sight in the pocket of his cloak.
'Did he tell you to bring me?' she asked curiously.
'Hush,' he responded repressively. 'I can't trot along chatting with you or your Disillusionment Charm will be worthless, won't it?'
'Fine,' she muttered sourly, knowing Reg was right but irritated anyway.
They moved quickly from the Leaky Cauldron to the book store, and as they entered, Reg murmured, 'Pass your books to me, and I'll pay for them—no argument.'
Hermione hadn't thought of that, so she didn't argue, but she did huff loudly as she passed Reg and disappeared into the history section of the towering shelves.
Once surrounded by the smell of the new books, she forgot about her escort. She was, as always, enthralled to be surrounded by stacks of books she had not read. The history section was carefully sectioned by geographical area, time period, and subject matter. Hermione plunged in and began to search.
Thankfully, there were few people in the shop on this weekday morning, and Reg's stolid presence at the opening of the aisle gave her the cover she needed to pull books down, riffle through them, and replace them on the shelves undetected. She worked methodically, row by row, shelf by shelf, book by book, her dogged determination standing her in good stead as it had always done. If this book did not contain the answer she sought, there was no guarantee that the next one would not.
Hermione was unaware of the passage of time; she was completely absorbed in her project. At long last, she reached the end of the section. She had chosen only four books from the shelves as possible resources. She hefted them and moved to stand beside Reg.
'I'm not sure if these are what I'm looking for,' she confessed quietly.
'We're taking the lot. Come!' Reg responded, taking the books and striding to the clerk at the till.
Hermione refreshed her Disillusionment Charm and trailed Reggie out of the shop, trying not to think about the staggering amount he had just paid out for her books.
'I'll pay you back when we get home,' she said, thinking it would deplete her purse completely.
'Your Master paid,' he responded shortly. 'Take it up with him.'
'Why are you such a grouch?' she hissed. 'It's not my fault you don't have the courage to try for her!'
Reg looked in her general direction, surprise registering on his face. 'She's not interested in me,' he said frankly, not bothering to pretend he didn't understand her meaning.
'You're a fool if you think that,' Hermione replied tartly.
'Quiet!' Reg snarled, and he groped blindly for a moment before his hand closed over her shoulder.
In that moment, Hermione saw Simon Curtis emerging from the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron in the wake of Gregory Goyle, followed by Crabbe and two older men in black cloaks.
'Take my arm,' Reg commanded, his voice steel. 'Now, Hermione!'
Hermione took his forearm, and the unpleasant sensation of Disapparition was upon her before she could process her reaction to the sight of Simon Curtis and his companions. Then they were in the corridor outside the Dominant's Study, and she stumbled, feeling nauseated.
'Finite Incantatem' Reg said, and as the Disillusionment Charm dropped away from her, he steadied Hermione. 'Are you all right?' he asked.
Hermione stood straight. 'Yes,' she said.
Reg pushed the carrier bags with the books into her hands. 'Go up and ask Pitty to bring your lunch,' he suggested, nodding down the hall toward the stairs. 'It's after two.'
As the nausea passed, Hermione realised she was starving. 'All right,' she agreed, but before she turned to go, she said, 'Why do you think Simon Curtis keeps hanging about in London?'
Reg looked grave. 'I don't know, but I'm going to speak with Hadrian about it.' One side of his mouth quirked up, and Hermione glimpsed the Reg she had first known. 'You go read and apply that brain of yours to the problem your Master wants you to solve—Hadrian will let you know if there's anything else to worry about.'
Hermione nodded and left him, wondering if his last statement were true or if it were part of the culture of Roissy House for the Dominants to shield their submissives from the harsh realities of the world. Her lips thinned as she began to climb up to her room. She was a sexual submissive, and it made her happy to please her Master, but she did not need to be shielded from the cares of a responsible adult witch, and the sooner Severus Snape understood that, the better off they would be.
She ate the sandwich Pitty brought for her lunch without pausing in her reading, and she allowed the plate of roast beef at dinnertime to grow cold as she read about the evolution of the Celtic language in the Dark Ages. When the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, she put the book aside and rubbed her eyes, exhausted. It was a relief to open her journal and to see her Master's beloved, spiky script.
little one,
Report says that you found books in Diagon Alley, and I am hopeful that they will be useful to you. I am concerned with your physical well-being, for your last entries here have not convinced me that you are making your health a priority, and I must insist that you do. Tomorrow, you will partake of all your meals at table with the family, and before you sleep tonight, you will follow my instructions explicitly.
You will take a fifteen minute bath, and in your bath, you will roll your nipples until they are erect, then you will apply your nipple clamps. Get them on snugly and give the chain a tug, as I would do, to hear your little whimper of pain and pleasure. Then put your fingers between your legs and rub yourself until you come. It should not take long, because you have been neglecting your needs. Rub your clit and give the occasional tug to your clamps, imagining me sitting in a chair beside the bath, watching your every movement, hearing your every breath, and finding the sights and sounds both erotic and beautiful.
At the end of fifteen minutes, remove the clamps, dry yourself, and go to the bed. Use your thickest dildo—the one most like me—to slowly move in and out of your hole until you are aroused again. Imagine me holding your arms down and staring into your eyes as I give you a leisurely fucking. When you are close to orgasm, stop. Remove the dildo from your cunt and put it in your mouth. Take it deep, sucking all of the sweet juice from it, as you would with my cock. Suck your dildo and imagine me between your lips, using your mouth for my pleasure. Now finger your cunt, pet, sucking your Master's dick and rubbing your sweet spot until you climax a second time, imagining the rush of my come in your mouth as I come, too.
When you have completed your assignment, write to me about it. Stop whatever you are doing now and do as you're told, like the good girl you are, and your Master will be pleased.
SS
Hermione actually breathed a sigh of relief as she read his instructions, and she immediately stood to obey, feeling the stress and strain of her unsuccessful studies easing with each step she took to fulfil his commands.
Over the next several days, she read incessantly, stopping only to go to meals. She was inattentive company at best, and at worst, she was utterly distracted. It wasn't until Saturday morning, when Reggie sat across from her looking like a thundercloud, that Hermione registered the fact that Kell was missing.
'Is Kell off on her visit to Master David, then?' she asked Vi, keeping an eye on Reg from the corner of her eye.
'Yes, Hermione—don't you remember her saying good-bye to you?' Vi asked with some exasperation.
'Sorry,' Hermione said, having the grace to look a little shame-faced. 'I've been thinking quite a bit about my studies.'
Reg snorted rudely, and Master Claudius laughed out loud, something Hermione had seldom seen the severe Dominant do. 'Yes, we're aware,' he said, still chuckling.
Hermione looked up and down the table with some misgiving; everyone was watching her with varying expressions of amusement. 'I haven't meant to be rude,' she said awkwardly.
'Pay them no mind, dear,' Elinore said staunchly. 'What you're doing is more important, I'm sure.'
Back in her room, Hermione sat down to finish reading the last of the four books she and Reg had procured from Flourish and Blotts. She had yet to find anything in the history of runic languages to help her with her translation, and she was becoming more disconsolate by the hour. She had less than one hundred pages to read on this book, and unless she found something stunning, she would be right back where she had been a week ago: stumped.
An hour later, she put the book back on the work table. Her suspicion had been correct; there had been nothing in this book, either, to tell her what about the history of the ancient runes would give the key to translating the spell Harry needed.
She sat down with her journal and wrote to her professor.
Dear Sir,
I have finished reading all the books you bought for me, and I did not find what I need. I feel with all my heart that my only recourse is to visit the Hogwarts library. I don't wish to be disobedient, but it seems to me that having access to those study materials is the next most logical step to completing the translation.
I miss you with every breath I take and want nothing more than to be in your arms again.
Love,
From Hermione
And closing her journal, she picked up the book Harry had given her and began to puzzle over it again.
The morning dragged by, and in the afternoon, she went with Vi and Claudius to visit t at St Mungo's. Taffy looked bored and fretful, but she cheered up at the sight of her friends and took with eagerness the new soft pink wool Vi had brought for her.
Hermione accepted a pair of knitting needles, calling up her skills from years before, when she had knit clothes for the elves in Gryffindor Tower. As the hours passed, she listened with a strange feeling of comfort to the other witches as they chatted about everyday things, and she knitted a tiny pink cap.
'That's quite good for a first try,' Vi said judiciously, eyeing the cap Hermione had knit.
'Thanks,' Hermione grinned, determined not to confess how she had obtained her knitting experience.
They left t when her dinner was brought in, and she seemed somewhat cheered by their visit. Hermione hugged her as she left, and t whispered in her ear, 'Promise you'll tell me if there's something I should know, and I'll do the same for you.'
Hermione pulled back. 'Of course,' she said, wondering if she would be able to keep her promise, but unwilling to upset her pregnant friend.
After dinner, she thumbed through the latest edition of Witch Weekly in the sitting room, loath to go back to her room and face the books which had failed to help her. She drank her tea when it was served, hoping it would soothe her enough to help her sleep, then bid her friends good night and trudged up the steps to her room.
She was pulling a warm nightdress over her head when Pitty popped into the room, two bulging rucksacks clutched in her spindly arms. The elf's face was twisted with distress, and blood stained the edge of her neat Roissy House tea-towel.
'Here are your books from Hogwarts, Miss,' Pitty squeaked, extending the rucksacks with shaking arms.
Hermione fell to her knees before Pitty. 'What happened to you?' she cried, searching the little creature with her eyes, looking for the source of the blood.
Pitty allowed the rucksacks to rest on the floor and stepped back from Hermione, wringing her hands. 'Nothing is happening to Pitty,' she said, her voice quivering with some unnamed emotion.
'Pitty!' Hermione said sharply as the elf backed away from her. 'Tell me where you went and what you saw.'
Pitty's tennis ball sized eyes grew even wider in alarm. 'Pitty went to Hogwarts,' she quavered. 'Pitty saw Master Severus and Master Rafe.'
Hermione's heart stopped. 'Pitty, who was bleeding?'
Pitty shook her head from side to side. 'Pitty isn't allowed to say!' the distraught elf cried. 'Pitty is sorry, Miss!'
Hermione scarcely noticed when the house-elf disappeared. Instead, she sat on the floor in her nightdress and unpacked the books from the bags, methodically stacking them by subject, impressed with her Master's perspicacity as demonstrated by his choices, determinedly ignoring the smears of fresh blood on the fabric of the rucksacks.
