For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 75: Trust
Hermione was surprised the next Saturday morning after Daisy's christening to find Rafe and t on her doorstep, the baby in t's arms and the baby's bag slung over Rafe's shoulder. Hermione couldn't help but smile; the big, burly Dominant looked every inch a modern-day daddy. With cheerful assurance, t blew past her excuses of the flat being a mess, and Rafe followed in his wife's wake, surrendering the baby's bag and engulfing Hermione in a gentle, brotherly hug.
'I hope you can forgive me,' he said. 'I would never have condoned …' His voice trailed off, and Hermione returned his hug warmly. She knew he was torn between loyalty to his friend and his Dominant's sense of responsibility.
'I know you wouldn't,' she said. 'I don't think he would, either—not really.'
Rafe held her from him, his hands on her shoulders, and looked down into her face. 'I meant what I said before,' he reminded her. 'You may call on me at any time, as you would a brother. And if you want to talk about your choices as a submissive, you could ask for no better source than t.' He turned his warm gaze to his wife, who sat on Hermione's tatty little loveseat with her baby at her breast. 'Severus is my best mate, but he's not the only Dominant in Britain, Hermione.' He gave her shoulders a squeeze. 'Well, I'm off to meet with Hadrian—you girls be good.'
When the door closed behind Rafe, Hermione turned to face t, wondering if she was about to receive the telling-off she had probably earned, but t smiled and patted the sofa cushion beside her. 'Tell me everything,' she invited, and Hermione did, curling up on the cushion and pouring out her heart.
At the end of Hermione's account of what had happened between her and the professor the week before, t settled baby Daisy in her travel cot and moved into Hermione's tiny kitchen to put the kettle on.
'Well, it's clear that he wants you so much his desire clouds over his judgment,' she said, beginning to look through the cupboard for the tea. 'The question you have to consider, my darling, is what you want for yourself. When you know the answer to that, then we'll know how to proceed.'
Hermione followed her friend and took up the teapot, rinsing it under the spigot. 'I don't know what I want,' she confessed. 'I love him, but he has no respect for me.'
Taffy folded her arms and watched as Hermione dried the pot and measured the tea into it. 'Do you really think that? That he has no respect for you?'
Hermione considered for a moment. 'No,' she said finally. 'I know he respects me, but he doesn't always behave as if he does, and that's what I can't bear.'
The kettle boiled, and t poured the water into the teapot before she spoke again. 'Do you think he's incapable of learning to behave properly?'
Hermione sighed, taking the teacups down from the cupboard. 'He's dead stubborn,' she said. 'And when I'm with him, I want to lay down my will—I want to give him everything—but how can I, t, when I never know when he'll do something "for my own good" that I never would have consented to?'
Sitting at the small round table, t smiled lovingly at Hermione. 'But dearest, that's what safe words and contracts are for,' she said simply.
Hermione bit her lip and poured tea, turning aside to fetch milk from the fridge. 'We've never had either,' she said quietly.
'I know you haven't, and that's a big part of the problem.'
Hermione put the milk on the table with a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits, just like the ones t had brought along on their trip down to Roissy House from Hogsmeade, that day so long ago. Taffy said, 'I think, in the beginning, he meant only to train you up for another Master—then you offered your submission, and he accepted, thinking he would attend to the details later—only later never came, because he had to leave you. And then, when we got to see our Masters at Roissy House, the visits were so brief …'
Taffy took her cup and sipped, while Hermione broke a biscuit in half, watching it crumble on the plate. She had been in turmoil since leaving Odd Cottage the weekend before. Being with him had been as intoxicating as ever—his touch upon her flesh and in her mind was perfect in every way—but the realisation of his machinations to lure her to the study brought to mind every objection she'd ever had about his overbearing, manipulative side.
'How can I ever trust him again?' she said sadly.
Taffy grasped her wrist. 'Look at me,' she said in a voice suddenly stern, and Hermione raised her eyes. 'Hermione, how can he ever trust you again?'
Hermione's mouth dropped open, her protest rising to her lips before her mind had processed her objections, but t forestalled her with a shake of her head.
'No,' she said firmly. 'Listen to me. Do you know how long it took Severus to accept me as part of Rafe's life?'
Hermione closed her mouth. She had never considered it—Rafe, t, and Severus seemed perfectly at ease with one another—but perhaps it had been difficult for the professor to see his best mate co-opted by someone whose claims outweighed his in every way.
'Exactly,' t said. 'It was bloody difficult. I've never known a person so distrustful, so unwilling to give a person the benefit of the doubt.'
Hermione nodded, her brow furrowing. She had often observed the same thing, had wished the professor were not so intractable, so quick to misinterpret words and gestures as being mocking or disrespectful of him.
Taffy released her and sat back again. 'I was hurt by it at first, but then Rafe explained it to me. You see, Severus never had many friends at school, except for Rafe and one other person—a girl. Severus trusted her, and she betrayed and humiliated him in front of the whole school.'
Hermione's heart twisted in her chest. 'How? What happened?'
But t shook her head. 'Rafe never gave me the details, and I've never asked. It really doesn't matter, does it? Even if it was nothing, Severus perceived it as a betrayal, and Rafe says it changed him.'
Hermione picked up her teacup and drank, suddenly needing the soothing warmth.
'Rafe says Severus trusted you, and when you withdrew your submission, it really shook him. But this last time—letting him in again and then pushing him out …'
Hermione set her cup into its saucer with a rattle. 'But he's so strong!' she said defensively. 'He's so sure!'
The look of pity t gave her made her want to scream.
'Hermione, he's just a man,' t said gently. 'Not a god, not a machine—he's flesh and blood, just like you are—imperfect, just like you.'
Hermione sagged back in her chair, the truth striking her like the impact of a bullet to the heart. For all her idolisation of him, for all his godlike supremacy when she knelt at his feet, Severus Snape was still just a man. A man, with bad habits and blind spots and bloody-minded prejudices, just like every other man who walked the earth.
'Then how can we ever submit to them?' she said desolately, her eyes beseeching t for an answer.
Her friend's response was swift and tender, for t took Hermione's hand between both of hers. 'Because we need to,' she said firmly. 'We need to submit, and they need to dominate. We set out our expectations of one another, and we agree to them, and we work on the relationship. We're made to fit together perfectly, and somehow we do, for all our individual imperfections.'
Daisy stirred and began to whimper, but t kept her eyes on Hermione's face.
'What you need to be thinking about now is what you want,' she said, repeating her sentiment from earlier. 'And when you decide, you need to let him know.'
Hermione gasped. 'But I told him!'
Taffy scoffed. 'That it would be best if he didn't seek you out? Remember who you're talking to, silly! I know very well that you're mad for him and that you don't want anyone else to touch you. I felt the same way about Rafe, you know, and I had to pursue him before he would believe me.'
Daisy began to cry, and t stood to attend to her daughter. Hermione stared at the chocolate crumbs on her table, her heart and mind in utter chaos.
The days that followed seemed to pass in a dream. She went to work, and as long as she was occupied, she functioned perfectly. But left to her own thoughts, she went around and around in the same loop, over and over again.
She loved him. She wanted him. She knew he wanted her. But when she was with him, the temptation to utterly succumb was too strong, and although she trusted him implicitly with her physical safety, he had proved himself to be …
This is the point where she always hit a wall. What had he proved himself to be? Concerned for her safety? Or determined to have everything his own way? Was it possible he had been both concerned and manipulative? If so, where did it cross the line of what she found to be unacceptable? She didn't know—couldn't think—couldn't decide.
She would consider things carefully—she didn't have to decide something so important in a hurry, after all—and while she considered, she would try to live her life like any other single nineteen-year-old witch living on her own in London.
And time passed.
She made it all the way to Christmas without asking a single question of her Roissy House friends about the Dark Potions master, but when Valentine's Day came, she was racked with pain at her memories of the previous year. That night, she went on the obligatory blind date arranged for her by Ginny Weasley, and she observed the efforts Harry and Ron made for their girlfriends—the candy, the flowers—but nothing she saw came close to the breathtaking, proprietary behaviour Severus Snape had exhibited towards his collared submissive on that holiday. The attention the professor had paid her, even from a distance, had been intoxicating, and she had been too insensible of how fortunate she was.
The next month, when the anniversary of their break-up arrived, she missed three days of work, broke every piece of crockery in her kitchen in a fit of despair, then ate enough chocolate ice cream to gain five pounds. Finally, she mended those of her dishes which were not smashed beyond repair and arranged to meet Kell for lunch.
Kell was troubled. 'Shouldn't you be asking him, Hermione?'
Hermione shrugged. 'I can't seem to make myself do it.'
Kell glanced over her shoulder, her fingertips touching her throat, as if feeling for the collar which she dared not to wear into Muggle London. 'I don't know if Master would want me telling you, because I'm under strict orders not to interfere between you and Master Severus,' she said a bit nervously, 'but I'm going to do it, because you've always done everything you could to help me, and Master, too.' She'd sat forward then, speaking in an undertone. 'He was at Roissy House over Christmas break, and he looked like hell—pasty and thin. He came to the big Christmas play party, but he kept more or less to himself.'
Hermione felt a small ray of satisfaction. 'He didn't have a submissive with him? You didn't see him play with anyone?'
Kell shook her head. 'There's a rumour that Hadrian made him promise to wait a year before even thinking about starting something with another girl.'
The satisfaction evaporated. 'A year from when?' she asked. 'From when I left Roissy House? Or from our last time together?'
Kell's blue eyes widened. 'Then it's true!' she said excitedly. 'You were with him at Odd Cottage last autumn!'
Hermione nodded morosely.
'But you couldn't talk it out?' Kell asked sympathetically.
Hermione averted her eyes. 'No …'
Kell took her hand. 'Oh honey,' she said. 'That happened with Master and me, more than once.'
Hermione looked up again. 'What did?'
'We would get together, intending to talk things out, but I would push him to play, and we'd end up in bed before we got anything done.' She shook her head ruefully. 'That was when he finally said he had no control over me and sent me away for the second time. I went to Elinore—I really thought I wouldn't survive the heartbreak—but she and Hadrian were wonderful. And then I started training with Master Claudius.' Her eyes brightened. 'Hermione, if you asked, I'm sure …'
'No!' Hermione said, suppressing a shudder of distaste. 'No, I won't go into training with another Master.'
Kell nodded. 'Well, it's not for everyone,' she agreed. 'Master has told me since then that he learned from Hadrian that it's much harder when the Dominant is in love with his submissive. It's difficult for the Dom to separate his emotions from discipline issues, but if he's unable to effectively dominate his sub, then he's failing her, no matter how much he loves her.' She flushed, her rosy cheeks making her look particularly pretty. 'We're so happy now,' she said.
Hermione squeezed her hand. 'And I'm happy for you,' she said warmly, meaning it. 'I think you and Reg are perfect for each other. I just wish I could sort out my feelings …'
'Why don't you go talk to him?' Kell asked.
Hermione bit her lip. 'I don't know how he'll react. What if he wouldn't even talk to me? I can't make up my mind.'
Kell's lips thinned. 'Well, if he's going to be like that, it's better for you to find out now, so you can get on with your life, isn't it? It's been over a year now—time to move on, one way or another.'
At the very thought, Hermione's heart hurt. 'I can't bear to think of moving on,' she said quietly.
Kell leaned forward impulsively. 'That sounds like you have made up your mind, sis,' she said. Then she sobered. 'And you might want to do something about it sooner, rather than later.'
Hermione felt a stab of unease. 'Why?'
'Well, it's been a year now since you left Roissy House, hasn't it? Vi told me last week that Master Severus is going to spend Easter break in London, and he's supposed to begin doing some session training—not undertaking full responsibility for the training of a particular submissive, but working with them on a session-by-session basis, at the request of their training Masters.'
Hermione's lips pressed together angrily as she thought about so-called 'session training'. It was probably Dominant shorthand for fucking without taking responsibility for a sub.
Stop it! she scolded herself. You know they aren't like that at Roissy House—they take training seriously. And just look at Kell! Proper training helped her to get the Dominant she loved, didn't it?
She pushed her plate away, her stomach suddenly too upset to tolerate food. She had tried not to think about the professor—had tried to date 'normal' men—but she craved the private, secret things she had experienced at the feet of Severus Snape. The 'nice' young men with whom her friends paired her—the attempts she had made at intimacy—none of it had been what she needed. They didn't smell right, those boys her own age, they didn't touch her properly, and she certainly wasn't aroused by the things which seemed to make her dates behave like rutting animals. It was like trying to get on with Anthony Goldstein—she was constitutionally incapable of it.
Kell's voice recalled her attention.
'Talk to him,' she said. 'If you don't let him know how you feel, he may move on—and then it would be … complicated.'
Hermione nodded. 'You're right—I know you're right,' she murmured, but still, she wondered what she would do.
Hermione walked past the U.S. Embassy again, her eyes darting round Grosvenor Square. She was dressed unremarkably for Muggle London, wearing blue jeans and a hooded jacket, so she wasn't worried about calling attention to herself, but it was growing late; dusk was falling, and she was either going to have to fish or cut bait.
She stared at the space between the two elegant townhouses where Secret-Kept Roissy House nestled. He was in there—she was fairly certain, because he wasn't at Odd Cottage—she had already checked. No one was at Odd Cottage for Easter; Caffey the house-elf had reported that her Master and Mistress had gone to visit Daisy's Muggle grandparents for the holiday.
Hermione rubbed the palms of her hands down the fabric of her jeans, drying them. The family would be sitting down to dinner, right about now—did she really want to burst in on them at table? On the other hand, this was the professor's first opportunity to visit Roissy House since the one year anniversary of their break-up—for all she knew, he might be meeting submissives in need of 'session training' at this very moment.
Did she really want to deal with those thoughts? Truly, the time for thinking was past; it was time now for action.
Thinking to herself, 'The location of Roissy House is number eleven, Grosvenor Square,' she all but ran up to the imposing edifice and pressed the bell. Almost at once, the door opened, and Hermione was looking down at Pitty, the house-elf.
'Miss!' Pitty cried, clearly taken aback. 'We is not expecting you!'
'Hullo, Pitty,' Hermione said, licking suddenly dry lips. 'Is Master Severus here?'
Pitty stepped aside, allowing Hermione to enter the hallway. 'Master and Mistress is in the sitting room,' she said.
'I know my way,' Hermione said firmly, and set off down the wide marble hallway, memory singing in her as she went. That was where they said goodbye when he and Rafe left and she and t held each other and cried; this was the spot he stood and caught her flying leap before the assembled guests of the Gala Night; this was where he informed the door keeper that she belonged to him before escorting her for the first time into the Dungeon.
Buoyed by the feelings these memories stirred—how in love they had been! How immersed in one another!—she confidently opened the sitting room doors and entered the room.
A fire burned in the hearth, warming the chill of the April evening and casting a golden glow over those gathered around it. Hermione first noted that there were no men in the room—the Dominants must have already withdrawn to their Study—but she was dimly aware of the silver-haired Elinore, sitting and conversing with the two young women on the sofa, and these strangers struck her to stone. She froze, staring at them. Both were girls who had been ahead of her at Hogwarts; she knew neither of them well, but she recognised the plump blond as a former Hufflepuff, and her brunette companion had been in Ravenclaw. They were both dressed for dinner, their apparel tasteful but sexy, their hair and make-up party perfect—and they each wore red patent leather training collars on their throats.
Was he going to do them both? Together? A la Jacqueline and Diana? She felt simultaneously hot with anger and cold with dread.
'Good evening, Hermione,' Elinore said crisply.
Hermione turned to her, flushing guiltily. She's been staring and hadn't spoken to anyone—but why did Elinore sound so cold? Before she could speak, Elinore spoke again.
'Tell me—to what do we owe the surprise pleasure of your visit?'
