The Golden Slipper

The Golden Slipper is a rundown pub located in a dingy area of Muggle London not far from Whitechapel. It is a place where no one looks at your face and you’re forgotten as soon as you leave. During the last year, it has become a place where Hermione loses herself several times a month. Here, she is another face amongst a crowd of Muggles who don’t want to be known. People glance at her when she enters but she is not seen, which she likes.

It is a place into which she can disappear for a few hours and leave everything outside.

The war is escalating: attacks are more frequent and she has grown accustomed to seeing friends and acquaintances lying dead in the aftermath of battle. They had foolishly left Hogwarts after sixth year believing that it would all be over soon. There had been the realization that they might not survive, of course, but none of them had ever imagined that the war would still be underway three years later.

She rarely sleeps anymore; a few hours here and there whenever possible is a good night. Research, planning, and support are her life now; have been her life since she was twelve and Harry and Ron saved her from a troll.

Ron is the strategist. Each new attack, new planned battle, is a chess game just waiting for his insight. He has kept many of them alive for years and continues to surprise her with his knack for arranging their forces to best defend and attack.

Harry is the leader, quiet and effective. He makes sure everyone is ready and takes each loss personally. She fears he will not survive long after Voldemort’s defeat. He’s so consumed by hate and revenge that he rarely reminds her of her Harry anymore but he needs that hatred to keep him going so she just trusts he can let it go when it’s all over.

Ron calls her the brains, which isn’t too surprising. She finds old curses, develops new ones, and provides everyone with what they need to fight. There is training, research, hunting the last remaining horcrux, fighting, and so many other things that she has forgotten who she is outside the realm of war. She gives Harry the strength he needs to retain part of his soul, gives him the unconditional love that keeps him grounded and focused. She hopes that as long as she and Ron are alive, they will not lose Harry. She worries for him but believes he is safe as long as she and Ron are there for him.

It is taking them too long to find all of the horcruxes. The war is spilling into the Muggle world ever more with random attacks and an enormous loss of life. It has been concentrated in the United Kingdom so far but she knows it is only a matter of time before it reaches Europe and Asia. There have been two attacks in France in the past three months and she fears the war will soon be too much for them to win.

The Golden Slipper and the escape she finds in a small room upstairs keep her focused, keep her strong, and keep her sane in a world where death, murder, and torture have become commonplace. She cannot let Harry see her fear. She cannot let Ron see that she doesn’t know all the answers. She cannot let them see her cry over the loss of so many lives. She cannot just stop being this person she has become for even five minutes out there because, if she does, it might all unravel and fall apart. It’s not worth the risk.

In this pub, a secret between her and one other, there are no expectations placed upon her. She can simply let go of everything for a brief respite from the chaos that is life. The barkeep never looks at her face when she slides the coins across the sticky top of the bar; even if he did, he’d see only the image that she has chosen for the night. This evening, she is plump and blonde to anyone whose gaze happens to fall upon her. The glamour will be removed when she is upstairs and no longer in danger of being spotted regardless of her precautions.

He is already there. She can feel the weight of his gaze from the shadows of the pub. He needs this escape as much as she does. Whereas she is living the life she decided on when she chose to be Harry’s friend and to stand beside him come what may, he is not. He had tried to remain neutral, refusing to choose a side even after Dumbledore’s death, but soon learned that was impossible.

It had come as a surprise to him to learn that Voldemort had no tolerance for neutrality, especially when the neutral party was handsome, intelligent, charming, and from the lineage of two foreign Pureblood families. The murder of his mother, despite their estrangement for most of his life, had not had the effect that Voldemort intended. Instead of being a threat and reason to join his side, the attack had propelled Blaise into joining Harry. After word got out about Blaise’s official stance, others from Slytherin had joined them, and the lines between Houses have become blurred even if old rivalries are more difficult to overcome.

The barkeep finally slides the key across the bar to her, tracing the same path the coins had just taken. Hermione picks it up and walks through the crowded pub to the stairs that lead upstairs. When she arrives at the room, she immediately places wards up. There are concealment charms on each one, a complicated process but one they all habitually use now to keep anyone from detecting the use of magic or pinpointing their magical trace.

She knows he will wait to come upstairs until she has had time to prepare the room. It is easier if that is accomplished before he steps inside so they can begin immediately, so she hurries as she makes her way through the pub and up the stairs. She is tense this evening, the stress is evident with every step, after spending the morning trying to determine the success of their latest attack: they had lost two and Voldemort had lost five. It is frustarting to her because It seems as if they are still a long way away from ever ending the war or declaring success.

One of the ones they lost was a girl several younger than Hermione, barely sixteen and already learning spells that most didn’t learn in their lifetime, that Hermione had trained just three months ago and declared ready. She feels each loss as personally as Harry did but she could not cloud her judgment with thoughts of revenge like he did and simply had to remain unaffected and determine where things went wrong so the mistake was never repeated. That didn’t change the fact that their faces, all those lost in this horrid war so far, never leave her memory.

Tonight she will exorcise the latest ghosts so she can focus with a clear mind and fulfill her role in this war. When she arrives at the room, she wastes little time. This is a process that has become familiar. She finishes the wards and then strips. He likes her to be ready and in position when he arrives at the room. She folds her clothes and sets them on top of the broken bureau that is the only furniture the room has save for a bed and chair. From the pocket of her coat, she removes the soft velvet collar and puts it on, making sure it is fastened properly. Blaise does not like the feel of rough leather on his fingers and prefers to give her the softest collar he can find so that it rubs sensually against her throat when she moves.

Once she is undressed and wearing her collar, the only thing he allows to cover her skin in this private sanctuary, she kneels on the floor and waits. Her wand is beside her so she can let him in when he arrives. It is also always within easy reach just in case something unexpected happens. He knows how long it usually takes her to prepare and she doesn’t have long to wait before she hears a knock on the door. She listens to the sharp knock followed by three lighter knocks, and uses her wand to open to the door to him.

It is time.

Blaise enters the room and closes the door, casting the locking and muffling charms easily. He stares at her as he casts them, his eyes dark and unreadable as he speaks familiar words. She squirms a bit as she looks up at him, noticing the way his white shirt makes his skin look darker and the way his trousers fit against his legs when he walks. There are no questions asking if she’s sure she wants to do this or if she’s comfortable kneeling in such a way. The time of those questions ended months ago after the first time they found this pub and took their relationship to this level, both needing something the other was offering.

His voice is a low sensual rasp when he speaks. “Back straight, Pet. I want to see your tits,” he tells her in a cultured tone that hints at his family’s pedigree despite the vulgarity of his words. She obeys instantly as she gives him control and stops being the strong one with all the answers for a few hours. “Are you comfortable, Pet?”

“Yes, Master,” she replies as she holds her head high, meeting his gaze the way he likes. She feels her hair tickle her back as she moves, which is a contrast to the hard floor beneath her knees.

Blaise leans against the closed door and his gaze is intense as he simply stares at her, testing her. She remains on her knees, back rigidly straight, her breasts thrust forward for his appreciation. In this room, she is not Hermione Granger, the brains behind Harry Potter. She is not the one with all the answers, the one responsible for making sure so many people are prepared and ready to face possible death every time they are sent on a mission. She is not the one that always has to be in control; that has to keep a firm grip on everything for fear of falling apart.

Here, she is simply Pet and the control is no longer hers, freely given to the handsome man with dark eyes and dark skin who needs control here because he lacks it anywhere else. Not trusted by many due to something as trivial as a House sorting, always looked at with suspicion despite his many successes since joining them. The pretty face that is taken for granted and never believed to conceal intelligence and dry wit that attracted her attention even before they became Master and Pet on the nights they meet in this pub.

“Crawl to me, Pet,” he demands in the low rasp that makes her tremble slightly as she places her palms on the wooden floor and begins to crawl. “That’s a good girl. Your tits sway so beautifully when you crawl to me. Your nipples are hard and I’ll bet you’re already wet, aren’t you, Pet?”

“Yes, Master,” she replies without hesitation. The idea of lying to him never enters her mind as she keeps crawling across the room to him. His praise makes her body flush with pride and she is completely aware of the way her hips roll as she crawls and the way her breasts sway with her movements. When she is with him, regardless of where they meet, she feels sensual and confident.

He doesn’t smirk at her admission but she knows he would be smiling smugly if they were anywhere but this room. Blaise is always smug about her reaction to him. Master, however, does not allow for smugness. Instead, Master watches her silently and licks his lips as he waits. She doesn’t test his patience, remembering all too well the feeling of leather against her arse when it is intended for pain and not pleasure from her last transgression. When Hermione reaches him, she looks up and awaits her next command.

“So eager, aren’t you, Pet?” he muses as he drags his fingertip along the curve of her cheek and traces her lips. “What would you like to do, Pet?”

“I would like to please you, Master,” she tells him sincerely as she licks his thumb. He moves his thumb into her mouth, watching through half-lidded eyes as she sucks his thumb.

“Unfasten my trousers, Pet,” he commands after he pulls his thumb from her mouth. His fingers curl beneath her chin and raise her head so she meets his gaze. “Please me and I will reward you, Pet.”

“Yes, Master,” she replies breathlessly. She moves to her knees, back straight and breasts out the way he prefers, and unfastens his trousers. The room is silent save for heavy breathing and the hissing sound of his zip being lowered. She pulls his trousers and shorts down, watching his cock bounce as it falls free from its confines. He is already hard, turgid and throbbing, the head of his cock wet with pre-release.

Now she will make him harder.

His cock pulses in her hand when she wraps her fingers around him. He is wide and it hurts her jaw to suck him for too long so she has learned ways to please him that do not always require her mouth to be on him. She licks the pre-come that is dripping from the slit on his cock and feels his erection twitch. A few more licks and then she opens her mouth and begins to suck.

“Such a good cock sucker, Pet,” he compliments quietly as his hips push forward and send more of his length into her mouth and throat.

Hermione uses her tongue and her hands as she sucks and caresses him. She rolls his balls in her palm, squeezing gently as she licks the underside of his cock. When she feels an ache in her jaw, she pulls her mouth free and strokes him while licking the head of his cock. She feels his fingers in her hair, tangling in the thick loose curls as he urges her face forward again. She complies and sucks him again.

“Enough,” he rasps finally, pushing her back and stepping around her. “Undress me, Pet.”

She wipes her wet lips with the back of her hand, the taste of his pre-come on her tongue as she turns towards him. He stands before her with his cock jutting out proudly from dark curls, his trousers and shorts around his thighs, his arousal obvious as he stares at her and waits.

“Yes, Master,” she replies as she reaches up and pulls his trousers and shorts down. His cock rubs against her cheek and she licks it briefly as she pushes the material away from his firm thighs and long legs. He allows her to remove his shoes and socks and then steps out of the trousers. “May I stand to complete my command, Master?”

“Yes, Pet,” he allows with a slight nod of his head.

“Thank you, Master.” She stands and unbuttons his shirt, pushing the material from his shoulders until it falls to the floor with the rest of his clothes. Her breasts rub against his chest and she feels the wet underside of his cock press against her belly as she finishes undressing him.

“You have earned a reward, Pet,” he tells her as he leads her to the bed. He stands behind her and moves long fingers over her breasts and down between her legs as he rubs his erection against the small of her back.

She bites her lip when his fingers slide along her wet lips, teasing her with languid strokes before he finally presses two inside her. She gasps at the intrusion, so wet that they slide in easily, and she shivers when his warm breath caresses her neck.

“What would you like, Pet?” he asks as he thrusts his fingers into her cunt.

“Whatever will you please you, Master,” she moans, stumbling over the words when his fingers twist her nipple hard. His cock slides between the crack of her arse and she wiggles as best as she can without needing permission.

He rubs his thumb over her clit, pressing hard as he moves it in slow circles while his fingers continue to push inside her. “You will not come until I allow it, Pet,” he reminds her in a voice that says he’s almost hoping she’ll disobey.

“Y-yes, Master,” she stammers as she presses against his hand.

His teeth scrape against her shoulder and then he bites her neck lightly, just hard enough to make her whimper but not hard enough to break the skin. He brings her to the edge several times, never letting her go over, and she can feel him hard against her back and arse as he rubs her from behind. Then he pushes her forward, knees on the bed. “Crawl to the middle, Pet.”

Her movements are shaky as she crawls to the middle of the bed. This time, it’s she who waits. She can feel his gaze moving over her legs, arse, and back. Wetness coats her upper thighs from where he wiped his fingers and she feels sweat on her back. Her hair falls around her face as she clutches the sheets beneath her, knowing from experience that he moves quickly. She is ready for him, her breasts heavy and nipples hard, her cunt wet and slick.

The bed dips down as he moves behind her but she doesn’t have time to even catch her breath before his hand grips her hip and he’s pushing inside her. There is no patience or teasing now. He enters her completely with one thrust, not even giving her body time to adjust to his width before he’s fucking her hard and deep. Her arse hits his belly every time he shoves forward and she feels his nails digging into her skin as he grips her hip tightly.

His other hand moves beneath her to squeeze her breast, tugging on her nipple as he pounds into her from behind. She pushes back eagerly, moaning when he changes the angle and slaps her arse. His fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her up slightly so he can nibble on her neck. “Do you like this, Pet? You love it when I fuck you like a whore, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” she manages to say in a breathless whimper that she finds familiar and comforting.

“Touch yourself, Pet,” he commands before he licks her neck. “Rub your clit while I fuck you but don’t come until I give you permission.”

Talking is forgotten now. He starts fucking her harder, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the air as she rubs her clit and tries not to come. His breath is a warm pant against her shoulderblades as he moves in and out of her cunt. She hears the guttural grunt escape his lips before he thrusts forward and spills inside her. His come drips from her cunt when he pulls out and plunges back inside her. She tightens around him, milking his cock as best she can in this position and he doesn’t stop moving until he is completely spent.

She whines when he pulls out, her finger rubbing her sensitive clit as her entire body shudders with need. The bed shifts and then she feels his warm breath against her wet cunt. “Time for your reward, Pet,” he mutters before he licks her hand and then pushes his tongue inside her. There is a whisper of words before he licks her again. “Come for me now, Pet.”

At his words, she finally lets go. Her body trembles as she comes, a soft cry escaping her lips as she rides his tongue and face, shaking as she falls forward against the bed. He keeps licking her, pressing his fingers into her as he builds the tension again, not drawing back until she’s come a second time.

Finally, he moves from between her legs and crawls up to lie on the bed beside her. His wet fingers brush through her hair before he rests his hand possessively on her hip and pulls her against him.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispers once she’s caught her breath. The tension and frustration from the latest attack and the casualties has faded enough for her to refocus once she leaves this room.

“Thank you, Pet,” he mutters against her shoulder, reluctant to let her go when she moves off the bed.

She gives him a rueful smile but knows that he understands. If they spend too long in this room, it is far too tempting to just remain, to let someone else make decisions for her and to give him complete control. In here, they can be Pet and Master. They release the frustration and stress of fighting a war that seems never-ending and give each other something they desperately need to make it through their current lives.

He stands and begins to dress. They are both silent as they begin the process of preparing to face reality once again. She does not want to live like this all the time nor does he. This is an escape for them, more than a game but not a lifestyle either would choose. They are needed outside of this room, needed to fight this war so it will eventually end with success as she refuses to consider the alternative.

She removes the wards and lets out the breath she’s been holding as she leaves their room. His hand takes hers once they are out of their room, their fingers entwining as they go downstairs into the Golden Slipper. They leave Pet and Master behind and face the world once again as Hermione and Blaise.

The End