Caught Between Shadow And Light

this is a little something i did in payment to the lovely Nanaea on the forums for making me my very own Jean Claude In-A-Box. she gave me a list of six items and five sentences to use, plus the idea of a threesome between Hermione, Severus and Lucius. one of the other bits of the challenge was that one of them had a secret they didn't want known and the others, naturally, found out. this is what i came up with after much thinking, typing and plot bunny attacks. i hope that this is suitable for her and that she, as well as all of you, enjoy this bit of an offering. please settle in as this is the longest singular piece i've written to date.

just so you all know, though i'm sure you realize it by now, i don't own Hermione, Severus or Lucius. not that i wouldn't want to own at least two of them. figure out which ones. no. sadly, they belong to miss j.k. rowling. she owns them and makes all the money off them. i make nothing but a few +'s and any reviews you want to throw my way.

this is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own. please don't hurt me. and, if you find you enjoy this, please feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think.

Caught Between Shadow And Light
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I never meant for this to happen."

Hermione started at him, unable to believe he was doing this now. They were in public, for Merlin's sake. And people were staring. "`Mione," his voice was soft, full of both tears and apology. He hesitantly reached out a hand toward her face, as if he were going to cup her cheek in his palm. She shook her head and looked away. She didn't want him to touch her and she couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes. It was full of pity and something else she refused to name. She already felt like a freak. She didn't need him to make it worse.

"No, of course you didn't," she snapped. "This is my fault. I can see it there in your eyes. Why now? Why here, of all places?" Her hand made a limp gesture toward their surroundings. The restaurant was one of the newest, most exclusive in all of London. And it catered exclusively to magical cliental. She knew that there were several people among the crowd who knew who she was and who she was sitting with. And he was breaking up with her here.

"`Mi-one love," he began again, pronouncing her name so that it was 'my one'. His hand once more reached across the table, this time aiming for her hand. She quickly jerked it back from him, settling both of them in her lap. Her throat was burning and she could feel her face flaming with embarrassment. Tears stung her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of crying in front of him. And certainly not in front of the people clustered around them at the other tables. He wasn't worth it.

"Don't call me that," she snarled at him. Several heads turned their way, eyes curious and probing. For a few moments, she glared at them. Then she shoved her chair back and stood. "You don't have any right to call me that ever again. I want my key back."

"Can't we talk about this?" he asked her hopefully, his tone indicating that he didn't want to make a scene in front of all the people. She held her hand out toward him, fingers wiggling slightly in an insistent manner. He sighed and stood, reaching into a pocket to pull out a chain with a few keys jangling on it. "Hermione, please don't do this. Not here. Not in front of all these people," his voice was low while his hands worked the single, gold colored key from the ring.

"Don't do this?" she asked, her tone filled with disbelief. "I'm not the one who picked a busy, public restaurant to break up, am I? What do you want me to do? Sit back and remain silent while you walk all over my heart? If you even thought for a moment that I would, you've completely lost your bloody mind."

"Do you really think I wanted it to end like this?" he whispered, laying the shining piece of metal in her hand. "Haven't I tried to make it work? Haven't I tried to be what you needed me to be? I'm sorry that I can't. But I love you and I just..... I can't imagine...."

"Shut up, Ronald!" she hissed at him, her throat closing in. She carefully tucked the key into her bag, taking the opportunity to pull herself together. She could cry when she got home. This wasn't the place or the time. When she looked up, his face had flushed to match his hair and he looked terribly miserable. She didn't care. He was the one who'd started this conversation. She was going to finish it. Taking a moment, Hermione pulled her composure about her like a cloak and shook her head. "I knew, I just knew, after our vacation to the south of France, that something was wrong. I thought it was me and I tried to make it better. Obviously, I haven't done a good enough job. Just.... don't say anymore. Let me be. I'm going to go home now. Don't contact me. Don't come to my flat. Don't try to see me. Just let me alone."

"`Mione," he lifted a hand to her. Shaking her head, Hermione backed from the table. She only stopped when she bumped into a waiter. Turning, she excused herself in a whisper, then fled from the crowded building. Out on the sidewalk, she hurried to hail herself a taxi. The last thing she wanted was to have Ron chase after her. She was lucky. A taxi stopped almost as soon as she hailed it and she crawled into the back. With a faintly quivering voice, she gave the driver the address of her flat and settled into the seat. She didn't look back to see if Ron was standing on the sidewalk. She really didn't want to know.

Her flat was empty and lifeless when Hermione let herself into it. Crookshanks sidled up to her, wending his way about her legs as if he understood that she had to pay homage to him to keep her mind from wandering back over the disastrous scene that had happened only a short time ago at the restaurant. She dropped her bag onto a nearby table, then leaned down and scooped the furry bundle up into her arms. He purred, content in her arms. She moved to the couch and settled onto it, glad for the familiarity of the old, beat up piece of furniture. She spent more nights sleeping on the couch, a book of some sort laying open across her chest, than she did in her own bed. Right now, it was an old, reliable friend that would offer her silent comfort.

"This has been the absolute worst night of my life, Crookshanks," she told her long time pet and friend, holding him up with her hands under his front legs so that she stared him in the eyes. Some of the ginger had started going white, attesting to age. Still, Crookshank's eyes were sharp as ever and he regarded her silently, a knowing look reflected in their intelligent depths. "You knew, didn't you? You knew he would break up with me?" she asked him softly.

The beast rumbled an answer, earning him a quick cuddle before she settled him on the couch beside her. Hermione was pleased when Crookshanks climbed back up into her lap, where he laid down and went to sleep, curled into a comforting ball of vibrating fur. Her hand stroked over his side absently as she thought about what had just happened. "Of course this is my fault. If there weren't something wrong with me, he'd never have...." she sighed sadly. Crookshanks lifted his head so that he could stare at her. She swore there was a biting reprimand in his eyes for her previous comment. She shook her head at him. "Don't you dare deny it. It was my fault. I'm a freak and he obviously can't live with it. I guess..... "

She never finished her sentence. With a soft hiss, Crookshanks stood, then swiped a paw at her. Hermione drew back as he hopped from her lap and sauntered away, tail stuck up in the air. Glancing down to her hand, she frowned to see the trio of thin scratches in her skin. Each one was welling up red. "You rotten little beast!" she spat at him. Climbing from the couch, Hermione moved for the tiny bathroom to clean the wounds and prevent infection.

As if in apology, Crookshanks arrived and wound about her legs again as she stood before the mirror, carefully plying the scratches with antiseptic and salve. She glanced down at him and sniffed, then returned to her task. "Some friend you are. If that's how you want to be, you can ruddy well sleep in the kitchen tonight."

The furry little animal made a kind of pathetic meowing sound, his eyes turned up to her hopefully. Hermione shook her head at him and pointed emphatically toward the kitchen. Crookshanks turned and slunk away, his head and tail hung in sorrow. She watched him go, then finished her evening ablutions. In a short amount of time, she was changed out of her dress clothes into a night gown. The bed was empty and lonely. That had been different just the night before. A rush of memories washed over her, driving a sharp knife of pain into her heart. How dare he do this to her? Was she so horribly freakish that he couldn't bear to look at her any longer? It wasn't her fault that there were wires crossed inside of her somewhere. She thought he loved her. It seemed she was wrong.

Sighing, Hermione slipped in between the crisp, fresh sheets that covered her bed. It was the first time in a long time that she had slept alone. It just wasn't fair. She knew she wasn't exactly a prize catch. She was pretty, but she wasn't the kind of pretty that drew men to her like flies. She hadn't even had much experience with men. First there'd been Viktor, and then Ron. And no one else. And, to be honest, Ron had always managed to make her feel as if she were the most amazing person in the world. At least, he had at the beginning of their relationship. Lately, it seemed to her as if he'd been avoiding her. And she'd thought he was the one. She'd thought tonight was the night. Her parents had always liked him and she was certain they'd have welcomed him into the family. She'd been expecting a proposal. Not a break up. Her throat closed up again. Muttering a curse under her breath, she forebade herself the shedding of any tears because of him.

Only moments later, when the tears fell, Crookshanks was there for her to wrap her arms around and hold, her sobs muffled by a coat that was soaked and spiky with moisture from shed tears.

~*~*~*~*~

The dim buzz of chatter from the outer offices had faded in the face of work piled up before Hermione. Her job at the Ministry was mindless, but it was well suited to her. She worked with information and loads of it. Her job was to sort through whatever scrap of paper crossed her desk, determine what it pertained to, then send it on to its proper department. It was a menial job, really, and she knew that she was little more than a glorified file clerk. But she was her own boss, able to set her own schedule. She also enjoyed the solitude and it was something she could do that required extensive use of her brain. Most days, it provided a fuzzy kind of buffer between her thoughts and the light of day. It hadn't, however, been able to prevent her from losing herself in memories of her failed relationship with Ron.

For a week after their last disastrous dinner, one which she hadn't even eaten at, she'd been in a deep funk that had left her moving as if in a fog. She'd literally gone from bed to work to bed again, only eating when her stomach protested loudly the lack of nutrition. She'd barely been able to think of anything but Ron and how their breakup had to have been her fault. And there was only one problem she thought that it could be blamed on. It all boiled down to sex. Or, more to the point, her problems with it.

Hermione knew, had known for some time, that she was still rather inexperienced when it came to men and relationships. She'd only ever dated Viktor and Ron. Viktor had never gone beyond a few kisses here and there, with a smattering of wandering hands for good measure. Ron had been her first serious love, as well as her first lover. They'd lost their virginity to one another and, for a time, she'd thought that the two of them would always be together. They had been compatible on a level that she knew was rare for most people. Perhaps it had been because they'd practically grown up together. Perhaps it was because she understood how he worked and thought as much as he did her. Whatever the reason, she'd been so sure that they'd been destined for a long life together, filled with desire and passion and a deeply fulfilling love. She knew now that she'd been very naïve to think such a thing.

The first few months had been so sweet and loving. Ron had ever been attentive to her needs, even though he'd still had moments where he'd been a complete twit, where he'd done or said something uncaring. She'd forgiven him that and the occurances of such events had become more and more infrequent. Sadly, as they'd grown closer and more comfortable with themselves and their relationship, Hermione had found herself needing things that she hadn't been able to put into words. She'd been too embarrassed to ask Ron about it and had deemed to try and find some way to meet those needs herself. It had worked for several months, but the desires she'd considered dark and frightening had become too much for her to handle on her own. She could clearly recall the day Ron had found out.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" his voice broke her concentration and, ashamed, Hermione opened her eyes to look up at her boyfriend. Ron was staring at her, the look on his face one that suggested he didn't know her. She frowned and shrugged a shoulder in what she hoped was a negligent manner. The look he gave her told her plainly that he didn't buy her posturing. She sighed and looked to the floor, in the hopes that some reasonable answer would be found at her feet.

"Nothing. I was just.... Well, what I mean is.... I was only," she stammered, heat rising to paint her cheeks with vibrant shades of red.

"You were only what?" he pushed further into her bedroom, his eyes raking over her naked frame with what she could clearly see was disbelief and disgust. He lingered momentarily on her breasts and her hands, peering at what she held in them. It was obvious that he thought her a freak. She could hear it plainly in his voice, see it in the look in his eyes, read it in the set of his mouth.

"You wouldn't understand, Ron," she began, hoping she could make him do just that. He folded his arms over his chest. There was an unspoken order to go on. She took a breath, hoping that she wasn't making a mistake. "I love you, Ron. I really do. But.... there's something missing in our relationship and I... I need more."

"More?" he asked, ice coating each one of his words. She shook at the tone and reached out to drag her robe up over her. She'd never been a chicken, but this was new ground for her. She needed some kind of protection from his accusing eyes. She didn't know how to broach this subject with him. Not without hurting him. And it was obvious that she was going to do just that, no matter how delicately she tried to put it. Still, she'd started it. She needed to finish it. She heaved a sigh and, nodding, she stepped closer to him.

"Please, Ron. Understand that I love you. I really do. But it feels to me as if there's something missing in our relationship. I need something.... more. I can't really put it into words. I can't explain it. But I know it."

"What are you saying? You want to have someone else? I'm not enough of a man for you?" Ron demanded, his voice harsh. She could hear the pain he was trying to hide. She shook her head quickly.

"No, Ron. That isn't what I'm saying. What I mean is...... " she was about to launch into more detail, but there was a knock at her flat door. Ron gave her a look, then turned and left. She took a moment to drag clothing on, then hurried out to answer her door. Ron had retreated to the kitchen, for which she was greatful. The door opened to Harry's smiling face and, in the face of his visit, the conversation was dropped.

They hadn't ever really finished the conversation started that day. Hermione had been too embarrassed about it. She also hadn't wanted to upset Ron any further. Besides, she hadn't thought she could explain it to him when she hadn't understood it herself. After that day, they'd gone on as if it hadn't happened. Hermione had done her best to find what it was she needed in their bouts of love making, but she'd always come away from it with a sense of emptiness somewhere deep inside that Ron had never quite managed to touch. Their relationship had been strained, as if some kind of ghost stood between them. She'd felt horrible that she'd done it to him and she wished she'd had a time turner, so she could go back and undo what had been done. But there was no fixing it, no matter how hard she'd tried.

And she'd tried. Things had bever been the same, though, and she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd decided to break up with her despite the hope that he'd gotten over that one embarrassing moment.

Hermione set the stack of papers before her aside with a loud sigh, dropping her head onto her arms. It had been three weeks now and she'd thought she should be over it. Well, not over it. If she were being honest with herself, Hermione knew that her feelings for Ron would never change. The pain of loss might fade over time. But the way she felt about him wouldn't. It just wasn't fair. She had always been something of an outcast at school and she'd felt she wouldn't ever be blessed with the chance to have a boyfriend. Viktor had been a lovely surprise, though she'd secretly known it wouldn't work out. Ron had changed her entire world and now.... Now he was gone.

She wanted to cry. Again. She'd only cried every day for the first five days before she'd managed to get hold of herself. Still, she'd fought not to give in to tears every day since their last evening together. "Bugger him," she muttered to herself.

"Is that an invitation?"

The question brought her head up and she found a pair of sparkling green eyes regarding her carefully. She could see concern in them, giving her the impression that he was there to check up on her. She didn't know if she should be offended or flattered. Still, she gave him a wane smile before pushing up out of her chair. She crossed the floor and threw herself into Harry's arms for a tight hug. "You've never been interested in me and you know it, Harry," she teased as she pulled back.

"Well, a man shouldn't turn down such a gracious offer," he replied with a faint smirk, steering her back into the office so that he could close the door behind him. His smile faded around the edges and he gave her a good once over. She squirmed at his appraising gaze for a moment or two, then moved back around her desk to take a seat. "You look like hell, `Mione," he finally said, settling into the only other chair in her office.

"I'll be fine," she told him, lifting one shoulder in a shrug,

"You're not sleeping?" he questioned her. She could see the hard look in his eyes that told her he wouldn't let her off without answering him.

"I'm having moments. I'm okay, Harry. Really," she managed to make her voice sound light and airy. Harry gave her a hard look. "Seriously. I'm fine. Its just taking me some time to get back into the swing of being single again."

"Ron misses you," he informed her, being gracious enough to ignore the slight catch that had been in her voice. She gave him a look, then began tidying the top of her desk to distract herself. She didn't need this. Not now. Not when she was trying to get on with her life. "He's been to see me and he says he regrets what happened. He wishes..."

"He wishes? He broke up with me in a public place, Harry!" she shot back, unwilling to go into it. "He doesn't want me. He made that abundantly clear."

"He does too want you, Hermione. I don't know what happened between you two, but I'm sure it was silly. Whatever it was, find a way to work it through. He hasn't been playing near as well as usual since the break up."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I never meant to interfere in his ability to play bloody Quidditch, Harry. But he doesn't understand me. I can't make him understand so its pointless, isn't it?" she ground out the words, lifting a hand to halt whatever Harry was going to respond with. "If that's why you're here, Harry, you can just leave again. I don't want to discuss it. Its over and done with."

Her dark-haired friend made a placating gesture with his hands, his grin looking slightly guilty. "Alright, `Mione. We won't talk about him. Instead, how about I take you to lunch? My treat. Its been a while since we've simply sat and talked."

She regarded him a moment or two, giving consideration to his offer. Finally, she relaxed and nodded. "Lunch would be nice, Harry. On one condition. No mention of Ron. None."

"Very well," Harry agreed easily. "If that's what it takes to get you out of this horrible little office, so be it."

She gave him a smile and stood. "Just let me get my cloak and we'll be off."

~*~*~*~*~

"There's potential there," the voice said in a contemplative tone. It was enough to catch the attention of his lunch partner, who looked up from his plate. The look in the first man's eyes led his companion to follow the pointed stare and he started in surprise.

"Surely you jest," he scoffed, his voice holding every last ounce of contempt he had for the suggestion. The two stared at one another. The expression on the first man's face not wavering and a frown spread across the face of the second speaker. "Try to be reasonable. Look at who you are speaking of. The girl is a bloody nightmare."

"Perhaps," the first voice agreed, but his tone made it clear he'd already brushed it aside. "But look at her. Its there in the way she moves. The way she keeps dropping her gaze. Her entire posture screams of unspoken possibilities. And I think its our duty to persue such possibilities. Bring them to life and show her what it is that she's obviously missing."

The second man shook his head, unwilling to admit to such things. Surely not about the woman in question. He and his companion had been doing this kind of tihng for some time and today was no exception to the rule. They'd be at lunch somewhere and one of them would bring up the possibilities of a female present in the room. And then it would become some kind of game for them, to see if they could convince her to join them. To see if they could open her eyes and show her exactly what kind of amazing things there were to be had in the world.

Many of their little experiments were successful, with their students learning how to truly enjoy and be themselves. Some of their attempts failed. But they were always on the look out for someone else to teach and mold, someone who's mind they could expand and fill with new ideas. He had his doubts that the woman he was presently studying would be one of their successes. Sighing, he looked back to his friend and saw the expression on the other man's face.

"You are determined in this," the second voice said, filled with resignation. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Of course I am, my friend. And I know you're interested, too. I can see a glimmer of something lurking the depths of your own. You always did love a challenge. I believe we can bring her to heel within a few months' time."

The second man turned to stare at the girl again, his frown firmly in place. He supposed he could see what it was that his lunch partner was speaking of. There was a sense of confusion hanging about her shoulders, sorrow in her eyes that spoke to some kind of loss. He'd been doing this long enough that he could tell her confusion sprang from something she didn't understand. He'd be willing to bet, were he to do such things, that she had urges that she could no longer deny. He was also certain she knew nothing helpful about them. It was possible, he supposed, that the two of them would be able to help her find her way through what he suspected to be dark and confusing thoughts.

"Well?" the first man asked, his voice filled with expectation.

"You know I never can resist a challenge," the second man sighed.

"Of course not, my friend. Will you be able to manage this, given how you feel?"

"She is no longer a child. And she is not so harsh on the eyes that I will not be able to find some pleasure in her. Besides, you know as well as I do that my tastes have changed as much as she has over the years," he said without inflection.

"Very good. So?" the first man smiled and lifted his glass for a toast. "Shall I begin?"

"Feel free. Be sure to do your homework before hand, though. This needs to be as smooth and flawless as possible."

"Have I ever disappointed you?" the first asked with a grin.

"Of course you have not. And that is what worries me." The comment was met with a bout of silken laughter that he knew meant there'd be no half way with this one. Merlin help them if the girl didn't want to go along with it.

~*~*~*~*~

The note was buried between piles of work. Hermione frowned as she drew the heavy, expensive parchment toward her. Folded in thirds and sealed with an honest to goodness wax seal, she could feel the magic humming against her fingertips. There were wards of some sort on the paper. It was more than likely they were privacy wards, placed on the paper to ensure no one other than the intended recipient opened it to read the words inside. She frowned and wondered who would be sending her a sealed for privacy note. A quick look at the wax seal gave her no clues as to the sender's identity. It contained no letters in it, just the flowing lines of a small Celtic knot pressed into the bloody red wax.

For a moment, she considered tossing the note into the trash unread. There was a small, niggling sensation at the back of her mind that insisted it was a letter from Ron, trying to coax her into meeting with him. He'd come to her office several times over the past weeks, called her on the telephone, even sent her letter upon letter begging her for an opportunity to explain. She'd told him no everytime and either burned the note, sent him away or hung up on him. She didn't care if their breakup was effecting his ability to play for the Chudley Cannons. After he'd humiliated her in public, she wasn't all that sympathetic to his problems.

Her hand hovered over the trash bin, ready to drop the offending parchment, when the magic against her fingers pulsed in a curiously intimate and completely unfamiliar way. Drawing the letter back, she stared down at it. That small throb of magic that tickled her skin was so..... tempting. She turned it over and looked at it. There was nothing to adorn the cream colored paper other than the obscenely red wax that held it closed. She debated with herself, trying to decide if she should open it or not. Soft, warm, teasing magic pulsed against her skin again. Heaving a sigh, she decided there was no way to know what it said unless she opened it.

That was, of course, if the magic would allow her to open it.

Her lower lip caught between her teeth, Hermione slipped her fingernails beneath the top flap and used them like a letter opener. The wax seal let go with laughable ease and the flaps fell apart to expose the words written on the inside to her view. The note was obviously meant for her and, for a moment, Hermione worried how someone had slipped a note into her pile of work without her notice. It would have to have been done before or after hours. That thought left her filled with little joy. She didn't like that someone had invaded her private sanctuary here at the Ministry and rifled through her work.

She glanced at the parchment in her hands and frowned. Inside, there was a picture of her and Ron together, at a party thrown for his Quidditch team after one of their victories. He had his arm around her shoulder, a broad smile on his face. She, however, was looking slightly uncomfortable and there was a certain hesitancy that showed around her lips and eyes. She remembered that moment. The photo had been taken right after they'd kissed before a cheering, rowdy crowd. She lifted the picture to find six words scrawled across the paper in a flowing, bold script that bespoke of an authorative, intelligent person in control of everything around them.

He isn't good enough for you.

Hermione frowned. There was no signature, so she didn't know who'd sent it. If she were going to be honest with herself, there was a certain amount of vehemence behind those written words that made her think that whoever had sent the note felt that she deserved better. More. Somehow, she felt that the person who'd penned the note knew her and knew what was best for her. The very thought made her shudder with a mixture of fear and... something else. Something thick and pulsing and dark. She shuddered and shoved the note into a desk drawer, determined to forget all about the silly thing.

~*~

My dearest Pet,

I am quite certain that this note will find you much confused. Given the state of your emotions the past six weeks, its understandable that you are wary of what this missive will bring you. If you give me but a moment or two, I will make you see that I mean you no harm. In fact, I mean to put at ease that one corner of worry that eats at you. Bear with me while I explain myself. I and my companion, that is.

We've studied you from afar, dear girl, and we know you. We know what it is that you hide behind your very proper face and your very sensible clothing. Beneath that plain surface is a wild, passionate creature just waiting to be brought out into the light. Its as plain to see as is the pale softness of your skin or the golden highlights that shine in your hair. And it is understandable why you hide yourself from the world. We know your secret and we know your shame. We understand.

You have feelings inside of you that cannot be explained. You believe that there's something wrong with you, that you are deficient in some manner. Part of you wants to know what this thing is that consumes you. Part of you runs in fear from the very idea. Trust us when we tell you that these things you feel are very natural. There is nothing wrong with wishing to explore them. However, to do so requires the aid of someone who knows what you are going through and will be willing, and able, to help you along the path of self-discovery. You need to turn to some one you can trust.

My companion and I would thrill to be those persons.

You long for something you've never known. Something you have yet to truly study and accept. The general opinion of these things you feel is that its wrong and deviant. There is absolutely no need to feel this way. There is nothing wrong with you. That insensitive sod that was your boyfriend was wrong in thinking that you were tainted in some way, in making you believe that you were somehow unworthy. We can show you that there is nothing wrong with your inner feelings. We can show you that you are simply a woman with high, specialized passions. We can take you to the very top of that plateau that you can see but cannot reach. There is so much we can show you and give you.

You but need to let us.

Think on this note, on what you've been told. Think on what we can offer you, what we are offering you. Consider allowing us to broaden your mind to the most amazing possiblities, the most wondrous feelings and sensations. We can grant all this, and so much more, to you. All you need do is give in and say yes.

Hermione stared at the note and frowned. She'd arrived home at her flat after her odd day at work to find this second, more in depth note waiting for her. As with the one she'd received at work today, the parchment was of the finest quality. Once more, it had been sealed with blood red wax and written in midnight ink. The script was in the same bold, flowing hand. There was no doubt that this note had been sent by the same person who'd sent her the note at work.

Why? Why had this person, or persons, picked her? And how the hell could they know what she was feeling? After that one moment when Ron had caught her, she'd done her best to keep all of those kinds of feelings and thoughts to herself. Hiding them had been easier than she'd thought. While Ron had always given her queer glances when he thought she wasn't looking, no one else had seemed to regard her in any way other than the usual. How was it that the author, or authors, of the note she held could have guessed at that one part of her she'd never truly acknowledged or allowed to come to life? She simply didn't understand it.

Settling into her chair, Hermione once more looked at the hand-written letter she held. How it had managed to find its way into her flat, which was warded and spelled for her protection, was beyond her. She'd noticed no disturbances in her magic, which led her to believe that who ever had written the note was a very strong, very powerful Witch or Wizard. It rather frightened her, because there were few who could do it. And only a handful of them would be able to spend the time it took to patiently unravel all of her protective spells in order to gain entrance.

That thought sent her up out of her seat in a heartbeat and, wand in hand, she quickly did a thorough scan of her flat. Nothing seemed to be out of place. She couldn't find anything missing and there was no sense of threat. Whomever had broken in appeared to have done so with nothing else in mind but to leave the note where she would be sure to find it. And found it, she had. The note had been tucked almost reverently between the pages of her favorite book. She'd planned on coming home and doing nothing more than reading while nibbling at some popcorn or a sandwich. She'd even managed to forget about the note sent to her office today. Until she'd opened the covers of her much worn copy of Charlotte's Web and the folded sheaf of parchment had fluttered out.

Staring down at the paper she still held, she tried to puzzle her way through the maze of questions and thoughts it had brought to life in her head. It was difficult to sort them out and find the right category for them. Any other night, she could have managed to think it out in a clear and rational manner. But not tonight. She'd worked late and was tired. Couple it with the headache that was now pounding to life behind her eyes and there was no way that she could manage to work her way through the questions and concerns that came along with this note's arrival. Perhaps she would simply climb into bed and get some rest, then tackle the problem in the morning.

Yes. That was the right course of action. Sighing, she set the note aside and scrubbed at her face. It really was quite late and the day had been very long. The two notes had completely thrown her for a loop and Hermione wanted nothing more than to sink into the oblivion offered by her soft, fluffy pillows and welcoming mattress. After working through her evening clean up ritual, she settled into bed and curled around her pillow, drifting off after only a moment or two.

Soft voices filled her dreams, whispering to her in dulcet, silken tones about respect and beauty. Pale hands stroked over her naked flesh, sending delicious waves of need and ecstacy rolling through her veins. Her body was on fire, begging for the mysterious owners of those hands to touch her in places that ached for completion. Fingers reached out to tweak at her nipples, bringing them to hardened peaks. A gasp fell from her throat, a sound that was low and deep, sensual and husky. It was a sound she'd never heard come from herself before. "Please," she begged the faceless men, whimpering for something more even though her mind couldn't name precisely what it was. "I need something more."

"Of course you do, my Pet. And you shall have it. Soon. But first, you have to put your feet on the path. Only when you reach enlightenment, when you understand, will we give you what you so desperately desire. What you need with such an ache that it drives a shaft of loneliness deep into your heart.You can have everything you desire. And more. All you need do is simply give in."

"Give in?" she was confused. It took every ounce of her energy to get the words out, her eyes nearly closed as a wave of rich passion filled her. Her body clenched tightly, moisture pooling low in her belly. The hands moved lower, stroking softly against the silky skin of her belly. Hot breath tickled her neck, shifting thin wisps of hair across her ear as something hot and moist touched her throat. A spasm spiraled through her, her body arching up off the mattress.

"Yes, my dear. You have to give in to us. To yourself. To your most desperate desires. If you cannot give in, if you cannot let go, then you will never truly find happiness." This voice was darker than the first, lower and filled with something she possibly couldn't fathom. A second set of hands joined the first, taking up the task of pulling at her firm nipples. She could feel the callouses that made the tips rough and each shifting of his fingers sent shivers of sensation down her spine. The hands on her abdomen shifted to her legs, gently roving over the swell of her thighs and the turn of her calves. Not once did they shift near the heated center of her being, leaving her frustrated and achingly in need.

"I don't understand. I don't... I don't know how," she stammered, her hips squirming across the bed as if gifted with a mind of their own. One of the hands teasing her breasts moved to settled over her belly, effectively holding her still.

"Give over your control to us," the first voice was right beside her ear. She shuddered at the sexual tones in it, at the blatant promise it held. Oh, how she wanted to do just that.

"I..." she shook her head. "Its hard. I don't know how."

"Allow us to show you," the darker voice was like the finest Chinese silk beside her ear. It brought a moan out of her, the sound filling the air to paint the darkness with bright, beautiful colors of wanton desire. She felt muscles clench and nearly cried when the orgasm slid away before she could fall into it.

"Now, now, my Pet," the first voice chuckled softly. "There's no reward until you give us what we ask of you."

"What do you want of me?" she asked softly, her eyes moving frantically in the dark. Another chuckle thrilled up her spine.

"Can you handle the truth?" the darker of the two voices asked her seriously. She nodded her head, hoping that it would be enough to get her the answers she wanted. "No, I think not. You are not yet ready. You still need time to train and realize."

"Please," she begged softly, searching the pitch black of the room for their faces. She could see nothing more than those twin sets of pale hands as they glided over her quivering flesh. Each one was more than adept at stroking to life the fires of passion and need that she'd sensed were there, deep inside of her. Fires that she had done her best to suppress from everyone in the world. Including herself.

"You must give yourself to us, as well as give of yourself. The need that lives in you cannot be denied much longer. You will never know real satisfaction if you allow the Ronald Weasleys of the world to make you feel inferior and.... diseased," the second voice was full of sharp reprimand. And promise. She clung to the promise, shying away from the reprimand. She knew it meant she'd done wrong.

"I'm afraid," she replied almost frantically. "Why won't you show yourselves to me? What have I done wrong? Did I displease you? Please. Tell me."

A pair of chuckles filled the air. One was silken and silvery, the other dark and sensuous. Both of them shot straight to her throbbing core, building the fire of need inside of her. "You've done nothing to displease us, little one. Not yet. You're stiill learning and, there for, allowed a certain amount of leeway. When you understand who and what you are, then you will need to worry about displeasing us." To accentuate his statement, a finger stroked teasingly across the swollen lips between her thighs. It was more than she could bear. Her hands were suddenly walking their way across her body. One took up residence on a breast, her fingers twisting and pulling at the puckered nipple. The other hand slid between her thighs, between those folds of flesh to find her clit.

She barely had time to touch herself when both pairs of hands, only moments ago and soft and gentle with her, grasped her wrists and dragged her hands away from her body. In a flash, she found them bound together, pulled up above her head and tied to the headboard. A tongue traced a path across the tip of one heaving breast before a set of teeth clamped down and bit hard. Hermione gasped, her body surging upward in an attempt to dislodge her tormentor.

"When the daylight comes, Pet," the silken voice whispered near the corner of her mouth, sending shudders down her spine. "Your hands will be free."

And then they were gone. Hermione was alone, her body crying out for completion while her hands tugged futilely at the bonds that held them in place. Finally, after tiring herself out trying to free her hands, she slid away from the dream and back into her slumber. The morning found her waking with stiffened arms and a dull throbbing in her nipple. When she extracted herself from her bed, it was to find that the night gown she'd put on was tossed negilgently to the floor. And a glance in the mirror showed her a neat imprint of teeth circling her nipple, the perfectly formed bite a deep, dark purplish blue and black color that was more than a mere bruise. It was a brand, a mark left by her dream lovers.

And it was a warning that she plainly understood.

~*~*~*~*~

Two pairs of eyes regarded the young woman sitting alone at a table across the room from them. They were certain she hadn't seen them because, if she had, she would have given them a look that would have rivaled the fires of hell. The first man sighed and gave a faint grin. "I think last night went rather well."

"She was far more receptive than I believed she would be," the second commented almost grudgingly.

"Far too receptive, old friend. Had we been there in the flesh," his companion began, a sly grin spreading across his face. He glanced at the woman again and the grin became a smirk. "Even your terrible old self would have gotten laid."

"For such a high bred Wizard, you certainly are crass," the second retorted and flicked his copy of The Daily Prophet noisily. He retreated behind the pages and their mind-numbing stories, hoping that it would earn him a reprieve from his companion's teasing banter. He should have known better.

"Better crass than a tight ass," came the reply. Lowering one corner of the paper, he gave the man across the table a pointed stare.

"You have never had any complaints about my tight ass," was the scoffing rejoinder. A smile settled itself upon the other man's face and he inclined his head in acquiescence to the statement. "In fact, there is very little you have complained about."

"You know its so very hard for me to find fault in anything you do," the tone was low and suggestive.

"Only because you know I can hex your lily white backside into the dust with nary a thought."

"Of course. Just as you know hexing is the very last thing I wish for you to do to my lily white backside."

Both men stared across the table at one another, their eyes revealing things they would never say with mere words. That, too, had been something they'd done for a very long time. Very few people knew of their relationship beyond that of their school years. It was something they both preferred to keep quiet, though each man for his own reasons. After a moment, the first went back to watching their prey while the second returned to his paper. Silence cloaked them in the manner that was only available to two friends or lovers who shared secrecy and intimacy. Neither one noticed or cared, each wrapped up in his own thoughts for the moment. Eventually, their eyes were once more drawn to their latest mark.

"She was rather hot and bothered last night. Do you suppose that idiot Weasley ever truly satisfied her?" the first asked, his voice liberally laced with contempt. His companion snorted and rustled his paper as he turned the page.

"Weasley's wand is doubtfully up to the challenge that her passions present," the second man sneered in reply. It was greeted with low chuckling. Two sets of knowing eyes met over the top of the paper."She is well rid of him."

An elegant eyebrow arched at that statement. "This after you said she was a nightmare? What on earth has changed your mind?" The man behind the paper said nothing, giving all of his attention over to the text before him. Another laugh filled the air, one that saw his jaw tightening with frustration. "You've tasted the passion within and you're drunk on it. On her. Aren't you? Don't deny me, old friend. I can read you better than you know."

"I plan on teaching her what it is she is and what it is she craves, then she will be handed off to the first one who comes along that wishes to lay claim to her."

"Believe whatever you will," the cultured tones held a scoffing disbelief. "I know the truth of it. And the truth is that you want her for your own."

"Another comment like that will earn you a sound thrashing," was snarled at him from behind the paper.

It was answered with a soft chuckle. "Oh, promises."

~*~*~*~*~

More notes came to her home. There was at least one a night and each one of them was more eloquent than the one before. Whoever was writing the notes to her seemed to be able to read her mind and see into her very soul. Every single fear she had, every question. Every feeling and emotion. At first, they simply talked about her and what it was she was going through. The letters were gentle and kind, allowing her to come to an understanding about the cravings she'd long suffered with.

As the days passed, Hermione found herself looking forward to the arrival of the notes. Though each one was always anonymous, she felt as if the person, or persons, who wrote them were more than familiar to her. Even if she didn't know who they were, she liked to think that they all knew one another and that these men has chosen her for a particular reason. That idea gave her a thrill. She felt powerful, because the notes gave her reason to believe that these men found her attractive. Worthy. She felt beautiful and desired.

For most of her life, Hermione had had no illusions about just how she appeared to people around her. When she'd gotten older, she'd been aware that the boys around her had found beauty elsewhere. It wasn't that she'd ever been ugly. It was just that her intelligence made her seem less attractive than she was. She knew that and had accepted it as truth some time ago. It hadn't stopped her, from time to time, from feeling as if she'd been overlooked because she hadn't been gifted with a stunning face and an amazing body. And some of those feelings had slipped away as she'd lost herself in the nightly barrage of understanding letters.

The notes gradually went from explanatory to instructive. The authors, she knew there were two by the differing scripts, began to write about things that she should attempt to do when alone in her flat. She was, of course, apprehensive at first about giving in and doing as she was told. Part of her rebelled at the idea of allowing someone, anyone, to tell her what she could and couldn't do. With each refusal to follow instructions, the letters became harsher and more insistent. Their tone suggested that she'd failed the men behind the quills. And, somehow, knowing that made her feel worse. She wanted to please these men who were calling themselves her Masters, wanted to bask in the sunshine of their approval. She just didn't know how to give in to their demands and set herself aside.

And it wasn't just notes and letters. There were such vivid dreams that came to her at night. The voices were deep and dark, sensual and sexual, as they whispered into her ears. They told her what a beauty she was, how lovely she'd truly be when she finally gave in and submitted. Each night, they teased and tortured her body, hands stroking and pulling and tweaking at her bared skin. She was never allowed to touch herself. She was told time and time again that she had to ask their permission for it. When she didn't, they laughed and bound her hands above her head. The voices told her she would give in and she would submit. When she did, they said, she would finally understand what real passion was. What true fulfillment was.

Each night, she went to bed hoping that they would come to her in her dreams while, at the same time, hope that they would give her a night of respite from their taunting and teasing. Each night, she went to bed clad in a long, simple cotton night gown. Each morning, she woke naked and bound. And each morning brought a new mark of ownership somewhere on her body. Each night was met with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Part of her wondered what would happen if they came to her in person. Would she submit and let go her control, give it and herself over to them? Or would she rebel and anger them? She didn't want to upset them, didn't want them to punish her and go away.

Each dawning brought with it a new resolve. She would not give in so easily to their demands. She was the one in control of her life. She always had been and she always would be. She knew, on some level, that she was playing with fire. She knew nothing about the men who sent her the letters, who visited her in dreams that were far too vivid to be real. She shouldn't have allowed them the control that they already had over her. But she was lost in the wonder of their caresses and the beauty of the world they kept painting for her. And, if she were being honest, there was such a strong desire within her to do as they asked her to. She wanted to submit to them, give of herself to them so that she could stop being strong. Stop being the intelligent one that everyone came to for information. Because she wanted to, even if it was just for a short span of time, wanted to stop being Hermione Granger, Hogwart's brightest Witch in an age and one of the best friends of Harry Potter.

She just wanted to be herself. And, much as the voices were unknown to her, that was exactly what they were offering her. That part of her that wanted to be free clung to that tightly with both hands and refused to let go. She was at war with herself, battling what she knew was right with what she knew was desired.

Hermione sighed as she shoved those troublesome thoughts aside and turned to the stack of parchment before her. She hadn't gotten a bit of work done yet today and she'd been stuck behind her desk for six hours already. She'd seriously tried to make a dent in the stack of information, but every time she shifted, she felt the twinge of muscles that had been strung too tight pulling in protest. She'd woken this morning to find, after one of the most amazing and frightening dreams she'd ever had, that her hands were bound above her hands again. Instead of waking naked, she'd found herself clad in a cream colored, silken teddy bear. Her breasts, aching from rough treatment and brusied bite marks, were held gently in the lace cups. The silken material, so soft and gentle, rubbed at the swollen, sore flesh between her legs almost mockingly.

It hadn't been the first time she'd woken to find that her dream lovers had left her something sexy to wear. It was, however, the first time she'd woken wearing one of them. Even while it had felt so amazing against her skin, it had also been a painful reminder of the path that she knew she was unwittingly walking down. It had taken all her energy to not tear the garment from her body and rip it to shreds. Something had told her that doing so would only invite down upon her head the wrath of her nightly visitors.

"Bloody arrogant bastards," she muttered to herself and once more tried to focus on the task at hand. Namely, her job. Which had, quite frankly, been suffering the past week or so. As much as there was a part of her that was anxious for the nightly letter and her nightly visit, the rest of her was mildly disgusted with how easily she'd become.... something else. And those changes were presenting themselves in her ability to function. Because she knew that these men watched her and they knew what she did. When she did them. That had been made obvious in some of their letters when they'd admonished her for childishly ignoring their commands. Commands she'd found herself giving into with more frequency. The worst had been when she'd been ordered to arouse herself at work and remain in that state all day without once attempting to find relief.

"Stupid arsed men," she snarled. She'd willingly, happily done it. And the reward that night had been so mindblowing that she'd almost overslept.

"What have they been doing to you now, `Mione?" the voice drew her from her thoughts and she looked up to find curious green eyes watching her carefully.

"Harry. What are you doing here?" she asked, setting about tidying her workspace.

"I've come to check on you, of course. Its been a few months since the break up and I wanted to make sure you were doing well," he told her. She gave him a lazy smile and motioned to the chair situated on his side of the desk. Giving her his own smile in return, he moved to the empty chair and settled into it.

"Its good to see you, Harry. How's the Auror business going?" she asked him, clasping her hands together before her and settling them on the desk. He shook his head at her.

"I'm here to check on you. You shouldn't be asking me how I'm doing at work," he chided her. She only grinned and waited patiently. Finally, he shook his head and let go a sigh, then shrugged. "Its going well, I suppose. Things have been quiet lately, so I've had plenty of time to spend at home with Ginny."

"Oh, good. How is she doing?" Hermione asked, genuinely interested. Harry and Ginny had gotten married shortly after leaving school.

"She's making my life a living hell," he chuckled good naturedly.

"Well, that baby is due soon. So I expect she's rather grumpy," she replied with a grin.

"That's putting it mildly. She's asking when you're going to come see her. You haven't been by since Ron and she's concerned," he said quietly, his eyes now filled with worry. She shook her head, motioning his fears away with a hand. With the reflexes of a Seeker, Harry reached out with one hand and grasped her arm, the other one drawing her work robes up to her elbow. His eyes, now dark green with what she knew was both concern and anger, pinned her to her seat."Hermione? What is this?"

She kept an unconcerned face and looked at the slightly reddened flesh that circled her wrist. She'd pulled fairly hard at the bindings that'd held her arms up and away from her body last night. She'd forgotten that she'd been left with raw abrasions from them. "Its nothing to worry over, Harry," she shrugged nonchalantly. The way his lips tightened was enough to tell her he didn't believe her for an instant.

"Hermione," he began. His tone told her that he wasn't going to let it go and that he planned on lecturing her. "This doesn't have anything to do with Ron, does it? Because if it does, I'll have him come see you."

"No, Harry," she shook her head, drawing her arm back from him. "Its nothing to do with Ron."

"Then what is it. Because I don't plan on leaving here without an explanation," he crossed his arms over his chest to punctuate the serious tone in his voice.

"Harry, really," she gave a sigh and lifted a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She watched as his eyes narrowed and she could have kicked herself. One of her dream lovers had left her with a perfectly formed reproduction of his teeth on her neck. The bruise hadn't been big and she hadn't thought to cover it. Normally, she spent time alone in her office while at work and had been certain when she'd left her flat this morning that no one would see it.

"Tell me what's going on. Right now," he ordered sternly. She could see in him then some of the strength he carried that had helped him put an end to the biggest threat to the Wizarding world. It was enough to let her know that he wouldn't leave until he had his answers. Thinking it over for a few moments, Hermione considered her best course of action. Then, with a curt nod, she stood.

"Not here. Over lunch. Somewhere else," she replied. He eyeballed her a moment or two, then stood and moved for the door. Hermione pulled open the top drawer on her left and pulled out a singular piece of parchment, then tucked it into her robes and followed Harry from her office.

~*~

"Alright, Hermione. Tell me what's going on with you. Right now," Harry said in a low, commanding tone. Hermione started to find herself responding to it and she had to clamp down on the urge to duck her head and speak to the table.

"It all started with this," she replied and handed him the parchment out of her pocket. Harry took it and looked at it wordlessly, his eyes flicking from the paper to her and back again. "It was hidden between stacks of paperwork in my office. I found it a couple weeks after Ron and I broke up. After we had lunch that one day. It came with a picture of Ron and I."

"What started?" he asked carefully, bright emerald gaze moving over her with great intensity, as if he were seeing things about her for the very first time.

"That night, when I got home, I had another note. Same parchment, same wax seal, same writing. And it spoke of things about me that no one could possibly know. No one but Ron," she paused to fiddle with her fork. A server passed them and Harry waited until they'd gone by before asking the words that were eating away at him.

"What things?"

She blinked a moment, trying to decide the best way to tell him. Harry had been her best friend for so long now, she was worried she'd disappoint him with this. She still didn't completely understand it herself. She only knew that it was what she was and that there was nothing wrong with her. Finally, she decided the straight forward approach was the best. "I'm a submissive, Harry."

He gave her a look for a moment, then nodded and made a motion with one hand. Their server appeared then, dropping off their drink order and their appetizers. Both flashed the young man a thankful smile and watched as he moved away. "I want someone to dominate me," she explained softly. "Not all the time. Just in bed. I want someone to control me during sex. Being tied down excites me and...." she stopped when she realized he was just looking at her. She frowned. He was going to think her a freak, too. "I know it sounds strange, but I swear to you that its the truth."

"This was why Ron wanted to break up with you?" he finally asked her in very neutral tones. She nodded her head.

"Yes. He caught me once, trying to..." she broke off and gave a nervous chuckle. "I don't know what I was trying to do. But he found me at it and wouldn't let me explain. And I tried. But he wasn't listening and, every time that he looked at me after that, I could see the doubt and.... revulsion in his eyes. Our relationship after that was strained and... I suppose his wanting to dump me was inevitable. I tried not to let him see how much I needed more. I tried to be what it was he thought I should be. I just... couldn't."

By then, she was in tears. Harry reached out a hand and laid it over hers, clasped so tightly together before her. "Ron's a bit thick at times, `Mione. He still cares. But he just doesn't understand. There's nothing to.... " he paused and looked at her again, this time with such intensity that she wanted to hide from his penetrating stare. "You've found someone who can give you what you want?"

"Um.... yes and no," she flushed and fell silent while she worked out just what to tell him. Harry waited patiently, one hand idly playing with the wand hidden under his robes. Ron was his best friend, but it was obvious from Hermione's body language and words that the git had hurt her badly. Perhaps, once he was done here, he'd pay the red-head a visit. "The letters came to me, but none of them have ever been signed. And there are dreams. Realistic dreams. I can hear their voices and feel their hands. They want me to..."

"They?" Harry interrupted, his forehead creasing in concern.

"Yes. There's two of them. Two men."

"Two men who send you anonymous notes and come to you in vividly real dreams?" he asked her carefully. She nodded, confused by his questions. Harry sat back in his chair and frowned. There were perhaps only a handful of Wizards capable of producing such dreams. He had a good idea who was doing this to her. It seemed as if he had more than just one visit to make today.

"Harry? What's wrong?" she asked tenatively, a small thread of fear evident in her voice. She hadn't seen that look on his face in a very long time. He glanced at her and then gave a smile, his hand once more reaching out to cover her own.

"Nothing, `Mione. Tell me," he asked her, his smile in still in place but his tone filled with seriousness. "Is this what you want? Think about it before you answer."

She did just that. Hermione turned over her time with Ron and pit it up against the past few months. Slowly, she realized that she'd been far happier with her letters and her dream lovers than she'd ever been with Ron. Even though she was still frightened by her need to give herself to the two men completely, she was still so much more at ease with herself and her life. No matter how frightened she was of what these men brought to life in her, made her want, made her want to do and give up, she was still far happier this way than she'd ever truly been with Ron. It was a sobering realization.

"Yes, Harry. It is," she replied evenly. He watched her a moment or two, then nodded and gave her a big smile.

"Then I wish you all the luck in the world with your two mystery lovers," he told her softly. She managed to smile back without breaking her face and he was grateful when the server delivered their meals to them. It gave him the perfect opportunity to mutter to himself under his breath. "If the bastards hurt you, I'll hex their bloody wands off."

~*~

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Potter?" the voice drawled from behind a length of parchment. Harry scowled and leaned up against the doorframe. "You do realize that my time is valuable, do you not?"

"I'll make this short and sweet. Hurt her and there isn't any where in this world that I won't go to repay the favor in kind," Harry replied evenly. A pair of curious eyes looked up at him over the top of the parchment.

"Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Potter?"

"Hermione," he returned succinctly. An eyebrow arched up in silent question. Harry took it as his invitation to go on. "I don't know if you're playing a game with her or not. But she's vulnerable. And if you're only doing this to get your kicks, I won't hesitate to return the favor in kind. Do you understand me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Potter," the languid voice replied without inflection.

"Oh, I believe you do. And I'm going to be watching you. Hermione is vulnerable. You won't hurt her."

"Why ever would I wish to hurt young Miss Granger? Isn't she spending her free time with your friend, Mr. Weasley? I had heard that their relationship was so very hot and heavy."

"Its over and you bloody well know it. Rest assured I'll have my eye on you. And your partner. Treat her with respect. If you don't, I'll make sure you won't have the chance to do the same to someone else," Harry warned. Then he turned and stepped out through the open door. A side panel opened and a second figure joined the first. The two of them were silent for some time, merely staring at the emptied doorway where the young man had been standing only moments ago. Finally, a sigh filled the air and the first man spoke in a soft, almost amazed voice.

"Well, well. It seems young Mr. Potter has quite the protective backbone."

"Do you blame him? She is as close to a sister as he has ever had," the second man intoned softly.

"Will he be a danger to our plans? She's close, you know. Very close."

"I know. I have already sent her the next letter. She will receive it when she steps into her flat tonight."

"Very good, old friend. Soon...." the first man sighed and glanced at his companion. "Its going to be so very sweet when our plans come to fruition."

"Yes, I do believe you are right in that. I hope that she will come to us soon. I do not believe I can wait much longer. These last few weeks of play have been.... so very intense."

"I know precisely what you mean, old man. Patience. She's soon ours."

"You had best be right," the second man snarled heatedly, then turned and slipped from the room without another word.

~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sighed as she settled down into her favorite chair. She was tired, even though she felt she'd had a productive day. She hadn't gotten much by way of actual work done, but her chat with Harry had given her so much to think over. She'd realized, after their lunch had been over, that she'd told him the absolute truth and whatever was happening was really something she wanted. A low meow alerted her to Crookshanks' presence a moment before he landed in her lap. She smiled at him, reaching out to run her fingers through his ginger colored coat."Hello, Crookshanks. How are you, my furry love?"

A low, rumbling purr answered her. She took it to mean that he was well and shifted her fingers around to scratch behind one ear absently. Crookshanks took it as his due, positioning himself on her lap so that she could continue scratching and he could lay down. Hermione chuckled and knew that he was going to be upset with her. She still needed to make herself a light dish for dinner and she needed a drink of something cold. The beast gave an offended howl when she picked him up and set him aside, then hopped off the couch and followed her as she moved into the kitchen.

It was quick work to heat herself up some soup. While that was warming, she made herself a turkey and cheese sandwich to go with the pot of tomato soup that simmered on her stove top. A bottle taken from the fridge provided her drink for the meal, a glass of perfectly chilled pumpkin juice. Gathering everything together on a tray, she decided to have her meal on the small balcony of her flat. Once she was finished with it, she planned on curling up with a good book. Since it was Friday, she could read as long as she wanted before she had to sleep.

The night was cool and clear. The sky was filled with stars that twinkled down on her. Her balcony was small, but there was room enough for a table and a pair of trays. She loved coming out here whenever she could, because it gave her a sense of peace that her small flat didn't offer. The candle on the table sprang to life inside the lantern that housed it with a singular thought from her. Settling into her chair, she stared at the night sky while nibbling at her meal. She couldn't help but feeling that something important was about to happen. There was a feeling of stillness that surrounded her, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for her to do or say something. Anything.

She remained on the balcony long after her meal was completed, unwilling to give up the peacefulness that surrounded her. A few thin clouds were gliding over the silvery sliver of moon hanging in the sky, sending shadows flitting over the landscape like birds wings. The wind was picking up and it held a chill to it that decided Hermione to the fact that it was time to return indoors. She hated to leave the tranquility that the night had to offer her, but her book was waiting and she did want to get a few hundred pages read before bedtime. With a sigh, she scooped up her tray of dishes and let herself back into the flat. Locking the door behind her, she took her dishes to the kitchen, vowing that they could wait until the morning for washing. After making sure Crookshanks had clean water and fresh food, she made her way back through her flat, shutting off lights as she went, and into her bedroom.

There was a teddy bear sitting on her bed. A golden-brown teddy bear wearing what appeared to be a leather corset. She stared in shock. There were fishnet stockings that ran up the bear's legs, connected to a suspender belt. It also wore a pair of platform heels in black patent leather. A collar and cuffs, done of hand tooled leather in black and silver, were buckled about the bear's wrists and throat. A leash hung from the front of the collar, down the bear's belly. Laying beside it was another piece of parchment. She moved toward the bed and picked up the parchment.

My dear little Pet,

Before you, you see a gift. The bear is yours, regardless of what may come for us in the future. This is a special bear, as I am certain you can already see. This bear is a reflection of you, of the inner you that we are working so steadfastly to bring to the front. You have come so very far in the past weeks. You have but one or two major hurdles left before your training can advance to the next stage. So tonight, my companion and I will dictate a task for you. Please pick up the bear. She comes bearing a gift.

Hermione reached out and hefted up the bear. It was heavier than it appeared and, after a moment's study, she found out why. The bear was wearing a pair of knickers that seemed wont to fall off. Deftly removing them, she was stunned to find that the stuffed animal housed a rather realistic looking toy. As the knickers came off, the vibrator slowly slid from the interior of the bear. The significance of the thing being hidden inside the bear, between its legs, wasn't lost on Hermione. Setting the bear aside, she gave the toy in her hand a good once over.

It was easily nine inches long and two inches around. There was a knob on the bottom that she found, with a turn of her hand, controlled the speed at which the thing vibrated. The body of the toy was done in a flesh colored, hard plastic that had raised veins on it to simulate a real member. Even the head was mushroom shaped, with a ridge just below that separated it from the rest of the shaft. The only thing it appeared to be lacking was the rest of a man's body and his testicles. She laid the toy on the bed and picked up the note. Almost as soon as her hand touched it, words began to appear on it beneath the previous paragraph. With a certain amount of trepidation, Hermione read what was slowly fading into being there.

You will use this vibrator tonight. You have earned the right to pleasure yourself. Understand that if you chose not to do this, this will be the last letter you receive from us. We will know if you do as instructed or not. Chose not to obey and we will take that to mean that you do not wish to further your education. Do as you're told and you will be rewarded even further.

For this trip into self-pleasuring, you will require a few items. You will strip to nothing but the black lace chemise we have left you. When you lay on the bed, the cups will be down beneath your breasts and the skirting pulled up to rest on your belly. You may have candles lit if you so chose. The room will otherwise be cast in darkness. You will not cast a silencing charm on your bedchambers. Should you make any noise at all, the neighbors should be able to hear it.

We know that this is not something you have delved into before and we can understand the apprehension. Just know that if you cannot give in to your own desires without fighting, then you will never be able to give into the desires of others. And, if this is to be the case, there is no further point for our continued presence in your life. Make your choice and do so wisely. There is no turning back, no matter which path you step onto.

Hermione sat down on the bed and stared at the wall for a few moments. She knew that her dreams had been moe than mere dreams. She knew that those hands and the voices had been meant as a way to prime her body and her mind to the events to come. She'd never considered masturbation as an option before. And now, she had to do so in order to continue on in her education. It was somewhat overwhelming. Glancing back at the teddy bear, she had a brief mental image of herself garbed in such attire. It was a powerful thought that swept through her body like wildfire. Did she want to continue on this path of self-discovery? Or did she want to give it all up and go back to being someone that she didn't really think she was?

A throbbing pulse low in her abdomen told her that giving up this opportunity was truly the last thing she wanted to do. Standing to her feet, she began to move about and set the evening up. Several candles, delicately scented with jasmine, were spread out around her bed. Lit, they would not only add a faint fragrance to the air, but their light would cast sensual shadows over the bed and her body when she was laying in it. She made sure to shoo Crookshanks out of the room, firmly closing the door behind him so that she was alone. Then she went to her chest of drawers and removed the chemise that had been mentioned in the letter.

The black silk cascaded through her fingers like inky water, an erotic feeling against her skin that sent shudders up and down her spine. Once the lights were out and the candles lit, the bear settled on her bed stand as silent witness, she slipped from her work clothes and left them pooled on the floor. She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror, startled to realize that she didn't recognize the image staring back at her. This wasn't the Hermione she was familiar with. The one looking out at her from the reflecting glass bore a smoldering, sensuous look in her eyes. There was a confidence she'd never actually had there, shining out in the stance she took, in the graceful, milky pale limbs.

There was only one barrier left. Slowly, her eyes glued to her image in the mirror, Hermione slipped her bra and panties off. They seemed somehow obscene, a plain white cotton that was meant to be more serviceable than sexy. She shoved them aside, determined to rectify that as soon as she was able. Lifting her hands over her head, she allowed the silken garment to slide down over her head. A few gentle tugs settled it into place and she took a moment to once again study her reflection. There was desire literally simmering in her eyes. She reached up with both hands and adjusted the straps so the top was moved down under her breasts. Her nipples were already hard in anticipation.

Crossing to the bed, she climbed into it and settled herself into position. And laid there dumbly. The vibrator lay next to her head and she had a fair idea what to do with it. But she didn't know how to work up to needing to really use it. She'd never had this kind of situation come up before. "Bugger," she muttered to herself.

"Stroke your breasts, Pet. Touch them and tease them the way we have been for so long, the voice rang in her ear and she realized with a start that it had filled the room with its smooth, sensual tones. Her body shivered and she felt it pulse again. She couldn't help but squeeze her thighs together. Slowly, her hands reached up to cup her breasts, her fingers moving almost ghost-like over them.

The gentle touch sent shivers down her spine. It felt so good. She continued to twist and tease the twin nubs, pulling at them until she drew gasps from her own throat. And the voices were there to encourage her. They filled the silence that her panting, gasping breaths couldn't. She followed their every one instruction, her hands moving from teasing her nipples to fondling her breasts. Each new caress served to bring her desires to a more fevered pitch and soon her hips were rocking on the bed.

"So beautiful, little one. So sweet and innocent, yet so wicked and wanton," the darker voice purred next to her ear. She felt herself spasm at it. "We love to watch you pleasure yourself. Now, my dear. It is time. Take up the toy you were given and use it. A slow, steady pace. Fuck yourself with it."

Her hand trembled as she reached out for the life-like vibrator. She swore she could hear their breathing, hot and heavy, in her ears. Their hands seemed to be directing her own. The tip of the toy touched to her nipple and circled it before sliding down over her torso, down over her belly, to that spot between her thighs that ached with a need all its own. A gasp echoed in the room loudly as she felt the head slip past her swollen nether lips. She fed the thing to herself slowly, pushing the thick length up inside of her body as if one of her lovers was entering her for the first time. When the toy was fully seated inside of her, she let off a soft groan and waited while the sensations brought on by being full rippled up and down her spine.

"Now, my Pet. You will turn on that vibrator and fuck yourself with it."

She turned the knob and shuddered to feel the thing come to life inside of her. One hand continued to hold it, drawing it in and out of her body. The other moved to pull at her nipples again. Hermione found herself lost to the overwhelming need that coursed through her veins. And still the voices egged her on, whispering to her when to speed up and slow down. They teased her with their words, telling her they knew that she was a hot, wanton little submissive and she wanted nothing more than to feel thier cocks buried deeply inside of her hungry little cunt.

The voices drove her ever onward, her hands moving to follow their whispered instructions. When they told her to move her hand to her clit and tease that, she did so without question. It took very little to send her into orgasm and still she was instructed to keep her fingers on her clit. Her hands moved as they were supposed to, one teasing her clit while the other worked the vibrator in and out of her body. Sweat gathered on her skin and dripped down to stain her sheets. Her hair clung to her head and she panted loudly into the room when she wasn't letting go moans and gasps and squeals.

She needed to stop even while she wanted to go on. Anything to please her lovers. She'd lost track of time, lost track of the number of times her body had rippled and tightened with orgasm. She only knew she was one large, quivering mass of wanton lust and desire. Almost as if they knew what she felt, she heard the soothing voice of her lovers near her ears, whispering sweet words of promise in them. "Summon a pair of panties, little one.

Without questioning why, she did as she was told. It was simple to magic a pair over to her from her drawer. They were more cotton ones, this time in dove gray."Put them on."

"But..." she managed weakly, too tired to open her eyes.

"Leave it where it is. Just put your panties on. You will sleep like that tonight. And tomorrow, when you wake, you will receive your reward." Hermione didn't even consider complaining. The vibrator still in place, she worked her underwear up her legs until she had them on. In only moments, she had fallen asleep in blissful exhaustion.

~*~*~*~*~

Hermione awoke to the insistent pulsing between her thighs. She moaned as she shifted up, wondering if she was to walk around with the damned toy stuck between her thighs all day. Her answer was given in the form of yet another piece of parchment laying on her pillow next to her where head had been. Groggily, she reached out and picked it up. Nimble fingers broke the seal on it. The paper opened up to yet more instructions.

Today, my Pet, you will finally meet your Masters.

Your first task is to remove the toy, then shower and clean last night's sweat and sex from your body. While in the shower, you will apply shaving cream and razor to the tangle of hair between your thighs until the flesh of your mons is as smooth as a babe's bottom. Once out of the shower, you will comb your hair and then pull it back into a tight braid. You will dress yourself in the garments to be provided and, when fully ready, you will take up this parchment and use it to come to us. The words to activate the port key are, simply, I submit.

To show us that you mean seriously to follow this path to your new life, you must bring something of your old life that will be disposed of once you arrive. This is the last proof needed to show you wish to continue. You have exactly one hour.

Do not keep us waiting.

Hermione set the letter down and stripped off her clothed, letting the sodden panties drop to the floor. The vibrator was taken into the bathroom with her to be cleaned up before being put away. Left on the vanity, she threw herself into the shower, determined to make the half hour deadline.

~*~

Hermione took a moment to adjust to her surroundings after port keying to where ever she was. A glance told her that the room was little more than a hallway. The floors were gleaming wood while the walls were painted a soft blue color. There was nothing hanging on them to give them life and the ceiling high over head was white and bare of adornment save the gilt chandaliers that hung from it. She wondered if she was in the right place. "Take off you cloak, Pet. Allow us to see you."

She did as she was told, swirling the outer garment off to reveal what she wore beneath. A waist cinch of Chinese silk was laced tightly around her waist, giving her a waspish figure that she knew was popular with some men and women. It was black with silver accents to it in a design she hadn't been able to properly see. The stays pinched and cut into her flesh, but something told her she wouldn't be wearing it too long. A platform bra held her breasts up but didn't do anything to hide them away. There was enough material to cup the underside of her breasts, but none to make a full cup. A suspender belt was slung about her waist, holding up a pair of thigh high stockings. She also wore a pair of lace thong underwear and stilleto heels.

"Turn." She did so, giving them an unobstucted view of her body. Not that she could see them. But she knew they were there. When she stopped, a length of material floated toward her. "Tie this around your eyes. You will leave it on until you are instructed otherwise."

Hermione reached out and took the sash out of mid-air. It was black, made of silk, with fringe dripping off the ends. She brought it up to her face, wrapping it around her head so that her eyes were covered. When she was sure she couldn't see anything, she tied the sash in place and dropped her arms to her sides. "Good girl," a voice purred by her ear. She shuddered as it worked its way down her spine and into the very center of her body. "Come along, Pet."

One hand took her own while another settled at the small of her back. A slight pressure on her spine urged her forward and she decided she was greatful to the man who held her hand in his. The sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor echoed up the hall ahead of them, announcing their impending arrival. Even as she listened to the sound of her heels clattering against the floor, her ears strained to catch some other sound. She couldn't even hear the breath of the man who was so gently leading her toward her fate.

The echoing of her footsteps changed, the sound becoming slightly lower and deeper. She thought that perhaps it was because the kind of wood used to panel the floor beneath her was thicker or more dense. She also decided, based on the way her heels echoed back at her, that she was in a wider room. She wondered how long she would be forced to wear the blindfold. There was still a part of her screaming about the idiocy of coming here to meet two men who were strangers to her. She knew that it could very well prove to be a bad idea. Which was why she'd made arrangements with Harry prior to coming. She knew that he would find her if anything were to go wrong.

The hand that held her own squeezed her fingers ever so slightly. She halted and tilted her head. She could hear a nearby crackling sound. There was a fire of some sort close to where she stood. She couldn't quite feel the heat, but the snapping noise told her it was close. A wiff of something filled her nose and she tilted her head. It was cologne, growing stronger. The other man was drawing nearer to her position. The mere thought that they would soon be touching her was enough to tighten muscles all over her body. She couldn't stop the shudder that rolled up and down the length of her spine. A chuckle tickled her ear. "Patience, Pet. We'll get to that soon enough. For now, though. Did you bring the item you were instructed to bring?"

"Erm.... " she cleared her throat. "Yes. I brought it."

"Yes, what, Pet?" the darker voice asked somewhat harshly and she thought she heard in it something she recognized. Frowning a moment as she pondered the question at hand, she bit her lip. Finally, she thought she had an answer for him and licked her lips tenatively.

"Yes, Master?" she whispered hesitantly.

"Good girl," a hand patted her head, as if she were no more than a dog. Or a pet. For a moment, she balked at it and was tempted to answer it with a stinging rejoinder. Instead, she let it pass when she realized that there was a part of her that hadn't minded all that much. That had, in fact, enjoyed the small compliment and its accompanying touch. "Now. Show us what prize you've brought us."

She nodded, reaching a hand up to pull at the square of paper she'd tucked under the bottom edge of the cinch. It took a bit of tugging, but she eventually pulled the folded parchment out. It was damp and slightly crumpled from being so close to her skin. She held it out to them, deciding to let which ever one of them wanted it to take the paper from her hand. She felt the slightly rough surface slip out rom between her fingers as it was taken from her, then the sounds of rustling as it was opened. After several moments of silence, she frowned. "Was that not the correct item to bring, Masters?" she asked in apprehension.

"This is an old love letter? From your last lover?" the voice was cultured and precise, coming from her right. She turned her head slightly in that direction, offering a faint smile.

"Yes. Ron wrote it to me just after we finished Hogwarts. He proclaimed it was the beginning of our life together. I felt it was appropriate to destroy the symbol of an old life to start a new life," she informed them. There were several more long minutes of silence, then a hand settled the parchment in her palm. Fingers closed around her wrist and tugged. The gentle motion propelled her forward and she soon felt heat against her hand.

"You know what you must do, Pet," the voice purred in her ear. She nodded and, after a moment's hesitation, let go of the paper. She heard the hiss of the flames and knew that the parchment was being consumed by fire, eaten away until there was nothing left but ashes. She waited to see what was to come. It didn't take long to find out. Only moments after releasing the paper, she felt a hand curl around her chin and slowly lift her face up. "So beautiful. So innocent. So very ours."

The voice made her shudder and a gasp rolled up her throat when she realized that her nipples had tighted with his comments. She leaned toward the man holding her chin, her body zoning in on his own purely by instinct. "And so eager, it would seem," the other voice spoke from behind her. A hand reached up to tug at the braid hanging down her back, tilting her head back even further. There was a slight amount of pain to be had, but it was like an aphrodisiac for her. And then there was a mouth covering hers, driving all thought from her mind.

Heat exploded within her body as the mouth over hers ate away at her lips. She could taste desire and lust on his breath, as well as fine brandy and the faint hint of something old and familiar. She should have known what it was, but her mind was utterly destroyed in the face of his mounting passion. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that mere kissing could be like this. There was determination in the set of those lips that worked against her own. This man, whoever he was, was determined to master her with his mouth alone. And she was putting up no resistance at all. She wanted him to master her, to take control and dominate her. The very thoughts sent more heat spiralling through her body, along with a need so deep and intense, she knew that no one else would ever be able to make her feel it.

While those talented, unyielding lips fed from hers, a pair of hands reached up to cup her breasts. They were so warm and large. The heat seared into her soul while fingers that she could tell were long and elegant kneaded with no small amount of strength at the pair of them. She whimpered in her throat, her body trying to inch closer toward his while her mouth freely gave away whatever it was the man above her wanted. Another chuckled filled the room and she shuddered at the sound of it. "So very eager. Just the merest touch of our hands, the slightest whisper of our voices, excites her so wonderfully. She's going to make such a lovely, willing, obediant Pet."

The mouth against hers lifted away, leaving Hermione feeling lost and confused. The hand that had been holding her head back, fingers grasped tightly around her braid, now stroked over her scalp in a soothing, petting motion. She wanted to feel outraged, and some part of her did. Still, the majority of her thrilled to the touch, relaxed by it. And she realized that this is what the two of them had been doing in the dreams all along. They'd been priming her to their touch, to garner exactly the reaction they wanted from her. The desire to react in that prescribed manner frightened her, because pleasing them in this way sent bright yellow rays of sunshine shooting through her. Pleasing them served to please herself. The rational part of her mind thought it was a bit odd.

"Well, if she is to be our Pet," the voice behind her spoke, his hand still gently stroking through her hair. She sighed and felt a shudder pass through her. "She will have to perform tricks for us."

'But of course," the first voice agreed. She felt a hand move from her breasts to reach up and cup her cheek. "You want to show us what a good Pet you can be. Don't you, Pet?"

"Of course, Master," her words came out as a breathy whisper, effectively conveying the need that shot through her brains with every pounding beat of her heart. There was silence for a moment, granting Hermione the courage and moment she needed to address something that she felt would be of great importance to them. "Master, isn't there supposed to be a safeword?"

"All this beauty. And there are brains, too. We are indeed fortunate, my old friend."

"As if there were any doubts," the second voice replied. "Pick your word, my dear. Should you dawdle overlong, we will not be able to pleasure you properly."

This was something Hermione had considered at great lengths. While she hadn't taken up the task of researching the topic of dominance and submission, something so very unlike her, she had heard a few things and knew that a submissive should never take on a new dominant without the protection of a safeword. She knew it was supposed to be a word that wouldn't get used overly much in normal speech. Certainly not something that she might mistakenly utter in the midst of great sex. Which had sent her mind turning toward the one topic she felt would be able to offer her the perfect choice of words. Her parents.

The very thought of her parents engaging in the act of sex was, as with most children, completely abhorrent. In fact, the idea made her stomach turn. But it was also the best possible place to find inspiration for a rather uncommon word to use to protect herself with. Drawing a breath, she steeled her courage. Giving them the word was tantamount to admitting to herself that she truly was not quite that normal. It was that one last barrier to break through before the adventure could begin. "My word is 'dentist.' It isn't something I speak of in every day conversation, so I felt it to be appropriate."

"An excellent choice, my dear," the first voice agreed warmly. His other hand left her breast to reach down and take hold of her hand. The other hand was taken in a similar gesture by the man behind her. Slowly, they helped escort her across the floor. When they stopped her, she teetered just a bit on her ungainly perch. She'd never been one to wear such high heels before. "Oh goodness. It will never do to have you so unsteady upon your feet, Pet. You may take the shoes off. One foot at a time. When done, you will set them off to the side, side by side and in perfect order."

The shoes had buckled straps on them so she couldn't just slide them off her feet. Puzzling this out for a moment or two, Hermione sighed and set about removing them. It was easiest to simply bend and reach for her ankles. As she fumbled for the buckles, first one shoe, then the other, she could feel their eyes upon her. They were studying the curve of her backside and the way her breasts flowed forward as she undid her shoes. Picking them up in one hand, she carefully set them several feet away from her, knowing that doing so would give them room to circle her body as she knew they wanted to.

When she was fully on her feet again, she started to feel a warm mouth close possessively over one nipple. Lips and teeth sucked and bit at the hard nub, sending a shudder of pleasure rippling along her spine. At the same moment, a hand reached out to curl over the curve of one of her buttocks. The fingers slipping along her backside were slightly calloused, as if used to doing manual labor. Then they were leaving trails of fire along the edge of her cheek and between her thighs, those same fingers managing to find their way between the panties she wore and her bare skin. She shuddered, unable to stop the moan that made its way up out of her throat the moment a pair of fingers worked their way inside of her body. "Merlin's balls," she groaned. "That feels good."

"And she comes equipped with a dirty mouth. How lovely," the mouth at her breast was gone. She felt bereft at the loss. But a hand reached up to take the mouth's place. It brought forth a sigh and she happily leaned into it, all the while mindful of the pair of fingers that slipped in and out from between her nether lips in a teasing motion. "You see, my Pet? A treat for a trick. Each time you show us a new trick, you will be duly rewarded."

"What shall the first trick be?" the second voice asked his companion. There was silence for a moment, then their hands moved away.

"Our little Pet must exhibit her mandibular prowess," the first one replied without a moment's hesitation. The hands were grasping hers again, this time helping her to lower herself down to her knees. There was a pillow beneath them, cushioning her body against the hard wood floor. She settled into it gracefully and merely waited. Words were, for the most part, unnecessary. This was still all one big test and if she failed in any way, she'd go back to the secret, empty life she'd been living for some time.

She knelt there for a few moments, waiting to see if someone would say something else. It was silent for some time before she heard the slightest rustle of fabric. A few moments later, she could feel body heat so very close to her. And she could smell something musky. She knew that one of them had moved in front of her. With tenative hands, she reached out before her to encounter a pair of well muscled thighs. Her fingers worked their way up until she found her hands on his waist. Then she moved inward until her fingers reached the thick, hardened length of his shaft.

Carefully, Hermione curled one hand around it near the base. Silky soft and hard as steel, her fingers didn't even meet with the rest of her hand. He was so thick. She shuddered, licking her lips as she slowly drew one hand up toward the head. Thick and long. She wondered if she'd be able to get him into her mouth. Leaning forward while raising up out of her relaxed position, she poked her tongue out to lick delicately at the head of the cock she held. Salty pre-cum painted the tip, oozing out of the slit there in copious amounts. A shudder rippled through her. Then she was opening her mouth, leaning forward even further to draw his length inside.

A low groan from above her told her that she was doing something right. Her mouth was stretched ever so slightly around him, her tongue pressed tightly up against the vein that pulsed on the underside. Keeping one hand on the base of his shaft, her other moved to settle on the silken skin over his hip. Slowly, she moved forward and drew even more of him into the moist cavern of her mouth. There was another groan, then a pair of hands settled on the top of her head.

She adopted a slow, steady pace. She'd done this with Ron a couple of times, but it had been nothing like this. It had always seemed rushed and one-sided with him. He'd always been the one in control. Here, with her Master, she knew without a doubt that she was the one in control and it was such a heady feeling. It was incentive enough for her to be thorough, to actually take the time to enjoy herself.

The man who was currently deep within her mouth tasted almost earthy. She could only think of dark places in the deepest of forests. Freshly turned earth and moldering leaves. Green grass and plants, towering trees. And the musk of high arousal. It was all there, in the salty taste of him. She found it to be something rather enjoyable, which saw her increasing her efforts on the thick length of flesh shifting in and out of her mouth. She kept her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft to help her in two ways. To keep him steady and prevent his slipping out and to provide extra stimulation, because she knew there was no way she could take him all the way into her mouth. She wasn't that skilled with fellatio just yet. Something told her, though, that her new Masters would help teach her to be so much better and so much more talented in its usage.

The hands on top of her head flexed, nails scraping her scalp. It was his response to her using her tongue more actively on his shaft. Though she was still fairly new at this, she'd overheard enough conversations between other women to know that there were certain things one did and didn't do while giving head. Teeth had been mentioned as a big no-no, with exception of a select few who enjoyed and were excited by the pain. Things that had been mentioned in conjunction with giving great pleasure had been the use of a hand on both the shaft and the man's testicles. Also mentioned had been how to best use the tongue while giving pleasure. The few suggestions she'd heard were being put into play here and now.

The fact that the man holding her head seemed to be doing his best to keep from digging his fingers into her scalp and dragging her forward so that he could shove the entire length of his thick erection down the back of her throat indicated to her that he was enjoying himself and that she was doing something right. "I've never seen your face contorted in such a manner, old man. Surely she doesn't have a mouth more talented than Miss Hallings did?"

A grunt was the only answer returned to the smooth voice.

"Well, well. How very unexpected. You realize, of course, that I shall be forced to experience this for myself. Do hurry up and let me have my turn," came the delighted response. Hermione thrilled at the sensations that skittered along every single nerve ending in her body. Pleasure at pleasing the man before her and pride in the knowledge that the other was in a hurry to experience the abilities of her mouth. The comments served to drive her mouth up and down his length a little faster.

"Enough, wench," the words were snarled above her head. The hands, which had some time ago curled loosely into her hair, gently eased her back until the two of them were separated. "That was likely one of the singular most amazing examples of oral ability that I have been gifted with in some time."

"Well, this is definitely something I simply must experience."

She was given a moment or two to work her jaw and catch her breath. Then there was a hand on her chin, gently pulling her body forward. A hand automatically came up, her fingers seeking out the body before her. Her fingers brushed against him and the room was filled with a startled hiss. Smiling, she curled her fingers about the length of him and pumped slowly a time or two. The cock she held jerked in her grasp. It was the only prodding she needed. In a heartbeat, she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the swollen head. Then she eased her way down his length.

Hermione dragged her tongue along the underside of the shaft as she drew back, allowing it to draw his taste from him. This one was less earthy and more exotic. He tasted of spices and fine liquors, of the best cigars and nights before the hearth. Underlying it, as with her other Master, was the muskiness that was purely male and entirely devoted to sex. It was not entirely unpleasant and it made her that much more intense in her task. Her mouth sucked at him greedily, her lips working over his length with slow, precise motions that brougth slight gasps and grunts from his throat. Like is predecessor, he was trying very hard not to simply slam his erection into her mouth.

Finally, his hands pulled her away from him and she heard him panting for breath above her. A knowing smile curled up the corners of her lips. "Well," he finally managed in an almost breathless tone. "That was certainly worth the wait. For such an amazing trick, what shall her treat be?"

"Ice cream," the darker of the two voices said succinctly.

"Ah, an excellent choice," the first one spoke. "Oh, look. Vanilla. My favorite." Both laughed at some inside joke. "Dare I say, Pet, that you'll like this treat. You were such a good girl. You've earned it. Wouldn't you say, old friend?"

"Indeed," was the reply, the tone almost clipped.

Hermione puzzled it over, sure she'd heard them before. She didn't know for certain, though. If asked to identify the two of them by the quality of their voices, she would say that the first one spoke with a voice like silk sliding over bare skin and hearth warmed oil that soaked into the skin, down to the very soul. His companion's voice was one of rich, melted dark chocolate and the velvety black of a moonless night. She knew she should know the owners of the voices, but she was as in the dark about them as she was about her surroundings.

One of the hands took her own and helped her back up to her feet. Her legs were stiff and sore from kneeling and she was allowed a few moments to get the circulation flowing back into them. Then she had a pair of hands holding her elbows and she was pattering on stocking clad feet across the floor. A foot touched something soft before her and she reached out to put a hand down. A bed was before them, nearly waist high and covered with soft, cotton sheets. Something told her they were in white, significant to her status as a new submissive. Without being told, she climbed up onto the bed and waited.

"Lie down, Pet," the darker voice instructed. She did so wordlessly, settling down onto the bed. The mattress beneath her was soft and firm all at once, cushioning her body like clouds. There was silence for a moment, then a tsking noise.

"This will never do. She has to lose the panties," the lighter voice said, his tone promising something in it. Before there was anymore discussion, she reached down and hooked her fingers beneath the elastic, then lifted her hips and pulled. One of her Masters helped her work them off her feet. A cool breeze passed over her freshly shaven skin, then soft fingers trailed there. The feel of skin on skin sent shudders through her body. She'd never before shaved that hair off and she was finding it both dirty and enticing.

"Now hold very still," the second man suggested. She nodded, straining to hear a sound. A yelp filled the air as something freezing cold was dropped onto a breast. A restraining hand came out to hold her down when she jumped. The other nipple was given the same treatment moments before whatever it was that was cold was dropped unceremoniously onto the bare juncture between her thighs. Chills raced along her nerve endings and she tried unsuccessfully to pull away from whatever it was that decorated her skin. "She looks good enough to eat."

"Yes, she does," the first agreed. "Hold still, Pet. I just want to taste you."

Before she could say anything, a mouth covered her nipple. It was hot, warming her cold flesh. His tongue lapped at the melting substance, cleaning it away from her body. At almost the same moment, the other man's mouth covered the frozen lips between her thighs. As with his partner, his mouth was hot and his tongue darted out to lap at what she now knew to be melting ice cream as it slid into the cracks and crevices of her body. She squirmed, unsure if it was the feel of the ice cream finding its way into her most secret places or if it was the tongue that chased after each and every runaway drop, making sure to clean them all away before moving to another spot that begged for his attention.

Her hands shifted. One of them found the head at her breast, her fingers curling tightly into the silken strands of hair there. Hair which was now ghosting lightly over her skin like soft feathers that teased and tantalized. The same could be said about the head between her thighs, the ends of satiny tresses grazing her thighs as his mouth moved over her swollen opening again and again. Her legs shifted further apart, a silent invitation for more. He gladly gave it, his tongue slipping deep inside to flick about. She moaned low in her throat and arched her back.

The mouth at her breasts moved on to the other, again lapping and tasting her skin while cleaning away the ice cream that coated her nipple and the flesh beneath it with stickiness. Her back arched again, her hips working against the mouth that was now eating at her very core. She didn't think she could stand much more of this. His tongue was so talented. It delved and dipped, filling her body and tearing her mind away from the mouth feasting upon her nipple.

That tongue, that mouth, was driving her ever closer to the edge. She could feel the tension building within her body. She knew it meant that she would soon have an orgasm. Something told her it would be like none she'd ever had before. Her hips rocked against the head between her thighs while her breath exploded from her chest in rapid fire, staccato blasts. She was so close, her muscles so tight. She could see the light that was promised at the end of the tunnel, could feel the tension that was so ready to shatter with just one, perfect touch. She was almost there.

And then both mouths pulled away from her body. She gave a groan in utter frustration. "Please," she begged, her hands scrabbling across the bed to find one of them. Both of them. It didn't matter. She just needed relief. When she couldn't find them, her hands moved for the sash that kept her blind to their location. Her fingers tugged at the knot at the back of her head, intent on pulling it off. Hands clamped down on her own, tugging them away before she could free the knot.

"Bad Pet," the darker voice said with almost a sigh. "You were doing so well. Now.... You shall have to endure a paddling."

Hands reached out to her, this time to help her sit up. The edge of the bed sank and she found herself being nearly dragged over someone's lap. She started, the cool air caressing her backside for a moment or two before she noticed the feel of her Master's cock as it prodded her in the belly. She squirmed against it, wanting it somewhere else where it could do so much more for her. An arm came down over her back and held her still. "Like all good Pets, you're rewarded for good behavior. And you're punished for bad behavior. Until we tell you the blindfold can come off, it has to stay in place. For trying to take it off, you're going to be punished. Now hold still and stop fighting. The sooner you give in to this, the sooner we can get back to your training. Honestly, did you think you got to have nothing but fun?"

The arm across her back lifted long enough that the hand at the end of it could trace patterns on her back. "Being submissive is more than just following orders, my dear. You have a strong streak in you that you'll fight every time you don the submissive mantel. Understand this. You aren't giving up your control when submitting to us. You're freeing yourself. You should take joy in that."

The arm didn't settle over her again as she'd thought it would. Instead, she was left to lay across his lap of her own accord. Or she could simply get up. But to do so meant that she would be giving this up, too. She thought about it for a few moments, then sighed and relaxed against the hard thighs pressing her. Silence reigned for several long moments, then there was a faint whizzing sound a second before something hard and flat cracked against her backside. She jumped, a yelp escaping her mouth, but she didn't lift herself from her position.

The paddle landed several more blows. While they weren't particularly hard, neither were they so soft that they didn't leave an impression. By the time they were done, her backside stung with pain. She could feel heat emanating off of it, telling her that it was red and abused. Some of that pain had leaked down into her swollen lips, the paddle having slapped against them a time or two. And still, much as it had hurt her, it had been that much more pleasurable. There'd been just enough pain to heighten her desire. She was horny now, hornier than she'd ever been before. She knew if she didn't see some kind of actual fucking soon, she was going to go mad with the want of it.

Gentle hands set her to her feet and she could feel their eyes on her, their stares disapproving as she fought to compose herself. She was on the verge. She didn't know which one. Either they were going to break her and make her theirs completely or they were going to stop now and drive her insane. "Please, Masters," she asked softly, unable to hide the desperate, needy quality in her voice.

"Please what, Pet?" the paler of the two voices questioned her almost knowingly.

"Please. I need you. Both of you. I want..." she broke off, sure that she'd gone too far.

"Then you must give me what it is that I want," the darker one spoke near her ear. She could feel him behind her, his body heat licking along her spine. She shuddered, then nodded her head.

"Tell me what it is that you desire, what makes you ache with longing, what spreads the pulse in your veins," he whispered in her ear, his voice little more than a silky caress.

"To please you," Hermione supplied without hesitation.

"Good answer, Pet," he told her, then leaned in to press his lips against her neck. She sighed, her head falling back against his shoulder. The other man was suddenly before her, his hands cupping her face. She felt his lips against hers, a brief salute before he drew back. She felt the back of the bra she wore pulled, the hooks being disengaged. Then the garment was gone, leaving her clad in the cinch and the suspender belt. Hands helped her back up onto the bed.

"Hands and knees, Pet," the ordered together. She did as she was told without comment or complaint, positioning herself on all fours. The silence was thick for a few moments, then she felt the bed shift on both sides of her. She could smell them as they closed in on her and she knew that the one with the lighter voice was before her, leaving the darker one to settle in behind her. She thrilled silently to what was to come and attempted to brace herself.

The man before her put his hands on her shoulders, using them as a way to shift her position until she was leaning down ever so slightly. She knew the angle would be less stressful on her neck. His hands moved to her head, helping her find the right spot for her face.

"Mouth, Pet," the voice before her was soft as silk and just as sinful. She opened willingly to him. At the same moment that the thick shaft before her slid between her lips, the man behind her was slowly feeding himself into her willing flesh. She groaned around her mouthful of cock and rocked back into the one buried inside of her. There was a soft chuckle and that sent thrills up and down her spine. She set her own pace, finding her enthusiasm for the situation, and began working her way back and forth between the men.

Time slid away. The room was filled with nothing other than the sounds of the men as the panted softly for breath. One set of hands was settled on her hips, holding her in place so that he could thrust himself into her body deeply. The other set of hands had come up to rest on the sides of her head. Somehow, she was open for him, her mouth and throat wide to take all of him in. The feel of the two of them shifting in and out of her body was like nothing she'd ever felt before. The two of them moved in perfect synchonization. When one withdrew, the other was shifting into her.

The fit was tight, the muscled walls of her pussy stretched wide around the shaft that filled her. The same could be said about the flesh that drove in and out of her mouth. She was coming to love the feel of them both inside of her, filling her and feeding her. She was complete here, sandwiched between them as she was. Pleasure and desire were spiralling out of control with in her, setting off little sparks of promise somewhere deep inside her body. The friction was heavenly, serving to only tighten her muscles down further around the man behind her while her mouth worked more hungrily at the one before her.

This was what it was about. She realized that, caught between two men, two strangers. This was what submitting was about. She wasn't giving up anything. She was gaining so much more. Little starbursts of bright, brilliant lights were exploding behind her eyes. She could feel herself tightening down around the invading flesh thrusting in and out of her, moving ever forward toward that ultimate goal. Were her mouth free, she knew she'd be panting for air. She didn't care. This was nothing like what she'd expected and everything she'd hoped for.

"Such a tight little pussy, Pet. So lovely and delicious. Did you know you taste of wild, wanton sex and passion?" the man behind her growled, his hips now pistoning a little faster. A little harder. A little deeper. The moan she couldn't loose into the room vibrated in her throat and along the length shifting in and out of her mouth. She felt the man before her shudder from that sound and he redoubled his actions.

There was no need for her to move now. Each one's thrust sent her into the other man. She could feel both of them straining against her and themselves. They were rapidly losing control of the situation. She could feel them both swelling, preparing for their release. She wondered if they would be able to hold out until they could orgasm together. She thought perhaps that maybe they'd manage it.

"She has a wonderful little mouth, too, old man," came from above her. The words sounded clipped and brisk. It tickled at something hiding in the back of her mind. There was a sound from behind her that she took to be an affirmative. "I believe now would be a prudent time. Do you agree?"

"Yes. Do it," the other growled, his voice tense. She knew it meant that the man was trying to hold on to his release for a few moments longer and wondered why. He increased his thrusts yet again, nearly pounding into her body with reckless abandon. The man before her was thrusting with almost the same amount of enthusiasm. Their fervent efforts were doing their best to drive her over the edge with them. Pinned on their swollen erections, Hermione did her best to please both of them with her quivering body.

There was a whisper of sound, then she felt the sash covering her eyes fade away. The sight that greeted her was a nest of silvery curls that looked as if they would be silky soft to run her fingers through. She started at that, looking up to find mercury colored eyes staring down at her. There was a smirk on the luscious, full lips and long, silvery hair shifted back and forth over his shoulders. Shock filled her for a moment, then her eyes shifted to find that the bed they were on was surrounded by mirrors. She could see the dark head of the man behind her, his hair a curtain that moved in time with his hips.

She had a moment to absorb the entire scene, then the two men drove themselves as deeply into her body as they could. She felt them swell, then they were climaxing together. Hot seed filled her. She swallowed without fail, drinking down Lucius Malfoy's essence while her former Potions teacher pumped his seed up into her womb. Even while she rode out their passions as they emptied themselves into her, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Snape reached around to press his fingers to her clit. It only took a few strokes of his calloused finger tip to induce her own orgasm.

Hermione shook and shuddered as she came, her body convulsing around Snape's cock still buried inside of her. Her mouth tightened down over Lucius' cock, milking him dry of the last of his seed. After several long moments, the two men drew back from her. Hermione collapsed to the bed, her muscles gone weak from their intense pounding. She panted, trying to catch her breath. Even Snape and Malfoy seemed to be thoroughly winded. Both sat on the bed, watching her with intent eyes.

"How?...." she managed to gasp out, still trying to draw breath into her lungs.

"We are quite talented, my dear," Snape told her, one hand reaching out to trail his fingers over her hip. Malfoy gave her a nod, a wicked smile on his face.

"We saw you in a restaurant, child. And we knew then that you'd be a good submissive. We took so long bringing you to us because we didn't want you to run. This was the reason for the dreams and the letters. You've passed all of our tests with flying colors," he told her, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair.

Slowly, Hermione sat up and looked between the two of them. She thought about it and realized that she somehow knew who it was all the time. The voices had given it away, but some part of her didn't want to acknowledge it as the truth. Still, she'd enjoyed herself in ways that she'd never managed before. And, much as she might be loathe to admit it, both men had changed since she'd first met them. They were both handsome in their own right. Lucius had a classic beauty, one that went well with his aristocratic bearing. Severus, on the other hand, was made up of sharp planes, as if he'd been put together with spare parts. It was what lent him his beauty. She realized that she could have done so much worse than the two of them.

"What happens next?" she asked them both, almost afraid they'd drop her now that she knew who they were.

Both men shared a look, then Snape made a motion with one hand. There appeared in his palm a delicate looking black leather collar. It appeared to be similar to what one would put on a cat, the stitching done in silver. Dangling from a D-ring on the front was a small, silver bell. It rang with crystal clarity when Severus shook it. "What happens next, Miss Granger, is you become our Pet completely. If you so chose. This collar will mark you as ours. Wearing it is up to you."

Hermione stared at them a moment longer, then offered a smile and reached out to grasp the collar. She slipped it around her neck, her fingers making quick work of the buckle. When it was in place and properly secured, she lifted her head and looked at them both. "Does this please you, Masters?" she asked almost impishly.

In response, each man took his turn swooping in to plant a kiss on her lips. Severus kissed her with a hunger she'd never seen in him before, his tongue diving deep almost instantly. Her arms slid around him, her body pressing tight to his while he plundered her mouth. When he drew away, she was left breathless and in need of more. Then her head was turned to the other direction and Lucius took his turn. He ate at her mouth, his tongue tasting every corner while his lips moved almost hypnotically over her own. When he pulled back, her chest was heaving. She offered them both a smile.

"I expect, Severus, that we're going to find ourselves spending many, many hours discovering just how deep our little Pet is," Lucius looked at his companion, his voice light as silk and just as sinful.

Severus nodded his head, his dark, velvety voice like verbal sex. "I believe you are correct, Lucius. And I plan on enjoying every last moment of it."

fin
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thanks have to go to my usual crew, as always. they are the ones who keep me going. i love them all and they know who they are. and, extra special thanks to my kitty cat and to onyx, as they always keep me on the straight and narrow. lots of lurvs to you guys.

again, please feel free to leave me a review if you like this. while reviews aren't necessary, we writers like to know that our hard work is appreciated. and trust me, this is not as easy as it seems. real life and finicky muses make it difficult some days to produce quality work. thank you for reading and, in advance, thanks to those of you who chose to leave me a review.

~blessings~
ladydeathfaerie