melusin (melusin) wrote in melusin_la_fey, @ 2008-03-26 19:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | needs must |
Needs Must: Chapters 7 & 8
Disclaimer: See chapters 1 & 2
7. Correspondence (ii): Hermione.
There’s a scratching, tapping noise coming from somewhere, dragging me out of a troubled sleep. Perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away.
Tap-tap.
Blearily, I peer in the direction of the window – the source of the irritating sound.
Tap-tap.
An unfamiliar owl swims into focus, staring back at me with unblinking eyes. Strange. For a brief moment, I wonder if I’m still asleep. He hoots in impatience. ‘All right, all right.’ Pushing Crookshanks aside, I clamber out of bed and lift the window latch to let him in. He drops a parcel on the dressing table, hops onto the back of a chair and looks at me expectantly.
‘Okay, beautiful, here you go.’ I give him a couple of Owl Treats and glance at the writing on the package. ‘No message. But you’re a clever one, aren’t you, finding me here?’ I check the name tag again – definitely addressed to Mistress Roxanne, and in a hand I’d recognise anywhere. I can’t recall this ever happening before... This really is most peculiar. I let the owl out and climb back into bed, as it’s Saturday, and I’m in no particular hurry to get up or go anywhere. I plump up some pillows and make myself comfortable. Right, then... Let’s see what my newest sub has to say for himself...
Dear Mistress Roxanne,
I am returning the photographs you so kindly sent me. They were certainly... illuminating. I have left the bundles as I sorted them – I hope this was your intention, Mistress.
Thank you also for giving me the opportunity to ask questions; I have many and will undoubtedly have more once I have read all the additional material that accompanied the photographs. However, I feel it would be far too presumptuous of me to ask them all at once since your time is precious. I have, therefore, limited them to the following:
1. Do you ever use magic in your sessions?
2. Do I need to buy any special fetish clothes or equipment, and if so, from where?
3. What did you mean in your letter that I should ‘get used’ to... how can I put this delicately... fingering my anus?
4. I would respectfully ask you to give me some idea of the cost of your services.
I hope these enquiries are not impertinent. I remain your most humble servant,
S.S.
I have to smile. “SS” – rather than sign himself, “sub-severus”, he has left it up to me to interpret as I wish. Well, let’s have a look at his choices. Hmm... interesting. I’m not terribly surprised by his selection, but my suspicions about his desire for public humiliation seem to be accurate. Only a possible, though... Oh, well, it was worth a shot. Sighing, I flop back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling while I go over the options for creating a memorable first scene. Getting the balance right is going to be tricky. Pain, pleasure, humiliation, approval – the first two won’t be so bad, or even the last, to weave into the mix, but humiliation...
Most men, you see, are rather easy to humiliate. Make them wear women’s clothing, scrub the floor and do menial tasks – feminising them, in other words – is usually enough since their conditioning has told them from an early age that women are inferior, what they do is unimportant and being forced to act like one is demeaning. But, Snape? I don’t see how this can apply. He was brought up by a strong witch. He idealises women; he feels unworthy of their attention. They are unattainable, paragons of virtue. I can see why the concept holds no appeal for him. And yet... although most people would never guess, he is by no means a proud man; he forfeited what little pride he ever had the first time he grovelled at Voldemort’s feet. How do I top that? Being on his knees before me should feel like coming home.
Crookhanks stretches and gives me a gentle nudge. Absentmindedly ruffling his fur, I wonder if Snape feels a sense of complacency about what I can realistically do to him, considering some of the things he was forced to do in the past, and knowing that I am not a criminally insane, sadistic psychopath like... her. I pick up the next photograph quickly.
Not interested in fisting, either, I see. Pity. I could have done something there, but I’m not surprised he rejected the idea. Most straight men find the idea of any kind of anal penetration abhorrent – well, being on the receiving end at any rate; they are more often than not quite happy to give it. If his letter is anything to go by, my initial instincts were right; he is ignorant of the fact that he will have to submit to being fucked. I haven’t mentioned it yet, because I have found it better in the past to let my subs adjust to the idea as their trust in me develops. But I’m not going to lie to him since he’s asked about it. He will be given a fair chance to get used to the idea, but if he refuses point blank, he will have to find another Mistress. It is something I will not compromise on.
Oh... Now, that is interesting. I didn’t think he’d go for the cock and ball torture, I must admit. I thought I’d have to push him down that road... Making disparaging remarks about his genitals could reinforce his sense of inadequacy if I’m not careful, though, but I can definitely work with that –
Tap-tap. More post. This time, it’s a little tawny owl I know only too well that gets me out of bed. I also don’t need a crystal ball to hazard a guess at the letter. Molly Weasley’s weekly invitation to Sunday Lunch. I suppose I should go – it must be six months since I’ve been to the Burrow. She’ll be sending Howlers before long if I don’t. I know she means well, but seeing them and the ever increasing brood of grandchildren (whose names I’ve long given up trying to remember) all at the same time can really be overwhelming. On top of that, I have to endure Molly’s looks of sympathy when Ron and Lavender’s two children pester me for attention, pitying me for my loss, as she sees it. But I am not the least bit regretful; it was never something I aspired to – motherhood and all the trappings that go with it. After writing a quick and cheerful, ‘See you all tomorrow’ on a piece of parchment, I attach it to the owl’s leg and watch him fly for a few moments until he is a speck in the distance.
There doesn’t seem to be much point in going back to bed now, as comfy and inviting as it looks. Crookshanks watches me put my slippers on and jumps off the bed, purring like a mad thing. I snatch Snape’s letter off the bed-side table as Crookshanks winds himself around my legs, urging me to get a move on. He almost trips me up on the stairs in his eagerness to get to the kitchen (and his breakfast) before me. Once I’ve sorted him out, I conjure up some coffee (ah! Bliss) and put the wizarding wireless on just in time for the news.
Minutes later, the newsreader’s account of the latest Dragon Pox epidemic is drowned out by the intruder alarm. Someone’s trying to get through the Floo. My wand is in my hand before I have time to think about it.
‘Hermione! I’m in the Floo.’
Harry.
‘Hermione...? Are you there?’
Where else would I be. ‘Just a second, Harry. I’m not dressed.’ I put on my daytime glamour, which hides the scarring but does not alter my appearance, Summon my dressing gown and hastily tie the belt as I let Harry through.
‘You took your time,’ he says, brushing the soot off his robe.
‘Hello, to you, too.’ He gives me a peck on the cheek when I scowl at him. ‘I’ve just made some coffee, would you like some?’
Harry nods. ‘Please.’ He lopes off to the kitchen without another word with me trailing in his wake.
‘To what do I owe the honour?' I ask, rummaging in the cupboard for another mug. As if I haven’t guessed.
‘Just passing.’ He looks sheepish as I give him a disparaging look. ‘Erm...Thought I’d drop by and see if you were going to the Burrow tomorrow.'
‘Molly sent you, did she?’
He shrugs and gives me that boyish grin of his – the one that makes me want to reach out and mess up his hair. ‘She worries about you. We all worry about you.’
‘There’s no need. I’m fine.’
‘Fine?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘No, Hermione. You are not “fine”. It’s Saturday. If you were “fine”, you’d be out in the sunshine or-or shopping, or something.’
I raise my eyes heavenward.
‘When are you going to rejoin the land of the living?’
I take a deep breath and try not to huff. We’ve had this argument more times than I care to remember. ‘I’m happy with my life. Why can’t you all accept that?’
‘This isn’t life, and you know it.’
I turn my back on him and stand by the sink, gazing out the window. Crookshanks has caught a gnome. ‘Do you remember how I was when I first came here to live?’ Harry doesn’t reply. ‘Do you remember how scared, how paranoid I was? Do you remember how long it took me to even go into the garden?’
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘I–’
‘It was over a year before I even allowed Floo access to the cottage – you’d be in Siberia by now, if you’d attempted to come through then. I’ve come a long way, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, of course, but–’
‘This is as good as it’s going to get, Harry. I’m content. I wish you’d just leave it be.’
But, of course, he won’t. He’s like a dog with a bone once he gets going. ‘But you only ever leave the house to go to-to ... work.’
Harry is the only person who knows about my ‘other’ profession. It’s a real godsend having a high ranking Auror for a best friend, I can tell you. Who did you think does my security checks? ‘Don’t start that again. Anyway, it’s not true. Besides, I’m good at what I do, and I enjoy it–’.
‘Do you? Seems to me it’s just become routine. I could understand at the beginning when it was some weird way of working out your anger, but you’re not angry any more, are you?’
Oh, but I am. Only it’s more of a slow simmer now than a full boiling rage. I plaster a smile on my face before I turn around to face him. ‘It gets me out of the house.’ He doesn’t return the smile. ‘It still helps me get through the week, and that’s the best I can hope for – and I’ve already accepted Molly’s invitation for tomorrow, all right? So. No. More. Nagging.’
‘I suppose that’s something.’ He sighs. ‘Hey, that’s Snape’s writing. I’d recognise that scrawl anywhere. What does he want?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business.’ I grab the note before he has a chance to read it. ‘He’s read an article of mine and wanted to offer me some suggestions for further research. Nothing to worry your pretty head over.’
Harry laughs and doesn’t pursue the subject, thankfully. ‘Seriously,’ he says, adjusting his glasses, ‘it was actually Ginny who suggested I come over. She’s thinking of going to a health spa for a weekend and was wondering if you’d like to go, too.’
‘Harry... You know I can’t...’ That would involve revealing more of myself in public than I’m comfortable with.
He looks at me blankly, bless him. ‘There is the small matter of, you know, the scar...’
‘Scar? What scar?’ He pushes his hair back from his forehead. ‘You should have had to wear this all your life. “Aren’t you Harry Potter? Go on, show us your scar. Oh, it’s not as big as I thought it would be...” Oww!’
I swat him with the tea towel, laughing. ‘Prat.’
‘You’re still lovely, scar or no. Come on, it’ll do you good. You know you want to.’
‘No , Harry. Really.’
‘Oh, all right. At least I can say I tried.’ He gives me a hug and I stiffen automatically. He notices, but holds me tighter, if anything, before finally letting me go. ‘Ron sends his love, too,’ he says hesitantly. ‘You know... he’d really like to come over some time.’
‘It’s... awkward – being on my own with him. There’s just too much history between us. You know how it is.’
‘I know, and so does he, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him. He still loves–’
‘He’s married to Lavender.’
‘Can you blame him for trying to make a life for himself? You made it pretty clear that you couldn’t bear the thought of being with him–’
‘It’s all water under the bridge. What’s done is done, and I can’t change it. So, how are the kids?’
‘Fine. They’ll be delighted to see you – tomorrow. Right.’ He downs the dregs of his coffee. ‘I’m off. Can I Apparate out, please? You know, you really need to stick a brush up that Floo of yours... Ow! Now what have I said?’