Hysteria

A/N: A huge thank you to Softobsidian74 for alpha reading and feedback and to robs55 for the excellent beta!


Chapter 3

Transference

This time Malfoy did not sit at the desk when she opened the door, but stood near the table.

He was already pulling on his thin, white gloves.

He motioned her toward the screen and spoke while she was preparing herself.

“Any problems over the weekend, Granger?”

She slipped off her shoes and set her purse next to her pretty new kitten heel pumps.

“No. A bit restless maybe, but nothing out of the ordinary.” Besides my current obsession with the medical field.

Hermione slid her knickers down her legs and put them on top of her hand bag again before stepping into the room.

This time, the table was already shortened and the stirrups in place.

Hermione sat between them and scooted backward. She grasped the hem of her robes and bunched the material of her skirt up to rest on her knees and thighs before lying down on the starched white sheet.

“Please pull your robe up and place your knees on the leg rests.”

Hermione obeyed and heard him roll his chair between her legs.

“I will pour a potion over you; it’s oil-based and the main properties are lily, musk root and crocus. It should not be cold.”

“Okay.”

Hermione felt a thin stream of oil run along her nether lips.

Musk root and crocus.

The oils would probably enhance blood flow and...

She nearly jumped out of her skin as fingers were pressed against her flesh to stop the oily potion from trickling down too low. Malfoy’s entire hands then pressed up and slid over her sex, coating her in the warming oil.

A tingling feeling made her widen her legs a bit further.

This was a much slower and more torturous approach than last time.

Also more intimate.

He had not touched her that much and fully. She had not felt how warm the palm of his hand was on her.

Hermione could hear her own breathing speed up and become louder in the silent room.

She could feel her pulse; first in her throat, then a second later it echoed in between her legs.

Gentle fingers massaged firm circles around her embarrassingly swollen clit.

He must think her absolutely wanton!

His fingers moved effortlessly over her oil-slicked flesh. Visualising his practiced hands between her thighs made her womb contract in pleasure and she unconsciously bucked her hips.

Mortified, she was glad that he did not comment but simply put his left hand on her abdomen, fingers splayed wide, asserting the delicious sensation of being held in place.

His other hand insistently played with her; rolling, rubbing, sliding, pinching.

Without warning, pleasure rolled over like a flood wave.

It curled her toes, clenched her fists and made her call out.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, in which she only heard her own breathing, she ripped her legs out of the stirrups and ran to her shoes behind the white privacy screen.

Somehow, she could not find her knickers, and blindly grabbed her purse while shoving her feet into her shoes.

She did not look back; did not say her goodbyes as she tore the door open and ran along the corridor, the clicking of her heels loud on the polished stone floor.

At home she curled herself into the heavy armchair she had inherited from her parents.

The stimulating oil warmed her sex, emanating its effects into her thighs and abdomen. A warm pulsing made her very aware of how full and heavy her nether lips were.

Resisting the urge to slide her hand between her thighs, she slipped into a light slumber.

Hours later, as night had already fallen, she woke from a gentle hand brushing her hair away from her face.

A cheek was pressed against hers and soft lips found her neck.

“Never run away from me, Hermione.”

Hands slid along her arms, over her hips and to her legs.

She still could not see who it was, who had found their way into her small terraced house. It was dark and he was touching her, yet she was not afraid.

He seemed familiar.

Hands hooked underneath her knees and moved them to drape over the padded arm rests.

Her robes were pushed up and bared her to the stranger.

“I was not finished with you.”

He was kneeling in front of the armchair.

She could hear the sound of his belt buckle being undone.

His fingers opened her and for a terrifying, arousing second, she sat motionless, feeling unable to hide even the most cherished thought, the secrets hidden the very deepest; as if he could see right into her soul.

And then for the first time in many, many months, male, hard flesh was parting her, filling her, stretching her to the hilt.

Hermione felt her muscles contract in anticipation around him and he gripped her hips with strong hands.

With brutal thrusts he started to fuck her into the upholstery of the chair. He did so methodically and with such determination, that she could only hold on to the arm rests of the chair and hold still.

She had never before climaxed from intercourse alone, and was astonished to feel the distinct tightening in her abdomen already building. The man leant down to bring his mouth near her ear.

“Say my name, Hermione.”

She tried to look into his face and see who the man was, but shadows hid his features however hard she looked.

“Say it! I want to hear you say it again!”

And then she looked into grey eyes and cried out as she had a few hours before.

She woke drenched in sweat, heaving for breath, and with her fingers buried between her legs, sticky with her own juices.

Self-consciously she looked around, half expecting to find Draco Malfoy standing near the fireplace, pouring firewhisky into a wide tumbler.

But there was no one.

She was alone in her house.

As always.

Feeling a strange pang of disappointment, she shook herself out of it.

It was high time to change the healer.

***


The next appointment had come by owl. A small standard notification parchment, used by St. Mungo’s for just this purpose, told her to be at the hospital on Thursday next at five thirty in the evening.

There was no note further to that. No mention of the incident. No snide remark scrawled underneath the date.

Maybe she would be able to pretend the last appointment had never happened.

She told herself sternly that Draco... Malfoy... Healer Malfoy was a professional and that this was all a case of transference, which would be forgotten as soon as she could be referred to a different healer.

Yes.

All would be well.

Then why had she stood in front of his door for the last seven minutes and did not dare to enter?

Not honouring the appointment would mean that Malfoy would be obliged to report her to her employer.

She loved her job, and just today her supervisor had remarked how fresh and rosy she looked. Had she spent some time in the first rays of spring sun?

Hermione had flushed deeply. She had a fairly good idea what caused her to look fresh.

Yes. Her job was worth a few minutes of embarrassment.

She lifted her hand to knock on the pristine door when it was suddenly yanked open.

Malfoy looked startled seeing her right in front of his office door and stepped aside.

“Granger! What are you doing outside? Come on in; healer de Belleme is due any minute!”

He ushered her in as if her last appointment had not ended badly and made her sit in the visitor’s chair.

“Right.” He sat in his high-backed arm chair. “I have already written a case summary for healer de Belleme and he will join us shortly to take over your case.” He shuffled parchments around on his desk and straightened a quill that did not need straightening. “I must say I am sorry to lose your case. It is very interesting and will probably go into the instruction manuals for student-healers, since it is so unique to find Witches Hysteria in Muggle-borns.”

“Oh?”

She was... interesting?

He looked at her earnestly.

“How are you, Granger? I was concerned after you left last time. More than once I was tempted to get your Floo address and check in on you.”

Oh?

“I was... embarrassed.”

“Please don’t be!”

She did not know how she found the strength to look into his eyes.

“You are in a difficult position, Granger. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

When she did not respond, he shuffled his files a bit more.

“Have you thought about a new relationship?” Unbidden her heart started beating in hopeful astonishment. “It might be the solution to this problem.”

Oh.

“I don’t want to have...” sex “a relationship for the sake of problem solving. That would hardly be fair on the other party.”

He nodded gravely.

“I thought you might see it as such. I also think that your case is not a severe one; we managed to diagnose in the early stages.” He smiled. “After completing the therapy you should be fine. You might want to consider regular prophylactic sessions about every three months or so. There are also new, alternative methods such as therapeutic piercing...”

He trailed off as he saw her clench her thighs and sit in a rigid position.

“Never mind. Healer de Belleme is more conservative in his approach than I, but if you ever feel you want to discuss alternative methods, please do not hesitate to make an appointment with me.”

Hermione nodded, feeling suddenly apprehensive to reveal this hysteria business to yet another person. Malfoy had not been as horrible as she had expected.

Without knocking or other warning, the door flew open and a large, stocky man in old fashioned healer robes strode in. There were several medals and badges signifying his specialisations and achievements pinned to the breast of his white robe.

“There you are, Draco! And this must be the transfer case.”

He leant down to stare into Hermione’s eyes. “Miss Granger, I assume?”

She wanted to nod but he had already grasped her chin and turned her face this way and that.

“Muggle-born, eh? Very interesting. Very interesting, indeed.”

Malfoy cleared his throat.

“I have compiled her file and added a copy of the summary I had sent you yesterday.” He held out the vellum-covered stack of parchments but healer de Belleme did not even look his way while taking it.

“Very well, very well. Off we go now, Miss. Come along.”

Feeling puzzled and out of place, Hermione followed healer de Belleme out of Malfoy’s office. She looked back just before closing the door behind her and met his eyes for a moment. He leant against his desk, a slight frown marring his features.

Healer de Belleme strode in front of her, moving with purpose; head held high, nodding whenever they crossed the path of St. Mungo’s staff.

His office door was wider and heavier than Malfoy’s, oak studded with ironwork.

It shut with a clunk and stopped any noise from the outside corridor from penetrating the office.

It was dark and reminded her of Professor Snape’s office at Hogwarts. There were artefacts swimming in glass jars; bubbling apparatuses on a work bench in a corner; heavy wooden furniture everywhere. The walls were a deep red colour and every available space had been covered in framed documents, newspaper clippings and photographs that all showed the same subject. Healer de Belleme meeting the Minister of Magic; shaking hands with Dumbledore; wizards in unfamiliar uniform robes – diplomats perhaps; elegantly dressed wizards and witches holding champagne glasses; a puzzled looking Harry Potter looked into the camera with wide eyes, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ as de Belleme clasped his hand and threw his left arm around Harry’s shoulder. This seemed to have taken place at one of the any press conferences Harry had to attend during the first year after defeating Voldemort.

Hermione bit her lip to suppress a smile, imagining the healer sending out invitations for ‘de Bell Club Parties’.

The healer motioned her to sit in a comfortable wing chair but did not take his seat behind his desk. Instead, he stood in front of her, leafing through the parchments in her file.

“Feeling restless and struggling with the daily tasks of life, I see. Insomnia, irritability, etc., etc.” Another page turned. The healer looked up. “Unmarried as of yet, feeling compelled to produce venereal excitement by the hand?”

“What?”

“Now, Miss Granger, I do not quite agree with my younger colleagues on this issue. This is very grave indeed. A witch should not engage in this kind of self-pollution. I am very surprised that healer Malfoy only saw fit to prescribe supervised paroxysm by pelvic massage and not something more profound.”

Hermione had a sinking feeling but remained silent, since she was unsure what any kind of comment from her side would produce in this environment.

The healer closed her file with a snap.

“Well, we will see. Leave your things behind the screen; you know what is required.”

This screen was an intricately carved wooden one with heavy, dark blue velvet drapes.

Thankful once more for her choice of robes, she only had to shed her knickers and returned to the examination room still fully covered by her ankle-length skirt.

There was no clean, white examination table, but rather a reclining, iron-cast chair, upholstered and covered in camel-coloured leather. It looked like an old fashioned barber’s chair or something she had seen in the museum of dentistry that she had visited with her parents when she was a child.

Or like something from Sweeney Todd.

De Belleme opened the clasp on a rolled up leather satchel. With a flick of his wrist it unrolled on top of one of the tables laden with experiments.

Small compartments held thin, vicious, spiked, thorned and hooked objects. His hand hovered over the selection for long seconds, drawing out the pleasure of selecting the right tool.

“Have a seat. Slide forward a bit.”

She complied and he waved his wand to make the leg rests appear.

He did not have gloves.

Nor did he make a move to Scourgify his hands as Malfoy had done every time.

“Aren’t you going to use a sterile wand?”

He looked at her in astonishment.

“Why ever would I do that? Now go on, place your legs in the holders.”

He had already moved quite close.

“I... I don’t know whether I feel comfortable with that.”

He looked at her for a second and tapped a swirling paper weight on a nearby side table with his wand.

“Are you refusing treatment, Miss Granger?”

“No!” He looked at her enquiringly. The word had come out much more forcefully than intended. “I mean, of course not, it’s just that I think I have become accustomed to healer Malfoy’s methods.”

“Well, it is your prerogative to go back to his treating you.” His voice was now void of anything akin to friendliness. “However he has left for the day already and your next treatment is overdue. I suggest we continue.”

Hermione breathed deeply. This was not going the way she had envisioned it. She leaned back against the back and head rest and reluctantly placed her knees on the leg rests.

The healer scooted very close and rather roughly parted her nether lips with his possibly unwashed hands.

Hermione felt her muscles tense up. Did he want to give her an infection? He was a medical professional for goodness sake!

He proceeded to prod and examine her while she tried to recall what his finger nails had looked like.

For a few moments he lifted his hands from her only to forcefully massage the area around her clitoris. Without the lubrication spell, his fingers dragged over her skin, pulling it, pulling uncomfortably on her flesh.

He moved what she thought might be his thumb to her clit.

It hurt.

She whimpered in pain and tried to relax; tried to think about something else. Anything.

He seemed to misinterpret the small sound of discomfort and sped up the motion of his thumb.

“Ow!”

Hermione rose up on her elbows and removed her legs from the stirrups.

“Please, I am truly not feeling well today. I would like to reschedule my appointment.” With healer Malfoy.

“You are not feeling well enough for treatment, Miss Granger?”

“I apologise, healer de Belleme. It is just not a good day I am afraid.”

He kept his eyes on her and nodded slowly, while he tapped the paper weight one more time.

Just as Hermione arranged her skirts and made to rise from the padded leather seat of the ornate cast iron chair, several things happened at once.

The door opened and a matronly-looking nurse hurried inside while de Belleme used Hermione’s distracted state to cast a spell on her that threw her back onto the chair, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Paralysed by shock, Hermione could only watch as the healer waved his wand and suddenly her hips were belted down to the chair.

The healer loomed over her and before she could collect herself he had grasped her wrists and crossed her arms, pressing her hands painfully into her shoulders.

The nurse had obviously expected this. She pointed her wand at her and another tight leather strap restrained her effectively from moving her upper body and arms.

“What are you doing?”

Panic quivered in her voice.

How had everything gone so wrong and pear-shaped in a matter of minutes?

Hermione tried to lift her head to be able to see what the healer was doing. He had seized one of her legs and spread and lifted it into the leg rest with a sudden, jerking movement.

She had tried to fight this and a muscle in her hip cramped painfully.

Hermione shrieked in pain and struggled in earnest.

“No! Let me go!”

Her leg was secured by magic, and the other immobilised and restrained as well.

The nameless nurse stepped behind her and put a cool hand across her forehead, holding her head pressed into the headrest. A spell forced Hermione’s jaws to open and with horror Hermione felt something that she could only describe as a rubber bit being forced between her teeth.

Yet another leather strap replaced the hand of the nurse.

A feeling of panic and claustrophobia filled her, trapped in her body.

The muscles in her hip were still cramping.

In desperation she tried to loosen the restraints to find relief.

“I honestly cannot fathom how Malfoy could misjudge this case as crassly as he has. This is one of the most severe cases of hysteria I have ever seen. She is obviously trying to evade treatment. After we are finished here, she should be transferred to the special section of the Janus Thickey Ward and her employer must be notified.” He sat heavily on the chair that made his face come level with her knees. “It would be irresponsible to let her trick us into allowing her to carry on as she has been doing.”

Hermione whimpered in pain and fear.

The healer started once again to drag his thumb over her dry, aggravated clitoris.

The nurse gently swiped a few strands of hair away from her face.

“There, there, dear. The healer will make you all better.”

“Vibratum.”

His wand was not smooth and made for medical treatment. It was his wand that he had used since he bought it at age eleven; carried in his pocket; thrown around in his dorm at Hogwarts; put on tables in pubs and libraries and in the dining room. The wand one or several familiars had most probably toyed with.

Hermione wondered in a strangely removed way whether the thing in her mouth would make her suffocate on her own sick.

The vibration was strong and the uneven wood tore at her soft skin.

The orgasm it forced from her was painful and she knew she had been crying and sobbing the entire time the healer worked her.

Strapped down to the examination chair, eyes red and snot running from her nose down over her lips and into her held-open mouth she must be looking mindless and deranged.

The healer stood.

“Nurse, will you prepare her for the ward? I will administer the potion.”

He moved to a glass cabinet displaying rows and rows of neatly-stacked vials and retrieved a lime green potion.

The nurse had meanwhile poured a sharp-smelling liquid onto a clean rag and swiped Hermione’s sex from top to bottom. It stung where the treatment had left her skin raw and inflamed.

De Belleme opened the vial and unceremoniously emptied its contents into her gagged mouth before covering both her mouth and nose with his hand.

It was sticky and smelled of cunt.

Thankfully, she was still able to swallow around the strange gag. She was so occupied with what the healer was doing to her that she nearly missed that something was shoved into her.

She could not tell what it was or where exactly this... object had gone.

But it was uncomfortable to say the least. It put a strange pressure on her bladder. She felt as if she needed to pee.

Oh gods, please don’t let me wet myself in front of them.

Then everything went out of focus and slipped away.


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