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Hermione Granger and the Bastet Collar	By : HunterOpera Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 53204 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: This is something, yes indeed. Discretion is advised. The characters, locations, plots, and tropes of Harry Potter and JK Rowling are not owned by me and have nothing to do with the mess I'm making in their sandbox. I make no money

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Written as a favor to a friend. All feedback will be responded to at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/page-2, ; just copy/pasta that url and give me a couple days, tops, to respond. Thanks for reading...!

Delores smiled kindly as Harry staggered out of the chair, nearly collapsing as he clutched his hand, his face contorted in agony.

“And what have we learned, young Potter?” Delores asked, standing over the boy. The quickening of his breath was proof of the pain she had inflicted, a pain he deserved.

“I m-must not tell lies,” the-boy-who-lived whispered, his head bowed and hair matted with sweat. He shook his head, his voice an echo of the Dark Lord she lived to serve. “I must not tell lies.”

It thrilled her when he spoke like that, his words taking on the cadence of the man with whom his destiny was bound. For a moment she could imagine this child growing into something worthy of her master, but then he sniffled and was nothing more than a child again. The-boy-who-lived, she thought, smiling a smile that she had been told was quite pleasant. Pathetic.

“Very good, child.” She let him drag himself to his feet, his gaze still on the floor, his little shoulders twitching, skin and hair slick with sweat.

“Voldemort is alive.”

She slapped him.

He dropped to his knees, but not before she saw his smile, met the wild defiance dancing in his eyes. It was hidden in moments, clouded behind the pain. She shook her head, tsking and waving a finger at him.

“What am I to do with you?” She let him climb back into his chair, let him slump down there, enjoying the power she had over him. “I suppose we'll just have to do this again tomorrow. Two hundred lines then, I think... unless you're willing to tell the truth now? No? Very well. Tomorrow then.”

She dismissed him, smiling to herself as the-boy-who-lived shuffled out of the room, thinking that he was hiding his tears. So sad, the way Gryffindors confuse stupidity and courage. She returned to her desk, stroking her favorite cat, imagining how the Dark Lord would reward her for the damage she had inflicted upon his so-called rival.

Presently, a knock on her door aroused her attention. She gave leave for her visitor to enter but was surprised when the head of Slytherin House walked in, swaggering to her desk and sitting without leave. She studied him, the high cheekbones and pouting lips, the golden hair possessed of all Malfoys.

“What can I do for you, Master Malfoy?” she asked, clasping her hands and putting them on the desk before her. The boy copied her actions and she smiled at him, approving how this child could learn.

“It's more what I can do for you, Headmistress Umbridge.” Draco's words were tinged with a sneer, with eyes alight with the casual cruelty that had always settled in his family.

“And what might that be?”

“I have a gift of information you might enjoy,” Draco said. “Though I would expect something in return.” She smiled at him, feeling indulgent. She had always fancied Malfoy the elder, and knew the esteem with which the Dark Lord held his aunt.

“And what is it you want?” she asked. His lips curled in a thin smile, an expression that might have been called petulant or petty on someone hailing from a lesser house.

“Power,” he said. “Give me control of the school, of awarding points. Let me dictate the game and rules between houses.”

“That is quite the reward.” Delores leaned back, considering the boy. “The information you have must be worthy.” He brushed her words aside, leaning forward.

“It's about Potter.” Draco's lips curled as he spat the word. “I like what you're doing to him, but you won't break him like that. You need to take away the brain to cripple the heart.”

“The brain?”

“Hermione Granger.” Draco ran his hands through his hair. “When he has questions, she turns to her. She's the answer to all his questions. Break her and he'll follow, and the mudblood will break so much more quickly than he will.”

“And you'd have some ideas on that?” she asked, studying him. “Improper ideas?”

“Hardly,” Draco snarled, shrugged. “She's an eight, maybe an eight-point-five tops. No, she's the brain Potter relies on to tell him what to do. Without her, he's useless.”

“What about the other Gryffindor that crowds around him?”

“Weasel?” Draco smirked and shook his head. “Nothing more than a parasite, like the rest of his pathetic family. Look into it. You'll see I'm right.”

“I think I will, Master Malfoy, thank you.” He nodded, stood, began to walk away. He had reached the door before she spoke again. “If your finding have merit you will be granted the power you desire.”

The grin he flashed her assured her of his confidence.

///

Hermione straightened her skirt and looked the door before her.

She'd been in the headmaster's room many times before, back when Dumbledore had been in charge, but since Delores had taken control of Hogwart's she'd done her best to steer clear of the hateful woman that had taken so much from all of them. The agony Harry was suffering made her angry, steadied her nerves. She hugged herself and knocked, walked in when she was bidden.

Headmistress Umbridge was sitting behind a desk, sipping at a cup of tea, surrounded by her cats. The felines all turned to look at the girl, some of them licking their lips, and Hermione could not help but think of some muggle slave being forced to walk into a lion's den for cruel sport.

“Do not just stand there, child, come in, come in,” Headmistress Umbridge said, smiling her pleasant smile, her tone light and friendly. Nervously, Hermione shut the door and walked to the desk sitting when she was told. The older woman did not offer tea and Hermione knew better than to ask.

Delores Umbridge did not look dangerous. Hermione had seen Harry's hand, though, and thought she knew exactly how dangerous this woman could be.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Granger,” Umbridge said, smiling and holding her hands on the desk between them. “I know how seriously you take your studies.”

“I was told you wanted to see me.” Hermione swallowed, met the other woman's eyes. There was no smile there, just a deep chill that the girl knew she would never be able to forget.

“Yes, quite.” Umbridge tilted her head, leaning a little forward, the movement somehow concealing the closeness. Hermione blinked, wondering if there was some charm at work, but the woman did not have her wand at hand. “I'm told you have a vine wood wand with a dragon string core. Might I see it?”

Hermione could not think of a reason to deny the woman. Shaking, she took her hand from her skirt's waistline and slid it across the table, her fingers lingering on the small length of warm wood. She shuddered when Umbridge claimed the wand, holding it up to the light and staring at it for a long moment before setting it down.

“Such an elegant wand for a mudblood,” Umbridge said, the juxtoposition of friendly tone and harsh words leaving Hermione flustered. “Where did you steal it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I've been reviewing your transcripts, girl, and it seems to me that no mudblood could score so well as you.” The woman set the wand down, just out of Hermione's reach. “Therefore, you must be cheating. From whom are you getting the answer key?”

“I,” Hermione rocked back, shaken, unsure how to respond to insult and accusation. “I've never cheated on anything!”

“Stubborn little girl.” Umbridge tsked and stood, staring down at her. “One of your house-mates is already learning that it is better not to tell lies. Perhaps you need the same lesson...?”

“No!”

“I suppose not.” Umbridge crossed her arms. “Harry Potter may be a liar, but he is a boy. Girls are better punished in other ways. Please stand up, Miss Granger, and then bend over my desk.”

Hermione stared at the woman, shaking, unsure what to do.

“Are you not listening to me, Miss Granger?” Umbridge picked up the wand from the table, running a finger along its length as the cats around them stared, tails filching, eyes staring. “This might be considered proof that you are not the student you claim to be.”

“What? I, it's just I don't...”

“I could suspend you for cheating and disobedience,” the Headmistress stated, her voice prim. “Do you think any other wizarding school would accept you, after being discredited so? No? Then perhaps you'd best do what your betters ask you.”

Slowly, Hermione stood. She brushed down her skirt, held the hem of her shirt, felt three dozen cats staring at her, watching her as she best over the desk until her chest was resting against the pink table cloth. She looked up at the Headmistress, wondering what would happen next.

Smack

Hermione gasped, reaching for her bottom as the Headmistress looked at her with a kindly smile. There was some charm at work, the girl realized, some spell that Umbridge was casting using Hermione's own wand.

Smack

Her whole body shook as she looked up, shocked, the sting settling into tender flesh.

“You've been a bad girl, Miss Granger,” the Headmistress said, her voice and smile gentle, her eyes colder than wanter. “Bad girls are punished. Keep your hands on the table.”

Smack

She couldn't. Several more stinging slaps rained down on her, all along the tender flesh of her rear. It wasn't long before the table was the only thing keeping her upright, her knees giving out as the spanking continued, her Headmistress punishing her as if she were an errant child.

“I was only going to correct you ten times,” the Headmistress said, sighing, “but you continue to disobey your Headmistress. Perhaps if you could just fake being the student you pretend to be this would be over and we could continue on with our days.”

Smack

“I c-can't,” sniffled Hermione. “It h-hurts.”

“What is bothering you, child?”

“My, my b-backside...”

“Do you mean your arse?” Umbridge covered her mouth as she said the final word. “Good girls don't use such language, but a girl like you...? Tell your Headmistress where the bother is.”

Even through the tears Hermione could take a hint.

“My... my a-arse.”

“Such language from someone claiming to be such a good student.” The Headmistress shook her head. “I suppose this is what happens when you allow such filth into this school, which used to be such a respectable place. Keep your hands at you sides, girl.”

Smack

“I c-can't!”

“Perhaps I could help you. Would you like that?” the Headmistress asked. Hermoine was having trouble seeing through the haze in front of her eyes, but she nodded her head. “Very well. I will allow you to hold the opposite side of the desk, to keep your naughty hands away from your rear while you accept your punishment. In return for my kindness, however, you will do something for me in turn.”

“W-what?”

“You will lower your skirt, tights, and knickers, child, should you be wearing such.” Blinking, Hermione could see the Headmistress' expression and knew the older woman did not think she did. “Then, you will resume your current position, thank your Headmistress for each correction, and tell her why this is so very necessary.”

Hermione could not keep the hatred from her face.

“I could have you expelled, child.” Her face and voice were so kind, so at odds with the words. “Have you not forgotten this? Do as you are bid or you will leave Hogwart's in disgrace, a filthy mudblood whose experiences were a game played by one of her betters.”

She thought for a moment, trying to think of some way out of this before giving into despair. Slowly, she stood, her quivering fingers finding the clasp to her skirt. She undid the garment, felt it pool around her ankles. Looking up, she saw no mercy in the eyes of her Headmistress. Closing her eyes, biting her lip, her fingers pushed against her hips as they slipped between flesh and fabric. Her tights soon joined her skirt, down around her ankles.

Pleading with her eyes, she looked at her Headmistress, saw nothing but anticipation. Crying now, Hermione's fingers pushed her knickers down past her hips, gravity claiming them down past her thighs and calves, down to the floor.

Umbridge let her hug herself for a full minute before ordering her to bend over. Her hands trembled as her fingers curled around the other end of the desk, leaving her backside exposed.

Smack

“T-thank you, Headmistress.” Hermione winced, hating the wetness that dribbled down her inner thighs. “For correcting me.”

She wondered if the older woman would object to those words. She didn't. The second blow came and Hermoine sobbed, thanking her. By the forth she was sobbing, burying her head into her arm.

Smack Smack Smack Smack

She was screaming now. She'd lost count, thought they were at eight, but a haze had settled over her. She tried concentrating on anything else as she continued to thank her Headmistress for each corrective swat.

Smack Smack

“Thank y-you, H-headmistress, f-for correcting m-me.” She was ashamed of the way her voice shook, of how her body trembled, at the weight that had settled between her treacherous thighs. She lay there, sobbing, blinking the tears from her eyes as she waited for another blow.

None came.

Headmistress Umbridge was walking around her, had settled behind her. Hermione blushed as she realized what the woman had to be staring at.

“You may cover the proof of your slutishness, girl,” the Headmistress said, tsking again. Slowly, hissing pain, Hermione reached down and claimed her knickers, her tights, her skirt. The former felt like sandpaper against her tender flesh, the middle forcing greater pain, the last brushing against her soreness with every movement.

Bowing her head, Hermione hugged herself and sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Bright, curious, and willful,” Headmistress Umbridge said, walking back into view, shaking her head. Hermione couldn't meet her eyes, not now, perhaps not ever again. From the corner of her eye she watched the older woman lift the wand in her hand, pointing it at her. “Imperious. I've just made it so that you can't speak of this with anyone. Imperious. I've just made it so that you can't do anything to hurt me or stop me. Imperious. I've just made it so that you'll come here whenever I call you.”

“Why?!” Hermoine whimpered, still hugging herself as the Headmistress set the wand down on the desk in front of her. “Why use the Imperious Curse on me like that? Why not just make me what you want me to be?”

“Silly mudblood.” Umbridge drew her into a comforting hug. Hermione stiffened but did nothing, not even when the older woman began stroking her hair. “You need to learn to accept your place. No command will do that. Only training.”

The way those words were spoken left Hermione shuddering with dread, fearing what lessons were yet to come.
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Hermione Granger and the Bastet Collar