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Hermione came to with a start.

She was seated in a wooden chair, completely bound in ropes.  They cut across her chest, her ribs, and around her waist.  They strapped her thighs together over the seat of the chair.  Her calves and ankles were bound to the chair legs.  Her hands were tied behind her back.  

She was dressed exactly as she had been when she'd opened the door to her guest:  white shirt, red pencil skirt, satiny white bra and knickers, and a truly absurd pair of shoes.  The red heels had to be five inches, sharp as spikes, on top of two-inch platforms, held in place by thin ankle straps.  

Her eyes scanned the room.  It was much like her own place:  run-down but tidy, not much furniture, and nothing matched.  An upended crate served as a makeshift night table.  Cheap red-striped curtains hung precariously over the two small windows by way of a sticking charm.  There was a nice but scratched wooden dresser, topped with a variety of candles flickering in mismatched glass and metal containers.  They sat near the edge, well away from a larger variety of exotic houseplants, one with vines so long that they hung in a garland around the mirror.  

The bed was stripped of all covers except a fitted sheet, which shone like gold satin in the candlelight.  Several pillows covered in the same satiny material were piled in front of a slatted headboard.  More rope hung around the slats.

Hermione's eyes finally settled on Neville Longbottom.  He straddled a wooden chair in front of her, his hands clasping the top rail, his eyes eagerly searching every detail of her face.

She blinked three very slow, deliberate times. His hands relaxed.  He drew in a deep breath and blew it out.  The wariness on his face evaporated.  A greedy, cocky half-smile slipped into its place.

"You know, being in the plant business, I know some really good potion-makers.  Best in the field."

"That does come in handy."

"I can get stuff that knocks you out for half an hour or so, but it doesn't leave you groggy.  You'd be fully alert when you came to."

"This doesn't sound entirely legal."

"You don't look too worried about it."

"Well, I did just pass the law exam two months ago, and I do have a professional obligation.  But I suppose... if it's just this once... and if it's someone you know and trust..."

"It is.  But if we used the potion, we'd have to use a signal.  So I'd know when you were fully alert.  And you'd have to be sure you were ready to go.  Before you did the signal."

"Yes.  Of course."

"And we should give the potion a test run beforehand.  Both of us.  So we both know what it feels like."

"That's reasonable.  And I'd be tied up?"

"Yes.  Completely immobile at first.  But you'd know what to do.  If you started to feel uncomfortable.  In any way."

"Yes, Neville.  Good grief, how many times—"

"That would be more important than ever, Hermione."

"I know."

"Because..."

"Because you want me to resist you.  Really resist."

"Yes."  A lowered voice.  "And I want to do everything in my power to break you down."

Hermione jerked at the ropes, testing them.  They were so solid that the chair moved slightly with the motion.  Her hands were tied together more loosely, clearly meant to minimize impact on her arms and wrists.  The knots did not tighten when she pulled, but the illusion was effective.

She looked back up at Neville, who now had one arm draped over the back of the chair.  His other elbow rested on it, his cheek pressed into the heel of his palm.  He looked extremely satisfied with himself.

"Where am I?" Hermione asked.

"My bedroom."

She knew that, of course.  But the two words alone, in this context, sent a thrill through her.

"How did I get here?"

"Through the Floo."

This was really happening, and she only had one job.  Resist.  It wouldn't be an easy task.  She was already getting wet.

"And why am I here?" she snapped impatiently.

Neville's eyelids drooped.  "I think you know the answer to that."

"Do you want to pretend we're strangers?"

"I dunno.  Do you like that idea?"

"Yes."

"So do I.  But it would take a lot of acting, wouldn't it?  For you more than me.  After all, if I'm the kidnapper, I'd know all about you.  But you'd have to pretend not to know me.  Are you up for that?"

"Honestly, I don't see any other way it could work.  You can't be Neville Longbottom at all.  At least not the Neville Longbottom I know."

"No, I guess not.  Mister No-Name, then?  Just a stranger?  Not a bad-looking one, I hope, but... what?  What is it?"

"Sorry, I just... that's so hot."

"Yeah?  You really think I'm hot?"

"Neville."

"Of course, this means you can't say my name while we're at it."

An eyeroll.  "Obviously."

"Well, it's just... you say my name a lot when we're doing it."  A bashfully proud smile.  "Did you know that?"

"Do I?  It just comes out, I guess.  Do you like that?"

"I love it.  I'd miss it."

A deadpan look.  "But you'd manage."

A smirk.  "I'll manage if you can."

"I'll do my best."

"So we'll be ourselves, just... different versions of ourselves.  You'll be a Hermione who secretly wants to get kidnapped and fucked by a stranger."

"God, Neville.  When you say it like that..."

"Yeah, I know.  It's messed up."

"And hot."

"Pretty hot, yeah.  And I'll be an unknown Neville who's hell-bent on making her admit what she wants."

"I guess it's convenient that you already know everything I want.  Isn't it?"

"I'm sure you still have some surprises for me.  Even after all these times."

"Do you still have surprises for me?"

"Oh yeah."

A cup of tea gone cold.  "Like what?"

Hermione gave another feeble tug at the ropes.  Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and went into full courtroom mode.  "Listen, I don't know who you are, and I don't know what you think you're playing at, but you can't just—"

"Sure I can."

She barely repressed a shudder.  This was really happening.  And Neville was good.  It was going to be hard to keep up, but she had to try.  "This is ridiculous," she spat.  "Do you know who I am?"

"'Course I do.  You're Hermione Granger.  Everyone thinks you're so perfect, don't they?  So reasonable.  Responsible.  Bossy."  Neville shook his head.  "I know what you want."

"Is that so?  And who are you?"

Neville's eyes gleamed in the flickering candlelight.  He folded both arms over the back of the chair and tilted his chin down, looking at her from under his brow.  "The one who's gonna give it to you."

Hermione was dampening her knickers at an alarming rate.  She decided it was time to drop the courtroom act and see what kind of reaction she could elicit with a little more panic in her voice.  "This isn't funny.  Let me go."

Neville just watched her silently.

"Seriously.  Please, just... just untie me.  Obviously there's been a misunderstanding of some sort.  We can talk about this."

"Why?  You know what's gonna happen.  And it'll be better if you cooperate."

"Cooperate?"  Hermione's voice rose dramatically.  "Are you out of your mind?"

"No," Neville replied in a calm, even voice.  "I don't want to keep you tied to that chair.  I want to hear you beg for my cock."

He said the word like it was nothing, but Hermione felt it like a thrust.  She pressed her bound legs together even more tightly.  "That's... that's never going to happen."

Neville watched her a moment, his eyes drawn to her thighs.  He knew exactly what she was doing with her legs.  And he definitely knew what he was doing to her with all this talk.  For someone who had spent most of his Hogwarts years silent or mumbling, Neville was uncannily good at this kind of talk.

Finally, he stood.  He was wearing what he'd worn their first time:  that familiar green jumper and chinos, same bulge already apparent.  The only difference was his bare feet.  "For the record," he said, "that's not cooperation."  

He walked to his dresser, his back turned to her.  He opened one of the small top drawers and rummaged inside.  Hermione craned her neck to get a view in the mirror, but it was no use.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Neville didn't answer.  He made a choice, closed the drawer with a quiet thunk, and turned back around, the object obscured in his hand.

"What do you have there?"

He slowly paced back towards her.  When he reached his chair, he slid it back, giving him room between the two.  He loomed over her, his face now cool and unreadable.  

"Stop messing around.  What are you—"  

Hermione broke off in a gasp as Neville slipped the object between his thumb and fingers.  He held it in front of her, grooved metal peeking out from behind polished red jasper.  Neville eased a short fingernail into one of those grooves and, in a one quick motion, snapped out a short, broad blade.  

"How about some incentive?"

"That is a surprise.  Wow."

"An unpleasant one?"

"No.  A dangerous one, to be sure."

"Yeah."

"But an exciting one, too.  You always carry one, don't you?  For your job."

"Of course."

"More than one?"

"Sometimes two or three, yeah.  I collect them, actually."

"And you're handy with them, I bet."

"I've gotten myself a few times.  Good enough to have a healthy respect for them.  You... you really like the idea?"

"Nowhere near my face or neck."

"No.  Agreed.  But I'd love to go for your tits with it.  The back of it.  Not the sharp part."

"Oh.  Oh my."

"Very, very carefully, of course."

It was an almost comically small pocket knife, but like Neville himself, it didn't have to be flashy to make an impression.  And it made an impression, all right.  From the way the light hit the beveled edge, Hermione could tell that it was as sharp as a blade could get.  Freshly sharpened, she would have bet.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked, now frozen in place as anyone would be with a blade right in front of them, no matter who was wielding it or why.  

"I'll use it to cut you free.  When you decide to cooperate."  Neville lightly tapped the blade against the rope that ran across Hermione's chest.   "I can start with that rope right now if you like.  As a gesture of good faith."

"Okay.  Yes."

"But I'll need a gesture of good faith in return."

At that, Hermione's eyes returned to his.  "You are definitely out of your mind if you think I'm going to negotiate with you."

Neville shrugged.  "Your choice."  He turned to resume his seat.

"Wait!  What are you doing?"

He paused, propping his bare foot on one of the rungs of his chair.  "I can sit here all night long, if that's what it takes.  I don't want to.  And you don't look comfortable.  But like I said.  Your choice."

"What kind of gesture do you want?"

"Hmm."  Neville gave her a faint smile, his gaze narrowing in on her lips.  "I'd love to see what you can do with that mouth."

Again, the words were like a thrust.  Hermione felt heat creep up her neck and slam through her pelvis.  "What?  No.  Absolutely not."

"No?"  Neville's smile spread as he kicked off from the chair and approached her again.  His hand hovered over her mouth a moment, and then he dragged one fingertip over her bottom lip, tugging it slightly.  "Not even one little finger?  Really?"

Oh, he was enjoying himself now.  He had her where it hurt, and he knew it.  Hermione would have given anything at that moment to suck that finger between her lips and show him exactly what she'd like to be doing elsewhere.  Her lips parted of their own accord.

"I don't think that's asking too much," Neville said, impossibly drawing out her anguish.  "I could ask for more."  He teased the tip of her tongue with his finger.  "Anyway, that's the deal.  Take it or leave it."

Hermione pulled her head back, desperately trying to stay in character.  "So all I have to do is... suck on your finger... and you'll cut a rope?"

Neville nodded.  "You have my word."

"Okay.  Fine."  

When she didn't move, Neville laughed.  "I'm not gonna stick it in your mouth," he said.  He wiggled his finger.  "Come on, come and get it.  Show me what you can do."

Hermione leaned forward and closed her lips over the tip of his finger.  She swirled her tongue around it once and pulled off with a pop.

Neville gave her a withering look.  "Gonna need more than that."

Hermione took a deep breath, in and out.  She closed her eyes, caught his fingertip between her lips, and slowly slid her mouth down until they met his knuckle.

"Eyes on me."

No, no, no.  There was no way Neville could expect her to meet his eyes and not just go for it.  And sure enough, when she looked up, his nostrils were flared, his jaw set.  Hermione gave up and started to bob.  She slid up and down the whole thick length of his finger.

"Suck."

She sucked until her cheeks hollowed.

"Now hold still.  But keep sucking."

She obeyed, maintaining the suction as Neville pumped his finger in and out of her mouth, a mimicry of what she knew he could do with his cock.  His jaw clenched as he watched it disappear again and again between her greedy lips.  Hermione couldn't help it.  She let out a whimper through her nose.

Neville pulled his finger away at once.  He chuckled lightly.  "Now that's what I call cooperation."  He slipped that spit-slick finger beneath the rope that ran over her chest.  "Hold still."  He tugged at the rope until he could easily slide the blade under it.  And then it was gone.

"No blow job?  Seriously?"

"You really like having a mouthful, don't you?"

A blush.

"Fuck.  I do love watching you work.  But not this time, I think."

A rueful shake of the head.  "You'd have me in the perfect position for it."

"True.  Not my favorite position, though."

"Mmmm."

A gesture of good faith, Hermione thought, shaking her head.  Of course Neville had chosen that rope.  She looked down.  Now that it was gone, the front bands of her shirt stretched precariously, scrunched out of shape so that her bra showed through the gap between buttons.

"Better?" Neville asked.

"Hardly," she replied, defiance returning to her voice.  "These ropes are really tight, you know?"

"Are they?  Neville's tone was playful, but he paused and narrowed his eyes, an expression that Hermione knew well.  She was forced to momentarily break character by giving him her best 'yes, I'm still playing' face.  

The cocky half-smile returned.  "That's too bad," he said in a tone that indicated his delight at her predicament.  "They make your tits look fantastic.  Your nipples are hard as little rocks.  Did you know that?"

Hermione knew it.  She didn't even have to look.  She could feel them poking at the satiny, unpadded cups of her bra, yearning for attention.

Neville lifted the blade towards one of them.

"No, what are you doing... please, I'll do whatever you want..."

"Yes, you will," he said, pausing with the dull edge above one nipple.  "And I don't want to cut you.  So you'd best hold very still."

Hermione sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes closed.  But the moment she felt that hard, cold metal make contact with her nipple, the breath left her in a ragged gasp.  Neville lightly scraped the dull edge back and forth over it, again and again, until the sensation bordered on pain.  She could only imagine what it would feel like on her bare flesh.  She was just about to cry out when he stopped.

"Now that," Neville whispered, examining his work, "is promising."  He moved the blade to her other nipple and began to torture it as well.  "All that from a finger in your mouth?  Really?  What would you do with a whole cock in your mouth?  Split your shirt open?"

A soft cry finally burst from Hermione's throat.  The blade, the talking...  She was practically trembling from the need to move her hips.

The blade moved to the first shirt button.  "That's not a bad idea, come to think of it."

"No, please don't..."

"What?  Make you suck my cock?"  Neville laughed.  "Okay.  I can pass on that.  But the shirt's definitely gotta go."

"I should buy you an outfit.  If we're really going to do this."

"That seems unnecessarily extravagant."

"So I can shred it to pieces."

"Ah."

"No, please, it's one of my favorites," Hermione lied as she watched that blade slice off the first button and flick it aside.  The next button received the same treatment.  With his free hand, Neville jerked the shirt open over her breasts, pushing it down over her shoulders to keep it out of the way.

"Very promising," he said in a transfixed voice as his eyes greedily took in what he'd uncovered.

"No, no, not the bra, too..."

"Be still."  

Hermione had no choice but to hold still as Neville lifted the front of her bra and sliced through it in one quick sweep.  He pushed the now useless garment out of the way until her bare breasts were on full display, pressed up by the rope just beneath them, her straining nipples pointed right up at him.  He blew out a low whistle, as though he hadn't seen her bare breasts dozens of times before.  But then, he'd never seen them like this.  And Neville really liked rope.

"You know," he said, dragging his gaze back up to hers, "this could go so well.  If you'd stop pretending you don't want it."

"I'm not pretending," Hermione replied, but her acting skills were nearing their limit.  

"You don't want me to touch them?" Neville asked with a faint smile.

"No."  Even as Hermione said it, her back arched as best it could in the restraints.

"It looks like they want to be touched.  And it might persuade me to cut a few more ropes."

"A few?  Which ones?"

"That," Neville said, his smile widening, "is up to me.  But it would earn you two."

Six ropes still held her in place.  Ribs, waist, thighs, calves, ankles, hands.  Hermione had a fairly good idea which ones would be the next to go.  "Go on, then."

Neville lightly ran two fingers back and forth over one hard nipple, just as he had done with the blade.  It was nothing at first.  It was always nothing at first.  But he kept doing it, that gentle, steady touch, until the flesh was so hard that it snagged in the crease between his fingers.  And then the sensation became so acute that it shot like Fiendfyre between her legs.  Her whole body jerked in response.

Neville chuckled, moving to the other.  "There.  That's not so bad, is it?"

Again, the sensation built, and Hermione was helpless, forced to take it as it neared that almost unbearable point.

"Is it?" Neville demanded, giving the taunted flesh a sharp pinch.

"Yes!" Hermione cried out in earnest.  "Please, I can't take it anymore."  She looked up at Neville, panting.

He ran a knuckle down the valley between her breasts.  "That was some... beautiful cooperation," he said.

With a flick of the blade, her thighs were free.  Neville knelt, and her calves were free as well.  He untangled both ropes and tossed them aside.  Then, from his knees, he toyed with the hem of her skirt.  "That skirt looks tight, too," he said.  "Want me to loosen it for you?"

"No."

"Wrong answer."  

The blade caught the hem and easily sliced a slit up the front of the skirt, about eight inches long.  Neville snapped the blade back into place and stowed the knife in his pocket.  His eyes darted between her face and the slit he'd made.  "Nah.  Still too tight."

And with that, he grabbed either side of the slit in his fists and tore the skirt clear to the waistband.

"You animal!" Hermione yelled.

Neville raised one eyebrow.  "You preferred the knife?"

"And when I say shred it to pieces..."

"Yeah.  Got it."

There was little covering Hermione from Neville's eyes now.  Her bare breasts advertised her excitement, framed by rope and ruined clothing.  Her legs were likewise bare, the tatters of her skirt hanging down each side of the chair.  Her thighs were still pressed together.

Neville sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at her like a kid at storytime.  "You know," he said, "you can move your legs now."

Hermione sat defiantly silent, soaked all the way through to the chair.

He laughed.  "Fine.  Keep them together like a good girl.  But we both know you want to spread them."

"No, I..."  What she wanted, more than anything, was friction.  But she could hardly admit to that.

Neville nodded towards the juncture of her thighs.  "She wants you to spread them.  Doesn't she?"

It was a Herculean task, trying not to rock against the seat of that chair.  "No."

"No?  She's not wet?"  Neville rested an elbow on one knee and his chin in his hand, giving her a boyishly innocent look.  "Not even a little bit?"

"No," Hermione lied, getting wetter by the second from Neville's taunting.

"I could help her out.  If she is."  He licked his lips, shaking his head in mock pity and regret.  "We could be having so much fun.  Me and her."

Hermione took a deep, calming breath, trying desperately not to think about what Neville could do with his mouth.

"What's the problem?  You've never flashed your knickers at a boy before?"

"Look," she spat at last.  "I'll do it, all right?  I'll spread them.  But you have to promise to cut more ropes."

"Of course," Neville said, patting his pocket.  "That's the deal.  You cooperate.  I cut."

Her thighs were drenched.  The skin clung stickily together as Hermione parted them.  She stopped when they were a shoulder's width apart, cool air bathing the soaked fabric between them.  

"Gonna need to see more than that."

"I can't," Hermione protested through her teeth, her ankles pulling at the ropes around them.

"Sure you can.  Come on, spread those knees.  Like your freedom depends on it."

Hermione sunk as far as she could in the chair and let her legs fall open as though Neville's mouth was going to be on the other end.

It was, almost immediately, but not in the way she wanted it.  He rose from his spot on the floor, triumphant, and knelt in front of her chair.  "Keep them spread," he said.  He propped his chin on the edge of the seat, staring at her soaked knickers.  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.  Then he exhaled and looked up at her with a smile.  "You're a really bad liar.  You know that?"

"I couldn't help it, all right?  You were touching me, and... and saying all those things, and it... just happened.  It doesn't mean..."

"...you want it.  Yeah.  I got the message.  Too bad she didn't."  He pulled the knife back out.  "Let's get her out of those knickers."  Neville slipped his finger under one skimpy side band of the bikini-style knickers and lifted the blade.

"What?  No.  No, not the knife again, please."

He paused, gesturing with the blade at her general position.  "How else am I gonna get them off you?"

"You said you'd cut another rope."

Neville's eyes flitted over the remaining ropes before returning to the crotch of her knickers, which now dug into her lips from the way he was stretching the fabric.  "Knickers first.  Rope second.  Two little snips," he said, looking at her like she was being silly.  "I'll make it quick."

Indeed, that one band snapped loose in a split second under the blade.  He dragged his fingers over the now flopping waistband to the other side and cut it free as well.  

"See?" he said, holding the blade up in a conciliatory manner.  "Nothing to it.  Now lift up."

Hermione lifted her hips as best she could, but Neville had to tug to remove the garment, and he did so slowly, letting every bit of that silky fabric drag between her legs.  When it was finally free, he held it up, rubbing the soaked spot with a smile.  He lifted it to his nose.

"The rope?" Hermione prompted him.

"Ah yes.  The rope.  Any preference?"

"My hands."

He shook his head.  "Out of the question, I'm afraid.  Ankles, I think."  He laid the ruined knickers over her knee.  "Hold very still."

Hermione obviously couldn't see what he was doing, nor did she know how they were knotted.  She only knew that each was tied separately to one of the chair legs.  She held as still as possible while Neville worked.  Then, one after the other, the ropes were cut, unwound, and joined the others on the floor.

"Done." Neville stood.  He picked the knickers up and moved back to his chair, draping his prize over the back rail and resuming his backwards straddle of the seat.  "Ah-ah.  Not this again," he said, pointing the blade in the direction of her closed legs.  "Open them."

With a huff, Hermione let them fall back open.

"Wider."

"I can't."  

"Sure you can.  Slide down in the chair.  Hook those heels over the rungs on the side."

Hermione did as directed, until her legs were spread obscenely wide, everything on display.

"Good.  Now let's see you move."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  She shouldn't have been surprised by the order.  Neville loved to watch her masturbate, all the more if she couldn't use her hands to do it.  But god, it was filthy, so filthy that she could feel herself ooze at the mere thought.  "Move?" she repeated.  "You mean...?"

"You know exactly what I mean.  Let me see you move."  

"Neville, you are... such a pervert."

A sheepish grin.  "Yeah."

"No one would ever guess."

"I hope not."

"I think about you sometimes—"

"Only sometimes?"

"—being at work, helping some little old lady with her big bag of potting soil.  And there she is thinking, oh what a sweet young man."  A laugh.  "No idea you'd sit here and plan an erotic kipnapping over tea."

"Some of those old ladies can get downright frisky, you know.  Gran's friends, even!  Eyes all over the place."  A wildly exaggerated old lady voice.  "Oh my stars, Neville Longbottom, you have grown up into mighty fine young man, haven't you?"

More laughter.  "Should I be jealous?"

"I'm just saying... I think they know what's up.  Better than you did."

"Okay, so I don't know it all.  But neither did you."

"I had..."  A chuckle.  "...no idea.  Well... maybe a hunch.  Maybe more like wishful thinking."

"Did you ever wank over me?  Before?"

A nervous bite of the lip.

"Neville, you dog!  Did you imagine me tied up?"

"Are we trading wanking stories here?  Is that what we're doing?"

A lightning-fast change in subject.  "Do you really want me to wear the shoes?"

"You don't have to."

"But you want me to?"

"Yeah.  Sorry.  You don't have to."

"I'm likely to kill myself in them.  Maybe you, too."

"Yeah, probably not the best idea."

"I don't know.  Let's try it.  Not going to be standing much, am I?"

"No.  You're not."

Those stilettos were hooked over the side rungs of the chair.  Hermione arched her back as much as she could under the remaining ropes around her middle.  She was wide open, moving her hips like it was the only chance she'd get all night.  For all she knew, it might have been. 

It did nothing to ease her arousal.  Again and again, she bucked her hips, her bum dragging against the wet seat, giving her only minimal and indirect friction where she needed it.  Her mouth hung open, her glassy eyes locked on Neville.  

For the first time that night, she saw cracks.  His hands were white-knuckled where they held onto the back posts of the chair.  His jaw was set and his eyes all over her.  What a sight she must have made: bound and writhing wantonly, clothes destroyed, dripping cunt striving for nothing.  Wordlessly begging to be filled.

"That'll do," Neville said.

Hermione kept moving.  He stood and advanced, knife in hand.

"Stop."  He didn't raise his voice, but it was the sharpest order he'd given her all night.

Neville circled behind her, out of sight, and she obeyed, panting from her exertions and arousal.  It felt like he was behind her forever, silent except for his breathing and a few footsteps.  

"What are you—"  Hermione broke off as the two ropes around her middle fell away.  She pulled at the rope around her hands, but it still held her arms immobile behind her.  She waited and waited in the silence for her complete freedom.  Instead, she got a low voice right in her ear.

"You really look like you want to get fucked."

She writhed freely now, canting her hips down to finally get some pressure against the seat of the chair.  She practically slid over the smooth wood surface of  it.

"I said stop," that low voice whispered in her ear.  

With a growl of frustration, Hermione stilled her hips.

"Don't tell me you're enjoying yourself."

"Just..."  Hermione licked her dry lips.  "Just trying to cooperate."

"And you have."  A big hand slid down her front and enclosed one breast, kneading it possessively.  "I'm going to free you now.  And you're going to keep cooperating, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Fingers tugged at her nipple.  "No escape attempts.  That door is sealed and locked, and I don't want to hurt you.  But I'll get you on that bed any way I have to.  You understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes?  You're going to be a good girl?"

Hermione nodded.  "Yes."

Seconds ticked by with nothing but breath at her ear and those fingers rubbing and pinching her nipple into a sore peak.  Hermione shook under the torture but dared not move her hips.  Then the fingers were gone.  Arms went around her middle.  She looked down to see the blade at her waist, metal gleaming in the candlelight.  

"Hold still."

Hermione sucked in her belly, watching as those fingers slipped under the waistband of her ruined skirt and tugged.  With a slice of the blade, the garment fell completely away.  Those fingers snapped the blade back into the handle.  Moments later, she felt them tugging at the knots securing her hands.  The ropes were slowly unwound.  Then they were gone.

Big hands massaged her wrists and then carefully moved her unbound hands to her lap.  "Don't even think about touching yourself."

She nodded, looking down at her wrists.  There was barely a mark on them.  She marveled at the work Neville had done with those knots while she was passed out.  He hadn't had much time.  But then he was very good with his hands.

Neville circled around her other side, back into her view.  "Better?"

"Yes.  Thank you," Hermione replied, absurdly.

"Don't get too used to it."

He just stood there, looking over her body, now nude except for the ruined shirt and bra hanging open over her shoulders.  And the shoes.

Those shoes.

Hermione knew what he was thinking.  She knew what Neville was going to do, seconds before knelt in front of her.  "No, don't," she said, sincerely.

"Shh."

He worked at the tiny straps and buckles on the shoes until they were free.  He slipped them off her feet, one at a time, and tossed them aside with the cut ropes.  Then, from his haunches, he looked up at her.  He took her hand in his and twined their fingers, giving her a soft squeeze.  A pause.

"Couldn't risk it," he said with a regretful smile.

"You could have gone full romance novel and carried me dramatically to the bed."

"Ah... yeah.  Didn't want to risk that, either."

"I'm not heavy," Hermione replied defensively.

"No.  You're not.  But talk about a potential mood-killer," he said with a laugh that Hermione couldn't help echoing.  He held their fingers twined together.  The voice was gone.  "You all right?"

"Neville, I'm..."  Hermione scooted forward in her chair.

"Don't move.  We haven't stopped."

His voice was gentle, but the message was clear: I'm checking in, but I'm still running this show.  Just the way they both wanted it.  Hermione sat with her knees apart, desperately wishing she could wrap them around him, craving every bit of him between them.  "I don't think I've... ever... been this turned on."

"You're doing so good."  He shook his head.  "You're killing me."

"I'm killing you?  What was that finger-mouth business?"

Neville gave her a mischievous smile.  "Lots more where that came from.  Are you up for it?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, even a sense of dreadful anticipation washed over her.  

"You sure?  If you're tired, we can drop the act.  I can get you off now."  He licked his lips and glanced down between her thighs for emphasis.  "Or..."  He looked back up from under his brow with a truly wicked expression on his face.  "...I can wear you out."

Hermione let out a harsh, rattling breath.  She knew it was no empty promise, and she knew exactly what it would entail.

"What do you want?"

She paused, not because she was unsure, but because saying it...

"I'm up for either, Hermione.  Tell me what you want."

She nodded and squeezed his hand.  "Wear me out."

With a faint smile, he squeezed back and dropped her hand.  The mask came right back down, and the voice with it.  "Bedtime."  He held out his hand.  "Get up.  Come on."

Neville steadied her as she stood, until he was sure she had her footing.  Then he slowly turned her around and walked her to the bed.

"You... you really don't have to do this," she said.  It wasn't too hard to act, imagining the torment that Neville had in store.

"Yeah, yeah.  You just soaked my chair.  And we both know you're gonna soak that bed through."  He urged her leg up onto the bed with his knee.  "Come on, get on it."

Hermione crawled onto the satiny sheet, her shirt and bra still hanging around her.  

"And get rid of those clothes," Neville said, rounding the side of the bed.  He pulled his own jumper off over his head, a white t-shirt beneath.  

Hermione sat on her knees in the middle of the bed, feeling a bit of defiance was in order.  She jerked her arms out of the shirt and bra, balled them up, and threw them at him.  They hit him square in the chest, and he barely caught them before they fell.

He unballed them and held them up to the lamp on the bedside crate.  He shook his head in mock pity.  "Whatever will you wear home?"  He turned to her with a smile, tossing the garments aside.  "Maybe you won't have to worry about that.  Maybe I'll keep you tied to my bed forever."

"No, not more rope," Hermione pleaded, eyeing the ropes hanging from the headboard.  "Please, I'll cooperate.  I promise."

"Yes, you will.  Come on," he said, twirling his finger in midair.  "Face down.  Hands around the slats.  That's it."

"There's only one thing I don't like about you being face down."

"What?"

"I can't read you."

"Ah."

"So I really depend on you."

"Right."

"Especially if you were tied up.  If I was teasing you, like edging you really hard."

"You like that more than anything else we do.  Don't you?"

"It's the best thing ever.  The best."

Hermione lay prone on the bed, holding onto the headboard slats as Neville worked the last knot into place.  She pulled, and the ropes tightened in a way they hadn't before, sending a clear message not to fight them.  She was about to do a different kind of fighting now, all well below her hands.

Neville stood at the bedside, hands in his pockets, admiring his work.  Hermione's eyes went to his trousers.  The bulge...  Her eyes went glassy as she took it in, that undeniably long, hard bulge, constrained at five o'clock under the stretch of his trousers.  There was a wet spot on the fabric, right below the pronounced ridge of the head.  

Neville briefly looked down and then back up.  "Oh, did you want to see it?"  He winked at her.  Winked.  "I think it's better if you don't."  

Hermione huffed scornfully.  "Is that what all this is about?  Overcompensating for something?"

"One way to find out for sure.  But I'm not hearing any begging yet."

"And you won't."

"We'll see."  Neville trailed a fingertip lightly down her spine and eased his hand over one cheek of her bum, giving it a soft squeeze.  "You know, that is... a truly amazing arse."

"You really wouldn't spank me?"

"Yeah, I'd do it.  If you really wanted it.  I'd enjoy the view, if nothing else."

"But it's not your thing?"

"It's just that... pain... well, it does things to the brain, doesn't it?  Makes things foggy."  A frown.  A long pause and a terrible, heartbreaking, faraway frown.

A guilty silence.

"And that's why you want it, right?  You wanna get foggy."

"Yeah."

"But I want you there with me.  All of you.  I want you so there with me that..."

"That it almost hurts?"

A nod.

The harsh sting of tears.  "I understand."

"Maybe we can compromise a bit."

"Compromise how?"

"Like I said.  I know some really good potion-makers.  I've been growing this one particular plant for them..."

Neville settled in on the bottom curve of her bum, tracing circles right where it met her thigh.  Hermione stubbornly pressed her thighs together, trying to keep up the act, trying not to think about the smooth satin teasing every inch of her front or how easy it would be to rock against it for some relief.

"This again?" Neville said, running a finger down the crevice where her thighs met.  "You were doing so good."

His hand left her, and Hermione turned to find him uncorking an unmarked bottle.  He poured a palmful of thick oil into his hand and returned the bottle and cork to the bedside crate.  As he started rubbing his hands together, an unfamiliar scent filled the room, something between mint and licorice.  

"What are you doing?" she asked.  She felt the natural apprehension of the unknown, but at the same time, she knew Neville wouldn't put anything on her body that he hadn't tried on himself.  As he smoothed the oil over his palms, she knew he'd wanked himself with it, sometime before tonight.  She could imagine his cock all slicked up with it, hard and glistening, leaking at the tip, twitching under whatever sensation it created.

"Maybe this will warm you up to the idea," he replied evasively.

"What is it?

"Don't worry," he said, adding a dollop more.  "I think you'll like it."

"Seriously, Neville, what kind of potion-maker is selling you this stuff without asking questions?"

"Just another nice young bloke like me.  Well, maybe not just like me.  He's a total dork.  We go for a pint sometimes."

"Do I know him?"

"Maybe.  You can't expect me to out him to such an upstanding woman of the law, can you?"

"He doesn't ask questions, does he?"

A laugh.  "I don't think he has to ask."

Neville started at the small of her back, rubbing the oil in with one hand.  It felt cool at first.  The more he rubbed, the more it started to warm.  By the time his hand slid down over one cheek, it started to get hot.  Not unpleasantly so, but it made Hermione involuntarily arch her back.  He went to work on both cheeks, and they lit up with the same warmth.

"Oh god, that's—"  She gasped, grabbing onto the headboard slats.  "Oh god."

"Warm?" Neville provided helpfully.

"Hot.  It's hot."

He hummed, working it down the backs of her thighs, just shy of her knees, before moving back up in long, firm strokes.  Every bit of skin from her backside to her knees tingled with heat.  His hands stopped at the tops of her thighs, rubbing firm circles.  His thumbs easily slipped between them.  "Imagine how it would feel... here."  He caressed the inside of her thighs with his thumbs, the tips just barely brushing her lips.

Hermione's legs reflexively parted, her knees dragging up the satin sheet, pushing her arse out for more.

"Ah," Neville sighed, "there we go.  That's more like it."  

He moved one hand to the middle of her back, gently holding her down.  The other slowly massaged her cheeks, rubbing and squeezing, each motion creating more heat and none of them nearing where she wanted to be touched.  Hermione chased his fingers.

"You don't want me to touch you, do you?" Neville taunted her, finally dragging two spread fingers over the far outside of her lips, right where they met her thighs.

"Oh god, please.  Please."

"Yeah?  Where?"  Those fingers rubbed more firmly, back and forth, pressing her lips together.  "Right here?"

Hermione tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, her hips aching to move.  "No."

"No?"  The strokes slowly moved inwards until one fingertip just barely slid between her lips.  "Here?"

"Please."

Neville laughed.  His fingers were gone.  A second later, they came down on her lips in a light, playful smack that sent heat all the way to her navel.  "See how much better it is when you let her call the shots?"

"More.  Please, more," Hermione begged, even as she blushed into the pillow.

"More?"  Neville reached for the bottle, and this time he poured the oil directly on her, in a tiny pool right at the small of her back.  He rubbed his fingers in it, still holding her down, and went back to work on her thighs.

"No, not there... ahhh, oh god it's hot."  She spread her legs wider, rocking back to tempt his fingers closer.

Neville slowly moved them up, and this time when he rubbed her lips, she understood why he'd gone for her thighs first.  The direct touch of the oil made her cry out.  She vaguely realized she was dripping from her cunt and didn't even know if it was oil or natural slickness.  All she knew was that she was on fire between her legs and needed more, more, more.  In fact, she realized she was chanting to that effect under her breath.

"I would... love to get my fingers in there," Neville said, rubbing one over and over her slit, only emphasizing how empty she was.  "Right in there," he said, just barely breaching her with a fingertip.  "Where you don't want my cock."

"Please, please."

"You do want my cock?"

"Your... your fingers.  Please."

Neville slowly slid one inside, igniting her.  Hermione shot to her knees, bent almost in two.

"You sure you don't want more than a finger?"

She whined into the pillow, hands clenched around the slats as Neville leisurely thrust that one finger in and out, in and out, each slow drag making heat flare inside her.  He pulled out and caressed the whole length of her cunt, back and forth.  Hermione's hips started to shake. She couldn't be this close, not already.  

Neville dropped his voice.  "You sure you don't need a good, hard fuck?"

"Oh god, I'm..."

"You're what?"  He gave her lips another light smack, laughing.  "Gonna come?  Dream on."

And just like that, his hands were gone, leaving her empty and trembling for a release that slowly ebbed back out of her reach.

"You're terrible at it."  A fond smile.

"I'm terrible at what?"

"You know what.  It's okay, Hermione.  You're allowed to be terrible at one thing.  I won't tell anyone."

"I'm not terrible at it!"

"You're a ticking time bomb!  I barely get my hands on you, and you're shaking."

"I'm getting better at it."

"Yeah, all right.  You are getting better."

"Anyway, it's not my fault.  That's all you."

A dumbstruck look.

"You think I ever had that problem before you?  Hardly.  Quite the oppos—mmph."

A fierce kiss.

Neville was still chuckling as he put the cork back in the bottle.  He picked up her ruined shirt and wiped his hands on it.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

Neville tossed the shirt back down and crossed his arms.  "Not fucking you," he said with a smile.  "That's what you want, right?  I'd be glad to keep going between your legs.  Fingers.  Mouth.  Whatever you'd like.  But you know what I want to hear.  And you're not coming until I hear it."  He shook his head, gesturing at Hermione's prone body.  "And if you can't do better than that at holding it off..."

"I'll do better," she said meekly.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

He lifted one eyebrow.  "So you're saying you want my fingers and my mouth?"

It was the very least of what she craved.  How could Neville expect her to pretend at this point?  "Yes.  Please."

"Get back up on your knees," he said, moving to the foot of the bed, out of her line of vision.  "Spread your legs.  Arch your back."

The orders came rapid-fire from behind her.  Hermione obeyed each one until she was on display for him, with no further chance of stimulation unless he deigned to give it to her.  She heard the whoosh of fabric coming off, and from the sound it made hitting the floor, she guessed it was the t-shirt.  Neville never took his trousers all the way off, and he rarely opened them until... well, until she was begging.

How long did he expect her to refrain from begging?

The bed dipped.  Hermione had to balance herself to stay in Neville's requested position as the mattress moved under his weight.  She waited for a touch, any touch.  Then one thick fingertip slid slowly down the center of her wide-open slit, ignoring the most sensitive spot.  

"Don't move."  The mattress moved slightly again.  Thumbs pushed her lips apart, and hot breath bathed her, followed by the wet, light flick of Neville's tongue, right there.  It was so intense that Hermione's legs closed reflexively.

"Keep them spread," Neville said, nudging her knees apart again.

"I couldn't help it, I—"  She broke off in a yelp when Neville's tongue made another feather-light trip over the same spot.  This time his arms anchored her knees apart.

Then he settled in with a series of long, lazy licks, exploring the intricacies of all that slick flesh and giving her some respite from the nearly unbearable intensity of focused contact.  And of course, as soon as he avoided that one spot, she craved stimulation there.  She moved her hips, seeking it out.

He stopped entirely.

"Please.  Please."

"Is there a problem?"

Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry from her short, ragged breaths.  "I'm so turned on."

"So no problem then."

The mattress moved yet again, testing her balance.  Hermione lifted herself onto her elbows and looked down, seeing Neville scoot underneath her on his back, her knees framing his head.

He spread her open with his thumbs and went back to work.  He lapped at her, stopping occasionally to dip his tongue into her entrance.  Hermione wanted so badly to close her thighs around his face and rub herself to release.  She managed to keep her legs apart, but her hips did rock slightly into the motion of his tongue.  He allowed it.  In fact, he slid his hands up over her arse, encouraging the movements.

She grinded harder.  Neville flattened his tongue, giving her a firm, slick surface to work against.  She started climbing towards relief, her breath quickening and knees shaking as she slipped into that haze of strife.

Neville pushed her up off his face.  "Hold it back," he said thickly, stilling her hips in a firm grip.  

"I can't," Hermione cried, jerking at the ropes.

"Yes, you can.  Stop and get yourself under control."  

Her hips were still shaking, her cunt desperately squeezing around nothing.  She took deep breaths in and out, trying to will the sensation away.  The shaking slowly subsided, the impending release ebbing away again.

When Neville was satisfied, he started all over again with the slow, light licks, the shallow thrusting with his tongue.  Hermione whimpered helplessly into the pillow, still feeling the remnants of that warming oil on top of everything else.  She dared not move for fear Neville would stop again.  She could do nothing but take the torture of his questing mouth.  His fingers slipped inside her, and he crooked them, rubbing her from the inside.  

"Oh god, no, I can't!" Hermione cried out, clenching around them.

"You can make it stop," Neville reminded her.  "But I'm still not hearing what I wanna hear."

Hermione knew he didn't want to hear it yet, either.  Not quite yet.  But she didn't know how much longer she could hold off like this.  Neville dragged the flat of his tongue over and over her in counterpoint to his fingers, and she slid right back into the climb.

He licked and thrust in an agonizingly steady rhythm.  Hermione knew he wouldn't let her come, yet she blindly strove for it.  She could feel the vicelike strain on her heart, the uncontrollable tightening and trembling in her pelvis....

Neville stopped again, and Hermione let out a near sob of anguish as her body hovered helplessly right on that terrible edge.  "Please," she begged him, "please, I can't go on like this.  I need more."

"Oh yeah?  What do you need?  Tell me."

Neville eased himself out from under her.  She heard the sound of his belt buckle and zipper.  She felt the mattress move again.  He grabbed her hip in one hand.  And this time it was unmistakably his cock sliding between her legs, and it was ominously hard.  She could feel every ridge and vein rubbing against her.  

"Is that what you need?"

Over and over again that hard flesh caressed her swollen lips.  When she didn't answer, he slapped her with it.  "Yes or no.  Is that what you need?"

"Please, just..."

"Please what?  You want my mouth some more?"

"No, god no... please just..."  Hermione rocked back against that hard flesh, hoping to catch the tip.  No such luck.  Neville thrust forward against her and stilled, making it impossible.

"Just what?" he whispered.

Hermione dug her forehead into the pillow, nearly drooling on the mattress beneath her.  "Put it inside me."

"Inside you?"  Neville moved the tip to her entrance, teasing her with it.  "Right there?  Is that where you want it?"

"Please..." His name almost slipped out.  Hermione barely caught herself.  "Please give it to me..."

The very end of the tip pressed inside her.  Neville leaned over her, supporting himself with a hand on the mattress near her shoulders.  "You are..."  He laughed.  "...something else.  You know that?  I love it," he whispered harshly in her ear.  He slowly pumped himself deeper inside, still guiding his cock.

Even as turned on as Hermione was, as unbelievably soaked, the stretch was immense.  "Oh god," she panted, "you're... you're...."

He pumped deeper still.  "Not overcompensating?"

"You know, you really are..."

An exasperated sigh.  "So I've been told."

"Oh, come on.  You're not too put out by it."

"It's good for the ego, sure.  But in terms of logistics... well."

"You've never hurt me."

Silence.

"Do you hold back?"

More silence.

Neville let go of his cock, that hand now freely skimming up Hermione's side to grasp a breast.

"Tell me that's all of it," she said dramatically, imagining she was taking it for the first time.  "Please tell me that's all of it."  

It twitched inside her.  Neville pushed her hair over one shoulder and returned to her breast, rolling her nipple around in his fingers.  "You don't have to take all of it.  You're welcome to get more for yourself, though."

Helplessly impaled, Hermione tried not to move her hips, for the sake of the illusion.

"No?  Okay.  We'll go slow."  Neville grinded against her arse, moving inside her with deep, languorous thrusts.  "That's not so bad, is it?"

"It's fine.  It's..."  She broke off on a hoarse shout when Neville moved his hand down between her legs.  

"It's what?" he asked, moving his fingers in circles as he kept up those lazy thrusts.

Hermione gave up.  She grabbed the headboard slats and bucked back, riding all that hard length from her knees.

"Oh, okay," Neville said with a chuckle, rubbing in the same steady motion with his fingers.  "It's like that, is it?"

She grinded on his fingers with abandon, fucking herself back on his cock with every snap of her hips.  "Please, press harder," she said.  Neville flattened his fingers, giving her a nice, firm surface to work against.

Hermione went to work like her life depended on it.

"Mmmm," Neville hummed.  "You are... such a good fuck."

"That drives me wild, you know.  When you say things like that."

"Yeah.  I know it does."

"Honestly... it's the best part.  It's like..."

"Yeah.  I know."

"You can tell what it does.  When you do it."

"Yeah.  I can tell."

"Oh god, I'm..."

Neville lightly smacked her mound again, slipping out of her.  "Not going to come.  Not yet."

"No, I can't take it," Hermione said, tossing her head back and forth.  "Please, I begged for it, like you wanted.  I need it so bad.  Put it back in.  Please."

"Are you going to control yourself?"

"Yes," Hermione lied.  She was so close to the edge, and Neville had to know it.  Her knees wouldn't stop shaking, no matter how hard she tried to breathe, how hard she tried to stop it.

"You sure?"

"Yes.  Please."

He slid back in with remarkable ease and guided the motion himself.  "Easy," he whispered, resuming the slow, deep thrusts, his hand pressing her into them from the other side.  From this position, every thrust hit her right there on the inside.  Her knees shook harder.  "You should see yourself," he said, "taking all that cock."

"No, I can't hold back," Hermione cried frantically.  "It's going to happen.  I'm right there... I'm..."

"Go on, then," Neville said, a definite strain in his own voice.

She had been half-there so long that release washed over her almost gently.  It was less like hitting a brick wall, more like slipping into the rush of rapids.  They carried her along, drawing out all the involuntary spasms of pleasure.

She had barely caught her breath when Neville grabbed her hip.  

"Don't move."

Fingers shaking, he yanked at the knots.  They fell away.  He grabbed the headboard.

"Don't move," he said again in a faraway voice.

He wasn't thrusting, but his cock was twitching inside her.  She could feel the tightness in his leg muscles where his thighs pressed against hers.  She could feel him shaking.

He was letting it build in him, letting her residual spasms work him, keeping himself right there on the edge, just as he loved to do to her.  She could feel it.

"Don't hold back."

A wary glance.

"Wait until the last possible moment.  Right when you know you're going to come.  But then... don't hold back."

"Hermione..."

"Don't hold back."

"Hermione—"

Neville went at her with the deepest, most ruthless thrusts she'd ever felt in her life.  They jolted her to her bones.  She couldn't have taken many of them, but she didn't have to.  It only lasted seconds, and then he was shouting hoarsely over each convulsion that emptied his release deep inside her.  

He scrambled for her now freed hands, twining their fingers, and rocked inside her, still letting out an occasional half-shout every few thrusts.

Slowly, he stilled.  He kept his weight off of her, panting hard into the hollow between her shoulder blades.  He gave one of her hands a tentative squeeze.  Hermione squeezed back, hard.

She felt like she might never move again, but Neville slowly disentangled them and urged her over on her back.  He hovered over her, eyes scanning her face.  

"Neville.  Neville."  Tears leaked reflexively down into her sweat-damp temples.

"All right?" he asked, his chest still heaving.

Hermione nodded.  "So good."

"Are you worn out?"

She nodded, chuckling deliriously even as more tears followed the others.

Neville bit into his lip.  "Good.  Rest.  I'll take care of everything.  And later, if you want..."

Hermione finally managed to reach a hand up, stroking Neville's sweaty face.  "Grilled cheese sandwich?" she asked breathlessly.

He let out something between a laugh and a sigh.  "With so much butter."

"Neville.  How did I live without this?  Without this thing we do?"

"I've asked myself the same thing."

"I could never go back now."

"I could.  Maybe.  If I had to.  But I wouldn't like it.  Something would always be missing."

"Neville, we never talk about...  Only we're both... we're always so busy.  With our careers.  With everything.  And this thing... it's how we wanted it.  How we needed... how we need it to be.  Obviously.  And who knows what the future holds.  But, you know, I... I..."

A soft kiss.

"Yeah.  Same."