Yes, Mistress (Daphne/Hermione) Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Content Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Humiliation, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms.

Hermione’s first instinct when she’d received the letter informing her that she was to be Head Girl was to turn it down. She’d just been responsible for obliviating her parents, helping defeat the most dangerous dark lord in a century, finding her parents, restoring their memory, and explaining her actions all in the span of a single year. A school year with absolutely zero responsibility had sounded like the perfect antidote to past events.

Yet, when she sat down to write the letter, she found she could not do it. The letter had been in Professor McGonagall’s hand, entreating her to accept the badge as one of the few that could help the school move forward and heal from its scars. So she had put her quill down, quietly tossed the shiny badge in her trunk, and vowed to herself that it was the last responsibility she would take in a very long time.

As stressful as her new role had been, it also had its perks. Her own dormitory, a bath she had to share with no one, and the biggest perk of them all - the night patrols. Although they had the option of pairing up for the patrols, she always divided the seven floors of the castle with whoever she was paired with, taking the upper three for herself. She loved walking the quiet hallways, trailing her hands on the cool, scarred stone. The aftermath of the war had turned her decidedly nostalgic, and she yearned for the simpler days of her school years. Now, bereft of her two best friends, she reminisced alone, her trips down memory lane interrupted only by the need to kick out the occasional couple sneaking around or forgetting to place silencing charms on their closet or classroom of choice. She did not purposefully seek out and punish the rule breakers, a thing unthinkable to her just two short years ago. She simply enforced the rules if the rule breaking was brought to her attention. Everyone deserved some small measure of happiness after all the loss they had suffered.

Her patrol done (and Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas returned once again to the confines of Gryffindor Tower), she climbed down the stairs to the sixth floor, deciding to spend time in her favorite classroom before returning to her own dormitory. It had first come to her attention because of the ingenious ward locking it, which had required a not inconsiderable skill on her part to unlock. It was empty, as it always was when she visited. Hermione suppressed the slight twinge of disappointment at not running into whoever had placed the locking ward and transformed the classroom, instead making her way to the supply closet. Skilled magic like that deserved recognition. It had taken her an entire week to figure out how to break the locking charm, and another to transform the supply closet in it to her liking.

She grabbed the door handle of the closet, the dull bronze glowing for a few seconds as the ward recognized her presence and unlocked the door. She had used the same charm they’d used on their tent while on the run to enlarge the closet from the inside. Whether consciously or not, she had transformed the inside of the closet to match the interior of their tent, her heart aching for the days when she did not feel so lonely. In hindsight, the company of her friends had made the peril they were in worth it.

Shutting the door, she pulled the simple couch she had created closer to it, flopping down on it and beginning her vigil. The closet door had been charmed to provide her a clear view of the room outside, a neat little trick she had learned during one of her forays into the forbidden section of the library. It had almost become ritual at this point. If she was on patrol, she spent an hour or two in the closet, waiting for the person who had claimed the classroom outside for their own purposes. The way the classroom had been transformed, the bed, the implements, and the toys, all cleverly disguised with ingenious charms, had awakened a deep-seated curiosity in her. So she spent a couple of hours every night she could in the closet, waiting for the owner of the classroom to arrive. It was all for naught, for she left it the way she found it, deserted. Yet she returned to it, night and night, and left empty-handed night after night, tired, but happy and supremely sated.

She flipped open the lid of the trunk next to the couch, digging through the unusual books inside, trying to find one that would catch her fancy for the night. Book retrieved, she leaned back on the couch, flipping it open to where she had left off. Setting the book down next to her, she unclasped her cloak, letting it fall down to the couch. Her cardigan was next, pulled over her head, and tossed to the floor before she leaned back on the couch, picking up the book once more.

A hand began to lazily unbutton her blouse as she read, the girl grunting softly as her nipples pebbled due to a combination of arousal and the cold air, straining against her white blouse. She had eschewed a bra, as she always did on her night patrols, and with every button popped, more and more of her tanned skin was on display as her perky breasts slipped free. The last button was finally undone, the blouse sagged off her shoulders and she hastily slipped out of it, tossing it to the floor. She grabbed her wand to cast a spell on her book, making sure the pages would turn at a gesture of her hand before the wand too joined the ever-growing pile on the floor.

She could feel her core grow damper with every passing second, her hand leaving the book to move in between her thighs. Her breathing grew ragged, and the girl continued to read her book through a haze of lust. She moaned quietly as her fingers hit her clit, the tips brushing over her sensitive nub.

It was dangerous, what she was doing, walking the hallways without underwear night after night, fondling herself in a classroom not meant for her eyes. The risk of being caught only added to her excitement. A part of her secretly wanted the owner of the classroom to march inside, flip open the supply closet and catch her in the act. She grunted, pressing her thighs together as the thought of being utterly humiliated and bare before the person caused a white-hot spike of arousal to shoot through her body.

She wanted to be caught, to be humiliated, to be rescued from a lifetime of laying on her back while Ron fumbled and pawed at her breasts while clumsily thrusting in her. Ron, sweet as he was, was not for her, for she was not for that life. She wanted the life of the couple outside, but did not know who they were and thus knew not who she could ask.

The sound of the door opening pulled her attention away from the book and her thoughts, and her eyes widened at the sight of Luna Lovegood of all people slowly walking into the room. The tiny blonde unclasped her cloak, draping it over the bed before moving to stand in the center of the room, hands clasped behind her back and head bowed. If the first entrant to the room outside had surprised her, the second absolutely astounded her, the book slipping from her lap and falling to the floor as she stiffened in shock at the sight of Daphne Greengrass stride into the room, shutting the door behind her.

She scrambled to pick her book up, freezing in place on the floor at the sight of the tall blonde ignoring the other girl in favor of walking towards the closet. She clamped a hand on her mouth as the Slytherin paused in front of the cupboard to stop herself from making a sound. A meaningless action, she reminded herself. She had made sure to place silencing charms on the closet, so it was unlikely the girl had heard anything. Luna had not reacted at all, standing in place wordlessly, her head still bowed. For all she knew, this could be a part of their ritual.

Her suspicions were proved correct when, instead of opening the closet door, she retreated back to Luna, leaning to kiss her friend’s cheek before starting to whisper in her ear. Hermione watched with growing fascination as Luna blushed, before nodding slowly.

Hermione settled on the floor, her return to the couch and the book laying next to her long forgotten as she watched the show unfold in front of her with wide eyes. Her breathing grew heavier as she watched Luna dutifully undo Daphne’s cloak, revealing the corset and black leather pants she wore underneath. The black garments contrasted with her alabaster skin perfectly, every piece of clothing perfectly tailored to hug the girl’s curves.

She wanted to be where Luna was, she wanted to kneel by Daphne’s feet, have her hands buried in her hair as she kissed her leather boots…

A life free from passionless mediocrity. The life she wanted was just outside a door, so close, and yet so far out of reach. For when the moment came to go out and ask for what she had dreamt of for so long, her courage failed her. Instead, she settled for spreading her legs, her skirt riding up her thighs. A hand returned to her wet slit, thumb pressing desperately against her clit as she watched Daphne Greengrass claim her friend.

What they did… what she saw was beyond anything she had read, beyond her wildest dreams. She did not move her eyes away from the couple for even a second, watching their perfect bodies intertwine as Mistress Daphne ravished and claimed Luna Lovegood’s body. The entire time her hands and fingers worked on her body, a poor substitute for the woman outside, but the only one that she had. An hour? Two? She lost track of time. Only they existed, she an unwitting witness to their descent into perverted decadence. No book or written experience could match what she was seeing, and in her heart, Hermione Granger knew this was what she wanted. Nay, this was what she craved with every fiber of her being. She teased orgasm after orgasm with her fingers, her moans and quiet begging almost mirroring those of the girl outside. They kept going and so did she, desperately plunging her fingers in and out of her wet cunt as her eyes fluttered shut. She let her imagination take over, pretending that it was she who was worshipping her mistress. Screaming, begging, crying, all of it done by her, and not Luna. She moaned and mumbled, performing for an unwitting audience until she could bear it no longer, gasping for breath as one last orgasm tore through her.

And then… silence.

She was spent, utterly spent. Her head bowed, she lay in a pool of her own arousal, eyes finally having pulled away from the couple on the bed outside. She was sweaty, sticky, and filthy. Exhausted. Yet, she was free, floating without a care in the world even as she lay against the couch.

She noted the sound of a door opening through the haze clouding her brain. She did not notice the woman walking into her magically transformed closet, her eyes only focusing when the leather boot was pushed under her chin, slowly lifting her head. Her eyes turned upwards, the brown orbs sheepishly looking up to Daphne Greengrass’s stony face.

She was far too happy to care about the ramifications of being caught, indeed, a part of her was even secretly excited. No more hiding in the shadows. No more getting off to trashy books.

“Miss Granger. Do you know what I do to peeping toms?” Daphne asked, keeping the half-naked brunette pinned in place with the boot under her chin.

“No…” she whispered once she could speak, her voice hoarse and cracked.

“You’re about to find out.”

A/N:

I am a day late, and I'm sorry! Had a personal emergency that kept me occupied all of yesterday. This was perhaps the most challenging thing I've ever written, I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1!

How did Daphne know Hermione was there? What will she do to her? All of this will be answered in Chapter 2, and will depend on you, dear reader!

As thanks for helping me hit my first goal, the inaugural third poll will be open to every Patron, so don't forget to vote on what you'd like Daphne to do to our poor bookworm!