by Van © 2023
		Chapter 4

Hermione thrived in situations requiring discipline and sustained effort—and while stimulating intellectual activity might be her forte, she wasn't averse to rigorous physical effort if it was required.  Unfortunately, her current situation was conducive to neither... unless one counts fruitless repetitive testing of ones inescapable bonds as "sustained effort."

Currently, she was in a chamber with whitewashed stone walls and an arched ceiling and furnished with historically incongruous Rococo (or Rococo Revival) chairs, sofas, settees, couches,, etc., and she was seated in one of those incongruous (but comfortably padded) chairs; however, she had no choice in the matter.  Hermione was lashed in place with an abundance of hemp (or possibly jute) rope—thus rendering the accomplishment of anything virtually impossible, be it intellectual, physical, or otherwise.  Hermione had been sequestered, one of her least favorite plights!

Also, Hermione's clothing had been rearranged, and several items she considered important were missing altogether—and it had happened without her consent and while she was unconscious!  Her black knee-boots and heather-gray wool skirt were present and correct; however, her white cotton blouse and demi-bra, while also present, were anything but correct!  Her blouse had been unbuttoned all the way down to her waist and was half-open under the tight bands of her overlying rope bonds, which meant her bra-clad breasts had been significantly exposed by the ensuing gap!

Missing altogether were her dove-gray raincoat, the wool jacket that went with her skirt and completed the business ensemble, her pantyhose, half-slip, and panties!  They were all absent without leave!  Granted, whatever had been stuffed in Hermione's mouth and was being held in place by the long, narrow, bandage-like strip of linen cloth first cleaving and then tightly wrapping around her entire lower face was suspiciously silky and might be the panties in question; but at the very least, Hermione's knickers had been... displaced!

Also, while it was true the ropes and gag conferred an undeniable element of discipline to her situation... Hermione wasn't getting anything done!  She wasn't even able to read!  Not even light reading!  In fact... all she could do was languish... and she did... and she hated it!  She'd been languishing for several long, restricted, fidgeting, and above all boring minutes.  She was able to worry about her immediate future and the whereabouts and status of Elspeth, her Auror Protector, but neither "activity" served as legitimate diversions.  Hermione was bored.  (Bored and embarrassed, thanks to her unacceptably disarrayed clothing.)

Suddenly, the shamefully-under-dressed-prisoner-of-the-chair heard voices... female voices.  They were somewhere behind her chair, seemed to be approaching, and were in quiet conversation... and although they were growing steadily louder they remained unintelligible.

Finally, a pair of quietly chatting witches padded into Hermione's field of view on bare feet.  They were dressed in ancient versions of traditional witches' garb: black, full-length, flowing gowns slit to the hip on either side and showing significant skin from the waist up.  Hermione was well aware (of course) that revealing formal gowns were the norm for muggle actresses and other mundane female celebrities at red carpet receptions and other such festivities, but scholar of history that she was, Hermione also knew that what the newcomers were wearing wasn't modern at all but would be everyday wear for a pair of socially high-ranking witches in pre-Roman Britain.

Both of the new arrivals were beautiful... in a brunette, well-endowed (make that voluptuous), and physically fit sort of way.  Their smiles were dimpled (and somewhat quirky) and their features were even, well-proportioned, and somewhat similar.  Hermione's immediate impression was that they were probably related... possibly even sisters.  The slightly taller witch was... in her forties?  (Estimating the age of any witch is always an iffy proposition.)  Her shorter companion was probably a few years younger.

Hermione watched as the witches padded to a pair of comfortable chairs similar to her own, sat, and gazed at her with irritatingly serene amusement.  Hermione blushed.  She couldn't help it.  Her circumstances—albeit involuntary—were embarrassing.

"So..." the older/taller witch said, "you're the curious lackey from the Ministry asking questions about the Giggle Witch."

"And," the younger/shorted witch added, "apparently you crave an audience with the Queen of the Glăsióga."  She then produced a wand from the folds of her gown and waved it in Hermione's direction.

Instantly, the knot in Hermione's gag at the nape of her neck and under her tousled hair flew open, the bandage-like strip loosened and unraveled itself... then settled in a loose loop around her head and shoulders with its ends dangling down her front on either side.  It was like a long, narrow, decidedly inelegant scarf (or perhaps a crude, half-tied cravat).  At the same time, Hermione's panties—and, thanks to the pattern of their lace trim, once they were visible she could confirm that they were, almost certainly, her missing panties—squirmed out of her mouth, fluffed themselves, then wafted to the side and fluttered down to the Turkish carpet.

Hermione worked her jaws and licked her lips.  Normally, she was never overly concerned with maintaining the dignity of her Ministerial position, but she bristled at having been called a "lackey," and thanks to her current captivity she was already in a testy mood.  "I am Undersecretary Hermione Granger-Weasly," she stated in quiet, even tones, "of the Department for the..."  Hermione paused, her brown eyes widened, blinked several times, then focused on the shorter/younger witch.  "Did you say... Queen of the Glăsióga?" Hermione blinked a few more times before continuing.  "The Glăsióga are no more!  They were last seen a thousand years ago!"  She paused again and gazed up at the ceiling, her brow wrinkled in concentration.  Then, she returned her gaze to her hostesses/captors.  "More precisely... approximately one thousand three hundred years ago... according to two reputable sources."

The younger/shorter witch turned to smile to her older/taller companion.  "We've snared ourselves a scholar," she purred.

"Indeed," the older/taller witch nodded, still smiling at Hermione.  "It pleases me to report that the rumors of the demise of the Glăsióga were wishful thinking on the part of certain of their enemies, rather than fact."  Then, her expression became one of chagrined embarrassment, she glanced at her companion, then heaved a somewhat theatrical sigh.  "Goodness!  Where are our manners?"

Where indeed! Hermione silently fumed, glowering and squirming in her ropes.

"I am Heddwynn Waara," the older/taller witch introduced herself, "eldest daughter of Arthek and Cerridwen of Gisburn Cotes."  She indicated the younger/shorter witch with a graceful gesture.  "And this is my sister Enyd."

Still smiling her quirky smile, the younger/shorter witch nodded.  "Blessings be."

"Blessings be," Hermione muttered reflexively.  The traditional witch greeting was long out of fashion and was, in fact, considered overly quaint, but it was polite to reply in kind.  Hermione cleared her throat again.  "Ahem.  I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley," she reiterated, "Undersecretary Without Portfolio of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures of the Ministry of Magic."

Heddwynn and Enyd shared a dimpled (quirky) smile.

"She's lovely," Heddwynn said.

"She is," Enyd agreed.  "I like her tits.  They're small, but look firm and responsive."

Hermione's brown eyes widened.  'Responsive?'

Heddwynn nodded, agreeing with her sister.  "Of course, it's difficult to be sure with that ridiculous confining garment in the way."  She pointed at Hermione's cleavage.  "What are such things called?"

"'Brassières,' I believe," Enyd answered.  "At least corsets, girdles, and binding-wraps are finally out of fashion."

Suddenly, a high-pitched, angry, soprano voice spoke from somewhere behind Hermione's chair.  "So..." the voice demanded, "are you here to 'regulate' or to 'control' the Glăsióga?"

Heddwynn and Enyd rose from their chairs and, still smiling but with their eyes downcast, executed simultaneous deep, graceful curtsies, holding the long skirts of their black gowns wide with both hands.

Hermione turned her head to look behind her chair, blew her tousled hair from her face (with limited success), and her brown eyes popped wide in astonishment!

Padding into the chamber on tiny, graceful, green feet was a decidedly diminutive and highly unusual female figure.  She—and she was definitely a she—was the height of a late-prepubescent or possibly early-adolescent human girl, but her bodily proportions were clearly those of an adult.  She was dressed in similar fashion to Heddwynn and Enyd; however, her gown was a deep woodland green (as opposed to witch-black) and was festooned with small twigs and green leaves; but the vegetation was not debris from the forest floor.  It was unmistakably and deliberately decorative.  Remarkably, her skin was the same vibrant shade of green as her feet!  Also, her ears were long and tapered to elegant points, like those of a house-elf, but her visage was that of a beautiful human woman.  Her eyes were black... or perhaps indigo.  It was difficult for Hermione to be sure at this distance.  The diminutive newcomer's hair—also decorated with leaves and twigs—was dark green.  Also, by her expression and the tone of her voice, she didn't appear to be particularly pleased with either the chair-bound and disheveled Hermione or the world in general.

Whoever the small green figure might be, she was not amused.

Hermione blinked and watched as the tiny green woman sat on a foot stool in front of an unoccupied chair, lifted her bare feet, crossed her legs, deftly arranged the drape of her green gown, and settled into the lotus position.  Her modesty was intact, but her green knees and tiny, graceful, bare feet remained exposed.

Hermione realized the hostile gaze of the remarkably petite, green, beautiful woman was still focused on her blushing face... meaning Hermione's blushing face.  Hermione lowered her head in respect.  It was the best she could do (being unable to curtsy thanks to being lashed to her chair).

"Your Majesty," Heddwynn intoned as, with a graceful gesture, she presented Hermione, her chair, and the many tight bands of hemp rope binding her to it, "may I present Undersecretary Hermione Granger-Weasley of the Ministry of the magically endowed humans of the Mundane Realm."  She turned to Hermione and gave a shallow bow.  "Madam Undersecretary... it is my great honor to present Her Royal Majesty Gael Gelace Geileis Gikel, Sovereign Queen of all Glăsióga, Ruler Uncontested of the Merry Realm, Green Mother of Vale and Wood, High Chieftainess in Peace and War, Voting Peer of the High Council of Elves and Fairies, Scourge of Goblins, Friend of Centaurs, High Judge and Final Arbiter of the Fey Assize, Keeper of the Verdant Sword Gormlaith, She Who Must Be—"

"Yes, yes," the tiny and still frowning Queen interrupted with an impatient wave.  "Be seated," she commanded, and continued glowering at Hermione as Heddwynn and Enyd settled back into their comfy chairs.  "Well," she said after several seconds of awkward silence.  "We are waiting.  Which is it, Lady Grungy-Weasel?  Have you come to our realm on behalf of your self-styled Ministry to regulate or to control our subjects and our person?"

Hermione blinked several times while she formulated an answer.  Her Majesty might not be wearing a crown, but she was obviously a queen.  Hermione would very much like to correct Her Majesty's apparent mishearing of her name, but wasn't at all sure of the proper protocol.  No matter.  She cleared her throat.

"Ahem.  Neither, Your Majesty," Hermione responded.  "The Ministry would never presume to—"

"Oh, but it would!" the Queen interrupted.  "By your title, by the history of your kind, by your very presence, it would!"

Hermione blushed and tried again.  "Please, I'm here to—"  Suddenly, she frowned and shifted her gaze to Heddwynn.  "Where are we?" she demanded.  "Is this... England?"

Heddynn exchanged a dimpled (quirky) grin with her sister.  "Very perceptive, Madam Undersecretary," she chuckled as she turned her smile back to Hermione.  "We are currently in the Green Wood."

"There is a minor portion of Gikel Keep in England," Enyd clarified, "but most of it is firmly in the Fey Realm.  Specifically, the 'Merry Realm' of the Glăsióga."

Hermione blinked again.  "An unauthorized portal."  She frowned at the Waara sisters.  "You're complicit in concealing the existence of an unauthorized portal!"

"There it is!" the Queen said, angrily pointing at Hermione, "the same insufferable arrogance that caused my progenitor to seal the Glăsióga Portal all those many years ago!"

Hedwynn spoke to Hermione in a quiet voice.  "After the Great Severance," she explained, "the first Giggle Witch journeyed through the Green Wood from the main portal in the Forest of Dean and begged Her Majesty to restore a small Postern Portal at Giggleswick to benefit the witches and wizards of Craven and Yorkshire—and yes, over the years the residents of the area have, uh, neglected to notify the Ministry of its presence."  Her smile became unmistakably mocking (and very quirky) as she shrugged her mostly bare shoulders.  "Sorry."

"My ancestor acceded to her petition," Queen Gael intoned, taking up the explanation.  "The Gigglefolk along the banks of the Riddle have ever been faithful friends to the Glăsióga."  She scowled at Hermione.  "It is the self-appointed Lords and Ladies of the Thames region who were invariably arrogant, insufferable, and demanding... Lady Grungy-Weasel."

Hermione swallowed.  There it was again, "Grungy-Weasel."  If this got out and somehow became her nickname, she was sure she'd never live it down.  Unfortunately, she'd decided that only certain specified officials of a reigning monarch's court were allowed to tactfully inform her that she might be under a slight misapprehension—but not a visitor-at-court, and certainly not a tied up and disheveled visitor-at-court in open disfavor.  She turned her unhappy gaze to the sisters.  "Where is my friend?" she demanded.  "What have you done with Elspeth?"

"The fox?" Heddwynn chuckled.  "She's around... somewhere."

"She's being well cared for, I assure you," Enyd added, still smiling her dimpled, quirky smile.  "She'll be going first."

Hermione blinked again.  "G-going first?"

"Wait," Heddwynn interrupted her sister with an abrupt gesture, then focused on Hermione.  "I don't believe you knew she was a fox.  Am I right?"  She shared a smile with her sister, then turned back.  "You aren't telling me your ginger friend is an unregistered Animagus, are you?  Since when does the Ministry allow secret shape-shifters to become Aurors?"

"Be precise," the diminutive green monarch commanded.  "The fox was a latent Metamorphmagus.  Drawing her into the Green Wood brought her hereditary propensity to the fore."

"Of Course, Your Majesty," Heddwynn responded with a respectful nod, then shifted her smile back to Hermione.  "It's been known to happen."

"And is one of the many excellent reasons the High Council restricts human intrusion into the Fey Realm to an absolute minimum," Queen Gael continued, then waved her hand in a graceful but abrupt gesture.  "Enough idle small talk!"  She pointed her green index finger at Hermione in an imperious manner and her dark eyes flashed!  "Bring her!"

Suddenly, resolving whether or not Elspeth's alleged ability to shape-shift into a fox was an acquired skill in transformational magic (making her an Animagus)—or was hereditary (making her a Metamorphmagus)—and whether or not the ability was properly licensed—as well as the ins and outs of proper court etiquette—dropped waaay down Hermione's list of priorities and were relegated to the proverbial back-burner.  Hermione had much more pressing and immediate concerns!

The Waara sisters rose from their chairs, lifted their wands, and began casting spells!  Several things happened, either simultaneously or in quick succession:

●  Hermione's panties lifted from the floor, wadded themselves into a loose ball, shot to Hermione's mouth, and forced themselves back inside her alarmed and indignant mouth!  "Mrrrpfh!"

●  The linen-bandage scarf (or untied cravat) around Hermione's neck also lifted into the air, tightened over Hermione's stuffed mouth into a cleave-gag, wrapped itself around her lower face from just under her nose to just under her chin, then tightened again!  Hermione's gag had been restored!  "Mrrrm!"

●  The ropes lashing Hermione to the chair unknotted and unraveled themselves!  Her booted ankles and bare knees were released as well, but her upper body remained tightly and elaborately bound in what she believed was categorized in some circles as a "box-tie."

●  Hermione levitated from the chair and hovered in midair while her boots squirmed off her feet, her skirt unbuttoned and unzipped itself, then slithered down her thrashing and now distressingly and totally bare legs!

●  Meanwhile, Hermione's white cotton blouse ripped itself into narrow strips, all of which slithered and slid out from under her box-tie-bonds and fluttered to the floor like so many ragged white ribbons!  "MRRRMF!  Undersecretary Hermione Granger-Weasly was now bound, gagged, and completely nude!

●  As Hermione remained hovering in midair, one of the ropes that had formerly bound her to the chair looped itself around her neck and coalesced into a non-choking and elegantly braided collar with a long, dangling free end.

●  Finally, Hermione's bare feet settled to the carpet and another length of rope looped itself around her ankles in a decorative manner similar to the collar, hobbling her ankles about eight or ten inches apart!

Needless to say, Hermione was blushing in a furious manner.  Dishabille had been embarrassing.  Bound and gagged nudity was mortifying!  Also... I liked that blouse! she mourned.

Queen Gael gracefully unfolded her green legs and flowed to her green bare feet, then frowned and indicated the bound, gagged, and naked prisoner with a vague gesture.  "Her hair."

The Waara sisters quickly stood as well.  "Immediately, Your Majesty," Enyd said with a graceful bow (and quirky smile), then cast another spell.  Hermione's hair quickly plaited itself into a tight single braid, enforced by a length of rope that secured the end with six inches of tightly wrapped turns, then trailed down her back and over her bound wrists and the nexus of her box-tie bonds, leaving its free end dangling just above Hermione's firm, dimpled, bare butt.

Then, with Her Majesty Queen Gael of the Glăsióga in the lead, they left the chamber.  Heddwynn followed with the end of Hermione's leash in her left hand.  Next came "Lady Grungy-Weasel," naked, bound, gagged, and mortified. Finally was Enyd as the Royal Party's rearguard, her wand in her right hand and ready to prevent the preposterous possibility of Hermione breaking her leash and scampering away to freedom.

All things considered, Elspeth didn't need a nap... per se.

It was nothing like late in the day, as far as Elspeth could tell from within the confines of her windowless and eerily glowing dungeon cell.  (Arguably, her prison might just as easily be characterized as the bottom of a deep, vertical, stone-walled shaft—but she decided "dungeon cell" would do for now.)

Anyway, while Elspeth had suffered through the exertion of the attack at the gateway into the keep, followed by the mental stress of inexplicably hallucinating that she was a fox (???), followed by the trauma of plummeting to her current location, followed immediately by the distress of being locked in inescapable chains... even after all that she was in tip-top shape and didn't feel all that tired.  Her mind was the main problem.  She was keyed up!  Elspeth was in a state of continuous anxiety that made even contemplating taking a snooze problematic.

The naked captive heaved a worried sigh.  Languishing was inevitable, but she didn't want to languish.  Napping, however difficult, would be better, much better.  Elspeth closed her green eyes, settled into the straw as best she could, ignored her chains (as best she could), tried to compose herself, and found herself struggling to begin her usual before slumber meditation.

Finally... she opened her eyes again and heaved a frustrated sigh.  Whether she managed to take forty winks or not, technically, she'd still be languishing, right?  And the idea was to not languish, to exert some sort of control over her situation.  Also, even if she succeeded in drifting off, napping would be a very minor victory, to say the least.  Still, it would be better than meekly submitting to naked captivity.

There was another factor at play.  Reason dictated that eventually whoever had perpetrated the unforgivable outrage of Elspeth's current incarceration would pop into the dungeon for a little gloating exposition.  They would spout a rambling monologue, explaining their "brilliant" plan to take over the Ministry and/or the magical world in general.  That was de rigueur for this sort of scenario, right?  Also, if (when) it happened, Elspeth knew she'd be required to be at her clever best, ready to interject scalding retorts and brave, snarky comebacks perfectly tailored to the occasion.  In such a situation snappy repartee was expected of an Auror... even a naked, captive, Provisional Auror in chains.

So... the issue of languishing aside, Elspeth needed to be at her absolute best and keep her batteries fully charged.  She heaved a sigh, once again closed her eyes... and relaxed.  This time, Elspeth almost succeeded in dozing off.  However—

Without warning, Elspeth's iron collar, belt, manacles, and shackles opened with audible snaps, dropped away from her anatomy, and together with their attached chains disappeared into the straw!  This was a good thing, of course.  Were they, whoever 'they' are, waiting for me to fall asleep? Elspeth wondered.  Were they planning to sneak in and do something else to me?  She stared at her now unimpeded wrists, but before she could scramble to her bare feet, assume a fighting stance, or do something else that would be defiant but probably pointless, several long, sinuously slithering lengths of hemp rope emerged from the straw and tightened around her naked body like so many striking snakes!

"Hey!" Elspeth complained, but before she could lodge further complaints and protests or inquire in an appropriately indignant manner as to what was happening—the form of a white bird (of all things) clumsily flapped out of the gloom and hovered in front of her face!  What the hell?  Abruptly, the bird revealed that it wasn't a bird at all, but a long, narrow strip of linen cloth!  It unfolded into a fluttering strip, its center coalesced into a loosely tied and arguably flower-shaped knot, then forced its way into her unprepared mouth!  "Mrrrmpfh!"   Elspeth's now well-muffled complaints and protests were also ignored as the ends of the cloth whipped around her head from either side—first cleaving, then covering her startled face from just below her button nose to just under her chin—and tightened!  "Nrrrm!"  She felt the ends of the cloth knot themselves together against the nape of her neck, under her long, tousled, fluttering, ginger hair.

And while the linen "bird" was gagging the squirming, struggling and indignant witch, the ropes continued slithering, wrapping, tightening, hitching themselves, and elegantly and efficiently forming into a highly restrictive but arguably decorative and clearly inescapable box-tie!  Her breasts were framed by multiple horizontal strands of hemp, her shoulders diagonally yoked, and her forearms and wrists bound behind her back in what she believed was referred to in wrestling parlance as a "hammerlock!"

Yes, Elspeth was naked, bound, and gagged!  Was tight hemp rope bondage better than being clamped in loosely connected iron chains?  Hardly.  Also, the gag was annoying—"Mrrrrrf!"—and effective.

"Mrrrrrrrrm!" Elspeth screamed in frustration, twisting her body and doing her methodical best to find a weakness in her new bonds.  Unfortunately, even the many long and onerous hours of escapology training she'd endured as an Auror Recruit availed her naught.  Elspeth remained naked, bound, and gagged.  She paused her squirming, wiggling, groping efforts to toss her gagged head in an attempt to clear several errant ginger strands that had fallen across her flushed face... with limited success.

It was at that point Elspeth suddenly realized there had been a mysterious and obviously magical change to the architecture of her dungeon.  The vertical shaft overhead remained the same, as did the superfluous iron grid far above that supposedly barred escape.  She'd already decided the grid was only there for psychological effect, but in any case it remained in place.  The important change was that directly in front of her blinking green eyes now beheld a seven or eight foot square opening in the formerly featureless stone wall; and beyond the opening stretched a horizontal featureless corridor of the same shape and cross section.  Like the rest of the dungeon, it glowed with a weak green light.  Her cell/pit had acquired an exit!

Elspeth was deciding whether or not she should take it... meaning the exit... when suddenly a long hemp rope the same diameter as her upper body bonds shot from the gloom of the corridor, wiggled its way under and between the strands of horizontal hemp framing Elspeth's breasts, then tightened with an audible creak, pinching them together into an "X" and squeezing her breasts (just a little)!  The rest of the floating rope remained perfectly level and rigidly taut, and the knot securing it to her box-tie bonds was elegant, even decorative, but fully functional!  So, Elspeth had herself a tether, an infinite tether that hovered in midair, stretched down the corridor ahead, and vanished into the distance.

And then—"Mrrrf!"—the decision of whether or not to explore the corridor was taken out of Elspeth's bound hands!  That is, her levitating rope leash gave a firm jerk, then irresistibly compelled the naked, bound, and gagged witch to take an awkward step forward... followed by another... then to continue walking, meaning padding as, like the rest of her, her feet were were still bare.

Fortunately, Elspeth's former chains that should have been lurking under the straw and could have tripped her up seemed to have cleared themselves out of the way.  Even the straw itself was now swept to either side, leaving a narrow straight-line-path to the exit.

Elspeth's incredibly long rope tether remained horizontal and taut and continued pulling her forward.  She crossed the threshold and entered the corridor beyond... but after several additional barefoot paces she heard a metallic scraping noise behind her, turned her gagged head, and was just in time to watch the last of a grid of heavy iron bars finish sliding across the opening to her former dungeon-with-no-ceiling and clang shut, blocking all retreat.

Very theatrical, Elspeth fumed silently.  Somebody somewhere was having themselves a grand ol' time, indulging their melodramatic aesthetic at her expense.

The naked, bound, gagged, and now furious ginger witch turned back to face the seemingly infinite corridor before her and continued plodding/padding along.  Thanks to the levitating, horizontal, and equally infinite tether still relentlessly tugging on her box-tie-bonds, she had no choice.