by Van © 2023
		Chapter 6

That which Hermione very much feared was about to happen... happened!

The ends of the long hemp ropes dangling from the upper reaches of the Throne Room's arched ceiling shot in her direction and joined the ropes already binding her to the post!  Then, all the hemp strands began to wiggle, squirm, slither, and slide (see also shimmy, twist, and wriggle) against her naked skin!  It was decidedly disconcerting, and the accompanying tickling sensations were quite irksome!

After several disagreeable seconds the ropes released Hermione from the post while continuing to tighten around her body and limbs to establish a new configuration.  Then, they lifted her into the air!

"MRRRPFH!" Hermione screamed through her panties-stuffing and multi-layered linen bandage-gag.

Hermione was now in the absent Elspeth's former hovering position and had assumed her former predicament!  That is, she was suspended about twelve feet above the stone floor, bound to a taut web of hemp ropes, spreadeagled face down with her body approximately 45-degrees above the horizontal, and naked, bound, and gagged—or more precisely, still naked bound and gagged!

Also, like Elspeth before her, Hermione was now the center of attention for everyone in the Throne Room!  The Queen, the Waara sisters, and the entire Glăsióga court gazed at her and her alone!

Hermione blushed, wiggled, squirmed, and continued testing her revised and stringent bonds.  She also sobbed and whined through her gag in a most disgraceful manner... and found she didn't care!  The time for a brave front had passed.  Hermione knew what was coming next!  They were about to start torturing her until she passed out, the way they'd tortured poor Elspeth!

And then, something somewhat unexpected happened.  A veritable parade of twenty or more self-propelled tea carts rolled through the gigantic and decorative open doors and into the Throne Room.  Each held a large and tastefully decorated samovar, as well as stacks of teacups and saucers and multi-tiered serving trays laden with biscuits and pastries.  One especially large and elaborate cart found its way beside the throne.  A smaller cart stopped near the Waara sisters, and the remainder distributed themselves among the members of the court.

Hermione was outraged (in addition to being terrified and apprehensive).  Granted, Her Majesty had mentioned tea, but Hermione had assumed she'd been joking.  Apparently... not.  Tea was important, of course, but more important than torturing a naked, bound, and gagged Undersecretary of the Ministry of Magic?  Lady Grungy-Weasel felt somewhat slighted (as well as terrified and apprehensive).

Everyone waited (including Hermione) while the Queen made a graceful and arcane gesture, a cup and saucer levitated to the spigot of the Royal Samovar, the cup filled with steaming hot tea, a small pitcher drifted upwards and added a dollop of milk, a second tiny pitcher added a dollop of what was almost certainly honey, a spoon magically stirred the contents... then the Royal Cup and Saucer drifted towards the throne and into the Royal Hand.  Her Majesty took a careful sip... then nodded.

Everyone took that as permission to magically fill and fetch cups of their own.  Scores of cups and saucers filled themselves and levitated to the Waara sisters and the courtiers.  In a surprisingly short time everyone was enjoying themselves a nice cuppa (except for Hermione, of course).

Hermione filled the time waiting for the Glăsióga to finish their tea and biscuits so they could get on with torturing her by concentrating on the futile task of wiggling out of her rope restraints.  It was futile, of course, but if somehow a miracle happened and she succeeded, she could drop to the floor, scamper away, find and rescue Elspeth, and then they could escape, and with any luck locate suitable clothing during the process.  Unlikely on all counts, but she had to try.

The Glăsióga continued chatting among themselves, sipping tea, and nibbling on biscuits and pastries.  A few male and female elves approached the throne and quietly chatted with the Queen and the Waara sisters.  Hermione assumed they were senior advisors and/or counselors.  She changed her mind and decided to be comforted that nobody seemed particularly anxious to get on with the torturing-poor-Hermione program; however, as it turned out, her tea party respite was brief—at least for the thirteen Glăsióga women who limited themselves to a single cup of tea, a couple of biscuits, and maybe one small pastry, formed themselves into a line, then padded forward to form a circle centered on the suspended naked, bound, and gagged Hermione!  Like the circle that had tortured Elspeth, the she-elves raised their arms, spread their fingers, and tiny glowing pinpricks of light began building into inch-wide glowing white motes!

"Nrrrrm!" Hermione whined, continuing to fight her bonds.

Meanwhile, the Court, the Queen, and the Giggle Witches continued chatting, sipping tea, and enjoying baked comestibles.  Granted, many were also following what was happening to Hermione (or was about to happen), but the tea party was still very much ongoing.

And then... it happened!

The now fully grown inch-wide glowing motes drifted upwards and began performing the same bouncing and gliding dance against poor Hermione's naked skin that had caused so much anguish for poor Elspeth!

"MRRRRRRMPFH!!" Hermione screamed.

It was just as horrible and unendurable as she'd feared it would be... sort of.  Was it painful?  Of course... by which she meant... no... not hardly at all.  (???)  Did it tickle?  Merlin's Beard YES it tickled!  It tickled a lot!  Her brown eyes wide and desperate above her gag, Hermione wiggled and squirmed with renewed vigor, violently but ineffectually reacting to the touch of the titillating glowing spheres!  It was horrible—and it went on and on—and Hermione knew it would continue going on and on—and, based on the reactions of poor Elspeth, would get worse and worse until she passed out!

"NRRRRRPH!!"

Meanwhile, down below, tea was sipped, biscuits munched, pastries delicately nibbled, and everybody not being tickle-tortured (or doing the tickle-torturing) were obviously enjoying themselves.

"It would appear you have very sensitive skin, Lady Grungy-Weasel," Queen Gikel announced in a loud voice.  An appreciative laugh rippled throughout the Throne Room while Her Majesty took a sip of tea.  "This will make our work much easier," she added.

Smiling her quirky smile, Heddwyn turned to the throne.  "Please, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsy.  "It is unseemly to mock the suffering of an Undersecretary of the Ministry of Magic."  This elicited another wave of chuckling mirth from the court.

"Perhaps," Her Majesty conceded, then made a graceful and imperious gesture.  "Continue 'regulating' and 'controlling' our visitor!" she commanded.

Despite the distracting depredations of the tickling orbs, Hermione recognized Queen Gikel's resentful reference to her post at the MoM's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  This was somewhat ironic as Hermione had an ongoing campaign to rename the DRCMC to something more... diplomatic.  The centaurs, especially, had many characteristically rude things to say on the topic of the MoM's longstanding assumption that it enjoyed sovereignty over all sentient "creatures;" however, she agreed with Minister Shacklebolt that politically this was not the time to press the issue.  Mainly, however, Hermione was preoccupied with the skin-crawling sensations coursing through her aforementioned "sensitive skin."

The thirteen green she-elves of the ring continued using the cloud of bobbing and weaving motes to caress and poke Hermione, and it continued being truly horrible; however... after several long, excruciating minutes... Hermione noted a significant change in her perceptions.  The intensity of the titillation was unabated, but to her amazement the tickling sensations began to fade... while simultaneously she became aware of feelings of... excitement—sensual, erotic excitement!  The trend continued... until the tickling was almost a side dish and sexual stimulation was the main entree!

Objectively, while erogenous teasing might be preferable to tickle torture, Hermione was vehemently opposed to both!  The Glăsióga should keep their amorous glowing orbs to themselves, thank you very much!

In any case, no matter what the nature of the ongoing torment, the magic pestering went on and on (and on and on and on)!  Also, whether it was wanted or not, it was torment!  For one thing, despite the intensity of what was happening, Hermione's involuntary arousal was building... but there was a growing element of frustration!  Waves of bedeviling pleasure radiated from the points of contact, went quivering down her spine, and rippled through her lady bits... but she didn't cum!

It was most decidedly NOT like making love with Ron!  In Hermione's experience, shagging was usually an initially leisurely activity (in a frantic sort of way) involving snogging and other forms of foreplay (not involving glowing orbs) that gradually accelerated towards frenzied coupling.  Frustration never raised its ugly head.  This was... different.  The orbs were toying with her, in a hectic, pervy sort of way!

Hermione's struggles grew weaker and weaker... and her "sensitive skin" was now flushed and dripping with sweat... the same way Elspeth had been profusely "glowing" towards the end... when that solitary elf had begun magically collecting her sweat... until the unfortunate ginger finally lost consciousness!

It was at that point that Hermione realized she had acquired a sweat-collecting solitary she-elf of her very own!  She was standing directly below Hermione's suspended form and directing levitated droplets of Hermione's sweat into an open vial.  When did she show up? Hermione wondered.  Curiously, there was no sensation associated with the collection process.  Of course, Hermione was understandably preoccupied with being erotically stimulated (and frustrated) by the insidious glowing orbs, but she could isolate none of the sensations coursing through her skin as being the direct result of the sweat-collecting elf's deft magic.

Bridgid Branagh as...        Nimue The Lady of the Lake

Suddenly, a astonished gasp passed through the court!

Hermione directed her exhausted gaze towards the Throne Room's open double doors, blinked the sweat from her desperate brown eyes—then the semi-exhausted eyes in question popped wide!

Striding into the chamber was a witch in an antiquated and revealing black gown similar to those being worn by the Waara sisters!  Her fluttering hair was long and red, she was in excellent (and very feminine) physical condition, was unarguably beautiful—and more importantly, Hermione knew her!

"Mrrrrrr!" Hermione feebly forced through her gag.  (She really was quite played out.)

The redhead was none other that Nimue, the legendary Lady of the Lake!

Establishing "improved relations" between Nimue and the Ministry of Magic had been one of the triumphs of Hermione's early career, and she was, shall we say, intimately acquainted with the legendary sorceress.

[ AUTHOR'S NOTE: See An Entanglement of Witches for further details. ]

Hermione was well aware that as far as Nimue was concerned the relationship in question was entirely personal between Hermione and herself and had little if anything to do with the MoM.  On the one occasion one of the Ministry's Senior Archivists showed up uninvited at Nimue's cottage in the Green Wood to "reconcile certain unacceptable inconsistencies in her file," she had promptly turned him into a newt... but only for nine days, and after turning him back into a stuffy human bureaucrat she'd sent him packing with the warning that if ever a MoM "wanker" darkened her doorway again unbidden or unaccompanied by "Minister Granger," she'd turn him or her into a newt for nine years!

Hermione was understandably distracted by the waves of pleasure still shivering through her helpless body, but she was able to overhear and even process at least some of what was unfolding in the Throne Room.

Nimue pointed at Hermione.  "What are you doing to Hermione Granger?"

"Felicitous greetings to you, too, Lady Nimue," Queen Gikel responded.  "As always, you are welcome to our court."  Her Majesty seemed genuinely amused, rather than offended that a powerful witch like the Lady of the Lake had barged into her presence without observing the proper niceties.  She waved her right hand at Hermione with a graceful but dismissive gesture.  "This is Lady Grungy-Weasel from the humans' so called Ministry of Magic.  She offended us by—"

"This is Lady Hermione Granger," Nimue interrupted, "a recognized friend of the Wood Elves and the Centaurs, the acknowledged champion of the House Elves, and my friend!"

Her Majesty appeared slightly confused.  "No... I'm sure I heard correctly.  'Grungy-Weasel.'  Her given name may have been 'Hermione,' but the last name was definitely—"

"No, it's Granger," Nimue interrupted again, then she grew thoughtful.  "Hmmm... I do recall hearing that she married recently.  I suppose the lucky fellow's last name might be 'Weasel,' but I honestly don't recall.  Humans of the Mundane Realm sometimes combine surnames when they meld their auras, but in any case, I seriously doubt she married an actual weasel."  Then, once again, she pointed at the naked, bound, gagged, suspended, sweating, and weakly writhing captive.  "This is my friend, Hermione Granger-Weasel."

"Oh," the Queen responded with a slight shrug.  "We had no idea."

Meanwhile, the circle of diminutive green elves continued erotically entertaining Hermione with their myriad of glowing orbs—Hermione continued being erotically entertained (and struggling and sweating profusely)—the solitary green elf directly beneath Hermione continued magically collecting her sweat—and the court continued enjoying their tea and biscuits and watching the unfolding interaction between their monarch and her distinguished visitor, the Lady of the Lake.

The Royal Visage turned to the Waara sisters.  "Were you aware that our, uh, 'ministerial guest' is the famous Elf Friend Hermione Granger-Weasel?" she demanded.

Heddwyn and Enyd exchanged somewhat amused shrugs, then turned to The Queen and curtsied.  "No, Your Majesty," they chorused in unison.

"Well... no matter," Queen Gikel sighed, then turned back to Nimue.  "Tea while we wait for the Extraction Coven to finish their work?"

Nimue gazed up at Hermione for several seconds... then heaved a sigh.  "Why not.  Thank you."

Hermione was amazed and dismayed (and aroused)!  Her friend was abandoning her to the ongoing onslaught of erotic titillation?!  Nimue wasn't demanding Hermione's immediate release (and the loan of suitable clothing)?!

"MRRRPFH!"  But before Hermione could continue her perfectly reasonable demands for an explanation and to be released—she climaxed!

That is, an incredibly intense orgasm shuddered and shivered its way through her naked, bound, gagged, suspended, and glistening body (rebounding several times in the process)!  And it was right up there with the best sex she'd ever had with Ronald!

Hermione was vaguely aware of a teacup and saucer levitating its way from the Royal Tea Cart to Nimue's elegant left hand... and the Lady of the Lake taking a delicate and appreciative first sip... then she passed out (meaning Hermione, not the Lady of the Lake).

Elspeth Tillyhope had never felt so relaxed.  Her entire body was throbbing with relaxation.  She frowned.  No, wait, that can't be right.  Shivering with relaxation?  That isn't right either.  Were there pent up feelings?  Yes, but Elspeth's body was perfectly still.  She was relaxed... really relaxed.  Totally relaxed.

And speaking of her body.  Elspeth could tell she was naked... still naked.  A little wiggling and squirming confirmed that she was also tied up... still tied up.  Specifically, her naked form was bound with rope from her ankles to her shoulders, with tightly hitched bands binding her ankles, passed below and above her knees, her mid-thighs, waist, and above and below her breasts with her arms folded behind her back.  Her upper-arms were pinned against her upper-body and ropes yoked her shoulders and were hitched through her other upper-body bonds.

She was reclined full length on some sort of comfy padded surface, and she wasn't gagged.  That was progress.  No gag.  However, something was tied across her eyes.  Elspeth was blindfolded.  That was not progress.

So, Elspeth couldn't see anything.  She was in complete darkness.  Total darkness.  The only thing she could "see" was an ongoing display of dim, ghostly, random flashes, what muggle medical science had decided were randomly firing neurons and wizardly scholars maintained was innate magical energy waiting to be focused by a spell, assuming the witch or wizard had a wand and the training to use it.  Elspeth had the required training, of course, but her wand was conspicuous by its absence... much like her clothing.

While Elspeth continued twisting, squirming, and testing her bondage, she reflected on her recent experiences—specifically, being naked, bound, gagged, suspended in mid air in what was obviously some sort of throne room, and the center of attention of a large crowd of decidedly petite green elves!  There had also been a single female green elf sitting on a throne that Elspeth assumed was their leader, although she was dressed the same as the others and wasn't wearing a crown or any other badge of high office Elspeth could ascertain.  Three humans had also been present, two unknown witches in ancient-style black costumes and... Undersecretary Hermione Granger-Weasley!

A wave of shame coursed through Elspeth's bound body and formed a dismal lump in her stomach.  She was supposed to be protecting her famous and distinguished charge (and now friend).  Not being able to prevent Hermione from being stripped naked and tied to a post hardly constituted protection!  Strangely, however, Elspeth's remorse over having failed Hermione didn't interfere with her current feeling of relaxation.  It was... perplexing.

Maybe I've been drugged, Elspeth considered, or I'm under the influence of a Placidio spell... but Placidio also befuddles the mind... and I don't feel befuddled. So... probably not.

Elspeth was making zero progress wiggling out of the ropes.  At least I'm comfortable, she sighed... or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Suddenly, despite being blindfolded, Elspeth sensed the presence of... another.  "Who's there?" she demanded.

"Calm yourself, Eelsbreath," a high-pitched, feminine voice responded.

"El-speth," Elspeth corrected the voice, "not 'Eel's Breath.'"

"I apologize," the voice purred.

Elspeth squirmed in her bondage.  "Who are you?" she reiterated.

"My name is unimportant," the voice stated.  "I'm here to help you."

"You're going to untie me?" Elspeth inquired hopefully.

"No, dear."

Then—"Ahhh!"— Elspeth flinched in her bonds.  A cool hand had settled on her abdomen, between her bellybutton and bikini area, and it was just... resting there!  "Stop that!" she ordered (begged).

"Settle down, El-speth."

The hand had begun slowly moving... tracing a leisurely, gentle orbit across her lower tummy.  "Please.  Stop."

"This will calm you further," the voice explained.  "You need to rest... before we can begin our work."

"Ahhh... nooo!"  Elspeth's struggles became little more than delicate shudders.  Apparently, the unseen hand did indeed have a calming effect.  In fact, delicate waves of pleasure were radiating from the slowly gliding point of contact.  They coursed throughout her body... especially her lady bits and the pointing nipples of her bristols.  "S-stop!" she begged in a whining voice

"Hush," the voice ordered in a soothing whisper.

Maybe distraction will work, Elspeth decided.  "Y-you mentioned work," she said quietly.  "What work?  What kind of work?"

"I'm going to help you master with your newly emerged ability," the voice answered.

"W-what ability?" Elspeth demanded. The titillating hand was still moving.  She assumed it belonged to the mysterious soprano with the soothing, melodious voice; but whoever it belonged to, it continued engendering waves of delicate delight... but strangely, she found she didn't seem to be building to some sort of climax.  It was... puzzling... but pleasurable.

"You're a Metamorphmagus, El-speth," the voice explained.  "The latent ability was probably triggered when you were drawn from the Mundane Realm into the Green Wood.  It's rare, but it happens."

"What are you talking about?" Elspeth demanded.  "I'm not a Metamorphmagus.  I'm not even an Animagus.  I'm not even all that good at transformation magic... even when my wand hasn't been stolen."

"You are a Metamorphmagus, El-speth," the voice stated.  "You are a fox."

"A fox?"  Elspeth squirmed in her bonds with renewed energy.  "I'm not a fox.  I...  T-that was a dream.  I dreamed I was a fox."

"You are a fox," the voice stated with firm assurance.  "It took us by surprise.  We were unprepared to control a fleeing fox so it took the Royal Sentinels several seconds to conjure the required magical response.  It's not a trivial challenge to compel a Metamorphmagus to assume human form so the established wards and protections can function as they were crafted."

"No!" Elspeth objected.  "I'd know if I could turn myself into a fox... wouldn't I?"

"Not if the ability was newly emerged," the voice purred, "and that remains the most likely occurrence."

The hand was still moving, waves of erotic energy were still undulating throughout Elspeth's body... and they were still equally pleasurable and frustrating.  Elspeth shivered... and weakly fought her inescapable bonds.

"On the plus side," the voice continued, "the spells holding your fox form at bay acted to increase the efficiency of the Extraction Ceremony."

"Extraction Ceremony?" Elspeth demanded.  "Do you mean when I was tortured in that throne room?"

"The very same," the voice chuckled, "but tell me, El-speth... was in truly torture?"

"Yes," Elspeth huffed, then heaved a sigh (and shivered in her bonds).  "No," she admitted.  "It felt good, actually."  Like what your hand is doing, she thought but didn't say aloud.  "In any case, it was uncalled for.  The Undersecretary came to talk.  Why did you take us prisoner?  And why did you do that to me?"

"The Glăsióga are famous for our healing magic," the voice intoned.

Elspeth was confused (as well as naked, bound, blindfolded, and writhing with exquisite but frustratingly low-key pleasure).  "The who?  And what's healing got to do with anything?"

"The Glăsióga are my people," the voice explained, "also known as the Green Elves of Forest of Gikeltre.  Our Extraction Ceremony draws latent toxins from the participant's body, promoting longevity and balanced health.  We collect the resulting harmful effluvia in the recipient's perspiration, reduce it to its very essence, then invert the distillate's properties and use it to conjure an array of potent palliatives and nostrums."

"Oh."  Elspeth continued squirming and shivering for several seconds before continuing.  "It would have been polite to ask."

"You would have agreed to undergo the ceremony?"

Elspeth heaved a sigh.  "No," she admitted, "but it still would have been polite to ask."

"Think of it as a tax, or perhaps a tariff," the voice purred, "levied on all human visitors to Queen Gikel's domain."

"Oh."

"Relax, El-speth," the voice urged.  Her hand continued gliding over Elspeth's tummy.  "You need to rest while the aftereffects of the extraction subside.  After you enjoy a nice nap I will return and instruct you on how to control your Metamorphmagus ability.  I'm sure you will master the transition from human to fox and back again quite easily, and I have every confidence that with a little work you'll be able to assume an intermediary form as well."

"Intermediary?"

"Partially human and partially fox," the voice explained.  "Jackal Metamorphs can assume what is often called the 'Abubis' form, the body of a human with the head of a jackal."

"I don't want to have the head of a fox!" Elspeth objected.

"Not to worry," the voice chuckled.  "Fox Metamorph intermediates usually spout a bushy tail, but a few can also manifest long vulpine ears.  Their visages and the remainder of their bodies remain entirely human."

"I'm not sure I want that either," Elspeth huffed.

"We'll see," the voice responded.  Then, her hand left Elspeth's tummy.  Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) the low level, tingling waves of pleasure rippling through the Auror and alleged Metaporphmagus' naked, stringently bound, and blindfolded body continued coursing through her naked, bound, and blindfolded human form.

Was the voice leaving?  "Wait!" Elspeth gasped.  "What about Hermione?  What are you doing to the Undersecretary?"

"You'll be reunited with your friend in due course," the voice stated.

"No!  Please!  I want to see her now!"  Elspeth fought her bonds with renewed vigor.  "You're doing something horrible to her, aren't you?  I demand you—"

A finger had tapped Elspeth's forehead, between the top edge of the blindfold and her tousled ginger hair.  Instantly, Elspeth went totally rigid—then relaxed.

"Rest, El-speth," the voice purred, but Elspeth heard nothing.  She was asleep.

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