Day 10: Spanking/Leather Strap/Subdrop

Day 10: Spanking/Leather Strap/Subdrop

Warning - no sex in this one more spanking for absolution

Hermione stared blankly at the fire crackling in the hearth, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She should have felt… better. The war had been over for years now. Everyone had moved on, healed, rebuilt their lives. But she couldn't shake it—the gnawing guilt that lingered in the corners of her mind, that whispered to her when she was alone.

Everyone around her had tried to help. Harry, Ron, Ginny—they'd all reassured her a thousand times over. "You did what you had to do." "You saved us." "None of this is your fault." But their words felt hollow, distant, like they weren't reaching the deepest parts of her where the guilt festered. No matter how much praise or reassurance she got, it didn't touch the darkness inside her—the memories of the choices she made, the spells she cast, the lives she took.

And that was the worst part of it. She had done what was necessary. She had fought for the right reasons. But it didn't change the fact that she had hurt people, that she had killed.

She had tried to let it go, to move past it, but the weight of it all clung to her, pressing down on her chest until she couldn't breathe. And no one—no one—seemed to understand.

No one except Minerva.

Hermione glanced up, her eyes meeting the Headmistress's from across the room. The older witch had been there through both wars. She had seen things—done things—that haunted her even now, and Hermione knew, somehow, that the other woman understood. She had never sugar-coated it, never tried to placate Hermione with empty reassurances. She saw the young woman's pain for what it was—real, raw, and unrelenting.

Minerva set her teacup down with a quiet clink and stood, crossing the room to stand in front of Hermione. "You're not alone in this," she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to carry it by yourself."

Hermione's throat tightened, her heart thudding in her chest. "I don't know how to move past it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as though afraid someone might overhear even though they were alone. It felt dirty to admit that the brains of the golden trio couldn't just move on with life like the boys had. "I can't… I can't live with it, but no one will listen. No one will let me feel it. They all just tell me I did nothing wrong."

Minerva's expression softened, and she crouched down in front of Hermione, her hand resting lightly on the bushy haired witch's knee. "Sometimes, people need more than reassurance," she said quietly. "Sometimes, we need to face our guilt head-on, to feel the weight of it fully before we can let it go."

Hermione swallowed hard, her mind racing with the implications of the other woman's words. She had known this moment would come—had even longed for it in some twisted way—but now that it was here, she felt herself trembling with both fear and anticipation.

"Will you help me?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

The Headmistress's gaze didn't waver, her eyes filled with a sad understanding. She too had been in the other woman's spot. "Yes," she said simply, her hand squeezing the younger woman's knee gently. "But only if you're sure."

Hermione nodded, her breath shaky but filled with resolve. "I'm sure."

Minerva returned the nod and stood, taking Hermione's hand and leading her away from the fire, toward the bedroom. The younger woman's heart raced in her chest, but she trusted her once mentor. She knew she would give her what she needed.

Once inside the room, Minerva turned to face her, her expression serious but filled with compassion. "If you want to stop at any time, you only need to say your safeword," she whispered, cupping Hermione's cheek and stroking the soft skin. The gentleness belied what was going to come next for them. "Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. Her throat had been tight since the war and had never quite untightened. It gave her voice a raspy, softer quality. "I understand."

Minerva's hands moved from her cheek to her shit, undoing the buttons with a confidence Hermione's nervous and trembling body could only dream of. This was what the younger witch needed.

Someone confident.

Someone strong.

Someone that knew her pain and could make her feel it on the outside before it ate her alive on the inside.

Someone like Minerva.

Suddenly, she was done undressing Hermione and the older witch stepped back. The gaze that she used when teaching bore into the guilty witch's soul. "Lie down," she instructed, her Scottish brogue just beginning to seep more deeply into the words.

Hermione did as she was told, more afraid of messing this up and not continuing than whatever Minerva had planned for her. Still, her heart pounded in her chest like a restless phoenix peaking out seeds. She could do this. She could get her absolution.

The Headmistress moved silently around the room, gathering the tools she would need. The bushy haired witch watched her prepare with eager, attentive eyes. Surely, she should be more afraid than this? Letting her ex-professor dole out punishment to her body till it matched that of her abused soul. But something felt too right about it for her to feel guilty about this too.

With caution, as though she were afraid she might spook the young lass, Minerva approached the bed again, a leather strap in her hand. She met the other woman's gaze, her eyes filled with understanding and something deeper—something Hermione hadn't seen in anyone else. She knew what this was, what Hermione needed, and she was willing to give it to her. To give to her what had been given to Minerva herself years ago.

"This will hurt," the older witch said softly, her voice filled with both warning and reassurance. "But it's what you need, isn't it?"

Again another nod of her understanding and a whispered, "Yes."

Minerva took a moment to just look at the other woman. Her eyes raking over her naked form. She could feel the weight of the leather strap in her hand. Never in a million years would she have imagined a moment like this when she had gone to the little muggleborn girls home to tell her and her parents that she was a witch.

Something in her heart broke for that girl. She had been so full of hope and wonder and now she was slowly dying from her own guilty conscious whether justified or not. Minerva would not let the war take that from her cub. No, she could still be a hopefully woman who saw wonder in the world. She could do right by that innocent little girl by helping this young woman now.

"You're sure?" Minerva asked. She wasn't sure if she hoped that her cub would back out now. Either way, she was prepared.

Another nod. Hermione was scared to speak. Scared that if she talked, all the air might leave her lungs.

"I will need your verbal confirmation, Hermione," the Headmistress whispered, kinder and softer now.

The young Gryffindor cleared her throat and swallowed, hoping that it would not come out as a squeak or garbled mess. "Yes. Please."

With that single 'yes', the dynamic between them shifted. Minerva's expression hardened just slightly, her compassion still present, but further back in her mind. She stepped forward, standing over the other woman, her eyes never leaving the younger witch's face as she raised the strap in her hand.

"This isn't about punishment for the sake of punishment," Minerva reitered what she had told Hermione in her office. "It's about release. About allowing yourself to feel everything you've been holding inside."

Hermione swallowed hard, her body trembling as she nodded.

"Good. Turn over."

She did as she commanded. Not a second after her breasts pressed into the soft fabric of the comforters then the first strike came, landing with a shark crack on the left cheek of her buttocks. The sting was immediate, burning through her body and sending a shiver down her spine. Hermione gasped, her back arching slightly from the impact, but she didn't cry out. The pain put a tiny crack in the wall she was using to hold back everything she had carried with her since the war.

The second strike came just as quickly, followed by a third, each one precise and controlled never landing in the same place as before. Hermione's breath stopped momentarily with each hit, her mind spinning as the pain danced with the guilt, with the shame she had buried so deep inside her. It hurt—God, it hurt—but it felt good. Her pain incarnate. For the first time, it wasn't all inside her head. It was real.

"Tell me what you feel," the older witch demanded, landing another blow, this one harder than the last.

"I… I deserve this," Hermione gasped, her voice shaking with barely held back emotions. She clutched the sheets beneath her body, needing something to hold onto, some anchor. "For what I did… for the lives I took."

Minerva's hand stilled for a moment, her gaze softening as she looked down at Hermione, but the younger woman could not see the softness, her head buried in the sheets. "No one blames you for that, dearest," she said quietly, her voice filled with too much understanding. "Not a single soul holds you responsible."

"I do," Hermione whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her confession. "I couldn't save them. I tried, but I couldn't… I couldn't save them."

Another strike landed, this one harder than any of the ones before, and Hermione gasped so loudly that the sound seemed to reverberate in her ears. It hurt. It burned like fiendfyre radiating out the place where the leather strap had struck.

She wanted more.

She needed more.

The strap came down again, and again, each strike tearing through her defenses, breaking down the walls she had built around herself. She openly sobbed now, tears leaving wet spots on the comforter below her.

"Keep going," Minerva urged. "Tell me what you feel."

"I feel… I feel guilty," Hermione sobbed, her voice barely recognizable for the grief pouring out of her. "I feel like I failed them."

Another strike. This one on her bare thigh. The older witch was leaving crisscrossing marks all along the younger woman's back, bottom, and upper thighs. Some strikes were so hard that welts began to form. These spots Minerva was careful to not hit again and only land on the fleshy part of Hermione's arse

"I feel like I should have done more. Like I should have been better."

Minerva's hand paused, the strap still held in her grip as she leaned closer, her voice softening. "Hermione, you did everything you could. More than anyone ever asked of you."

The sobbing witch shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, "It wasn't enough."

The strap came down again, the sharp sting tearing through Hermione's body, but this time, it felt different. The pain didn't feel like a punishment—it felt like a release. Like she was finally letting go of the guilt she had carried for so long.

Minerva continued, each strike measured, each one slightly lighter than the ones she had been delivering before Hermione's confession. With every hit, the young woman felt lighter, like the weight she had carried for so long was finally lifting from her shoulders.

After what felt like an eternity, Minerva's hand stilled, and the room fell into silence. Hermione lay there, her body shaking, tears still streaming down her face as the last of her guilt bled out of her. She had needed this. She had needed to feel the pain, to face the consequences of her actions, and now, she had finally done it.

Minerva set the strap aside, her movements gentle as she knelt beside the bed. "It's over, Hermione," she whispered, her voice soft and soothing as her hand combed through the other woman's bushy hair. "You've faced it. You've let it go."

Again she nodded, but this time it felt like she could breathe. Like her throat wasn't constricting anymore. Hermione's body was exhausted, but she felt better. Freer. The guilt that had weighed her down for so long was still there, but it didn't feel as suffocating now. She had faced it, and she had survived.

Minerva reached out, her hand brushing gently over Hermione's back. Her cub flinched as her soft touch brushed a mark, but she quickly settled at a soft hushing from the other woman. "You did well, darling," she murmured, her voice filled with affection.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, her body finally relaxing into Minerva's soothing touch. The intensity of the session had left her drained, emotionally and physically. Her muscles ached, and her mind felt raw. She'd needed this, the catharsis, the pain, the acknowledgment of her guilt. And she'd needed Minerva, steady and strong, to guide her through it.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse, barely able to form the words. The room felt quiet and heavy, as if it, too, were holding its breath after everything that had just passed between them.

Minerva's hand never stopped moving, brushing gently over the other woman's back in soothing strokes, her touch careful of the marks she had created. "You don't have to thank me," she murmured softly, her voice filled with quiet affection. "I'm here. You needed to let go, and I was happy to be the one you chose to help you."

Hermione felt a tightness forming in her chest at the words. A sudden rush of emotion that she couldn't quite place. She felt empty, vulnerable in a way that made her heart race. The catharsis that had brought her relief just moments ago now left a hollow feeling in its wake, and a deep ache settled inside her, spreading through her limbs.

Minerva must have sensed the shift because her hand stilled for a moment, her gaze locking onto Hermione's. "Hermione," she said gently, "you're dropping."

Hermione didn't respond at first. The tightness in her chest only seemed to deepen, and tears prickled behind her eyes, threatening to spill over. The weight of everything she had just faced—the guilt, the pain, the vulnerability—it was suddenly overwhelming, and the bed beneath her felt shaky and uncertain.

Minerva moved quickly, her hands gentle but firm as she pulled Hermione into her lap, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close. "Shh, it's alright," Minerva whispered, her voice steady and reassuring. "I've got you, darling. You're safe."

The words were like a balm, but Hermione couldn't stop the new flood of tears that fell, her chest tightening as the overwhelming emotion bubbled to the surface. She clung to her former mentor like a child, her body trembling with the intensity of the feelings crashing over her. "I… I don't understand," she choked out, her voice trembling as the tears continued to fall. "Why do I feel like this?"

"You've dropped, sweet girl," Minerva explained softly, her hands moving in slow, comfortingly brushing Hermione's hair with her hand. "It's natural, especially after something so intense. Your body and mind are coming down from everything you've just experienced, and that can leave you feeling vulnerable. It's okay to let it out."

Hermione buried her face in the older witch's chest, her body shaking as sobs wracked through her. She hadn't expected this, hadn't realized how raw and exposed she would feel afterward. But Minerva's arms were strong around her, grounding her, keeping her safe as she let the emotions spill over.

"You're safe," the Headmistress whispered again. "I'm here. You're not alone in this, Hermione."

Hermione nodded, though she could barely manage a response. The ache in her chest slowly began to ease as Minerva's steady presence wrapped around her like a blanket. The sobs subsided, leaving her exhausted but no longer feeling like she was falling apart. Minerva didn't rush her, didn't push her to speak. She just held her, her hand moving in that same slow, soothing motion through her bushy locks as her breathing gradually evened out.

"Better?" Minerva asked softly, her voice still gentle but with a note of concern.

Her cub nodded weakly, her head still resting against the older woman's chest. "I… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the crying.

Minerva's grip tightened slightly, her arm holding Hermione a little closer. "You don't have to apologize," she said firmly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Hermione's head. "What you're feeling is normal. It's part of the process. You're allowed to feel vulnerable. You're allowed to feel everything you're feeling."

"Thank you for… understanding," Hermione murmured, her voice quieter and sore sounding after all the crying. "I didn't think anyone could."

Minerva's hand moved up, turning the young woman's face and cupping her cheek until Hermione's eyes met her own. "I've been where you are," she said softly, her expression filled with empathy. "I know what it's like to carry that kind of guilt. I also know what it's like to need something—someone—to help you through it. I'm here, Hermione. You don't have to carry it alone."

Hermione leaned into her touch. She had always admired Minerva's strength, but in this moment, it was her tenderness, her understanding, that meant everything.

The Headmistress gently shifted them, adjusting Hermione so she could lie down comfortably, wrapping the blankets around her with the same care she had shown throughout the entire night. "Rest now," Minerva whispered, her voice soft and soothing. "I'll stay with you."

Hermione nodded, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but filled with a quiet sense of peace. As she closed her eyes, she felt Minerva's hand slip into hers, holding her tightly, reminding her that she wasn't alone. The darkness that had weighed her down for so long was still there, but it wasn't unbearable anymore. She had faced it, and with Minerva by her side, she knew she would find her way through it.