At twenty one, the smartest witch of the age was successful. She, along with her two closest friends and countless others had saved the wizarding world, and the wizarding world had not sat back and ignored it. She was the awe inspiring, beloved heroine, and rarely a week went by when she wasn't featured in the gossip pages in the Prophet or on the front page of Witch Weekly. While recognition of her achievements was nice, fame did not agree with her. She was tired of being hounded by the press and found solace in her work at the ministry. Being so prolific had been of some use, she had been head-hunted by the department of magical law enforcement (among others) and accepted the job, though with the proviso that she be able to go back and finish her N.E.W.T.S. She had now been working there for three years and as predicted had risen quickly through the ranks, now earning a generous salary. She was able to afford a reasonably large house in the suburbs of Kent, not too far from where Ginny and Harry lived, though she saw them less these days, the newly-weds far too caught up with the joys of married life to have time for other people.

She was lonely. Not having been the most popular witch at Hogwarts, she had few 'true' friends to rely on, when the war first ended she had been inundated with social offers from all manner of people, but she was sceptical of being used for her fame and gradually these offers subsided. Her workmates, while thrilled with her capabilities, were nevertheless wary of interacting with her, knowing full well that any attempt to get closer to the woman would result in suspicion. She maintained a polite but aloof attitude with those she saw daily at work, which did little to improve her social life. Ron was someone she hadn't seen since almost the end of the war. His kiss in the heat of battle was intense, but they weren't meant to be a couple, they were far, far too different to do anything but argue with each other and quickly fell apart. Her logical mind helped her accept the end of the relationship, but it did little to quell the ache she felt at the loss of one of her closest friends. Ron, it seems, was still mentally the eleven year old she had met that day on the train and alternately hated and attempted to woo her at their every meeting. Eventually she decided that she had to give him the space he needed to get over her and cut ties, rationalising that it would be for his own good. As such, apart from the odd visits from Luna, and even more surprisingly Fleur, she was completely alone.

Her friendship with Fleur had been borne of mutual grief. When Bill died in the battle of Hogwarts she felt isolated, unable to connect with the Weasleys for fear of being an unwelcome reminder of one of their dead children. She kept herself in isolation for the most part, working once again in Gringots, having no desire to return to France under her Mother's pitying watch. It was fortune really, that the two managed to be in Diagon Alley on the same day, Hermione looking for the next book to occupy her mind and Fleur keen to drown her sorrows in Firewhiskey. They kept each other company from time to time, though recently they had failed to keep in touch as regularly, their monthly meetings turned to six monthly meetings and finally stopped altogether.

The loneliness was something she had grown used to during her time in muggle school and her first year at Hogwarts. Hermione, the bookworm that she was, could be content in her own company. At least that is, until her encounter with the infamous Bellatrix at Malfoy manor. The harrowing experiences had altered her fundamentally, the feeling of complete and utter helplessness had awakened emotions inside of her that she couldn't help but revel in. While she would never say that she enjoyed the experience of being tortured against her will for information, it certainly opened her eyes to the exhilaration being bound could make her feel. Her heart had been pounding, her mind racing. It was ironic that in such a dangerous situation she had never felt more alive. Her curiosity had been piqued.

Over the past few months, she had experimented in the privacy of her own home with conjuring rope to bind her legs and torso and found, to her utmost shock, that she felt energised for the first time since the war. The lethargy of her everyday life had been banished. But it was her secret, not even Ginny would understand the depravity residing within her, the comparatively conservative wizarding world would no doubt look down on her deepest desires, so she made the heart breakingly difficult decision to bury her feelings. Or tried too at least. But the urge to lose herself in decadence was getting simply too difficult to ignore. The drudgery of her everyday life paled in comparison to the images that kept her awake at night, aching to be fulfilled.

Hermione needed a distraction. And so it was that after months of being driven crazy, almost a year after she had last seen her, she sent a message to Fleur.

"Dearest Fleur," she wrote, "It has been too long since I last saw you, and chance you'd be up for spending an evening this Friday drinking good wine in my dull company? Perhaps around seven? Yours, Hermione."

She quickly attached the parchment to the leg of her owl, Hermes, feeding him an Owl treat before sending him into an azure, cloudless sky. She then settled into her comfortable, well worn reading chair and set herself to devouring the latest Madame Lucritia novel. She had barely finished her third chapter of her new read, and was almost too engrossed to hear the pecking at the window when Fleur's response arrived. She swiftly walked over to the window to let in Hermes, detaching the reply and eagerly unwinding it.

"Mon ami! I was just thinking about owling you, it has been too long! Yes, of course I'd like to come over and talk about things, it will be like old times! With love, Fleur"

Smiling at the acceptance of the invitation, Hermione settled back into her book once again, reading until her only light was the milky glow of the stars. Feeling tired, she got ready for bed, knowing that once sleep came, it would most certainly not be restful.

Hermione gingerly opened her eyes, noting with bated breath that she could not move. Looking around, she saw her legs and arms had been bound tightly behind her back. She was on her knees, in the middle of an unfamiliar room which was lit only by candles. In the dim light, she could make out the soft curve of her breasts and realised with a start that she was clad only in her bindings. She was alight with anticipation and more than a dash of fear, when a mysterious figure moved behind her. She could not turn her head properly to look, but the small sound of footsteps approaching her was both terrifying and thrilling. She released a shaky breath and felt her heart start to race, noting with a twinge of embarrassment that her nipples had stiffened in response to her predicament. Suddenly, she felt a delicate touch reach around and ghost over her breasts, the teasing gentleness almost too much for her over stimulated mind to take. Soft lips met her ear and she heard the beginnings of a whisper, though as to whom the voice belonged or what they said she couldn't recall. Because at that moment, her alarm saw fit to blare and wake her up with a start, ungraciously yanking her from her from her dream and plunging her back, once again, into her everyday monotony. She begrudgingly got out of bed, tiredly getting ready for work.

It was a busy Monday morning and there was a lot of work to do. She was working on filtering out outdated laws from the statutes, particularly those which unfairly favoured pure bloods, so that they could be examined by the Wizengamot. While most of the older laws were ignored by equality minded business people, it was not unheard of for more unscrupulous businesses to happily favour pure blood workers and applicants, using legal loopholes and forgotten laws to justify their actions. It was her project alone, one she had chosen and one which had been supported wholeheartedly by Minister Shacklebolt. Protecting all magical creatures was one of the most important goals Hermione had taken from the war, and she was dedicated in seeing that the law served all equally. It was difficult, solitary work though, and she was relishing spending an evening with her friend gossiping and drinking, and more importantly taking her mind off her thoughts. As she found herself distracted for the fifth time that hour, pondering the stranger in her dream, she thought to herself "Friday cannot come quickly enough."