Domina’s Tale by Ladyofthemasque

Domina's Tale by Ladyofthemasque

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Fascinating.

Strolling through the halls of the school, Domina studied the card that had flown toward her, back during the slumber party. The game was rigged, she was sure of it, but her card glowed yellow, and the consequence of ignoring it was not something she wished to face.

Yellow meant it was that particular girl's turn to perform her dare, or face that particular card's consequences. Green meant the dare had been successfully completed, and a red glow, appropriately sanguine, indicated the dare had failed and the girl in question had to suffer the consequences.

That her own card now glowed a sunny hue meant that Fern's dare was complete. They'd all meet in the Room of Requirement later on to see whether or not the Hufflepuff's card glowed verdant or crimson; right now, Domina had a more pressing problem. From the tolling of the school bells in the distance, she had only a short period of time in which to complete the required task of her Dare card, or suffer the card's chosen punishment. Tucking the card back into her book bag, she headed for her goal.

Luckily, she wasn't the first one in line to play out her dare. Everything was almost ready to go. All she had to do was...yes, avoid that clutch of giggling Gryffindor second-years, duck into the side-hall that led to the non-functional lavatory on the second floor, wave perfunctorily in the direction of Moaning Myrtle's stall...thankfully the dolorous ghost was elsewhere at the moment...and open the supply closet.

And then, somehow, extract the full suit of 16th century German tournament armour from its amorous embrace with the equally 16th century Turkish lady's gown, replete with headdress and veil. Vestigial traces of the wizard and witch that had once worn these outfits remained, infused throughout the magic animating both garments. The dress hadn't been easy to find, either; the North Tower Fraud hadn't even known the dress had been locked up in her very own attic, attributing its mournful rustlings and humming, lonely sighs to the occluding of her "inner eye" of all things.

Personally, Domina couldn't stand Professor Trelawney as a teacher. The art of Divination wasn't an art, it was a science. Admittedly one that functioned best when allowed to process under the complex interactions of minimally-guided chaos theory applications, but it was still a science, a knowledge that could be grasped and learned by a sufficiently educated and practiced mind. Anything else was twaddle, stuff and nonsense.

The reason why she had gone in search of the dress, which had required two full days of rooting through old in-school memos and staff correspondences instead of working swottily on her Arithmancy and Runes homework, was not because she needed the dress to complete her dare. She needed the armour, which had refused to cooperate with her request until she had reunited him...er, it...with the original owner's long-lost love's dress.

Really, she thought, rolling her eyes as the armour and the dress did a passable version of a certain lecherous Slytherin coupling with a certain risk-taking Gryffindor in a certain other storage closet she had encountered just last year. It's not like they have those parts, nor would a lady of her standing in her day and age throw up her skirts so high...and he should've been more of a gentleman in taking off his armour, first. If that were a real girl, she'd have been screaming in agony from the bites and bruises of all that fancy, hammered fluting against her inner thighs...

"A-hem."

Veil and helm continued to twist and press together, as though they were lovers exchanging passionate kisses.

"Excuse me...?"

Silk rustled and metal creaked with a centuries-old passion that could not be denied. Domina dragged her hand down over her face. No wonder milady's gown was locked up in the bloody attic all these years, if they were putting on this sort of a show for the students all those years ago...

"If you don't mind...?"

No response. She didn't have time for this. Fine. I didn't want to do this, but seeing as you're not paying any attention to me, I have no choice but to pull out my cruelest weapon. A pause, a flutter of her fingertips at the base of her throat, and she made a delicate, high-pitched noise.

"Mrrau?"

The dress squeaked in fright and the tournament armour clattered loudly, scrambling loose of his lady-love's sleeves. It banged against the edge of the closet door, helmed head twisting frantically as far as it could turn, searching for the menace to its lady-love's hem. In the next moment, the stiff, frightened armour wilted in relief, seeing only the dark-haired Ravenclaw student, and not the yellow-eyed visage of Mrs. Norris, the scruffy cat that patrolled the school halls as an adjunct to Mr. Filch, the caretaker. Mrs. Norris had a very bad habit of sharpening her claws on the hems of floor-length gowns, and the Turkish gown was quite old.

Seeing that it was only her, the gown brushed itself off, smoothing its skirts, and the armour tugged at the metal collar of its gorget.

"It is time," Domina stated simply. Her tone brooked no argument and no resistance. Her only threat had been the mimicry of clearing her throat, but it was enough.

Slumping in defeat, the armour started releasing its catches. Setting down her school bag, Domina stepped into each piece of armour that floated her way. She had to remove her outer school robe and transfigure the pleated folds of her school skirt into a pair of slacks so that it would fit comfortably inside the tassets protecting her thighs, but at least the stout, dark grey protected her tender skin from the cold metal as it enclosed her body, the same with her school jumper.

She did have to shift her grip on her wand as the gauntlets slipped over her fingers one hand at a time, and the feel of the helm, with its tiny visor slit and right-side ventilation grille, made her slightly claustrophobic when the suit automatically lowered the faceplate, but that was alright; this was the one suit of armour that actually fit...squashed breasts aside...and the terms of the dare were simply that she had to wear the armour, not necessarily wear it with the faceplate down.

Still, it wouldn't do to be recognized while she was in the corridors, so for now, she left the faceplate down. Swishing her wand...adjusting for the fact that the armour did weigh her down and interfere a little with her movements...she shrunk her school bag and levitated it into the cuff of her left gauntlet. Then clanked her way back out of the abandoned girls' lavatory, heading for the front hall and the narrow stairs down into the dungeons.

The other students, finished with their lunches and milling about, gave her cursory looks. Most seemed to mistake her for an actual enchanted suit of armour, and a few muttered that it was odd to see one of the suits on the ground floor, never mind creaking and clanking its way toward the basement. But this was Hogwarts, where the unusual was the usual. Had this been, say, Marks & Spencer, it would've been another matter entirely.

Not that she had gone into Marks & Spencer very often; that was a rare treat, saved for when her family came to England to visit with her mother's relatives. They were Muggle folk, and her nana and papa took great delight in introducing the studious young witch to all manner of Muggle things.

Thinking about her maternal grandparents did make Domina wish the stairwell was an escalator. Even a non-functional one, given how Muggle technology didn't work very well in the presence of a great deal of wizarding magic. At least the steps wouldn't have been quite so narrow, she thought, wincing as she slipped on the second-to-last step, landing on the last one from the bottom with a thump of her armoured heel. Stepping cautiously onto the flagstones at the bottom, Domina made her way to the queue of students waiting outside the Potions classroom door.

Now she got stared at. And prodded by one of the Slytherin students, who first traced the curlicue etchings on the pauldrons covering her shoulder, then poked at her shoulder, trying to knock her over. Tempted to lift her armoured knee into his unarmoured groin, Domina refrained. Thankfully...for his sake...the classroom door swung open, admitting the Advanced Potions class to the laboratory.

Clanking up to her lab desk, Domina ignored the wide-eyed looks, curious stares, pointing fingers and snickering voices. Extracting her bag with a flick of her wand, she resized it, shrunk the robe stuffed into the top, and used a few judicious spells to extract her notebook and writing quill. The quill she would enchant to start taking notes for her once class actually began, since wielding a wand was about as fancy as she could get in this attire; her gauntlets had a great deal of articulation in the finger joints, but not quite enough for the finer movements required for legible penmanship.

Only then did she glance toward the Potions Master's podium. He wasn't there. Icy-hot apprehension prickled down her left side...cluing Domina as to where the Potions Master had gone. Unable to successfully peer out that side, but knowing she had to see anyway, she shifted her wand so it wouldn't poke her armour accidentally, and pushed up the faceplate of her tournament helm.

A long, sharp, sallow nose loomed next to her left eye. "What is the meaning of this, Miss Arcanum?"

Quiet-spoken though he often was, she did admire his crisp diction. It was one of the things she tried to emulate from him. All of her teachers...except the North Tower Fraud, and a few of the flakes that had come and gone through the Defence position...had admirable qualities worthy of emulation.

As much as the other students admired her and Phyllis' ability to tag-team a target, extracting information, permissions, and anything else they desired, it wasn't about nattering their victim to death with enthusiasm, pleading, and even whinging. It was all about a careful mixture of logic, fact, and subtle applications of emotion. Well, somewhat subtle, at least on her own part. It was with that same level of logic, fact, and subtle manipulation that she addressed her professor's concerns in the same quiet but crisp manner he had used.

"Having entered into a magically binding contract, I am obligated to perform my choice of one of two tasks: either wear armour to Potions class...or give Argus Filch a pedicure."

Most of her tone was neutral and factual, save for that last word. Into that last word, she dripped about three-quarters as much venomous disdain as she figured Professor Snape himself would have used.

This was her secret weapon. Both she and her friend Phyllis had learned long ago that if they echoed their targets in emotions and mannerisms, mirroring the traits their targets liked best in themselves, it made the other person instantly, subtly more sympathetic. With that firmly...and successfully...in mind, Domina glanced over at her teacher, arching one brow.

The look was one she had observed Professor Snape himself using a time or two, when non-verbally communicating with his colleagues over some potentially unpleasant event afflicting the smooth running of the school. It invited him to contemplate the unpleasantness of her alternate choice, versus the milder consequences of her current predicament.

Thankfully, it worked. "How long?"

She didn't dare check in her bag for the status of her card. "One presumes for the entire period, since it specified Potions class. Particularly as class has not yet begun, and will not be complete until the period is through. I apologize for the disruption, but given my choices, I would far rather suffer your wrath than pumice that person's calluses."

"Ten points from Ravenclaw for inappropriate attire." He started to straighten away from her, then swooped back in, hissing in her ear. "Plus ten more, if you fail to complete a perfect potion by the end of this period, Miss Arcanum."

"Understood...muchas gracias," she added under her breath as he whirled away. She meant it; some of the other girls hadn't fared nearly so well as a mere ten points lost and another ten flimsily threatened. Domina hadn't failed to make a perfect potion since her fourth year. True, she had never made one while weighed down with German tournament armour, but it was a minor inconvenience.

Needing her ink jar on the desk so that she could enchant her quill to take the requisite notes on today's potion, Domina discreetly peered into her bag, looking for her card. A green glow met her gaze, letting her know that her task was complete. She could have taken off the armour, but...no. No, I'd rather try for the challenge of crafting a potion in full plate, she decided, smiling as she extracted the jar and set to work. It's quite amusing, really. Particularly as I'd thought I'd not run across anything truly challenging in this class for this half of the year.

Fascinating.

***** *****

It wasn't until that evening, sitting on her bed after supper, methodically laying out her school books and scrolls on the tea-tray stand her mother had thoughtfully given her for studying on, that Domina discovered that her card no longer glowed green. When she fished it out of her Runes book, stuck halfway into the text from having been shoved around, it was now glowing...blue?

The possessor of this card...identified as the lovely Miss Domina Arcanum...is hereby Dared to the following task: Wear armour to Potions class for the rest of the current school year.

The card flared yellow.

Domina narrowed her eyes. Anger flooded her senses, as did visions of her enacting vengeance on the presumptuous Weasley twins. She had thought they were cute, but there was no way she was going to put up with having to wear that bloody suit for the rest of the term! Despite the thickness of her sweater and transfigured slacks, the metal had been cold, clunky, and uncomfortable, digging into soft-fleshed spots, and configured all wrong for her feminine torso. A single hour of wearing it had been more than enough, particularly as the professor had warned her at the end of class to leave the plate mail out of his potions lab from now on.

There was more text on the card. Staying her wand-hand, Domina read on. She almost tossed down the card in disgust at the next part.

Should Miss Arcanum fail to fulfil this Dare, she will be forced to endure an all-day double-date with Messrs. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle...being compliant to their every request.

Instantly her mind raced into what she knew of Auror crime-scene investigation techniques...and which among her many tomes might contain enough spells to hide all traces of what would have happened to a certain pair of redheaded imbeciles.

The last section on the Dare card, when she finally read it, sent her wildest imaginings careening off in an entirely different and unexpected direction.

However, should the Delectable Domina complete this Dare, she will be given an all-day double-date with Messrs. Fred and George Weasley...who do indeed find her absolutely delectable, and who are willing to be her abject love-slaves for the entirety of said day.

A slow smile, wicked and wild, curved her lips. It just says 'armour' on this card...it doesn't specify a whole suit of armour, now does it? Not to mention the thought of having both of those idiots magically bound to obey my every command for a full day...

Setting aside thoughts of all the horrible, mean...perverted, passionate things she could make them do...what young, red-blooded woman attending Hogwarts in the last few years hadn't dreamt of being in the middle of a Weasley sandwich, to be honest...Domina quickly started jotting down ideas for various interpretations of the word armour. If she had to wear armour for the rest of the school year, she would have to find some variation that would be both comfortable and maneuverable, as well as utterly discreet.

***** *****

A week and a half later, the chain maille shirt was the first to be noticed, but only because the black sleeve of her school robe clattered against the table top at the wrong moment, just as Professor Snape passed behind her in his circuit around the room. He frowned at her, then plucked at the black finespun wool, twitching it up her forearm. Baring the interlaced metal rings.

"Miss Arcanum..."

"...The terms of the contract were unexpectedly extended, Professor," she interrupted, speaking under her breath as she focused on sweeping the minced bits of mushroom into her cauldron. "However, if I complete them...I will have, by contract, the persons responsible firmly under my control for a full twenty-four hours. I fully intend to make them pay for their foolishness. In the interim, as it clearly does not interfere with my capacities in your laboratory, I see no reason to discuss the matter any further. Particularly as it would be a waste of your valuable time and energy, sir."

He withdrew his fingers from her sleeve, but stayed at her side, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Finally, he leaned close. "This has something to do with your plot to drive me mad, doesn't it?" Professor Snape hissed. "You, and the other girls. Well, it won't work!"

Not by a single twitch of her expression did Domina reveal the fact that he had hit the nail almost on the head. It wasn't her and her fellow female students' goal to drive him mad, but the game's goal, a game invented by the Weasley boys. She contented that corner of her mind with a mental image of flogging a pair of upturned, freckled bums clad in heart-scattered undershorts, and continued with the next step of her potion.

"It won't," he repeated firmly, before whirling and stalking away.

She felt a little sorry for him, but it was just as well he thought she was wearing chain maille these days. He'd missed the day she wore the Warrior Princess leathers, though it had been so cold that the figures of the other students had looked equally bulky, albeit due to extra layers of jumpers and anoraks under their robes, and not from an ornamental bronze breastplate over Grecian leathers. I'd also better be very careful when the weather warms up enough in June for me to try the...fully lined...chain maille bikini. A pity I can't wear the Japanese lamellar, but he might actually notice that one. Not to mention this hauberk is awfully heavy...

I think I'll go back to the studded leather after this class is over. Given how they worded that Dare card, I think Fred and George just might have a thing for leather-clad dominatrixes. She smirked as she added shredded salamander scales to her brew. The only questions remaining are, how much of this second Dare do I reveal to the other girls...and which armour variants am I going to wear on our date?

The latter prospect was something worth contemplating.

Fascinating, in fact.

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And the fun continues...

Author's notes:

The original prompt is: 32) Proceed to wear armor to Potions. For the rest of the year.