When the time limit for the Dark Lord’s generous offer expired, there was no sign of Harry Potter or any of his little friends, not that Bellatrix honestly expected different, and so when the Dark Lord gave the signal, she joined the other Death Eaters and in a swirl of dark smoke, they all apparated to the Hogwarts Great Hall, immediately opening fire on anyone in sight, and the fighting began anew.
The battle quickly spread throughout the corridors of Hogwarts as the defenders retreated and the Death Eaters pushed their advantage. It was no doubt part of the so-called Light’s strategy, to separate them and lure them into traps, but when the Mudblood met her eyes for just a second in challenge and then ran down into the dungeons, no amount of logic could keep her from pursuing.
It was not difficult to follow the Mudblood down the corridors, though there were several attempts to ambush her. She treated them like the gnats they were, a quick dodge, a Bombarda at the doorway to block them in, until at last, in the lower levels of the dungeons and far from the battle, the girl turned to face her with a determined expression. Oh, there was fear in the girls’ eyes, delicious terror that sent thrills through her body and made her blood sing, and yet the girl faced her, pointed her wand, her wand, at her face and prepared to fight.
It felt like delicious irony, like fate, two witches facing each other with each other’s wands, prepared to dance to the death. Careful steps at first, probing spells easily shielded and avoided as they took each other's measure. Then more, faster, spells countered almost as fast as they could be cast, dodges where no counter existed or was not known. Quick shields causing their spells to ricochet, flashes of angry light making burn marks and holes in the walls that soon covered the corridor in flying debris.
The Mudblood was good, better than any eighteen year old had any right to be. But of course, she was better. Oh, the girls spells came out perfect, the intonation and wand movements exact and each curse flashed at her with deadly intent. But she was lacking in experience, her instincts were just a little off, a slight hesitation as she tried to decide which spell to use, her aim just a little off from where her opponents would be by the time the spell hit.
She would gladly admit it - she was soon toying with the girl. As the minutes ticked by and the girl only became more determined, her spells slowly becoming darker, Bellatrix was determined to push her to her very limits, to see what she was made of before she cut her down. Curse, shield, dodge, they danced, and she felt alive, her cackles ringing down the corridors unbidden.
As she sent another Crucio flying and barely dodged an organ-liquifying curse that sizzled by her ear with dark intent and made her blood sing with a twisted desire, she idly wondered which Black library the girl had dug it out of. Did the so-called Light know just how deeply their ‘golden girl’ had immersed herself in the Dark Arts? The girl could certainly give any of the Death Eaters a run for their money.. Oh, she had started out throwing stupefy’s and expelliarmus, as though not using her vast knowledge of the Arts somehow made her more Light, but it had been absurdly easy to bait her into answering fire with fire.
Stupefy’s had turned into blasting curses and cutting curses but soon blood boiling curses and darker, nastier spells were flying in both directions. It was a dance where a single misstep meant death, and it was absolutely exhilarating. She was almost disappointed it would be over soon, she was getting tired and the girl looked exhausted, her spells getting slower if no less powerful.
She was already moving to dodge when she heard the girls’ hissed ‘Avada Kedavra’, countering with an Assyrian bone breaking curse just as she stepped out of the way of the flash of green that lit up the corridor so intensely, she was startled to hear the scream as her own curse hit the Mudblood in the shoulder. Time seemed to stop as their eyes met, and then the girl's eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed. The corridor was deadly silent after the hour-long duel, the only sound Bellatrix’s ragged breaths.
Her hand twitched and she stared at the unmoving form. Was she dead? She felt an odd disappointment at the thought, almost the pain of loss, but why? She was a Mudblood, one of them, filth good for nothing but death or slavery. But then... why wouldn't she? She had marked her, claimed her, she was hers. Bellatrix approached cautiously, but there was no reaction even when she bent to wrest her wand out of the girl's grip.
She cast a quick feather-light charm and bent to pick her up, uncaring of the blood that now stained her black robes. She felt a strange sense of relief when the girl groaned, and quickly reached up to touch her raven-skull necklace while balancing the now weightless girl against her body. “Portus”, she whispered, and tried to relax as the emergency portkey activated and yanked her away into darkness.
Then she was in Malfoy Manor, and she scrambled to put the dying girl on a couch while screaming, “Cissa! CISSA!”, likely sounding like a madwoman. Well. Nothing new there, her sister must surely be used to it by now. She quickly stood and turned as her sister entered the room, and merely pointed at the Mudblood, and said, “Save her.”
Narcissa stared at her for a minute, long enough she was starting to get impatient. She was about to open her mouth to demand, or scream, or screech, when her sister threw up her hands and knelt by the couch, “Fine! Merlin, what did you do to her?”
“Bone breaker curse, you know the one, makes the bone explode.”
“That explains all the blood,” her sister muttered, moving her wand over the girl in careful circles. “She’s hanging on with a thread, but I think I can save her.. get me some blood replenishers? And skele-gro, she’s going to need a new shoulder…”
Bellatrix tried to hide her relief as she nonchalantly went to the emergency cupboard the Malfoys kept in almost every room and grabbed the bottles in question, moving to hand them to her sister, “How long?”
“She should be awake in a day or so,” her sister snarled back while trying to force the potion down the girl’s throat.
“Excellent! I have to go help the Dark Lord clean up”, because surely the battle must be won by now, “oh, and Cissa? Don’t let her escape,” she hissed, then she twisted and apparated back to Hogwarts.
Hermione wakes up and has a moment of gay panic before Bellatrix enters the scene and everything goes from bad to worse.
When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the pain. Her whole body felt like she had been in a car wreck, her muscles were sore all over and her shoulder was burning up. A groan escaped her when moving to sit up gave a sharp spike of pain, but when she opened her eyes to take in her surroundings, she froze. She was lying on a bed with sheets more luxurious than anything she had seen in her life, with frills everywhere! In fact, the whole room looked something out of a Victorian drama with heavy red curtains, dark wooden furniture and golden chandeliers to provide light. She noted someone had changed her clothes, she was in some sort of black dress. Though modest enough, it seemed to emphasize her curves in a way that would normally have made her blush - she had certainly never owned anything quite like it.
Her brain felt stuffed with cotton, but nothing in her memories gave a clue, last she remembered she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, and losing. Where the hell am I? She felt fairly certain she should be dead, she remembered being hit by a curse she didn’t recognize but that had radiated darkness, that barely tangible aura that seemed to reach out to caress her and always made her blood sing in a way she knew was Capital Bad. And then she remembered flying through the air, though she didn’t quite recall hitting the floor before the blinding pain dragged her under.
A movement next to her made her turn in surprise, her instinctive scream turned into barely a whimper as she grit her teeth against the pain and scrambled back against the wall. Looking as perfectly put together as always, Narcissa Bloody Malfoy was sitting next to her with her legs crossed, her wrist bent daintily so that her wand pointed right at Hermione. She felt panic well up in her, her gaze moving from side to side as she searched for her wand, a task she already knew to be pointless, but what else could she do? She patted at her thighs uselessly but the dress she had been put in was not exactly the kind to have pockets. She vaguely realized she was hyperventilating.
“Relax miss Granger, I would hardly kill you right after saving your life,” Narcissa’s soft voice made her gaze snap back to the wand pointed at her, and she swallowed desperately to soothe her dry throat. The wand was now surrounded by colorful swirls and she realized it had to be a diagnostics spell. She relaxed marginally.
“W-what happened, did you save me?”
Narcissa smiled wryly, but there was a strange knowing in her gaze that did nothing to further ease her panic, as she replied drily, “Oh, no, dear, I try to stay away from battles. You were brought to me and your.. rescuer was rather adamant I save your life.”
She tried to calm her panting breath as she stared at the woman, who didn’t seem to be in any hurry but just sat there looking regally beautiful and put together as she stared back at her with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see into her soul, and- she quickly looked away. So not the time, Hermione, she admonished herself with a blush.
“Um.. can I have some water?”, she managed.
Narcissa waved her hand and a glass zoomed into her grip from somewhere. A wave of her wand filled it with water, and Hermione accepted the offering gratefully. She sipped from the refreshingly cool water as much to save time to think as to soothe her throat, her gaze still trying to take in the room she was in. She still had no idea what was going on, and that made her very, very nervous. She didn’t think Narcissa was her friend, the last time she had seen her, the woman had stood by impassively while Hermione had had both the most terrifying, painful, and sexually awakening moment of her life. She shuddered and tried to push away the memory of Bellatrix’ body pushed hard against her, the dark witch so close she could feel her hissed breath on her lips. But that did remind her..
“We are at Malfoy Manor?”, she hardly needed to hear Narcissa’s soft “We are”, as she already felt the dismay fill her. The last time she was here, she had barely escaped with her life, and no one was coming to save her now. Did anyone even know she was missing?.. she felt her stomach drop, were anyone even still alive? She thought she had done her job well. Okay, she had ultimately lost and should have been dead, but she had kept the most dangerous Death Eater busy for what had to have been over an hour, that had to be enough time for the Order to ambush Voldemort and take out the last Horcrux.
She sipped her water, glanced to her.. healer? captor? who had barely moved in all that time, and tried for a smile, barely managing a weak grimace, “I don’t suppose I can have my wand?”
Narcissa’s expression didn’t change, her reply was dry as ever, “I’m afraid not, dear.”
“I’m a prisoner, then?”
“What you are remains to be seen.”
She blinked, taken aback. What on earth did that mean? She opened her mouth to ask any of the dozen questions running through her mind, when Narcissa tilted her head and added, “Here she is now, just in time.”
Hermione froze as the loud click-clack of approaching heels could be heard, her mind rebelling against the situation she found herself in. No, no, no.. I know that stride, and I don’t have a wand!, she whimpered loudly, the empty glass dropping to the bed forgotten as she hugged herself defensively, her eyes reluctantly moving to the room’s only door.
In strode Bellatrix Lestrange with the grace of a stalking panther, wand twirling between her fingers as her dark eyes took in her own pathetic, shivering form. It was obvious she had come straight from battle, the dark witch was almost alight with the afterglow of the Dark Arts, her long hair curling wildly around her and almost crackling with power. There was blood on her dress, burn marks and minor cuts covering the leather of her corset that made her wonder for just an instant if she had managed to put any of them there in the heat of battle, but all of that seemed insignificant next to the manic possessiveness of the gaze directed at her. She gulped. I am so, so screwed.
“She is awake! And looking none the worse for wear, oh very well done Cissa!”, Bellatrix exclaimed with a wild grin. The blonde stood and inclined her head, “Should I leave you to it then?”.
Bellatrix waved her free hand dismissively, “Go, stay, whatever you wish dear sister.. you can watch, if you wish.” Hermione failed to hold back another whimper, her gaze seemed locked onto Bellatrix’, she could not look away if she tried. She had forgotten how overwhelming the presence of the dark witch could be, she had a tangible aura of magic Hermione had only felt before in the presence of Dumbledore, but Bellatrix’ was dark, and she longed to touch it, could almost feel her own magic reach out for hers, merely for a touch, a dark whisper of promised pleasure that made heat gather in her core as surely as the heat in Bellatrix’ stare. She whimpered again, caught between a feeling of overwhelming terror and a burning desire she didn’t want but had no idea what to do with. She wanted to crawl away and hide from the monster before her, as surely as she wanted to worship at her feet.
The dark witch stopped a few feet from the bed, and Hermione gasped loudly when Bellatrix finally, finally, broke their stare, if only to let her dark gaze drop and take in the rest of the shivering witch. She blushed furiously, feeling incredibly vulnerable and confused, she dragged up her knees and hugged herself.
“They say you are the Brightest Witch of her Age,” Bellatrix said, and Hermione couldn’t tell if she was mocking her so she just nodded. “Then you should have no trouble understanding that you are now mine. Do you understand the concept of spoils of war, muddy?”
What the bloody hell?! Her eyes went as wide as they could get and Hermione felt her breathing pick up, she knew she was about to hyperventilate again, so she focused every bit of her will on remaining still. The first rule of capture is to stay alive, she told herself firmly, feeling the panic attack abate enough she could take a shuddering breath and whisper out, “Yes.” It would seem the torture would wait, for which she was dully grateful, but she was not exactly thrilled about becoming the spoils of war of possibly the most evil woman on the planet. She could even ignore that the darkest, deepest part of her revelled in the dark witch’s attention. She wasn’t crazy.
She started when Bellatrix abruptly threw something on the bed next to her, and explained, “We will have to come up with a more permanent ritual later, for now, put this on.” She looked closer and then wished she hadn’t, lying there on the bed was what was clearly a collar, it was thin polished leather and actually rather stylish, something she might have chosen to wear in another life if not for the equally stylish ‘Toujours Pur’ spelled out along the side in clear sight, or the Black coat of arms attached so it would rest in the hollow of her throat. With a glance to Bellatrix - who was now once again twirling her wand impatiently - she reluctantly picked it up, and promptly dropped it again not five seconds later. The damn thing was soaked in Dark magic, just touching it made all those dark, twisted desires she had learned represented the Dark Arts surge forth, like calling to like. It was delicious, orgasmic, and she shuddered hard, nails digging into her thighs in despair. She was supposed to wear this?
She gave a beseeching look to the impatient dark witch, but Bellatrix only raised her eyebrow in return, the look in her eyes promising plenty of pain in her future if she didn’t obey. She couldn’t do this. She wanted to rage, scream, cry. Her emotions were so ragged, she knew if she let go she would do all three. But she was the Brightest Witch of her Age, damn it, and the same stubbornness that had made her study the Dark Arts in the first place asserted itself - know your enemies, she had thought then.The first rule of capture is to stay alive, she repeated now, and before she could back out, she picked up the collar and slipped it around her neck. She was feeling for clasps to close it but knew immediately that wouldn’t be necessary, the moment the collar was snug around her neck, it sealed itself and she knew she would be unable to take it off.
That was her last thought before a wave of delicious magic ran through her so powerful, she was unable to make her limbs obey her. Fuck, what did I do? She moaned and collapsed on the bed as the waves intensified, she knew it was Bellatrix’ magic, it felt the same as the aura she had been trying to ignore since the dark witch walked into the room, the same as the pain and confusing pleasure from back then, exactly what she had been trying desperately to ignore ever since. There was no ignoring it now. It was a dark caress that touched her very soul, and her soul purred in ecstasy. Make it stop, please, make it stop! She grit her teeth, felt tears escape from her eyes. Even as she fought it, she knew it was a lost cause, she arched her back as the pleasure overwhelmed her and tuned out any rational thought. She screamed. Screamed in pleasure, screamed in despair, her last thought was relief as darkness claimed her.
Narcissa is concerned, Bellatrix is laying out the rules and Hermione is screwed.
She watched hungrily as the girl writhed and screamed out her pleasure on her bed, her hands clawing at the bedding while her limbs strained against the fabric of her form fitting dress. Her eyes were closed but tears ran down her cheeks and while she had obviously tried to fight it at first, by now her expression was utterly lost in ecstasy. The sight was beautiful, and Bellatrix had to fight the instinct to move closer. Her Mudblood’s screeching screams were every bit as delicious as they had been the last time the girl had been beneath her, and she gave an involuntary shudder as dark pleasure echoed through her veins at the sound.
She was brought out of her thoughts when her sister sniped, “Was that really necessary?” from her location by the door. She spun and flashed her a maniacal grin, “Oh, Cissa, I didn’t do a damned thing.” She knew her expression was smug, and she took great pleasure in the look of shock on her sister’s face.
“Are you trying to tell me that display was all from the Binding?”, she sounded almost worried which only made Bellatrix’s smirk broaden. By now her Mudblood had fallen silent, worn out and passed out from the potency of the magic.
Bellatrix gestured to the now passed out form, “Do you see how sensitive she is, sister? She is already attuned to my magic and has immersed herself so deeply in the Dark Arts, she will never escape it.” She paused, then added more softly, “Not that she will ever want to again.”
The room was silent for several minutes while Bellatrix watched the by now peacefully sleeping girl, until she felt Narcissa’s hand on her shoulder. “You intend to seduce her?”, came the soft whisper, but she knew it wasn’t a real question, merely a confirmation of what they both knew would unfold. Then her sister tensed, “Rodolphus will not allow-”, which only made Bellatrix laugh out loud, much to her sister’s obvious confusion and shock.
“He will do nothing!”, Bellatrix cackled, “He is dead! I am free, and a Black once more. With Sirius dead, I am the rightful heir and I will bring our House back from the brink of destruction.” She ignored the pang in her heart when Narcissa took an involuntary step back, but was relieved there was no fear in her sister’s eyes, even as she asked softly, “And the girl? If that was her reaction to the Binding, you have to realize she will be lost in a haze of pleasure, possibly for months”.
Bellatrix smirked darkly, “Oh, I am counting on it Cissa. By then I will have her tied to me so tightly she will barely know where I end and she begins.”
Narcissa was staring at her now, her expression cold, but she thought her sister might be worried. The blonde hesitated before daring to add, “She is a mudblood”. As though Bellatrix had forgotten! She bared her teeth and enjoyed her sister’s near-flinch when she replied, “I will tie her to the Black bloodline.”
Her sister opened her mouth to object, but her dark look gave her pause. “Our Lord will understand.” Her next words were almost reverent, “There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. I will make of her my magnum opus, my masterpiece.”
With a last lingering glance at the sleeping girl, Bellatrix Black stalked out of the room, leaving her pensive sister behind. There was much to do before the girl woke up.
She woke up to a feeling of bliss. She was lying with her head on something soft, a hand idly running through her hair and scratching her scalp in a way that made her want to purr. She could still feel Bellatrix’ magic inside her, it seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, every beat of her heart bringing another wave surging from the collar around her neck, a dark tingling that hit her core just right. Again, and again, and again, until her whole body tingled and she was ready to explode. She bit her lip and held her breath, waiting for the next wave, and the next, for the first time allowing herself to just feel.
She had been aware of the seductive properties of the Dart Arts from the very beginning. Being Hermione Granger she had carefully read up on and considered every angle before she decided that the only way to succeed was to beat their enemies at their own game. Dark Witches and Wizards were banned and feared so because they were thought to not be fully in control of their powers, the seductive whispers and pleasure of the Arts guiding their hands and forcing them ever further into the darkness until they were consumed.
Her first forays into the Dark Arts had almost convinced her the Ministry was wrong, that they had banned knowledge out of sheer bigotry and she had quickly grown more confident. She had practiced blood boiling hexes and even the unforgivables on practice dummies with no ‘dark desires’ to speak of. Then she had made the mistake of capturing a rat in Grimmauld Place and actually use the Dart Arts the way they were meant to be used. She had set up a blood sacrifice ritual she had found in an old Black grimoire and the moment her knife had taken the rat’s life and she had finished whispering the spell, she had almost screamed as pleasure ran through her. It had been a filthy, oily kind of pleasure at first, slick enough to make her shudder yet just addictive enough to make her not want to stop. Since that day, every time she had touched the Dark Arts, it became just a little harder to push out of her mind and focus on the task at hand.
Even so, she had never really had trouble ignoring the feeling, it had been more of an annoyance, a bothersome side effect to casting powerful magic. Not until that fateful day when Bellatrix Lestrange had tied her to the floor and soaked her in Dark Magic, the aura when she had straddled her and they were face to face so intense she had almost come from that alone. But she had resisted, had fought it even when the residue from the cruciatus had left her weak and wanting to beg for more.
And now she was wearing a collar that made her worst nightmares and wettest dreams (often they were one and the same) seem tame by comparison. She moaned, the pleasure was hitting every nerve in her body and she was more aroused than she had ever been in her life. She rubbed her legs together and was sure her underwear was soaked through and yet the release she was waiting for just wouldn’t come.
She reached a hand down to finish the job herself until she ran into smooth fabric. Right, still wearing the damned dress. She started pulling the dress up to her waist, was just about to finally touch herself and bring relief, when someone caught her wrist. Right. I’m not alone. She realized she had been too far gone in her own mind to remember to open her eyes, but when she finally did and looked up, she strangely felt no surprise when her own manic gaze met the dark gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her head was in Bellatrix’ lap, it was her hand stroking her hair. She stayed still, her soft panting the only sound in the room as she waited to see what the dark witch would do.
The grip on her wrist was rough, holding her arm at an awkward angle. But it somehow only fed the dark arousal pulsing through her body, it seemed to almost echo from collar to wrist, and it made her want to scream. But something told her to hold still, so she did.
“Come here, pet,” the dark witch said, a hand gripping under her arm and pulling her up and into Bellatrix’ lap. She offered no resistance, instead leaning her head against the dark witch’s shoulder, their closeness doing nothing to abate the maddening arousal making her head spin and she was embarrassed to feel new tears well in her eyes. She whimpered, “Please”, not sure what she was asking for but hoping Bellatrix did.
Bellatrix was making soft shushing sounds, then the grip on her wrist disappeared and a moment later her underwear was pulled aside and she felt two fingers push into her roughly. She moaned, her hand gripping onto Bellatrix’ dress roughly, clinging to her as she saw stars flash before her eyes. A distant part of her mind realized this pleasure was different to what she felt from the collar, but then Bellatrix was fucking her, two fingers pumping into her and her palm hitting her clit just so, and all she could do was moan ‘Yes, more, please!’, she was out of her mind with pleasure. She distantly felt Bellatrix kiss and lick her clavicle, but then Bellatrix fucking bit her, and the pain made the dark pleasure that had been building up since she woke explode.
She screamed as the most intense orgasm of her life surged through her. She leaned her head back on Bellatrix’ shoulder and closed her eyes and shook, her scream turning to whimpers. It didn’t last long but it left her feeling completely wrung out, her limbs felt like lead, but her head was surprisingly clear, like the lull after a storm. She could still feel the pulsing pleasure from her collar, and shuddered, but it felt less all-consuming now.
When she felt fingers at her lips and tasted herself, she blinked her eyes open in confusion and found Bellatrix so close, staring at her with dark possessive hunger. Without giving it a single thought she opened her mouth and sucked Bellatrix’ fingers between her lips, watching Bellatrix’s eyes darken further. Her taste was slightly sour, but not unpleasant, and all she could think about was Bellatrix watching her and - fuck that was hot.
Then Bellatrix pulled her fingers out of her mouth with a soft ‘pop’, and she felt red-hot shame run through her. Had she really just lost her virginity to Bellatrix Lestrange in some lust induced haze, what the hell was wrong with her? She tried to jerk away, but she was still too weak and Bellatrix caught her with a soft, “I’ve got you, Pet.” So instead she buried her face in the dark witch’s shoulder and started crying. She could feel Bellatrix tug down her dress and make her decent, but the thought only made her cry harder.
She felt Bellatrix run a hand soothingly through her hair as she sobbed. She tried to focus on nothing, but that ever-present pulse of pleasure soon had her lost in a haze again and her sobs stopped. She felt a light tugging on her hair and moved her head back, blinking at the visage of Bellatrix watching her carefully. “Are you lucid yet, Pet?”, she was asked and she actually paused to consider, before managing a soft “Yes.. I think so?”.
“We need to go over ground rules. You may address me as either Bellatrix, or Mistress. Understand?”, the dark witch’s stare was so intense she shuddered and nodded. When the woman just stared at her, she worked her sore throat to swallow and reply, “I- yes, mistress”. She felt incredibly raw and vulnerable, she was relieved when Bellatrix just smiled at her but felt strange at the almost proud glint in her eyes.
“Very good. As my property, you are an extension of my will.. that means you will be with me always, you will remain a few steps behind me to my left and follow my lead. If I kneel, you kneel. If you open your mouth it had better be important, with me so far Pet?”
Hermione could only nod numbly. That didn’t sound so bad, she could do that. “Yes”, she whispered.
Then Bellatrix’ smile turned almost feral, “You can think of it as a Dark Arts apprenticeship, and Pet, you are learning from the best.” At this the dark witch raised her hand and caressed her cheek with the backs of her fingers. She felt the darkly pleasurable tingling that now seemed to permanently reside in her body jump at the touch, and she was barely able to stifle a wanton moan. The dark witch reeled her in, “You will obey me, in return I will teach you everything I know.”
She could feel the longing in her bones, she wanted to learn, she wanted Bellatrix. Fuck, I am so bloody screwed.