Bellatrix waved her wand, making the bell sound to her left from where she was sitting in a large, velvety arm chair in her sitting room. Right on cue, Hermione emerged from the kitchen, carrying a slightly rusted and golden tray of tea for her; something that she could have done herself or called a house elf to do the work. She came out in uniform: a small, elegant bow tie tied tighter than necessary around her neck, and nothing else. It's not that Bellatrix particularly enjoyed to see the older teenager like this, but she thought of making her dress in such a way as more of a way to show her obedience and to humiliate her. Hermione kept her gaze down to the patterned carpet as she approached the languidly relaxed woman on her chair and knelt down, holding the tray out.
"Good girl," she cooed, voice pitched condescendingly higher. Hermione nodded.
"Anything else, ma'am?" she asked quietly, peeking up at her. Bellatrix ignored the question and placed a hand on the top of her curls, looking down at her.
"Do you know how privileged you actually are?" she hummed, stroking her hair lightly. Hermione thought the gesture was rather soothing, eyelids fluttering but not closing.
"Yes, ma'am," she murmured, voice slightly hoarse. She knew this was a lie, but she didn't want to seem ungrateful. Bellatrix reached down from her hair to her jaw, gripping the bone. Hermione bit back a whimper, expecting to be hit. Her head was roughly turned to the right, giving her a view of a house elf on the floor, scrubbing the floor slowly and sloppily.
"See what you don't have to do, girl?" she breathed close to her ear. She stifled an involuntary shudder at the feeling of her breath on her skin and nodded. She hummed and sipped from her tea with her free hand and placing it down next to the bell. "Maybe I'll let you wear clothes again," she said thoughtfully, leaning back in her seat, now stroking her cheek lightly. She perked up at the idea of being allowed to wear something again, even if it was something that Bellatrix would pick out for her to wear. She's recently gotten used to being forced to wear close to nothing by now. She had been forced to serve multiple house guests like this, fighting back ashamed tears that burned her eyes. She was forced to stand against the wall until she was needed for biscuits or tea, being gawked at by anyone who paid enough attention to her to notice her state.
"Would you like that?" she asked, pulling Hermione out of her memories of her early days here, sliding her hand down to her shoulder, rubbing her collarbone with her thumb softly. She nodded immediately, submissively looking down at the floor again. "You've been such a good girl for me lately," she murmured. Hermione let herself smile at the praise. Praise meant she's done well and that means a happy Bellatrix and a happy Bellatrix meant there was less likely a chance of her being hit.
"Put the tray down on the floor," she instructed firmly yet carefully. Hermione obeyed and set the tray to the side, folding her hands in her lap and over her privates, "-come here," she said lightly, crooking her finger in a beckoning motion. Hermione complied only with slight hesitation, knowing it was better not to make her wait too long. She stood slowly from the floor, moving to her lap in the same motion, sitting the way the older woman likes her to; sitting sideways with her legs dangling over the side of her thighs. She felt a hand curl around her back and settle on her hip, fingers lightly drumming on the bare skin. The touch was possessive, and oddly intimate enough to let her know that she was hers, and only hers. She knew Bellatrix had no intention of letting her go.