EDIT! Amendments have been made to this story, due to several requests. The story is now set ONE MONTH AFTER Malfoy Mannor
A massive thank you to trang-a-lang, wild artemis, cheshire-eyes, TaintedFlare, Darkshadow-lord and nayapotter34 for their reviews, and to all those who added this story.
WARNING This chapter see's the increase of smut and the introduction to femslash. If you don't like then don't read. If you do, then lucky you
Chapter one - The shack creaked as the door swung close, dust swirling around the fusty room. Nervously she stepped into the room. The other witch was nowhere in sight. But Hermione knew she was here. She could smell her intoxicatingly devilish scent.
Chapter Two
Hairs rose, skin chilled, eyes roaming. The bright summer moonlight eluded the abandoned store like a vacuum of light. This was a place of magic, dark magic. She knew she should leave whence she had come, but something stopped her, willed her to stay. Stepping cautiously into the centre of the room, wand raised and eyes wide and searching. . "Lumos" She muttered under her breath. Light vitiating the gloom. The floor was littered with debris; broken glass, litter, abandoned stock and even money. Whoever had owned the shop had left in a hurry. Eyes scouring, wand raised, purity permeating the evil. Glass cracked underfoot, dust swirled, hand shaking. Blood pumping an incestuous rhythm in her ears.
Like a spectre, in a dreamlike state, Hermione glissaded to the back of the shop, looking up a flight of obliterated stairs. Surely she couldn't have ascended the flight? The young witch mused. Sighing, she cautiously placed her weight upon the first stair, holding her breath as she did so. Satisfied that they would take her weight, she began to climb, her wand lighting the way. The macabre silence hung heavy in the air, chocking the joy from the young girl. The only sound to cut through the density was the eerie creak of the wooden frame.
She'd reached the landing. Clear. Room one. Clear. Room two. Clear. Third time lucky. Her hand reached out, clasping the cool glass door knob tight in her own clammy hand. The knot in her stomach tightened. A lump stuck in her throat. The silence was deafened by the pounding in her chest. This was a bad idea, no! This was a terrible idea. She couldn't turn back. Could not enter. Her feet frozen to the ground. She could not run. She could not hide. The screams. The mark. The taste of blood. It all rushed back to her. The laughter. The laughter...
On this time the laughter wasn't in her head. It was beyond the door. With a sudden surge of Gryffindor courage she threw the door back on its hinges, weapon cocked. Ready.
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The room was empty. How could that be? She'd heard her. That laugh. Shaking her head she walked to the blackened window. She really needed to get a grip. The door slammed closed. Startled Hermione spun around. Too slow. She was hit by the Cruciatus Curse. The silent screams flooded the room, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Relief. As quick as it had begun, it ended. Raising her head, she looked into those midnight eyes, her heart race increased, as she whispered, barely audible, "Bellatrix". Raising her wand, she rose to her feet, as a lewd smile played upon her nemesis' lips "Levicorpus" Bellatrix Lestrange's body was raised off the ground, leaving her hanging. Suspended, upside down in mid-air.
"Let me down you filthy mudblood" Bellatrix spat as she fired another curse at Hermione.
"With pleasure... Liberacorpus" Now it was Hermione's turn to smirk as the dark witch fell with an almighty thud to the floor
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Spells flew across the room, hitting walls and witches. Both witches were growing weaker, after being hit by several high impact spells and curses. Growing exhausted, Hermione shouted "Expelliarmus", sending Bellatrix's wand scattering to the corner of the room. For the first time that evening Hermione had the control, walking to the elder witch she raised her wand. This was it. She could kill Bellatrix Lestrange. At the very least torture her like she had her. Visibly scared of death, the death eater backed away slowly, fear in her eyes. Again, Hermione moved closer, stopping just in front of Lestrange. In one swift movement Bellatrix produced a blade, slashing the young girls' wrist causing her to drop her wand. As Lestrange lunged for it, Hermione used all her strength to push the older witch to the ground, wrestling with her for the knife.
Rolling around on the dusty floor the women scratched, bit, kicked and punched in a desperate attempt to gain an advantage. Tired limbs flailing. Sweet profanity falling from jaded lips. Dahlia jewels of life wasted. Rolling herself on top, Bellatrix looked down at the bruised figure before her. Dust mingled with dirt, mingling with sweat, mingling with tears, mingling with blood. A commensurate sight. Forcing her mouth down onto the warm soft lips of innocence, she drew blood. Sitting back, her own lips crimson red with the essence of another. Of a mudblood. The blood of a mudblood. Confused and shocked Hermione lay motionless, the two outstaring each other. A game of strength. Of determination. Slower, Bellatrix leaned forwards, their lips touching softer this time. Gentle. Faster. Harder. Rougher.
With a concupiscent spirit the witches wrestled, fought, against the social restraints. Clothes. Upbringing. Beliefs. Fuelled by their united carnal desire and hatred for one another, they kissed, licked, touched and tore their way to nudity. Pulling back, eyes locked, silently questioning, searching. Bolder now, Granger leant up, encapsulating her opponents lips. Fingers locked deep within those inky tresses, tongues invaded and moans were elicited. A hand seizing a pert breast, rolling a nipple between a cool thumb and forefinger. A sharp intake of breath. Backs arch. A head dips, teeth locking onto their prize. Sucking. Nibbling. Teasing. Legs spread as the forbidden wetness encroaches. Tongues find their goal. Flicking, licking, riding. United as one. Separated forever. Entering and exploring. The tastes. The salty sweetness of desire. The lascivious bounty of a lover. A killer. Skin tingles as the feelings mount. Fingers enter, deep and relentless. Pounding both, unforgivingly into submission. Moans escape, as temperance falters. Cores tighten. Breathing shortens. Bodies ride. Riding the waves of euphoria.
Collapsing in a dishabille heap their eyes flicker close as their breathing slowly returns to normal. As Hermione feels her body relax, Bellatrix rises and silently dresses herself. Overcome with insecurity, the young witch covers her exposed body, watching confused as Bellatrix leaves without a word. Sighing, she falls back to the ground. What the hell just happened? She knew it wasn't a dream. It had been real. Her body ached with it. She had had sex with Bellatrix Lestrange. And it was fantastic. As clarity descended and daylight rose she reached for her wand, conjuring a bowl of water, washing away the cocktail of bodily fluids from her body. Not all of which were her own. Standing naked in front of the shattered mirror she admired herself. "Episkey" She mended her cuts and wounds of her body, leaving the cut on her lip. Tracing the cut with her finger as a smile played upon her lips. I'll keep that one as a reminder.
It was already daylight, she knew she didn't have long to get back to Grimmauld Place before someone noticed her disappearance.
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