Chapter Two

Hermione had been locked in a closet—quite literally—for nearly a week. Or so she thought. After the first few hours, she lost track of time, and due to her location, she was shut out from whatever events taking place through the rest of the manor. Poor Harry, she thought, remembering how he'd spent most of his childhood prior to Hogwarts living under the Dursleys' stairs. But, then again, he had been able to leave for the toilet.

A week earlier, she had been intimate with the darkest witch known: Bellatrix Lestrange. And soon afterwards, she was led to the very top of the manor. As Bellatrix opened the door to the room, Hermione had been surprised that she was given such a luxurious view. And, of course, Bellatrix scoffed as she towed the young Gryffindor towards another door within the room. Granted, it was a walk-in "broom" closet, Hermione still remained cramped and stiff from several days of curling up on the floor.

Now, one week in captivity, she finally heard a source of life as heels clacked through the room and towards the door. She heard keys jangle, one clicked into the lock, and the door swung open. Hermione squinted in the sudden light—her eyes had grown used to the dark—and was given slight relief when the raven-haired witch stepped in front of her view, blocking the strongest piece of the light. With Bellatrix backlit, Hermione couldn't see her expression, but when she heard a dark grumble and a sigh, she figured her captor was annoyed about something.

"Get up, you little brat." Bellatrix hissed a breath through her teeth, as Hermione wouldn't move as quickly as desired, and she reached down and tugged the frail girl up by the forearm—just where her artwork had been carved several days ago. Hermione whimpered and stood, trying to tug her arm back, but Bellatrix only tightened her grip and pulled her out, swinging her into the middle of the empty room.

"Now that you've had some time to think about your behavior, Granger, I want to know," she began, drawing her wand, "what it is you've been thinking about since our little fun."

"N-nothing," Hermione said, collapsing to her knees. She'd been fed only once a day—if that—and as her knees banged to the floor, the room continued to spin. She lifted a hand to her head, but it was slapped away as Bellatrix advanced on her.

"Don't you lie to me, girl." Bellatrix gripped the girl's chin and thrust her face up to look her in the eye. "If I catch my little muddy in a lie, I'll forget to feed you for a month."

"Please, Bellatrix…"

SLAP.

Hermione's head spun to the side as the crack echoed off the bare walls. Bellatrix snarled and grabbed her by the hair.

"It's Mistress to you, muddy. Don't ever let me hear you use my name with that filthy mouth of yours." She poked her wand at Hermione's head, the tip disappearing into her matted hair. "Now, if you don't fight, perhaps you'll be rewarded with a bath. You're blood is dirty, I don't need the rest of you to reek."

"M-mistress, please, I don't know what you want. I told you I don't know anything about your vault. Harry found the sword in the pound near camp!"

Bellatrix watched as Hermione fought tears, clearly not amused, and slightly cast her spell, diving into the young witch's head. As she sifted through each memory, she hurdled easily around any obstacle Hermione frantically tried to build. She watched on as she delved deeper into the hidden secrets of the past week and watched with pleasure as Hermione fought off her own urges in the darkness. She listened to her mewls and moans as she touched herself, thinking of Bellatrix. She read her thoughts, scanned her curiosities regarding Bellatrix's breasts and curves and…

Bellatrix snapped out of Hermione's head, panting softly. Her usually dark eyes were even darker and she licked her lips, eyeing the Granger girl. Hermione noticed Bella's skin flush and took that as a victory, although it was quickly covered by embarrassment and shame. She chastised herself for giving in to Bellatrix so easily. Every waking moment she'd spent since their first contact, she'd been constantly reassessing her loyalty to Harry and Ron—and her sexuality. She'd always been closer with Ginny; their friendship grew when Ronald was dating Lavender Brown. But she'd always figured it was purely platonic. Then again, she'd told herself, I have had certain dreams every now and then, involving Ginny.

"Well, well, little muddy mouse is literally and figuratively out of the closet!" Bellatrix cackled and pulled Hermione up by the chin. "Come, girly, let's clean that muck off you before you stink up the entire room."

###

The bathroom where Hermione had been lead was much smaller than she'd imagined—then again, she didn't expect Bellatrix Lestrange to allow her to use a lavish bath. Not with my blood, anyway, Hermione thought, then shook her head. I can't let myself get caught up in her ideals. It's bad enough I'm here. She cringed when she heard Bellatrix giggle darkly and flinched when the dark witch patted the younger on the head.

"You're learning, my little filth. Perhaps after the bath, we can fit you for a collar. We've got errands to run, and I don't trust you to stay by my side just yet, my slut." Bella patted Hermione's cheek and flicked her wand, filling the porcelain tub. One old, black towel was set out on the counter along with a simple dress. Hermione eyed the dress, then looked to Bella, eyebrows raised in question.

"Well, I can't have you walking around like a filthy muggle," she snorted. "At least integrate, stupid. Now strip and wash yourself."

"You're staying in here?" Hermione's face filled with a deep shade of red.

"You don't expect me to trust you won't attempt to drown yourself, do you? Besides. I wish to see if this spell worked. Strip. Now."

Hermione's hands flew to the hem of her shirt and her eyes widened in surprise. "What is this?"

"My little spell. I've put a spell on you, my muddy mouse. And now you're mine. I've branded you and sealed the deed. There's just one more thing to do to assume full control, but that must wait." Bella flicked a messy tuft of curls over her shoulder and then studied her nails. "I don't see you stripped, Muddy."

Hermione sighed and allowed her hands to work on her clothes, peeling the tattered cloth from her body, one layer at a time. She closed her eyes in embarrassment once she had gotten her shirts off, but felt Bellatrix's eyes on her the entire time. She even though she heard a snort—probably at the fact that she was, indeed, wearing a sports bra, just as she'd surmised. Once totally stripped, Hermione opened her eyes so as to not fall, or trip into the tub, and stepped in. The warm water lapped at her dusty skin, dirt and grime instantly tainting the bath water. She sat and began scrubbing herself with the bar of soap, lathered her hair, and used almost the entirety of the soap by the time she felt clean enough.

"Took you long enough," Bellatrix frowned, watching Hermione reaching for the towel.

"Didn't want my skin to mirror my blood status," she said, her jaw set, wrapping the towel around her slim frame. Bellatrix hissed and grabbed her neck, pulling Hermione against her body.

"I wouldn't test me just yet, you filth. Especially when you are so vulnerable in so many ways." She huffed in Hermione's face and patted her bum, reminding her who had the control. But Bellatrix grinned at her response. As she moved her hand away from Hermione's ass, the girl pushed closer to the dark witch, her eyes growing dark.

"All in good time, muddy mouse. All in good time. Now dress, slut. We've got work to do."