Young witch Granger didn't make this easy for her pureblood lover. Snarky eyes disarm creviced depths and force pride to rear. Caught unaware, it only takes the bare minimum of movement, and the dark witch's hands render useless and bound, a fixed drawing upon tangled linen.

"No." Demands the proud mouth. Truffle eyes roll at this display of candied defiance; Bellatrix truly is the rare delicacy, dark and bitter…and eminent. Hermione crooks low to Bella's jaw line, tasting from chin to ear…tracing lips and gaining her sinful chocolate.

"You'll beg before this is through…you'll even ask nicely."

Whispers are malicious shavings, grated and pungent. Hips buck irately in response, demanding sovereignty. Hermione's eyes glitter beetles, full of the amusement dominance begets. Liberty is denied.

"I will never…never to you." Bella's words snarl, as does her struggling mane.

Hermione ignores easily, tracing gentle patterns across her abdomen. Quivers. Touches dance too humanely and stroke the hole where innocence once lived. How Bella hates gentle touch. This dark soul requires the forceful score; unfinished and untuned scales, notes debase…the dirty dirty. Lovemaking is stupid the option for this broken soul; 'tis love-breaking that is the saluting key most charred. The flag slinks around the thickened pole and she wants to impale herself a martyr and blast the mast.

"More." Bella demands, eyes averted.

A condescending chuckle meets this order as foe. Hermione withdraws her hand completely, leaving empties behind. Fingertips consider the handprint upon her own face. And then the angry arm rises, combing down the wind. The backhand of a vicious slap ignites a cheekbone. Pale face blossoms pretty red strikes, and thrusts to the side by fey force. Fireworks detonate grenades and smoke onyx eyes to implosion.

The first moan.

Hermione's laughter bubbles underwater. Bella is only aware of her face, the unsympathetic stinging, the stinging…the stinging. When eyes find focus again, they take photos of the smiling girl atop her. Pennies taste thick in the mouth, and pour from a split lip. Compelled, moisture pools in condemned eyes. The woman refuses them, blinking Achilles away, letting them roll down the hollows of her face. One digit is a false mercy; from the woman's face, the young witch delicately swipes away shame in salty drops. Instinctively, Bella unties her mouth to suck the finger. She pulls Hermione into cavernous depths and steals her tears back.

Hermione moans at this sight rare and pitiful, the fallen raven. She recognizes as power turns the wheel round, and the new player takes point.

"Say it." The spindle stabs, and she commands the threads.

Bella is small. Bella is nothing. Bella is down dirty deep…where she belongs. She is the weakness she fears. She is the polluted little girl who cowers in the back of a sullied mind.

Then the sultry smile adorns Bella's lips, her best jewel. Why fight this hell, when she could burn as she truly is?

"Use me." She says quietly, "Burn me." She lifts herself open, trembling the offer. Presenting her body as tool, she stretches out for her lover's eyes and purpose.

Fingers run through her hair, destroying curls in happy pillage. She moans softly, restrained, but leans into the contact. Tender touch turns unexpectedly; a sharp tug of her hair. Pins and needles spear her scalp, as Hermione angers at the side-step surrender.

"Fucking say it!" Hermione demands no white flag…she wants to brandish the black one.

More tears are unshed.

"Please..." A word whimpered, a surrender never voiced outside such confines. Submission. The glory of pain, the wet pleasure from the appalling. This, all things human in one act.