The wedding celebration was in full swing. Bill and Fleur were joyfully dancing in the middle of the crowd cheering them, hands clapping in rhythm with the Celtic music that elated even the shyest dancers. The tent let the sweet Summer breeze ruffle the guests, and the acidulous perfume of the cakes and pastries intoxicated more than one. The glasses were magically refilled, so that soon, nobody was glued with shyness to a chair, and everybody was dancing, exhilarated by the alcohol. The laugh was contagious, and even if they all knew there were dark times ahead, the party smelt of freedom and insouciance. It felt good.
If Harry was well occupied between gathering some information about Dumbledore's life and enjoying the evening with Ginny, Ron was getting drunker and drunker with his siblings, laughing coarsely at some of the twins' jokes. Hermione, for her part, was wandering aimlessly in the crowd, loosing herself in the human wave that was slowly, softly, pushing her from on all sides of the tent. She liked how it felt, not to care. To just let the booze do its job, tickling her brain and adding a seductive twinkle in her eyes. That, and the red dress she was wearing… The brunette didn't go unnoticed.
In her slightly drunk walk, she bumped into someone, already stammering a confused apology as a her cheeks blushed a little — even though not only from the embarrassment.
"It's okay," came the dreamy voice, "I think there are some wrackspurts here."
Luna looked at the brunette with a large smile. Even if the two were diametrically opposed with their characters, they got along quite fine, and the Gryffindor appreciated the carefree attitude of the Ravenclaw, as well as her unconditional acceptance.
"Wrack—? What do they look like?"
"Wrackspurts. They're invisible," she said very seriously, seeming pleasantly surprised to be asked about the subject, "but don't worry: they just make the brain go a bit fuzzy." Hermione nodded, amused, wondering if maybe that was simply the wizard excuse for being completely plastered. "Would you like to dance?"
The brunette was a bit taken aback by the sudden change of subject, but shrugged her shoulders.
"Why not," she answered, chuckling. "But I must warn you, I'm not the most confident nor the most experienced dancer."
The blonde had a loud belly laugh hearing that, and she casually took her hand in hers, already dragging her towards the dance floor.
"Who do you think I am? Fred Astaire? Come on, let's shake things up," she said a bit too enthusiastically.
Well, the 'blue dragon' cocktail seemed to have been to her liking as well.
The music had changed to something more catchy and somehow, more sensual too. Hermione didn't mind, not being particularly fond of Celtic tunes, but she was surprised to feel Luna's arms around her neck, and see the girl swaying in a quite — she had to admit it — alluring way. Her own hands find their way up to the blonde's waist, the two girls attracting more than one gaze in the audience.
On the other side of the tent, Harry and Ginny were looking at the circling couple, quite entertained by what they were seeing.
"Is Luna…?"
"Gay? I have no idea," admitted Ginny, "we're good friends but she never gave me to understand that she was into girls."
Brief pause.
"Well, neither did Hermione," she added, suddenly wondering. I thought Luna was into nargles but maybe…
"Well, the two certainly are cute," said the boy with a smile, happy to see his best friend let herself go for once.
"Mm-mm," said the redhead, nodding.
They both took a sip of their drink, absently playing with the straw floating in the glass.
"They'd form a cute couple."
"Yeah. Yeah, cute," said the youngest Weasley, chewing the straw with a little frown. "But definitely not as well-matched as Hermione with old McGonaga—"
The straw escaped her lips with a mouthful of fizzy cocktail, as she felt the said woman right behind her. The face of the teenager was suddenly as red as their friend's dress, as she turned slightly, facing her doom. The Scottish witch was peering at her over her glasses, trying her best to suppress the amused smirk that was rising on her lips. The boy for his part had vanished quicker than ever, leaving his stunned girlfriend rooted to the spot, stuttering something — but what, Minerva wasn't able to catch. What a gentleman.
"Ah, miss Weasley," she said very slowly, in her low, goosebumps-inducing voice, "enjoying ourselves, are we?"
"I — err — yes, sure, professor. Great night, isn't it?" she stammered, a sheepish smile on her trembling lips.
"Great night, yes," agreed the Headmistress, an incandescent glint lighting her green irises as her eyes fell on a certain brunette. "Great night indeed."
Ginny caught her gaze and her smile widened. Well, they were not at Hogwarts, were they? She could as well take one for the team, and help her friend with her love life, even if it meant Transfiguration classes would be very awkward at the start of the new academic year. She took a deep breath and swallowed the end of her booze in one gulp. Brace yourself, detentions are coming!
"So," she began, the alcohol dangerously boosting her confidence, "enjoying the show," she even dared to arbour a satisfied smirk, "are we?"
The animagus turned herself back to the redhead, an eyebrow arched ominously. Wordlessly, her eyes leisurely stared a the empty glass, then back at her student, who was now sinking under her piercing gaze.
"I — I meant Hermione." The second eyebrow was lifting now. "No, not like — err — enjoying her, I mean —" God she was going to faint. Why, why, why? Why did she always need to put herself in such situations, why?"Well, it was nice seeing you professor, have a nice evening," she blurted out, so hastily the said professor almost didn't understand it, and she left, practically running towards Harry, grabbing him harshly and disappearing outside the tent, leaving a surprised yet amused Minerva on the spot.
She snorted, nonchalantly bringing her glass to her curling lips, as her eyes were back to follow her dancing star student. The Headmistress liked how the two young bodies were moving fluently across the dance floor, unaware of the eyes upon them. They were cute, she had to recognise it. But definitely not as well-matched as… She smiled lightly and moved in the crowd.
"I'm going to get a drink, would you like something?"
"No thanks Luna, I think I'll just rest on a chair for a bit."
The Ravenclaw nodded, smiling a bit more it was possible, when she saw their Transfiguration teacher heading in their direction.
"Oh this song is really nice, you should stay here a little longer, I'm sure you'll like it," she said winking, before disappearing between other dancers, like in a dream.
Hermione frowned slightly, wondering what it was all about. Well, surely the song that was beginning now was catchy but—
"Finished dancing already? That's a shame, it was quite pleasant to watch."
The low, seductive brogue caressed her neck, and immediately, her body shivered in appreciation. She couldn't be angry anymore. Not against that woman. Not now that she was here. In her loneliness, yes, she was enraged, but now? Not now. A single word, the faintest whisper crossing those beloved lips, and her heart was at peace.
Hermione gasped when she felt the silky robes brushing against her the pale back her red dress had left unguarded, to Minerva's great delight. She inhaled slowly and deeply, intoxicated by the perfume she had sought so many times in her dreams during the last weeks; she felt light-headed, drunk. The world was suddenly spinning in the right direction, and she just wanted to dance forever, elated by the mesmerising scent of the woman she loved.
Long fingers skimmed across the scars, the girl arching under the smooth touch. There was one cicatrix, one only, that she couldn't face yet. Her mentor knew which one, and green eyes briefly noted the apparent pristine forearm of her dearest pupil, smiling bitterly at how well secrets were kept between them two. One of the mark that had desacralised the virginal skin of the brunette ran along her spine, loosing itself at the base of the neck. A thoughtful hand pushed the bushy hair aside, and a whimper escaped Hermione's rosy lips, as Minerva's soft ones slowly kissed the uneven skin.
"I've thought about you." The whisper tickled against her neck. The younger witch closed her eyes, etching the words in her memory, wanting to take the feeling of the hot breath running along her skin with her, always. "A lot."
"You never left my mind," she answered, biting her lower lips to suppress a moan. God, those hands!
She felt the lips curl in an appreciative smile against her neck, as her mentor was nuzzling against her fragile shoulders.
It was peaceful. An enticing peacefulness she didn't want to leave. Nobody existed in that moment but them two, and it felt like one.
When she opened her eyes, about to turn around and press those cherished lips with hers, the world was burning.
Literally.
The soft fingers which were only seconds ago leisurely wandering along her skin, tightened their grip on her shoulder, forcing Hermione to kneel, a gasp of surprise escaping her lips at the feel of her mentor's unsuspected strength. Her hair rose on her neck as she felt the breeze of a curse passing where she would still be standing if not for the older witch's quick reaction. The table on their left exploded with the impact, pieces of wood flying everywhere.
"You're alright?"
The concerned but yet stoical voice, caressed her cheek, as Minerva was slightly leaning on her, in a protective embrace.
"Yeah I'm — Thanks."
She could feel the satisfied smile without even needing to look at her lover.
"My pleasure."
They tried to find a way out of the chaos of screams and curses, running half crouched down between the tables and scattered chairs. Suddenly, Hermione froze, livid.
"The bag," she squeaked, mortified, "I forgot my bag!"
The Transfiguration master turned around to face her, throwing several spells at a Death Eater, dodging the attacks.
"A ba— now Hermione, I strongly doubt this is the time," she said hastily.
"You don't understand, there's — I got to find it!"
"Hermione! Don't —"
Too late. The girl had escaped from her grip and was already running in the opposite direction without turning back. Bloody Gryffindors!
The bag, the bag, where was that stupid bag? The brunette was crawling under tables, fear and adrenaline propelling her with a strength she didn't know she had. There were ashes and blood everywhere already, and the strong smell of iron and carbonised flesh made her gag.
There, she had found it. Stretching her arm to grab the small purse, she winced painfully when shattered glass cut her skin, as a spell had made the pile of champagne flutes fall next to her. She stayed motionless for a minute, clenching her teeth to repress a scream. Several splinters were lodged in her hand, blood already spilling out of the wounds. With unsteady movements, her fingers trembling with a mixture of pain and panic, she carefully took the glass splinters out, before quickly grabbing the bag. Looking from under the tablecloth, she saw jets of light crashing all around her, briefly lighting the cloud of dust that was inside the tent. But still, is she was fast enough…
She ran. She ran like she had never ran before, to get out. Throwing spells blindly, she jumped on the ground to avoid a curse. Merlin, that was close. She needed to find Harry and Ron, and leave, but a part of her wanted to stay, to return to the softness of Minerva's lips brushing against her skin.
She extended her wounded hand to grab her wand that had escaped her grip when she had fell. She was rooted to the spot with cold horror, when she saw long black boots with sharp high heels in front of her. She had no time to react that her hand was already crushed by the boot, and the wand, pushed aside. Hermione let out a cry of agony, pain radiating from her hand to her entire body like electricity.
"Well well, look at that," said the high pitched voice, madness lacing every word, "isn't that my favourite mudblood."
Hermione felt the word slap her, burn her mind again; she could almost feel the scar heat up on her forearm. Bellatrix Lestrange was proudly standing before her, her dark eyes gleaming ominously, mad pleasure lighting the piercing irises. The girl jerked her hand off the boot, wincing from the pain. She pitifully tried to back off, her body shaking with uncontrollable shivers.
"Oh, did I scare you?" The childish voice exploded in a blood-chilling roar of laughter. She pounced on the brunette who let out a shriek of utter terror as she felt a strong hand grab her hair and forced her head to tilt backwards. "But we had a good time, back at the Manor, didn't we?" The suggestive voice was a poison cleverly distilled in the young ears. The Gryffindor whimpered at the memory, shifting slightly beneath the Death Eater, to the greatest amusement of the later. "Tell me my pet: how much did you miss me?" Hermione bit her lower lip so hard, blood started dripping, drawing a red trail on her chin. Do not talk to her. Do not answer her. You know what happens when you answer her. You know if you enter her games, she'll — Bellatrix's smirk grew even wider at the sight of the girl trembling in anticipation, and yet, beating herself up to be worthy of that so overrated Gryffindor's courage.
The raven-haired witch leant closer, nuzzling against the brunette's collarbone. She could feel her fear, the pulse racing in dread. To have the girl pinned under her robes was a turn-on in itself, but to know that she'd later chastise herself, ashamed by her body's reactions to the older witch's touch… That made Bellatrix's head feel dizzy already.
She slowly licked the girl's chin, almost moaning as she felt the iron taste on her tongue. Hermione turned her head sideways, closing her eyes that were already burning with tears.
"No need to play coy," the sultry voice sounded almost like a warning, pure lust aching behind every word. "We both know how easily I get you in the end, don't we?" The obscene cackle echoed in her mind.
The Gryffindor tried to free herself once more, only to find her wrists caught in a firmer grip, meant to hurt. No doubt that would leave bruises, like it always did with the dark witch.
"Still fighting, are you?" A finger brushed the pristine forearm, uncovering the word that had been etched in the skin. "But tell me darling, did you forget you are mine?"
"I'm not yours!" Hermione screamed, her eyes snapping open only to find a sniggering Bellatrix peering down at her, her tongue watering ruby lips.
"I beg to differ," she simply said, leisurely brushing the girl's mouth, forcing her tongue inside as a shocked gasp allowed her entrance.
The younger witch couldn't move. Just like in the Manor, she was petrified, her unresponsive mouth not even able to form the faintest plea. And she had found that begging didn't help the slightest, as the Death Eater loved to be supplicated.
She could just wait. Wait and think of something pleasant. Minerva's face instantly appeared in her mind, a soothing smile curling her lips. Just think it's her. Just think about her touch and not— She stiffened as she felt Bellatrix's hand graze the area between her breasts. A guilty moan escaped her lips as a thumb rubbed against hardening nipples. It was wrong, so wrong. But she couldn't help how her back arched in sinful delight. It was sick. She was sick.
"So you did miss me." She could feel the lips ravaging her skin briefly curl in a satisfied smile, the hot whisper dancing in her ears. Sharp teeth bit her, tasting blood again, as a small cry cursed her lips, quivering with both shame and pleasure.
Think of her. Don't — Just think of Minerva. She pictured her mentor's touch, remembering how soft, how thoughtful she had been. Bellatrix was rough. This was lust, and nothing more. With Minerva, it was—
"Love."
The Death Eater had suddenly frozen, straightening up a bit, her eyes staring at the girl trapped underneath, bewilderment darkening her irises. Hermione opened her eyes as well, surprise by the sudden lack of… contact.
But most of all, by the word that had just crossed the devilish lips. Oh no. No, no, no, no— A large smirk rose, and Voldemort's first lieutenant gave a low chuckle. The brunette went livid, as if all heat had left her body at once; she was so cold everything felt numb. Her first reflex was to deny it, even if she knew that as a master of legilimency, Bellatrix had seen absolutely everything. She didn't get the time to, though, as she was cut by her captor.
"My, my, aren't we a naughty girl," she began, her eyes flashing with what looked like ice cold anger. Like jealousy. "McGonagall, eh? Tell me, my pet, did I not punished you enough last time that you fantasise about detention with the old hag?"
"You are nothing compared to her," Hermione managed to breath, the throat choked with anger and hate. "Nothing."
A harsh slap across her face was Bellatrix's first answer. The brunette flinched, trying her best to contain the pain and the growing terror. A strong hand caught her by the throat, pressing hard on it, long nails embedded in her skin.
"Am I, now?" The raven-haired witch hissed at her face. "How… touching it is, really. If I am nothing compared to you beloved teacher," she stretched the word with disgust, "then tell me why she can't touch you like I do?"
The brunette's eyes filled up with tears and she bit her lips, not able to answer. It didn't matter, as the Death Eater could violate her mind without any resistance, and see. See everything.
"What is it, whelp? Oh, you didn't tell her, did you?" A loud, hysteric cackle. "She's not aware you're damaged goods? You didn't tell her that she couldn't have her shag because I already had mine."
There was a loud crack as Bellatrix landed on a table that collapsed with the impact. Out of nowhere, a spell had hit her harshly in the ribs, sending her flying across the tent. Hermione faintly stoked her sore throat, breathing heavily as she suddenly had access to air again. She rolled to her side, crawling to take her wand and the bag that Lestrange had thrown aside before, and her eyes widened.
"Minerva."
The whisper was as hopeful and relieved as it was frightened. Her mentor was striding towards her, obviously raging, and she had no idea if the cold fury she saw flashing in emerald eyes was only directed towards Bellatrix.
She had heard and seen everything.
"Minerva, I —"
The brunette felt herself being lift up, not with the usual consideration her mentor shown. The hands which were normally steady and confident, were yet trembling with fear and rage. The student didn't move when her teacher quickly check for injuries, healing the most severe cuts with a flick of a wand.
"Are you —"
It was not often that the Headmistress' voice broke. It was not often one could witness her silenced by a strangled sob.
"Are you alright, Hermione?"
Distressed eyes sought hazel ones. The young Gryffindor wasn't sure what her saviour was referring to, and didn't know what to answer. Was she? Alright?
She jumped into Minerva's arms, taking her face between her hands and kissing her fervently. It wasn't really a kiss. It was a statement. The older witch soon felt the salty taste of tears, mixed with blood. Hermione was crying, clutching hysterically at her green robes, her mouth painfully melting against hers.
"I'm sorry," she eventually breathed, burying her face against a shoulder. "I'm so sorry…"
The Headmistress closed her eyes and gave a long weary sigh. She slowly stepped back a bit, a hand lifting the girl's chin, to meet her gaze.
"I'm here," she simply said. "I'll always be."
There was movement where Bellatrix had abruptly landed. Movement and a long, painful moan.
"Now go, find Harry and Ron and…" She looked hesitant for a second, biting her lip… and crashed her mouth against Hermione's, trying to capture every instant, to keep a vivid memory of that desperate, needy kiss. "Just be safe. I — I couldn't — if I lost you, I —"
"You'll never lose me," she breathed against the flushed, dancing lips, "because I'm yours."
A.N: So? How was it? I must say Bellatrix is awfully fun to write hehe — 'guess there'll be some Bellamione fics in the near future ^^ — As always, I love to hear your thoughts on the story :)