Hermione's savior came in the form of Draco Malfoy.
He'd approached her, face-flushed and a bit sweaty, but his smile was brilliant despite the weary hobble of his dragon-loafered step. He'd swept her away from the squabble at her back, with nothing more than a softly uttered 'pardon me', as if they hadn't heard tearing fabric directly beyond them. Whatever Bellatrix was doing, whatever wandless spell Andromeda had spat, was no longer her problem-
But some portion of her, greedy and curious, had desperately wanted to watch…
"Mum told me it might get a bit odd," Draco said, "with them both in the manor."
Hermione held back a response. Odd wasn't the word she would have used to describe any occurrence within the manor, especially considering those that lived there.
"But I'm glad they're occupied," Draco continued, "I wanted to talk to you. I… wanted to introduce you to Astoria."
Hermione hummed, "You never told me you were engaged."
"It didn't seem important," Draco spoke quickly.
"Not important?" Hermione drawled, "I enjoy a simple exchange of information to solidify our combined power. You know I'm engaged, after all."
Draco fumbled his steps, "Y-you, you're-"
She laughed, something low and soft. She'd never acknowledged it before, her impending marriage to Bellatrix, and that had clearly thrown Draco off his careful stride.
"Engaged. You knew that."
"I, yes of course, I knew that." Draco repeated.
"And that is important to me. My engagement."
Draco gave her a strange look, "Are you really Hermione?"
No. She hadn't been Hermione, just Hermione, in some time.
Still, she answered, "Yes and did you really think it wasn't important to tell me about your engagement?"
Draco gave a slow lick of his bottom lip, a nervous habit. "Yes… No. It's…"
There was something he wanted to say, something that danced on the tip of his tongue but seemed to escape him whenever he felt ready to speak.
So, Hermione spoke for him, casual and without venom, "Am I that low in your line of acquaintances-"
"-It's not that!" Draco interrupted her, "You know it's not that."
He turned to face her with a tired gaze. It was then that Hermione noticed the stubble that lined his jaw and the slight tremble of his shoulders. Stress, maybe, but Hermione thought it was more likely guilt. She wasn't the only one that hadn't known, a quick glance to Pansy in the shadows of the hall said as much.
She hoped Luna knew what she was doing with her.
"Did He tell you to do this?"
Draco nodded, just once, before he spoke with a low and hoarse voice, "She's lovely, and the right match. Our Lord said so, and he is wise."
"When?" She rasped. When had Draco knelt before their Lord and been so utterly controlled?
"It was last… last week. He called for me. He commanded me and-"
"You obey."
"I obey."
Just as she had.
Suddenly, she understood. Draco had had no time to deliver information, her own busy schedule notwithstanding. No time to even process the sudden change. In some small portion of her being, she understood that vulnerability, that lack of control, and hated Him for inspiring it in them all.
The larger, more eager portion of her, wanted to know how to do the same.
"It's good. This is good." Draco sputtered. "He's interested in me. In us. In the power of our families. You understand, don't you?"
Though he spoke with her he looked at Pansy. Yes, she understood. Pansy did too, she was sure. She didn't have a choice in the end.
"H-he said this is just the beginning of my recognition. That He might one day grant me m-more."
That grabbed her attention. "More? More what? Wives?"
Not power, surely not power.
"There used to be a time when a young Lord would take many wives based on the power of his estate. They would be sisters in all but blood, one the elder and one the younger with separate responsibilities-"
Hermione did not need nor want Draco's sudden impromptu lesson on the household structure of ancient pureblood wizards-though, that was interesting…
"Draco, I-"
"Excuse me," A voice tickled her ear, gravel and so much heat, "I'd like to borrow my fiancé, dear nephew."
Draco went stiff before her, gaze somewhat wide, and Hermione didn't dare turn around to face the thumping ravenous power knocking at her back. She swallowed a sound-of delight? Of fear? She wasn't certain-and tossed her gaze over shoulder.
Only to be greeted by the endless black of her fiancé's dilated pupils.
Her arm flared, a sharp and sudden ache that lanced through her with swift agony, before it ebbed into a dull burn. That burn climbed up the length of her limb, seeking other spaces to burrow and sear until her entire being felt consumed by a singular flame. Her throat tightened and the teasing words that had danced on the tip of her tongue fled before the darkness of that raw unfiltered look.
The most she could do was gasp out-"Bellatrix."
Slender fingers held her firmly and their sharp tips flexed against the exposed skin of her shoulders. Her dress, fashionable and stunning, now felt oppressive against her skin, against any part that wasn't free to be touched.
"Come with me," Bellatrix rasped, all brimstone and serpent in a way both familiar and incredibly alien.
She followed without hesitation
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Bellatrix took no time in slamming her against the cool decorative surface of the manor's hallway wall. There, among the flickering shadows and a knocked over shattered portrait, she held her. Trapped in the small space of a passing corridor, there was little she could do but flex her legs and wrap the warmth of her thighs about a pressed-too-close waist. She had to keep her balance somehow-one of them should-otherwise she'd fall into the depths of the gaze that scoured her.
The madness there was tempting.
Bellatrix parted her lips and revealed saliva slick teeth, each one somehow sharp and glistening in the flickering torch light. She croaked out a low sound, a rumble so primal Hermione trembled, incredibly reactive.
Then Bellatrix whispered, "I won."
Hermione swallowed a sound and knew without question what Bellatrix spoke of. Whatever ritual Andromeda and her had taken to performing in that quiet lonely room had ended, and Bellatrix thought herself victorious. Wild and victorious. Her hair had come undone into tumbling waves of black that now half-covered her face and shaking shoulders. One side of her bottom lip looked bruised, as if she'd been bitten, and her once expensive dress was now torn and several places. Whatever they'd done once Hermione had been rescued had ruined any sense of decorum Bellatrix might have possessed before the evening had started.
And something wicked and petty in Hermione enjoyed the thought of that. She wondered what Andromeda looked like, just as ruined.
She shivered, "You've wrinkled my dress."
With flared nostrils Bellatrix croaked, "Who gives a bloody fuck about the dress?"
Her snarl was liquid heat and Hermione closed her eyes, "What if I do?"
"I'll buy you another," Bellatrix husked right before she took hooked fingers and tore it at the shoulder.
"Bellatrix!" Hermione hissed.
But the odd glassy stare Bellatrix gave her reflected only eagerness, perverse and thumping.
"You belong to me," She rasped, "not Andy, not Cissy. Me."
Hermione rumbled, "I belong to no one."
Bellatrix grunted then, right before she pressed more firmly, relishing the flinch Hermione gave her as she felt her back rub against the rough surface of the wall. In return, Hermione tightened the grip of her legs, squeezing the woman between them uncomfortably. She didn't ignore the surge of pleasure she felt at Bellatrix own sound of discomfort.
"You are my bonded. We are betrothed!"
That statement, so simple and animalistic as it split from Bellatrix snapping mouth was more than enough to earn a response from Hermione, one she said without thought, driven by the otherness in her chest and the wild throb of the scar on her arm.
So, they were bonded, were they?
Hermione bit her lower lip and whispered, "You've yet to show me…"
Bellatrix practically yowled, some haunting furious sound as her body tightened. She looked as if she were holding back from something, some aggressive act driven by her own sort of battle-lust-
And that was cruel, Hermione briefly thought, to make her feel the way she had felt the day of the raid. Wound up and tight and out of her mind.
-but she wanted to be cruel.
"It's improper," Bellatrix spat from a tight throat, "Our Lord… wishes for tradition."
"Then where is my bauble? My ring? My gold?" Hermione uttered, dark and what she thought was alluring. It was certainly enough to make the pulse at Bellatrix neck visible as she leaned forward. So close… so very close.
"I could claim you with so much more," Bellatrix husked, "If you had not tasted your first kill so long ago…"
Hermione shuddered and, for just a moment, felt overwhelmed-and back in that house, with the press of alien magic and the craving for more.
When she opened them Bellatrix smiled, something dark and hungry, "But you'd like another, wouldn't you?"
Hermione swallowed her whimper, "I don't… I wouldn't want-"
"-Umbridge, perhaps?"
Hermione did moan then, impassioned by the manipulation of her wicked scar and the addictive twist of Bellatrix magic against her over sensitive flesh. She could practically see it, Umbridge on that slab, Bellatrix punishing encouragement, words that were both educational and taunting.
Bellatrix tittered against her lips, drew her pink tongue across them, then slowly leaned back, "But you aren't like that, are you?"
She sneered; it was the most she could do as she tried to calm her racing heart. Casual talk of murder should not have been… should not have so…
"A couple more lessons in my classroom, girl, and you'll beg for your first real subject."
Hermione swept forward then, no caution, only hunger and twisted malice. She sank her teeth into Bellatrix bottom lip, heard her groan and buck, then pulled just so before she released it.
"You'd have me balanced on the edge?" Hermione spat hotly, flushed and uncomfortable. Oh, if only they could go elsewhere. Somewhere private for a more in-depth philosophical conversation. "You'd shove me off that cliff into…"
Into what, exactly? There was no darker deed than what she'd done. No greater challenge. No higher pleasure…
"I'd push us both," Bellatrix said, her tongue now used to lick the blood Hermione had left behind, "then pull us back."
Bellatrix adjusted her grip and muttered softly. Soon enough, Hermione felt the wall react, morphing until an additional pair of hands revealed themselves and cupped her bottom, effectively holding her and keeping her in place. It left Bellatrix's hands free to roam, and roam they did-first over the swell of her hips, then down over her parted thighs.
Hermione refrained from panting with giddy excitement.
"Perhaps, I could still give you Umbridge?"
Hermione's thighs, forced open, and away from Bellatrix's waist, twitched.
"She hasn't answered Lovegood's call, after all. After all this time… But Our Lord might have need for her."
Hermione growled, a low displeased sound.
"So, until I find something proper, we must both act with… maturity."
Bellatrix swept hooked fingers down the trembling flesh of her inner thighs, only to part them at the apex of her being. She felt her sex throb with anticipation and welcome, stirred to waking by the constant press of Bellatrix humming magic and held back intention. Her adore rose to match that of the weight against her, and with each heavy thud of her heart she sunk further into the mania of Bellatrix own primal need, as if they were one in the same. One constant loop of sensuality.
She fought to breath past it, that blanket of warmth, but found she could only swallow more of it. Each full inhale of her lungs left behind only fire and the stirring deep within her being that wished to surrender her sanity.
And perhaps her autonomy along with it.
"Bella," Hermione moaned, driven by something more than her body. By something ancient and willing. Everything in her screamed for something she couldn't name. It was as if the magic in her being knew what the escaped her mind. It rose beneath her flesh like some great beast, a near physical sensation that rolled against Bellatrix own power and tugged.
The woman between her legs faltered as her breathing increased, "I cannot… I cannot." She muttered beneath her breath. "My Lord will…"
He wouldn't be pleased.
But Hermione would be.
She let that tightly coiled thing in her go and her intangible presence, her very essence, coiled like a leash and collar about her prey. Bellatrix groaned, a soft and vulnerable sound as she slowly fell to her knees and leaned forward, breathing heavily at the heat between her legs.
Yes. Yes…
"Bella," Hermione cooed, and despite her imprisonment by the wall that held her, she felt empowered and limitless. How long had she dreamt of this? Of this woman on her knees. Panting. Vulnerable, and yet still so undeniably untamed? Is this what she'd looked like, when Luna had consumed her?
She liked that look on Bellatrix so much.
"Bella," Hermione called to her again, and Bellatrix leaned forward, dazed but ravenous.
Her first and most important priestess. Ready to pray at the altar of her sex.
"Worship me."
With tongue and lips.
She did.