Though she remained trapped against the wall, held obscenely open by the machinations of the magic-hands that kept her, her own hands were free. Free to weave through the wild undone locs of Bellatrix hair, free to grip them, and most important, free to manipulate the head they belonged to.
From between her legs she heard Bellatrix inhale deeply, driven to further sin by the pain Hermione gleefully caused her. Her tongue drew teasingly across her slit in a manner slow and methodical. It was a testament to her patience, to the control Hermione had yet to tear from her being, that she was able to keep from devouring the whole of her sex at once and the heat that it carried.
It was the opposite of what she wanted her to do.
Still, despite the flexing of her grip in Bellatrix hair, the older witch, so carefully held by her magic, moved with a patience contrary to her usual behavior. Her tongue teased, explored, taunted, and brushed every so lightly across the throbbing tip of her awakened clit, further inciting the flame within to burn instead of simmer. Pleasure mingled wickedly with a growing desire for more, but more was not what she received.
"Bella," Hermione growled as she tugged on the head between her legs. She wanted her closer, she wanted her tongue deeper, she wanted to feel the blinding ecstasy she'd experienced so many moons prior under Luna's own ministrations-she desperately needed to be in control of the situation. But despite her seduction, Bellatrix refused to surrender.
With a snarl, her captured lover bit her.
She threw back her head and cried out as she felt the agonizing ripple of perverse pain travel throughout her sex. Bellatrix held her clit between her teeth, applying just enough pressure, just enough of a threat, to send her rocketing toward the line between euphoria and pain. A part of her soared on a strange unwanted masochistic thrill, preening under the danger of Bellatrix teeth, wanting just a little more pain to sharpen the intensity of the pleasure she felt once she'd begun to suck.
But that was what she'd wanted wasn't it? Bellatrix holding and consuming her? But now it was nearly to much, to be nibbled and sucked as hooked fingers stroked along her pulsating slit then slipped firmly within. She would have bucked, away or into that wicked mouth she wasn't sure, but the hands clutched at her bottom and kept her awkwardly still. The most she could do, the most she wanted to do, was fall rapidly toward the moment she'd come completely undone-
"Ah. What's all this then?"
Heat and terror nearly sent her over the edge. Would have sent her over the edge, if not for the sudden complete and absolutely stillness of the person between her legs. Flushed, sweat-slick, Hermione turned to spare their sudden company a glance from beyond tangled locks of her own hair, and while dread churned in her belly, the flame of arousal had only been lessened, not entirely doused.
She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit, then croaked, "My Lord."
In the dancing lantern light Voldemort made an ethereal figure. As otherworldly as He'd been when she'd seen Him those moons prior, beyond the confines of court or the rooms where He planned for battle. But there was one relatively clear difference between the time she'd been blessed by His presence and now.
Well, she was inappropriately dressed for one.
But within His gaze rolled and tossed the shadows of something too intense to name. A cold and unearthly focus not just upon her person but also the one between her legs. She opened her mouth to speak further, but power rolled over her, thick and cloying and-she couldn't breath.
She trembled then, small and nothing before His everything. Her mind rattled, primal and stripped of conscious thought, in deference to His essence. Her magic recoiled from Bellatrix's own, and the woman between her legs was suddenly hunched over in a bow so deep her forehead touched the glossy flooring. Bellatrix's face, still glistening with the evidence of their actions, didn't dare lift to spare Him a glance. Hermione knew she physically couldn't. She could barely lift her own head, and despite her embarrassing horrible position, she was glad those writhing hands kept her against the wall. If they hadn't. If they didn't. She would have fallen into a crumbled shivering heap right alongside her betrothed.
As it currently stood, only Bellatrix had the capacity to show Him the respect He silently commanded.
He approached, stride graceful, shadow long, and stopped before His most loyal. He didn't spare her a glance, and some portion of her, tiny and confused and longing, demanded He acknowledge her presence like a child starving for attention and praise. The other part of her, logical and a survivalist, knew that this was not the time to be noticed. Still, she trembled, especially when He carefully and casually placed one of His undeniable cold hands against the warmth of her trembling thigh, as if she were a thing He found pretty, or a pet meant to be soothed.
And yet His magic oppressed her.
"Bellatrix," He whispered, curious with the slightest undertones of what Hermione dared to think as amusement. "What are you doing?"
Against the floor, Bellatrix mumbled into the marble, "Conversing with my beloved, my Lord."
Hermione might have been impressed by the stability of her tone, and the calm of her voice, were she not also shivering from the press of His might.
"Ah, is that so?" He rumbled, "A conversation?"
"Of propriety." Bellatrix said.
"And tradition."
"And… tradition."
For a moment there was silence, heavy, oppressive, frightening, as He drew His gaze of red away from Bellatrix prone form and back to her. They narrowed just slightly as they drew across her person. He took in her appearance, her clothing, or lack thereof, then returned that gaze to the witch against the floor.
"Where is her annulus? Her ring of intent?"
Bellatrix throat bobbled as she dared him a glance, "My Lord… in the House of Black…"
She paused then, huffed shakingly, then used the back of her hand to wide at her mouth.
Then she continued, "The House of Black does not always deliver the house ring to their intended. We follow the path of the olde and infallible. I've to craft her a…" She swallowed then and straightened and while she stayed on her knees, there was an undeniable amount of pride and passion in her tone. She'd shed her fear, her deference, in exchange for the confidence only the Dark Lord's favorite could exhibit.
"She will receive the Black traditionalist Blade of Vinculum. As is proper for the woman designated as my Lord's Firstborn."
The Dark Lord's mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile, but nothing else came. For a moment, they merely stared at once another, before Bellatrix immediately dropped her head back to the floor in her sign of submission.
"But she does not yet wield your blade?"
"It is nearly done," Bellatrix hissed, pained, "And I-"
"Do you intend to make an excuse here, Bellatrix? A reasoning as to why my Firstborn wears no babble or blade. A reason as to why you wear her…" And now He did smile, something sly and awful, "arousal on your lips?"
Hermione grew flushed, embarrassed as fear twisted, even now, back to arousal. They hadn't finished. They hadn't finished and now the Dark Lord knew they'd been doing something. Something bad, all things considered. Something bad that she'd made her do.
Why was that so terribly exciting?
"I'd asked you to respect my Firstborn, Bellatrix."
"I do, my Lord! I do-"
"-and yet, I've found you here, in the hallway of your sister, submitting to baser needs. Betrothed, and yet with no proof of your intentions for her."
"I… it was me!" Hermione blurted.
The Dark Lord turned to her. "You?"
"I pushed her to, I… used my magic to-"
She gasped when He turned to face her, when He put the full weight of His attention upon her. She crumbled, unused to the press of His power, and whimpered as He gave her thigh a gentle pat.
"You've been practicing your reach." He said, as if He weren't suppressing her by just breathing. "I am pleased. A Head of House should understand the subtle ways in which our society controls their household. To return what the Light has taken from us, our ancient ways, our most complex magicks, we should practice and explore. You are still young, still curious. I expect you to dabble and flex your control."
Slowly, His lips or lack thereof, pulled back, revealing monstrous teeth and a black stained tongue, "However, what I do expect, is for my greatest follower to understand decorum and her own control."
Bellatrix released a low sigh, a sound that seemed anxious, but accepting.
Hermione shook her head, unsatisfied. "No, no, I… I controlled her, it was me. My power and my impatience."
He chuckled, a sound more sibiliant than human, "Maybe so. But whether you lured her to action, or she submitted, she has disobeyed Me."
His hand moved carefully, down from Hermione's thigh until the chilled scaled pads of His fingers reached down below and-
"S-sir!"
Without a single sound He reached around her arse and lightly tapped the hands holding her to the wall. Abruptly, they released her, and she fell onto her butt with an omph and a slight bounce.
"No matter the reason, the disobedience is clear. You both need discipline, as it leads to forgiveness."
Hermione, almost subconsciously, finished His mantra, "Pain will cleanse the blood that connects us all and erase our faults."
And much like the night she'd heard Him first state the philosophy that bound them all, He said with great smile, "There is no salvation without pain, no forgiveness without paying us what is due. You will give her pain."
Because that would please Him.
"Then recieve your own."
Because that would teach her.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
He brought them to a particular portion of the Manor. Away from the sounds of the ball and the scene of their crime. It looked like a standard room, one of many that might have held guests overnight with a standard desk, massive bed, and open space at the center.
It was there that He made Bellatrix kneel.
She looked at peace, beautiful even, despite the dread that curled through Hermione's own stomach. Within the depths of her black gaze only stormed the usual otherness that dwelled within her, coated in a strange restlessness. Hermione might have called it eagerness, had Bellatrix not looked so utterly serious.
She wholeheartedly believed in His mantra of forgiveness.
Or maybe she would have done anything to show their shared Lord that she deserved to marry and possess her. After all, Bellatrix wanted to win.
Still, as she kneeled with head held high and chest out, proud and ready for whatever it was their Lord wished to them, Hermione couldn't help but feel slightly conflicted.
"My Lord?"
He'd allowed her to dress in a simplistic robe and underthings after they'd both been allowed to freshen up. He stood beside her, her wand in His grip and held toward her to take. Instead of responding to her soft inquiry, He instead whispered, "Show me what she's taught you."
She swallowed audibly. "I-it… that would…"
"Hurt her, yes. I want you to." He stated casually, "Just the right amount. To cleanse her of her sins. You know what to do."
And still-
"Do not hesitate," Bellatrix growled, wild but contained all at once, "Don't you dare hesitate before our Lord!"
Her heart thudded wildly, and the Mark upon her arm tingled oddly. It wasn't unpleasant, the slight prickle and burn, but it only highlighted her position. She was, admittedly, possessive of Bellatrix. Did she love her? No, that felt to simple a word to describe the flame that rolled through her at the thought of the other. Did she hate her? In an odd and twisted way, certainly, but not in the manner she'd hated any other beast or wizard.
So, did she want to hurt her?
She bit her bottom lip and lifted her wand. She was indecisive because she didn't know, and shouldn't that be clear? Whether she wanted to hurt another living thing or not? She shouldn't feel the rush of her blood or the invasive thrill of heat that licked up her spine. But she didn't have time to analyze the feelings, the oddity of her growing sadism. She wanted to hurt. Not Bellatrix per say, but the woman hadn't been wrong. Her heard had been filled with all manner and method of magic, but no true outlet beyond the rush of their first raid.
And Bellatrix was, at least for now, a willing subject.
Hermione turned her wand in a semi-half circle. Pressed her lips then, then jabbed it forward with a muttered word.
Immediately, Bellatrix yowled, something high-pitched, a simple biological reaction, and the Dark Lord seemed to preen at the sound of it.
"What have you done?" He said.
Hermione, fascinated by Bellatrix ability to writhe while she remained perfectly kneeled, almost didn't answer him. She was hyper focused on the way Bellatrix neck bobbed, on the veins that thumped heavily there, on the pinched expression she wore and how her nostrils flared as she remained upright through her pain.
She licked her lips, reminded by the heat between her legs that something was irreversibility changed in her mind and that they'd been interrupted.
She answered her Lord, "Lacero. It makes the victim feel… as if their flesh is being…"
Clawed. Torn. Plucked from muscle and bone.
She couldn't help but swallow again then say, "It's… very uncomfortable, and a persistent sensation."
Held steady by the hungry press of her magic.
"Show me another."
Abrupt, Hermione cut power to the spell. Immediately, Bellatrix pitched forward, but she didn't lose her balance or fall out of stance. She wondered if she'd ever done this before. Before the war, after the war… if any of them had been here, on their knees, feeding pain to the Dark Lord and yet still willing to worship.
Before Bellatrix was able to properly catch her breath-and maybe that was cruel of her, but the thought was not as strong as her obedience-she cast the next curse.
This time Bellatrix did not yowl or scream. Instead she shifted uncomfortably. Sighing, then panting, then taking ragged uneven breaths.
Hermione supplied Him information before He asked, though she doubted He needed it. Perhaps, He merely wanted to make sure she knew what she was doing.
And oh yes, yes, she certainly knew. "Exustus. Causes the victim to feel… overheated. To expend their own energy and strain their own body, as if they've done strenuous activity while roasting under the sun."
Indeed, while Bellatrix wavered and wheezed she did begin to greatly sweat. The press of sensation was some parts illusionary and some parts very real. She cut it off abruptly.
He hummed with pleasure. "Very lovely. But… show me what I want to see."
She shivered and cast it.
This time Bellatrix could not keep her balance. She fell over, though made no sound, as Hermione cast her crucio.
Beside her ear, He counted.
"One."
Bellatrix bucked and shook, but did not break.
"Two."
She road the pain curse, conquered it, mastered it.
"Three."
She arched and hissed, her first sound, but even that seemed somewhat off and breathy.
"Four."
Then, suddenly, Bellatrix moaned and it was not one of despair.
For Hermione had, in her studies, managed the careful grotesque manipulation of the very curse that haunted her. With careful ease, whist her Lord counted what felt like those meager seconds, she blanketed Bellatrix in her power. She admired the flex of her straining muscle and greedily absorbed the way she drooled and twisted. If He had not been present... If she'd been allowed the leeway she needed for a more appropriate study, she might have taken her time, lessened the power, increased it in other ways, ended the spell and started it again…
As it stood, she only had time and properly knew, how to do what Bellatrix had once done to her.
Leave her breathless and shaking once the Dark Lord reached ten.
Hermione knew immediately that Bellatrix's entire being must have sung with euphorbia after she'd released her spell. The bodies own relief at no longer experiencing macabre amounts of pain was something Hermione knew well. She licked her lips as Bellatrix sighed and twitched and shuddered, groaning in a way that was terribly sensual. She wanted to go to her, to check if she was alright of course, and maybe to touch her sensitive flesh and feel the impact of her spell upon the other-
"Very good, Hermione." He interrupted her line of thought. "Now it is your turn."
Oh.
Shit.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Bellatrix has taken her pain, but the fashion in which you'll take your own is different. Though you seem somewhat worried, I assure you she has endured far worse. Though it has pleased me, for now, your expression upon her, while genuine, still needs work."
Hermione worried her bottom lip as she sat, one leg crossed over the other, upon the bedding of the Malfoy matriarch. The Dark Lord had dropped her off there, explaining that Bellatrix would join her later, after a very brief visit to what amounted as the Manor stationed healer.
She'd used the time not to worry about her own discipline for pushing Bellatrix to act beyond propriety but to worry about her reactions to being forced to hurt her betrothed.
Well, not worry. She knew, beyond doubt, that Bellatrix would only revel in the ideal that she had fallen so far their shared Lord could command her to torture-or discipline, in this respect. If anything, upon her recovery, Bellatrix would be eager to gloat that her own prowess and teaching ability had driven Hermione to indulge in the Dark.
And partly, that was true.
But was it proper to take pleasure, her own pleasure, in being the spellcaster? Did she have time to review the ethical implications of her own desires? Probably not.
Did it even matter?
With a grunt she shook her head. Maybe it was best to discuss this sort of thing with another person, someone not seduced by the power. Not Luna, she'd just smile and nod and talk roundedly about growth or fairies. Maybe Andromeda, who she had yet to see ruined. Who could still be ruined...
The smile she wore when the door opened was concerning but, she could think about that reaction later.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Immediately the smile she'd worn, sardonic with a hint of devilry, slipped from her face.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione said.
Narcissa lifted a well manicured hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. "These are more rooms, are they not?"
Hermione shifted slightly, discomforted in what little clothing she'd been allowed to put on. "Yes, but-"
"-The Dark Lord has seen fit to pull me from the ball of my son. Do you know why this is?"
Hermione blushed, "It's because-"
"It's because," Narcissa interrupted her again as she stepped further into the room, the door set to close without manual effort behind her, "I was given word that my sister, so very proper and all that, was found between your legs, lapping at your sex like a thirsty dog."
Hermione flinched, struck beneath the force of Narcisa ire and the chill of her presence. She laughed, somewhat nervously, "It's a long story."
"The short version, if you would?" The other asked plainly, and while the question was clear, it felt more like an order as she began to remove her outer robe and shoes.
Right, the short version. That was easy, "I demanded for what I was owed."
There was a moment where Hermione swore she heard Narcissa snort. As it was, the older witch merely stared her down. "And what you were owed was a good tonguing, is that it?"
Hermione cursed softly under her breath, "No. No, you belittle the…"
"The what?"
"It's power, isn't it? The exchange of it. I want it, the power, the control of her."
Narcissa did not reply, so Hermione continued.
"She haunts me, in nearly all things. She's changed me, or has pushed me to change myself. I am owed, Narcissa-Cissy! And she hasn't paid!" Hermione licked her dry lips as her hands opened and closed to the rhythm of her thumping heart. "She claims to possess me, but I do not want to be possessed. No, I want to possess! I am starving, and I realized, if I hunger, why can't I consume her, before she consumes me?"
She wondered how she must have looked, supposedly shamed and embarrassed by her indecent failure. She felt she must have seemed frantic, with eyes a bit to wide and legs shifting restlessly. Or maybe, to the unmoved matriarch, she seemed whiney… or mad. How many witches were sent to this room to confess their sins and be chastised? It almost made her feel like a child.
Almost.
For the most part it made her feel deliciously bad.
Another feeling she should investigate.
"It was… it was about power, about my pleasure, about what I could do even though I knew I shouldn't. She came undone, Cissy! It was… for one moment, it was beautiful. It was…"
She couldn't find the words to describe it, that slick inky feeling of domination. Ultimately, Bellatrix would no doubt seek some form of retaliation for the purposeful manipulation of their natures. She knew that, feared it a little even-or was that anticipation? Still, if given the chance, even knowing that they'd be caught by Him, she would have done it again. It had been a most enlightening and educational session. It had been the moment she discovered she could be, would be, more than all she'd ever been.
She'd felt more Firstborn with that woman driven to lapping between her legs, than she'd had since taking Tonks as her vassal.
She wanted more of that.
Still, whether she understood her feelings or not, Narcissa only shook her head. "Your little display of power is no different than the petty rituals of my siblings."
To this Hermione frowned, but could say little.
"Still, even those are important to maintain the balance we all share." Narcissa drawled with slight amusement, right before she took a seat beside her on the bed in a manner that made them both bounce slightly. "And balance is very important, Hermione. I am Lord of that, of keeping our family… functional. I see now that delaying your understanding of such would be a disservice to our family and the tradition that rules us."
She bade her to stand and Hermione did so, with brow furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"
Narcissa, with hands resting upon her thighs, tilted her head. "Our Lord did not send me here to lecture you. At least, not in the manner you are accustomed. There is a way about things that we must all adhere too and while you are still young, it's important that you learn. It is less about your desire, and more about your own personal ability to control yourself and in turn obey. There's an energy growing within you-I can feel it-without leash or chain, and that cannot continue."
The silence stretched between them for a time, broken only when Narcissa reached out to gently grip her wrist and tug her forward.
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, "W-what?"
"Though I wear the mantle of Malfoy, I have always been and will always be a Black. Soon, you shall be a Black, integrated near seamlessly into our tree while carefully maintaining your own. Already, you've been tainted." Narcissa gave her an odd smile, something Hermione might have thought cruel, were it not for the sincerity there. Still, it was something unkind. "And I do wonder what your own affliction might be once the ceremony is complete. No one escapes a Black marriage unchanged."
That was ominous.
"But, it's best if I start now, you see. In keeping that balance and maintaining our family's little hierarchy. I, to be fair, have no choice. Our Lord has demanded it." Carefully Narcissa tugged her forward and manipulated her body until she found herself draped over her long legs, her upper torso somewhat on the bedding, her lower torso-wait…
"N-narcissa?" Hermione croaked.
She ignored her statement, and continued, "You should remember, Hermione, one very important thing in your quest for power."
Hermione squirmed as Narcissa began to lift her flimsy robe, and with but a tap of her finger, she found her arse suddenly exposed to the cold air. No, she wouldn't. Absolutely not. Absolutely not-
"I am the control."
When Narcissa struck her, it was sudden and with so much force Hermione thought she'd been hit with something other than the flat palm of her hand. The sudden ripping burst of agony was more accustomed to a concentrated crucio than any sort of corporal punishment she had ever experienced. In reality, she'd been a good child, well-behaved and quiet. An easier punishment, for her parents at the time, would have been the removal of her books or other learning materials. She'd never been… struck in such a manner. Even on her worst days. To experience such well into adulthood should have been easy, laughable even, despite her inexperience.
But, if that was the case, why did just one strike feel so ground shattering? Was it the sudden vulnerability, the unfortunate act of displaying herself to another? Of being frozen by the trickle of humiliation that kept her, somehow, steady upon Narcissa lap and not on her feet in indignation? Or was it magic that held her still and suffering, some technique that only Narcissa drew upon with such expertise that she felt like nothing more than a overeager woman being put in her place.
When the second strike came, she somehow knew that was exactly what it was. Whatever magic this was that scattered her thoughts and drew a ragged breath from her mouth Hermione had no clue of it. Only that it built upon the soreness already generated, much like Bellatrix enchanted whip and yet the pain had its own sharp blade of suffering to it. It felt just as consuming, made all the more horrible by the echoing impact of her flesh meeting Narcissa hand, but even beyond the pain she felt… bad.
Bad in the manner those who steal or cheat or break the rules felt bad. Bad in the way a liar might feel, successful in action, yet buried beneath their own wild tales. Whenever her thoughts found cause to gather, fractured and disconnected, it was with some manner of reflection that she realized she had thrown caution to the wind, discipline, control to the wayside, all for the thrill of manipulating another. She hadn't thought through her actions, harmless they had once seemed. She hadn't planned the perfect conquering, and for that-and her own unladylike embarrassments-she was being corrected.
Again and again and again.
She'd lost count of the strikes, how could she keep track, when each hit only drew more sounds of distress from her and less coherence? The most she could do was endure, and soon even that action had twisted into submit. Whatever spell held her prisoner, it only strengthened with each successive smack. She barely noticed, trapped within the growing hellscape of her pain driven mind, when Narcissa changed angles or portions of whatever she… spanked.
And did it really matter where she hit if her reaction was all the same?
Still, some portion of her, small and buried beneath the onslaught, had a troubling thought: it felt good to be punished. To let go of her faults. To know that she'd do better next time-she would not be caught again.
She would definitely not be caught again.
When it was over, when the silence once filled only with the troubling sound of her reddened flesh was broken by her own wheezing sobs, she realized with some relief that she felt… less manic. Settled? More thoughtful… It was difficult to say because she also felt… incredibly hot.
"Ah, that's much better. You're all settled now." Narcissa purred, one hand upon the small of her back as the other stroked along the moisture that had gathered between her thighs. "It can be overwhelming, but that's alright. It's a good spell, you know. A very good spell."
Hermione's imagination had run wild. Had it been Narcissa's hand that had punished her? Or something else. Something more? Had she been so delirious in her reflections that she'd imaged tendrils of wicked black, whipping her as expertly as Bellatrix had so many moons ago or-
"Best not to think about it," Narcissa whispered, "we already intend to drive you mad. We shouldn't start that early."
Hermione whined, exhausted, as Narcissa gently disrupted her musings with one hooked finger pressed just so against her slit. She opened her mouth to speak-in protest or encouragement, she wasn't sure-but the rich husky laugh Narcissa released, right before she slipped within her folds, was more than enough to make her forget whatever it was she'd wanted to say.
Now she squirmed for an entirely new reason.
"It's very important that I… assist you with any excess energy you may hold onto, in the absence of your Companion." Narcissa's tone took on a strange note, something sly and dark and far too clever. That finger moved with unnerving expertise, only to soon be joined by another as Hermione began a slow roll of her hips, mindless and instinctual. "I'm only attending my duty. Bella would agree. Though I won't claim I don't enjoy soothing you."
Hermione thought Bella wouldn't have much a choice, considering Narcissa's wicked abilities.
Soon one finger became two and all that mattered in the moment was the successful release of that energy that had been boiling within her since the horcrux-moon.
When it finally boiled over, sharp, acute, and transformed by the sweet intensity of lingering pain, she felt released. Exhausted. Drowsy.
With one hand Narcissa wiped her tears. The other hand, wet with proof of Hermione's taming, she lifted toward her mouth. The last thing Hermione saw, as she drifted toward unconsciousness, was Narcissa sharp-toothed smile, as she carefully licked that wetness from her fingers.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Hermione felt embraced by warmth.
Her nose was buried among riotous curls, inhaling the soothing smell of spell-smoke and something woodsy, like earth. Her back was embraced, engulfed by a pleasant warmth and slow wandering hands. She wasn't sure where she began and her bed companions ended, all that she knew was that she was between two bodies with… a third semi-curled around her thighs and feet. At some point she'd been adjusted. She felt clean at least, and freshly dressed in a simple sleeping shift, but she wasn't alone and that should have been a problem.
Still, she didn't bother opening her eyes, she knew the gentle magic of the third rather well, had shared her bed with them nearly every night since the first, but the two that sandwiched her felt different, yet the same. She inhaled again, pulled more of that familiar scent into her lungs, then sighed.
"Bella?"
From behind her something shifted, the one who felt like Bella, but was more crisp, sharp, less jagged.
Narcissa.
But her mind was exhausted, confused, and she couldn't tell if it was Narcissa's hand stroking along her thighs, or Bellatrix's.
Maybe, it didn't matter.
She nuzzled into the body in front of her, the one on its back snoring gently that she was sure was Bellatrix.
"Are you okay?" She slurred.
The body twitched, growled, then settled with a word so mangled by sleep Hermione wasn't sure what it was. She nuzzled closer and tried again.
"Bella… are you touching me?"
Bellatrix twitched, "Mmprgh?"
Hermione shivered as the hand at her thigh, lazy and slow, grew bolder. "Bella…"
"Sss't me." Bellatrix slurred as one a hand, her hand, moved among Hermione's curls.
That certainly wasn't the one that was touching her though, but maybe Bellatrix found it difficult to tell the difference. Hermione certainly did.
She sighed, squirmed as the hand continued its gentle exploration and succumbed to the pull of slumber.
At her back, Narcissa chuckled.