Authors Note: This story is extremely dubious consent. I plan on toying with the limits of consent rather heavily but while not actually making it non-con. Please avoid this story if this is something that you don't enjoy or that triggers you.
This is going to be completely unlike my MMHG stories and I have been toying with this idea for ages. So expect this version of Hermione to be very different. It is also going to be the smuttiest, downright filthiest thing that I have ever written... That said I hope that you enjoy it... I'm a little nervous about the concept and hope that I can do it justice.
The plaster walls of the cell were drab, a featureless grey that was almost institutional. There were no cracks, no imperfections that a person could count to stave off boredom - the room was utterly devoid of identity.
For the first few weeks of her imprisonment Hermione had used her cutlery to carve into the soft plaster, first the almost cliche marking of passing days she had learnt from innumerable books and movies. Later she added quotes from novels, arithmancy calculations and the like - but to no avail, each morning when she awoke the walls were bare.
During her internment Hermione had seen no one. She had tried screaming but it gained her only a sore throat. Refusing the food and water that inexplicably appeared each day, achieved nothing - she would wake up with a fuzzy head and the taste of a nutrient potion in her mouth. Even tantrums were for naught, any mess she made would be cleaned without comment.
There were exactly seven paces from the cot to the toilet, the same seven steps from the cell bars to the high window that she couldn't reach. Hermione knew this path intimately, and had walked back and forth thousands of times.
She lay awake on the thin mattress for countless hours, listening to the sound of her own breathing because it was the only thing she could hear in the artificial silence. Thinking, it was all she had left, she had no books, no friends and only wore a thin nondescript robe - everything that had defined Hermione Granger had been stripped away from her.
The battle of Hogwarts had been lost. Harry was dead and when Voldemort had asked for half-bloods and purebloods to join him, Ron had done so with barely a backwards glance. The muggleborns and those who still resisted had been rounded up. Hermione had tried to escape, the last thing she had seen was a club heading for her face before darkness. Then she woke up here in this endless tedium.
One day there was an odd scraping sound from in front of the bars and she jumped up to face it. A section of wall slid aside and in front of her was Bellatrix Lestrange. The older witch stood there silently, watching her and Hermione was transfixed by the darkness in her eyes, almost hypnotised by the woman. The girl's eyes tracked the way satin clad hips swayed as the Dark Lord's lieutenant sauntered towards her, it was hard to miss the innate grace being displayed.
Hermione swallowed hard with an audible gulp. Her apprehension only deepened when the dangerous witch lifted the twisted wand that she was intimately familiar with. She winced but the witch merely drew an X on the floor of the cell. "Kneel."
It was obvious where she was supposed to do so but Hermione wasn't in the business of submitting on command. Bellatrix smirked and said nothing, her impatience showing in the way she tapped her wand against her thigh rapidly. Almost a minute passed in silence before the witch turned and walked back out of the dungeon.
No amount of calling brought her back.
For the rest of the day Hermione kept replaying the interaction in her head, she had never seen the other witch act so calmly - even, dare she say, normally. Well aside from the whole 'entitled pureblood' ordering her around thing.
Bellatrix had been spending the time since the trial well it seemed; her wounds from the battle were healed, her teeth had been fixed and she had gained a little weight. Her dress was satin and velvet, black of course, intricately stitched with patterns designed to catch the eye.
Hermione knew that she had lost track of the passing days and consequently she didn't know how long ago the battle had been, perhaps a month but it seemed like she had missed a lot in that time. She hated being out of touch and not knowing.
The boredom continued for two more days unabated but on the third day, the door opened again. This time Bellatrix said nothing, just watched her for what seemed like a long time but could have been only seconds.
"Madam Lestrange, why am I here?"
Bellatrix did not answer. Merely flicked her gaze towards the mark on the floor. When her eyes met Hermione's again she looked displeased, as though to say that she didn't like repeating herself.
Hermione clenched her jaw, hard and then deciding on a course of action she walked three steps and knelt on the X. She swallowed her very Gryffindor urge to demand answers and decided to play Bellatrix's game… at least for now.
"Good girl." Bellatrix moved closer to the bars and squatted for a moment in front of Hermione. "You are here because I will it to be so, and because the Dark Lord has decreed it."
That doesn't answer my question. Hermione thought but didn't let it past her lips. The last thing she wanted was to attract the ire of the woman who had already tortured her. Although at the moment, she half believed that torture would be preferable to the boredom.
After a few minutes Hermione relaxed a little, the tight muscles of her shoulders and back lost some of their rigidity. She placed her hands in her lap so that she wouldn't fidget and just stared up at Bellatrix, trying to get a read on the older witch.
A slow smirk graced full lips as though Bellatrix was somehow pleased by her actions. It's appearance sent a shiver down Hermione's spine but the girl had no idea why. Black painted nails and elegant fingers slipped into a pocket of the ebony dress. Greedy chocolate eyes widened slightly at the sight of a book being withdrawn and shoved through the bars.
Hermione started to move to retrieve it but was stopped by a harsh, "Uh uh." She lowered her hand again and waited, her hunger for books greater than her annoyance at being treated like a dog. Bellatrix gave a pleased sounding hum and then turned and walked away.
The young witch watched her leave and the door vanished again. She got up and picked up the slim volume. Hermione's puzzlement only increased when she looked at the title. Bellatrix had given her a book on wizarding customs and etiquette. A quick page through it revealed; place settings, dress codes, ways to address people of various social standings.
Dark brows drew together in a frown and Hermione shook her head incredulously. The book seemed an odd choice and somewhat dull but she was incredibly bored. The young witch settled onto the mattress and turned to page one.
In the day that passed, a not quite as bored Hermione Granger read and re-read the book that she had been given. She had come to the conclusion that Bellatrix had simply picked up the first book that she saw on the shelf.
Weeks without reading material had given her an appreciation for the written word that she had never before experienced. The young witch would probably have devoured a bus timetable with just as much enthusiasm.
It was the following afternoon when Bellatrix appeared again, with the same suddenness as before. Chocolate eyes met a dark, almost black expectant gaze. Hermione bit back a sigh and knelt on the cross, hating the look of approval that she was given for her obedience.
When Bellatrix began to quiz her on the book that she had been given, Hermione quirked an eyebrow. Evidently the choice of reading material had not been random and was something that the older witch was familiar with. It had been many months since she had taken part in one of Snape's famous classroom interrogations but her instincts were still good and Hermione knew she got every question right.
The raven haired witch paused and looked thoughtful before offering what appeared on the surface to be a non-sequitur. "Rodolphus Lestrange is dead."
Hermione said nothing for a moment, then realised that this was another test, because she had mistakenly addressed her as Lestrange the day before. "My apologies Lady Black. I'm sorry for your loss."
A snort, "It wasn't much of a loss." Heedless and careless of creasing the skirts of her exquisite gown, Bellatrix sat cross legged in front of the bars. "You have been more… compliant than I expected, so you may ask me a question."
So many things ran through Hermione's mind; the state of the war, what had happened to Hogwarts, her friends. She pursed her lips, and decided on something simple. "What day is it?"
"Tuesday." Bellatrix cackled at the dissatisfied look on Hermione's face, before seeming to relent. "Tuesday the twenty third of June."
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the pain of her losses anew for a moment. Harry had been dead for almost two months. "And my friends?"
Bellatrix shrugged, "Dead or captured. I don't much care which. I miss the chaos though."
The young witch nodded slowly, she could completely understand why that would be an issue… at least for Bellatrix Black. She had always seemed to be a wild entity that would thrive on the madness of war. "The war is over then?"
"An inevitable conclusion." Hermione clenched her jaw but said nothing. She needed to control herself, without information she was doomed to whatever fate Bellatrix had decided. Silence hung between them for several seconds. "You're showing remarkable restraint for a Gryffindor."
The girl met Bellatrix's gaze with her own again; the comment was intended to provoke a reaction and she bit back her first reply before she could verbalise it. The older woman smirked, recognising the struggle going on in front of her. "I'm trying, believe me."
Another cackle in response. Bellatrix slid another book through the bars. This time Hermione remained on her knees, hands resting at her sides. There was something different about this one and it took the young witch several seconds to realise what it was.
Even in the cellars dim light the pages of the book, despite yellowing from age, appeared far whiter than any wizarding text that Hermione had ever seen. Bellatrix Black had just given her a muggle book. Brown eyes widened at that incredible realisation and her breath caught in her throat. Then before she could collect her thoughts, the older woman was gone.
If Hermione didn't know better, she would think that Bellatrix was a vampire from old gothic muggle fiction; that she could turn into a bat, smoke or simply vanish. There was something almost otherworldly about the older woman, even amongst witches and wizards, she stood out like a beacon, impossible to ignore and drawing the gaze of all who encountered her.
Hermione shook herself both figuratively and literally before getting up and reaching for the book. 'The art of household management.'
"What?"
Hermione was waiting for another quiz the following day when she knelt in front of Bellatrix but the older woman did not oblige. Perhaps she hadn't read the book herself but then the gift made even less sense to the young witch than it had before.
The crooked wand made a brief slashing gesture and the bars between the two vanished. Hermione tilted her head with unspoken curiosity and just observed the older woman for a few minutes, remaining on her knees. Bellatrix also seemed to be waiting; her grip on the wand, normally lax and careless, was beyond tense, as though she were expecting the Gryffindor to attack her. Time ticked away as they watched each other.
Finally Bellatrix turned away, "Follow me closely." Desperate to leave the cell, Hermione jumped up and let herself be led up a dimly lit flight of stairs with absolutely no idea what was waiting for her but with the fervent belief that it had to be better. Their path took them past several closed doors, up another set of stairs and into a wide opulently carpeted hallway.
Hermione glanced around curiously; noticing the darkening sky outside the windows and the fact that there were no portraits, the house could have been abandoned if not for Bellatrix. The young witch swallowed and continued to follow the hypnotising sway of black satin clad hips.
"Iggy." A small house elf appeared with a characteristic pop. Bellatrix shoved open a door, revealing what looked like a mudroom with a shower cubicle in it. "Show Granger the amenities and bring her to me in the library once she is dressed."
"Yes Mistress."
The dark witch turned to Hermione. "There is no point in trying to escape. The wards here are anything but benign and should not be trifled with."
The young witch nodded slowly, she was torn between the possibilities of fleeing to an uncertain world outside, the idea of finally being able to clean herself and Bellatrix's mention of a library - not that she thought the pureblood was inviting her to peruse her book collection.
Seemingly satisfied, the older woman walked off, leaving Hermione alone with the elf who was wearing a dark charcoal grey but clean pillowcase. "This way."
With another longing glance at the windows the young witch followed the elf into the bathroom. He clicked his fingers and a box of toiletries appeared, along with a towel. "I's wait outside."
Hermione leant against the sink, both hands tightly gripping the porcelain as she stared into the glass above. It had been months since she had looked at her reflection, being on the run had not exactly led itself to beautification, nor had weeks in a cell.
She looked older than she was, eyes wary and shadowed by exhaustion. All those months of near starvation had relieved her of any remaining puppy fat and her cheekbones were well defined adding a certain maturity to her features. Hermione exhaled sharply and began to strip off her filthy clothes, tossing them into an empty basket.
It took a lot of scrubbing for Hermione to feel even remotely clean again. The water cascading over her had been almost black for several minutes when it hit the pristine tiles. She finally emerged and wrapped herself in a towel while taking the time to clip her nails and brush her teeth. Picking up a hairbrush, Hermione looked at the absolutely riotous mess of tangled curls with no idea how to tackle it.
"Iggy?" The young witch had wondered if summoning the elf would work and to her surprise it did. He must have been commanded to see to her needs because he appeared immediately. "Is there a hair potion I could use please?" She gestured to her hair helplessly, "It's hard without my wand."
The elf simply clicked his fingers, taming the mass of hair with a little creature magic. "Oh thank you. I half thought I would need to cut it off."
Iggy frowned, upset, "Mistress Bella wouldn't like that."
Hermione gave her own frown, she didn't know why the length of her hair would matter to the Death Eater but she hated not being in control of her own destiny. The elf brought her a simple pale slate coloured dress and underwear, there were no shoes or socks with the outfit but she hadn't really expected any. She glanced back to where she had left her own but they were gone.
"It is time."
The young witch bit her lip hard before giving the elf a nod and followed him into a maze of hallways. Before long they were at a double door, ornate ebony with silver handles, Iggy knocked. "Enter."
When Hermione followed the elf into the room her jaw dropped. The library was larger than the one at Hogwarts, every wall was lined floor to ceiling with books. Wooden staircases on wheels provided access to all levels. Wide french doors let in the last vestiges of the fading light and sconces provided a warm magical illumination. An ornate fireplace was unlit likely because the evening was warm. Several sofas occupied the floor space; lounging on one of them was Bellatrix.
The older witch had taken off her outer garment and was clad in a corset and a long full petticoat. Her arms were naked, revealing a few faded runic tattoos and ugly scarring around her wrists that could only have been from the shackles of Azkaban. She had kicked off her shoes at some point, stockinged feet resting on the plush carpet. Her crooked wand rested casually between her fingers.
"Much better." Bellatrix paused, "Are you hungry?"
Chocolate eyes widened, "I… yes thank you I am."
The witch glanced at her elf and nodded, he popped out of the room immediately. "Now, let me tell you something that you'd do well to remember. I do not enjoy people making a scene or hysterical displays. I trust that you can continue to show restraint?"
Hermione nodded. "I can."
"You'd better." It was the first threat that she had made thus far, albeit a bit more subtle than the younger witch expected. A flick of her wand lit a small lamp at the nearest table, where a small stack of papers waited and pulled out a simple but expensive looking carved seat. "Perhaps this should wait until after you have eaten."
Noting that the older witch didn't seem to care if she lost her appetite or not, Hermione walked over to the desk. A pile of clippings from the Daily Prophet rested on top of what appeared to be a contract and a few other documents. Shooting another glance at the prone woman, Hermione sat on the wooden chair and began to read.
She soon understood the reason for Bellatrix's warning.
The words began to blend into each other and Hermione put her face in her hands, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wanted to scream, to complain but she bit her lip and said nothing.
After the battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort's dominion over the Wizarding World was uncontested. He controlled the Ministry, and presumably the Prophet too. Azkaban had been obliterated at Bellatrix's hand and all Death Eaters who had spent the years before his second rising in the prison were being treated by soul healers.
His followers had been given high up positions within the government. Hermione's eyes were drawn to Bellatrix's name within the list; she had been appointed as the head of the Auror division. Rodolphus Lestrange had died fighting against unnamed rebels at the behest of his widow, who did not look at all upset at her loss.
Hogwarts was being rebuilt and while the list of staff was partly familiar to Hermione, many were not. She was pleased to see several of her favourite professors were still alive and due to be teaching. The photograph attached to the article tugged at her heartstrings; the familiar teachers were huddled together in front of crumbling ruins, with newer triumphant staff showing off to the camera in the foreground.
By far the worst news, at least for Hermione, was the complete enslavement of all muggleborns - as well as some half-bloods and pure-bloods who had refused to follow Voldemort. A whole economy had sprung up around this new slave trade; one almost as lucrative as the muggle one had been in centuries past.
The Ministry had set out a huge list of rules for slaves and slave owners to follow. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to stop herself from making an audible noise of disgust. She took a break, eating the sandwich that Iggy had brought her. She picked up the rule list and read it again, some standing out more than others.
Slaves must wear a collar and be leashed in public unless trained…
Slaves must be tattooed or branded with their owners mark…
Slaves may not wear clothing, except in special circumstances…
Slaves are not permitted to injure their owner…
Muggleborn slaves must be kept on contraceptives or magically sterilised…
It seemed as though owners only had the responsibility to not breed with muggleborns and to keep them from bothering others. They could beat, rape, torture and kill them at whim, they were under no obligation to even feed their slaves.
Several photographs accompanied that particular article; people that Hermione knew from school, bound and beaten, looking defeated, broken and lost. The slaves being dragged naked through jeering crowds barely even looked human. A teardrop hit the paper with an audible plop and she turned to the next sheet, not wanting to see anything like that again. Even war hadn't prepared her for this.
Hermione wasn't surprised when she picked up a contract naming her as the property of Bellatrix Black. It had the Ministry rules written out again on it, with an addendum that specific rules would be added for her on an ad hoc basis. Under her name and place of residence was a series of tick boxes that had presumably been filled in by the older witch. Slaves could have been declared as serving various purposes for their masters. Bellatrix had put a bold mark through several; indicating that she wanted Hermione Granger to serve in a variety of functions but brown eyes could only focus on one for what seemed to be an eternity - sex slave. The form didn't even list it as a euphemism; there it was in black and white.
Hermione dropped the papers, got up and walked over to the window, resting her forehead on the cool glass. The moon was up now but the wind was whistling past the building and rain hammered against the pane. The weather suited her mood. When she turned around to face Bellatrix, the young woman left her palms pressed against the cold surface, keeping herself grounded.
"And if I said no?"
The older witch put down the whisky glass that she had been drinking from. The outburst Hermione had been expecting didn't come, obviously the soul healing had had some beneficial effects on Bellatrix. Dark eyes locked onto her own brown ones but she said nothing, just waited.
"You don't need my approval, that much is clear. Yet you want me to sign myself over to you. What if I said no?"
Lips twisted into an almost parody of a smile. "In that case I would probably torture you at the very least, just to make up for the inconvenience. Then you would be sold to the highest bidder, several of the Dark Lord's followers have expressed an interest in you." One of Bellatrix's fingers twitched and the prophet article with the pictures of slaves floated across the room, landing beside her, "You've seen how that ends."
Hermione let herself slide down the wall and sat on the floor. She didn't take her eyes off of the older woman, unable to believe what was happening. "And I would fare better… under you?"
"Yes. If I wanted a beaten down, broken slave I would have gotten one. I have no interest or desire for that."
"And what do you want?"
Bellatrix smirked and sauntered over, she crouched in front of the young woman and ran a possessive finger down the length of her face, before settling back to observe her. "A challenge. Someone who won't break under a little pressure. Someone I can mould into what I need. You're supposed to be intelligent girl, you work it out."
Hermione inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring at the scent of cinnamon and smoke emanating from the intense witch. "You could just get another house elf and a… a prostitute if that's what you want? I'm just a mudblood, right?" She added that last bit with a note of defiance in her voice.
Eyebrows lifted and the smirk grew. "I want a more capable and adaptable servant than a house elf. You have potential. As for the other thing… you are a very attractive little mudblood and why should I pay for a whore, when you are free… and mine and only mine!"
The hand that moved back to Hermione's face was almost gentle and she fought the urge to lean into the touch. It had been so long since she had been shown any affection and she craved it with an intensity that scared her.
That dark gaze flickered across Hermione's features and body language, reading the girl's mood. "Make no mistake… Pet. The next few months will be difficult, you have a great deal to learn and any transgression on your part - particularly in public, will result in a punishment. Good behaviour however, is something that I believe in rewarding."
A thumb ever so slowly dragged across Hermione's bottom lip, feeling it tremble, "There is no reason after all, why your captivity shouldn't provide you with at least some measure of enjoyment."
Brown eyes widened as Bellatrix continued, "Don't forget that I have been in your mind girl, I know your desires, your every fantasy and exactly how much of a teacher's pet you long to be." The older woman stood up and walked back to her sofa, taking a long drink from her glass, keeping her back to the girl. Deliberately leaving herself vulnerable.
Hermione buried her face in her hands, feeling trapped and afraid. She looked again at the sheet of newspaper resting against her foot. The staggering form of one of the Creevy brothers had been pictured being dragged behind Fenrir Greyback; the boy was pitifully thin and he was covered with blood, skin torn in a number of places by teeth and blades. The most startling thing was the boy's eyes, normally so alight with curiosity - they were dead, lifeless and broken.
It was this that decided her course of action; she growled under her breath and stood. Bellatrix heard her, Hermione could tell by the way elegant fingers clenched on her wand and shoulders tightened in anticipation of an attack. The young witch walked over to the desk and scrawled her name on the contract, feeling a tug on her magic as the bond locked into place.
Bellatrix smiled and turned to face her slave. Hermione stood before her; both hands clenched into fists tightly by her sides, pretty features pale and pinched. The girl was shaking like a leaf but held herself upright, strong. The dark witch would not have admitted it but that strength and inner fortitude was one of the things that had drawn her to the young Gryffindor.
"Remove your clothing." Deliberate, Bellatrix kept her tone neutral, conversational but it was an order nevertheless. The delay was brief but noticeable, although the older witch had fully expected Hermione to hesitate or even baulk at the demand.
The girl trembled but she grasped her dress with both hands and pulled it over her head. Brown eyes locked with black as nervous fingers folded the garment and placed it on the sofa. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows expectantly but said nothing, waiting for Hermione to continue. The younger witch closed her eyes to shut out that demanding gaze but she reached for the fastening on her bra.
Underwear joined the dress on the sofa and then Hermione was naked. "Open your eyes," Bellatrix's voice was scarcely a whisper but they stood so close together that the words were audible. "I want you to see who you are with, not closing your eyes to pretend this isn't happening."
"Trust me, I know."
Bellatrix chuckled; then reached out, running her fingers along a long scar on Hermione's stomach that had yet to fade completely. "Where is this from?"
"Dolohov, at the Department of Mysteries." The older woman hummed in acknowledgement, moving her fingers to Hermione's shoulder where a smaller circular scar broke the perfection of her flesh. "I fell off of a pony when I was eight." The fingers trailed across the young woman's skin as the dark witch circled her like a predator. When Bellatrix reached the word she had carved into Hermione's wrist, she scratched the still tender flesh softly with her nails. "You know where that one came from."
"I remember," Bellatrix husked into the younger woman's ear, her lips almost but not quite touching. "Rather vividly in fact." Hermione felt her body shudder in response to the words, she felt light headed and knew she was still trembling. Bellatrix returned to the front, facing Hermione and they stood almost toe to toe.
"Is torture… foreplay for you?"
Full lips quirked with amusement and Bellatrix chuckled but didn't answer immediately, instead she sat down to pour herself another drink. "Kneel."
Biting her lip nervously, Hermione obeyed the instruction, focussing on the other witch's crossed ankles - rather than the intensity of her gaze. The storm outside ramped up in ferocity, distracting the young woman from the pounding beating of her own heart.
Bellatrix leant forward, running her wand up the inside of the Gryffindor's knee. "Part your thighs… just a little." Hermione shifted her weight and did as she was told, feeling her own teeth dig in deeper as she bit down. "Good girl."
The dark witch let her gaze roam. The young woman was truly beautiful, stunning in fact. Hermione had pale soft looking skin, enhanced by the cascade of chestnut curls falling over her shoulders; full perky breasts topped by nipples that were slightly hardened in the cool air, the girl had well defined muscles and the shadowed area between her legs drew Bellatrix's eye. Despite her nudity, Hermione looked demure and oh so corruptible; with wet eyelashes, averted gaze and cheeks coloured with embarrassment.
"Sometimes Pet, a little pain can intensify your pleasure." Bellatrix watched the girl release her lip and glance up.
"I'm not sure I can understand that."
The older woman twirled a lock of Hermione's hair around one finger and tugged lightly. "You will." Their eyes locked, gazes clashing as the young witch fought to keep herself under control. "In time…" Bellatrix wrinkled her nose comically, in a gesture that was almost endearing, "But right now it's time for you to go to bed."
Brown eyes widened incredulously, Hermione hadn't expected that in the slightest. There were many adjectives that she had heard applied to the older witch over the years; patient and considerate were not among them. "Why are you being so…?"
"...So?"
Hermione lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug. "You aren't exactly renowned for your kindness. I have to admit that I'm confused."
Bellatrix opened her mouth to snap but seemed to correct her impulse almost immediately, she rolled her empty glass between her palms before replying. "I expected you to rant and scream, perhaps to foolishly try and fight your way out but your behaviour has been far better than I could have anticipated. There are going to be times… probably a great many times when you are going to absolutely hate me if you don't already. Tonight doesn't have to be one of those. Consider the respite to be a reward."
Hermione waited for the dark witch to continue but it seemed Bellatrix had reached the end of her forbearance. "Thank you," the Gryffindor murmured, instinctively knowing that a response was going to be required.
"Iggy, show Granger to her quarters."
Quarters was something of a stretch, the room was not much larger than her cell had been - perhaps eight steps across. One wall held two doors; one leading to a small washroom with sink and toilet, the other was locked but Iggy had told her that it led to Bellatrix's room. Hermione hated that idea, it was a reminder that she was now the older woman's property, her plaything, and that she was being kept close for that reason.
She dragged her eyes away from the closed door and looked more at her surroundings. The walls were panelled in dark wood and the floorboards were stained the same colour; it left the room overwhelmingly dull. The only light came from a small lamp resting on the floor next to a mattress. It seemed like her living conditions hadn't received much of an upgrade afterall. But at least it was warmer up in the main house.
With that thought, Hermione suddenly remembered that she was still nude. She flushed violently, putting her face in her hands. Not only had she been naked in front of her new Mistress but also the house elf, she had walked through a house with no clothes on. The realisation hit her hard; she felt her legs buckle, as she collapsed into the mattress and dragged a blanket across herself.
She had just agreed to be Bellatrix Black's slave. Admittedly she hadn't had a lot of choice but she had consented, in writing, to being owned… and used, by Voldemort's lieutenant, the person that had tortured her, who caused so much pain to people she cared about. Hermione's next exhalation was a choked sob and she bent forward, hugging her knees. She resolved not to cry and let herself fall backwards onto the pallet.
Hermione's head hit something that had been left on the pillow and she turned her head to see a book resting there. It seemed that 'taking the rest of the day off' wasn't her only reward for good behaviour. She tied the blanket around herself and picked up the hardback. It was something that she could never have found at Hogwarts, not even in the restricted section.
It was a sex book entitled 'The joy of service', a quick glance inside of which, had Hermione blushing scarlet again. Obviously aimed at more submissive sexual partners, the volume provided detailed instructions on how to please a dominant woman - including a vast number of explicit moving photographs. She sighed, glancing at the lamp resting on the floor next to the two books she had previously been given. It seemed that Bellatrix had no problem with her reading at night but just wanted her tucked away - afterall it was probably not long after ten.
Hermione thought back to the Prophet article where it had mentioned soul healing; she had looked into the subject before after the debacle of her fifth year at school. Soul healing used a mix of muggle style therapies, along with coping strategies and using legilimency to alter the emotional resonance of problem memories. The concept was that any damage from trauma could be healed, even negative personality traits could be adjusted so that a person would fit back into society.
Sirius had been haunted by Azkaban; Hermione had heard him screaming in his sleep on multiple occasions when she had stayed at Grimmauld Place. It stood to reason that if such a good man, surrounded by friends and loved ones couldn't recover… it explained a lot about Bellatrix's behaviour, the older witch had to be fucking traumatised. Dementors brought up everything painful and terrifying from a person's past. Hermione was willing to bet that the volatile and dark Bellatrix had a lot more for the spectres to work with.
The Bellatrix that she had been talking to was not the one that Hermione had seen in battle for the last several years. She had been reasonable, stable and capable of self-restraint. Whatever she had been doing had obviously been working. Though the older witch was clearly still struggling for control, it had shown in the way she had tensed her jaw and clenched her fists at certain points in their conversation.
Hermione groaned again; the Bellatrix that she had met tonight seemed safe enough, but she was still unstable. There was every likelihood that the other woman could just snap and kill her. The Gryffindor didn't much fancy walking on eggshells for the rest of her life and having the metaphorical sword of Damocles hanging over her head, filled her with a sick feeling of dread.
A muted thump came from the other side of the locked door. Brown eyes flicked up to look at it with trepidation but when the handle didn't turn, Hermione let out a relieved sigh. She honestly didn't know what she would have done if Bellatrix had entered the room. She tried to quell the turmoil of her thoughts, wrapping the blanket more securely around herself, and began to read the first chapter of the book. Perhaps research would help calm her nerves or at least provide some idea of what tomorrow might bring.
The distant sound of running water woke Hermione the next morning. She had sore eyes from reading long into the night; unable to sleep until after the birds started singing, tumultuous thoughts running through her brain. The young witch got up from the rather uncomfortable mattress and went into her own small washroom, to attend to her own needs.
Inwardly cursing the lack of a shower or bath, Hermione ran a basin of water and sponged herself clean. After drying off and brushing her teeth, she wrapped the towel around herself. Her reflection in the mirror looked even more exhausted than the previous evening. She sighed and tugged a comb through her hair, thankful at least that she had been given toiletries. Somehow she suspected that she would learn to enjoy the little things in life that other people took for granted.
Hermione walked back into her room only to stop dead when she spotted the older witch leaning casually against the frame of the now open interconnecting door. Her mouth dropped when she realised that Bellatrix was clad only in rather skimpy underwear. Damp raven curls were clinging to her pale skin and full lips were parted in a smirk as she observed the Gryffindor.
Bellatrix crooked her index finger in a 'come hither' gesture and walked back into her own room, looking coquettishly over her shoulder at the younger woman. "And Pet? Leave the towel." It was almost as hard to remove the towel as it had been to strip off her dress the previous evening. Then walking nude into Bellatrix's bedroom took a herculean effort on her part.
The dark witch gave Hermione a minute to collect herself and look at her new surroundings. Like her own quarters, this was panelled in dark wood but here the upper part of the walls were a pale grey. Most of the furnishings were dark Slytherin green but the crumpled bed sheets were pristinely white and drew the young woman's gaze.
The moment passed and Hermione turned to face her captor who was putting on a corset. "Take this," said Bellatrix, handing her the laces. "You need to pull tighter than you think, cross them after every eyelet and thread through."
"Alright." The thin cord dug into the young woman's hands as she tugged. Bellatrix braced herself with both hand grasping one of the ornate bedposts. It was somewhat trial and error as Hermione worked out how to maintain the tension of the lacing as she worked her way up and eventually managed to tie the garment securely.
So engrossed in her task was the Gryffindor; that she had initially failed to notice two things, firstly that Bellatrix had left her wand unattended on the bedside table and secondly that if the older witch was getting dressed, Hermione's virtue was presumably safe for a few more hours. "Top drawer over there, grab me a petticoat."
Hermione obliged and anticipating the next instruction, she got on one knee and held the garment open for Bellatrix to step into. She rose up higher to lift the underskirt into position under the corset and tied it at the side, just above the curve of the older woman's left hip. "The same with your dress?" She could smell soap and perfume overlayed with the warm scent of skin.
"Yes. It's hanging over there by the window." Bellatrix's dark eyes followed the younger witch as she moved across the room, letting her gaze linger on delicious curves. Today's outfit was similar to the one that she had worn throughout the war and Hermione shuddered at the memory of the older woman crucio'ing her at Malfoy Manor. Nevertheless she reached up to grab the hanger.
Brown eyes met black and Hermione swallowed hard, walking back towards Bellatrix with the dress folded carefully over her arm. The heavy fabric seemed to hold the scent of smoke and chaos, the decorative stitching scratching at her bare skin. She was approaching sensory overload and the older woman took the garment from her shaking hands, laying it on the bed.
"On your knees." Hermione obeyed the husky command, sinking down onto the carpet and bowed her head, focussing her gaze on black painted toenails. Moments passed with the young woman trying to concentrate on her breathing, willing her body to relax. Then a hand ran through her hair, fingers slipping between curls as Bellatrix smoothed her hair from her face and all the way down to the slightly split ends. The gesture was light but not really gentle, it was too possessive for that, nevertheless it was somehow calming. A minute or so passed, "Now about that dress…"
"Sorry." Hermione jumped up and reached for the item in question and helped Bellatrix into it. A part of her brain noticed that the older witch had an exceptional figure for a woman of her age. That led her to remembering a few rather explicit photographs in graphic detail and she flushed scarlet.
"Which page?"
Hermione jumped at the words that had been issued almost directly into her ear. "Pardon?"
"You were blushing and I'd lay money on the fact that you were thinking about the book I gave you. So I'll ask again, which page number?"
"...Thirty-four."
Bellatrix gave a full on grin, it lit up her face and made her look a lot less intimidating. She hummed in acknowledgement of the embarrassed girl's acquiescence, "I can see why that would make an innocent little thing like you blush." Hermione bit her lip, shyly meeting that predatory gaze before standing and beginning to fasten the tiny buttons that ran the length of Bellatrix's spine. "Have you thought about whether you would prefer a brand or a tattoo?"
The older witch heard and felt the girl's sharp exhale against the skin of her shoulder blades. It was important to her that Granger take some ownership of her enslavement; that had been why she had made her sign the contract and now choose her mark. Making her decide would reinforce the reality that she now belonged to Bellatrix and speed up her acceptance of this fact.
"A… a… tattoo."
"Are you sure?"
Hermione knew that In the future a tattoo could be removed by muggle means and that was why she had decided on it, rather than the branding - she had enough scars already. "Yes."
Bellatrix nudged the young witch with her hip and Hermione felt the bed at the back of her knees and sat down hard. Before she could even take another breath, the crooked wand was pointed at her still tender wrist. Despite it having been left several feet away; it seemed that the Slytherin was quicker on the draw than she could have imagined. The incantation was simple enough but like many charms it was the intent behind the words that provided the magic. Only a second passed in painful silence before Hermione was wearing the crest of the House of Black on her lower forearm, the lines of ink incredibly detailed and rendered with pride.
"Now you really are mine."
Lunchtime - the Ministry of Magic, Auror Department
Bellatrix growled under her breath when someone knocked on the door. She absolutely hated being behind a desk for more than a few minutes but they were wrapping up a big operation and she needed to be here. "Come in."
Moving with more confidence than any of Bellatrix's subordinates, Narcissa Malfoy popped her head around the door and then entered when no hexes were flung her way. "Just checking that you weren't in a homicidal mood dear sister."
Bellatrix snorted, "It's only noon on Thursday, I'm not normally murderous until Friday."
"You're in a good mood," said Narcissa, gracefully settling into a well-padded chair and ringing for an elf, having placed their lunch order well before she entered her sister's office.
"I am actually."
"Finally played with your toy?" The youngest Black sister wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Not yet. Making progress certainly."
"Even when you were a child you were always so impatient, I can't understand what you are up to, it's not like you."
Bellatrix automatically grunted in thanks to the Ministry elf who popped in with an elaborate tray of afternoon tea that was obviously Narcissa's doing. She poured herself a cup of tea, stirring in a few sugar lumps.
"Remember when we were children Cissy, and Father took us to see his trainer working with some new Abraxan horses?"
"Yes." Narcissa wanted to sigh, sometimes talking to her older sister was more akin to that of speaking to a toddler with a limited attention span. "Why?"
"He explained that there are two ways to break such a beast; you could beat it into submission to take a saddle and rider but in doing so you break the spirit of the animal. However, the better way is to wait until it is ready to accept the saddle, to willingly surrender control. Such an animal retains the ability to think, to reason and maintains its spirit."
"So to use your ridiculous metaphor… is the girl willing to let you saddle her?"
This time Bellatrix laughed, a hearty sound that made the poised Lady Malfoy giggle in response. "Not yet but perhaps a bridle." She pulled the contract that bore Hermione's signature from her desk drawer and tossed it in the direction of her sister.
Narcissa raised an elegant eyebrow. "Why on Earth would a Gryffindor sign this?"
"Because the alternative is worse and she is intelligent enough to see that."
"It almost sounds like you admire her? A mudblood?"
Bellatrix sat back, and began to fidget with her quill. "The girl is very capable for a mudblood and the more we met during the war, the more she impressed me. I want to turn that to my advantage and I want her willing submission, in fact I'm craving it."
"You just want to screw her."
"I really do, she's fucking stunning." Bellatrix agreed, "I'm imagining seeing her looking up at me with those big brown eyes, unable to stop herself from reacting to my touch, even though it's the last thing she mentally wants. To watch her fighting against her own desires and when she finally does truly surrender, it is going to be glorious."
Narcissa looked at the passionate glee in her sister's eyes and sighed, the idea of her sister having sex with the young mudblood was an anathema to her but she was glad to have Bellatrix back. Not just from Azkaban but the return of her sanity meant a great deal. If that came with a muggleborn witch as the price, Narcissa would gladly pay it.
A.N Thank you to Katrine from the Bellamione Land Facebook group for beta reading and the advice.