Warning for this chapter: This chapter contains sexual scenes.
Warning for every chapter: Slavery. Dubious consent. Violence. Mentions of rape. Death. Assault. General gore warnings. Please read responsibly.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters and no money has been made from this.
Enjoy...
Chapter Nine
Itching, hands twitching, Hermione monitors the clock on the wall. Counting down the minutes until she can go see Luna. Four days since her poem glossed the papers, four days since the houses were turned upside down. They had heard the stories from the other houses, how some of the servants had been grilled. Tortured.
Remorse settles in the pit of her stomach, she is responsible for the suffering of others. She had never wanted her words to cause pain, despite Luna's assertion that it will pass. She feels guilty for the impact her poem has had. Luckily, due to past altercations with previous staff, the world knows Lady Lestrange's servants can not talk out of turn.
Regardless, Lestrange still tested the theory, forcing Terry to right something, from the heart. Veritaserum, fortunately for Terry he cannot write, unfortunately for Autumns she most certainly could. With bated breath, Hermione had watched from her mistress's side, as Autumn wrote.
In all honesty, Hermione wasn't sure if her magic, her silence on the staff would work when it came to writing. She hadn't thought much about it at the time, she had just cast a general spell binding their loyalty. Lucky, Autumns did not lose her tongue, she did however break out in the most hideous warts. Puss dripped from her face, her hands, honestly something from the black plague. They had all stepped back, except for Hermione. She stepped forward, not sure if she could remove the curse, not sure if she could heal it but willing to try.
The hand on her forearm prevented her from helping Autumns. Let it be a warning. Lestrange satisfied, instructed them all to return to work. All. Including Autumns, who, unfortunately, two days ago was admitted to St Mungo's.
They had not heard since her admittance; unsure they would ever see the witch again. The letter, her confession of feelings for Terry left on the table, the quill still in the same place. No one can bring themselves to touch. No one can bring themselves to look at Hermione. Even she struggles to look herself in the mirror, guilt in it mingles. Autumns sacrifice meant the rest of the house was spared. Hermione only wished it wasn't such a heavy price to pay.
Even Angelina struggled to look at Hermione, fear, they are all fear and loath her. Behind closed doors, they whisper, she can hear them when she checks her runes. They speak of the writing on the paper, they may loath Hermione, but they loved the words printed in black.
The household remained running smoothly, hard not to when no one dared speak out of tone. With a lump in her throat, Hermione watched as Angelina hesitated to write a list of the shopping needed for the kitchen. Hand trembling, wincing as her words curved, dreading the effects. She had done that, she had brought fear to her house, fear to the staff.
Her mistress gleeful, almost smug, the admittance of one of the staff had reached the ears of the other households. The story leaked, deliberately. Bellatrix wanted the world to know, that no one in her staff could nor would speak out of turn. Smug, riding her high horse, if only she knew. Knew Hermione was the source of the information, that she was responsible for such devastation.
A power trip, standing quiet, emotionless as her mistress remained smug. Taunting almost to her husband, bragging that no leak could come from the Lestrange house. Hermione for the most part watched in silence. If only she knew. Hermione would be strung up before dawn if she found out, feet dangling, neck snapped. Swinging in the wind.
Control she had the smallest amount of control.
Finally, grasping her cloak, she moves in silence, slipping from the house. She apparates out of sight, arriving in the small town. The factories nearby were in full force, the ground shuddering from the mines. The smog, lingers, clutching at her feebly trying to hold her still. She moves, charms in place, heading to the tea shop in the back of the alley. Placing a coin on the desk, she moves to the back room. In a blink, she vanishes.
All most excited to see Luna, wanting to catch up with the witch. The last time she was here, she had explained all to the witch. Everything Lily had left her, the letter. Unleashing the pent-up emotion. Luna asked to see the letter, swearing not to put it in the papers, but wanting to help. Hesitant, Hermione agreed, sending the letter the next day via Luna's elf.
Pushing the door open, the smell of cinnamon greets her, Luna has been baking again. Removing her cloak, she hangs it up, the room empty, no blonde in sight, Hermione takes a seat waiting. Pop. Luna appears rushing to greet Hermione, the hug expected. Not comfortable in truly returning the sign of affection, she does allow the witch to hug her longer.
"So glad you came," Luna grins. "I made gingerbread horses."
"Horses?"
Nodding, Luna summons the plate of gingerbread, poorly shaped gingerbread horses. The icing dripping off the side of the plate, they smell great. Smiling, Hermione shares a look with the blonde witch.
"My horse looks horny," Hermione smirks accepting the biscuit.
"Just excited to see you." Luna comments.
Chuckling, Hermione eats the biscuit, flicking her wand, and Luna springs the radio to life. The joyful tune fills the room as they eat their biscuits in silence. Arms brushing, Hermione smiles to herself, is that what it's like to have a friend? To be comfortable in the presence of another?
"Thank you," Hermione whispers not looking up from her biscuit. "For being so…"
Friendly, kind? She hadn't meant to speak, what was there to say? She didn't understand what Luna wanted from her; the witch just seemed to enjoy her presence.
A warm hand encases Hermione's, Luna still chewing on her biscuit. Smiling, Hermione squeezes the hand back, expecting the witch to pull away, when she doesn't, she swallows the lump in her throat. Shivering as the blonde leans her head against Hermione's arm. They finish their biscuits, hands clasped together.
"She's fine," Luna murmurs. "Autumns, was it? She's fine?"
"She is?" Hermione asks shocked, turning to the witch. "How do you know?"
"My aunt works at St Mungo's. I asked her, she was healed and discharged. I think Lady Lestrange sold her; I don't know why she would though?"
"She confessed feelings for another." Hermione states. "Please tell me, she didn't go to the factories?"
"No, I can't recall the family, but they're in Ireland."
Weight drops from Hermione's shoulders, a breath she didn't know she'd be holding leaves her lips. It had kept her awake, the guilt, the fear for Autumns future, she had done nothing wrong.
Turning, Hermione engulfs the witch next to her in a hug, grateful. So grateful for the news, for releasing her from the burden of guilt. Happy, Luna returns the hug. Pulling back, a bright smile on Luna's lips.
Impulse, she captures the blonde's lips. Soft, so incredibly soft, they tremble beneath the kiss. Hands they tangle in blonde hair, Luna's grasp at Hermione's top.
Pulling, away Hermione tumbles from the table, swallowing hard. Breathless, she stares at the witch who looks bewildered.
"Sorry," Hermione whispers hands shaking. "I am so sorry."
"Hermione, it's…"
Falling to her knees, Hermione bows her head, what was she thinking. What on earth had she been thinking. Kissing Luna? Does she never learn, she moves to shed her top, ten lashings at least?
"Stop, God no stop," Luna instructs dropping to her knees in front of Hermione, pulling the top back down. "I would never hurt you."
"It's the least I deserve."
"No," Luna snaps, grabbing Hermione's cheeks in both hands. "You do not deserve that."
"I shouldn't have kissed you; I am so sorry."
"I am not," Luna assures. "No one deserves lashings, least of all you."
"I…"
Lips swallow her protest, hands against her cheeks. Soft, so incredibly soft, her own hands clutch at the slim waist, pulling the witch closer. The smell of vanilla encases her. Hands slipped into Hermione's hair, tugging her closer. A gasp, tongues touch, electricity burns through Hermione.
She moves without thought, pulling Luna onto her lap, a squeak, a laugh. Nimble hands tighten in the top, teeth nipping. They fight for dominance, in Luna's surroundings. Straddling Hermione's lap, Luna takes the height advantage dragging her nails across Hermione's scalp. A moan escaped bruised lips.
"Don't stop," Luna breathes against Hermione's ear. Nibbling, she sucks the ear lobe.
Body on fire, Hermione grasps the witch, hands wandering, slipping beneath the silken top. Her fingers dance across the smooth skin, goosebumps breaking out at her touch. Groaning as Luna drags her mouth down the side of Hermione's neck.
"Should have let you take your top off," Luna whispers heatedly.
"Still time," Hermione promises, dragging the witch back into a kiss.
It's hot, heated, nails digging into the soft skin, lips bruising, she wants more, needs more. A jolt, she gasps breaking from the contact.
"What, what happened?" Luna asks. "You, okay?"
"My mark," Hermione mutters clutching her neck.
It's pulsing, Luna's hand must have touched it. Swallowing, Hermione glances around the room to reassure herself that they are alone. That her mistress has not followed. Not here, no one is here. Panting, Lana manages to smile, pupils dilated, lips bruised, a sight to be seen.
"Sorry," Hermione whispers. "I didn't mean to ruin it."
"You didn't," Luna promises with a smile she pushes to her feet, offering her hands to Hermione. "Perhaps it's best if we stop."
Course, Hermione nods, ignoring the sting of rejection. She pushes to her feet, not accepting the hands. Flinching as a finger brushed against her lip, removing the evidence of Luna's lipstick.
"It's not that I don't want to," Luna reassures, meeting Hermione's eyes. "I most certainly do. I just… I just want it to be more. You are more than sex, you mean so much to me. Do you know that?"
"I do now," Hermione smiles weakly squeezing the hand.
"You do, besides I'm conscious of our time. If I don't stop, I might not let you leave."
Glancing at the clock in the corner, Hermione smiles, she will need to return to the manor soon. With shaky hands, Luna pulls the letter from Lily out.
"So," A cough, a flush of embarrassment. "I mean this is intense, right? Did, did Lily die that night?"
"Yes," Hermione agrees solemnly coming to stand a few feet away.
She can't trust herself to be too close to the witch, to not continue where they finished off. The look of desire shot across the table at her, reassuring Hermione, that Luna is nowhere near finished with their activities. It sends a thrill of excitement through her body.
"Which is strange because she was certain her death was later. So, I investigated a little bit, there are mentions over the last decades of death. Strange deaths occurring, I made notes of any that mentions a broken mirror. There have been several deaths in the last three years all featuring a broken mirror. All happened on the night of a full moon, all these people were found dead. No signs of attack, no signs of anything they just dropped dead. Servants and some of the Elite. I also tried to find something on Red Kites, your theory of a curse. There isn't anything, but Lily was right, no Red Kite has served more than eight years."
"How is that possible," Hermione asks.
"I don't know, I don't know why it's never been noticed before?"
Hermione knew why, no one notices if a servant dies, even if it's in a strange setting. Servants were common and easily replaceable, what happened behind closed doors, was the business of the servants' masters.
"I don't have much in the way of answers. As far as my research goes, Lily is the only person to write down what she saw. There is an auction in the next few days, for one of the suspicious deaths. They were an avid writer; I'm going to see if I can buy any items."
"Please be careful," Hermione instructs.
"Me, be careful, aren't you going against Lady Lestrange's wishes by hiring a new member of staff?"
"I need to find a replacement for Autumns,"
"A replacement that so happens to be Red Kite potential?" Luna chastises.
"My mistress is strong-headed; I must ensure the house runs smoothly upon my death."
"Hermione," Luna whispers grasping Hermione's hand. "We're not going to let you die, you know that."
"Time will tell. Regardless, I know my duty, the newbie joins the household in a couple of weeks."
"And when Lady Lestrange notices you have a shadow?"
"I'll cross that bridge when I get there."
Sighing, Luna retracts her hand, spreading papers on the desk. Not satisfied with Hermione's answer, but smart enough to know it isn't worth arguing over.
"I have one theory, however," Luna continues. "Time is wrong. I don't think the person is referring to the actual time."
"To what then?" Hermione questions.
"Time. As in the timeline."
"Time travel?" Hermione replies sceptically. "It's a bit far stretched."
"A mysterious person appearing in a mirror isn't it?" Luna asks. "Besides, there are time turners."
"I don't understand what this has anything to do with the mirror, with Lily. It doesn't make sense."
"I don't know." Luna shrugs. "It's a theory, one I plan to investigate further."
It's a wild theory, probably one that won't go anywhere, but it's worth a look. Checking the time, Hermione pushes away from the table. A brief sadness flashed across Luna's face hidden behind a brave smile.
"I have to go," Hermione states summoning her cloak. "Lady Lestrange will be returning soon."
"Of course," Luna smiles, stepping closer to Hermione.
This time, Hermione initiates the hug, smiling into the blonde's shoulder. A comfort, a reassurance, she never knew she needed. Pulling away, she flushes as Luna presses a kiss on Hermione's cheek.
"Tomorrow?"
"No, will need to be the next day," Hermione answers tying her cloak. "Lady Lestrange will be home all day tomorrow. My presence will be noticed."
"She knows you visiting, right?"
"She does, just not aware how frequently."
"Be careful," Luna orders.
"Of course."
Pausing next to the doorway, Hermione turns last second. Luna collected her notes, raising an eyebrow curiously.
"Is there anything else of mine… Do you think is worth publishing?" Her voice is hesitant, she fidgets with the door handle, missing the big grin on Luna's face.
"Yes, but I thought you didn't want me to?"
"I don't want to cause any upset, I never wanted my words to hurt anyone. However, I cannot ignore how each morning they all go looking in the paper. If you can without putting yourself at risk, maybe post another something."
"I can."
Luna smiles, mysterious, shaking her head, Hermione leaves the witch to her thoughts. Still not sure about her thoughts being out there, but if it brings some relief then it's worth it.
Narrowly avoiding the rain, Hermione sheds her cloak, throwing it onto a waiting hook. The house is oddly quiet for the time of day. No one in sight. Swallowing, she takes the stairs to her mistress room, she hasn't returned yet. Glancing at the clock, it's only eight pm, Lady Lestrange isn't meant to return until nine pm.
Meant to be having dinner with Lady Malfoy, perhaps that is why the house is quiet. Nudging the door to her mistress room, open, she frowns at the closed curtains, a few candles lit.
It must be Angelina, only she would enter Lady Lestrange's room. A groan from the bed makes her freeze, the bedroom door closing quietly. Is her mistress in bed? Peering through the gloom, Hermione makes out a figure in the bed.
Oh.
Oh no.
Flushing, Hermione swirls around, adverting her gaze colliding with an unmoving force. Hands landing on hips to prevent herself from falling over. Naked hips. Flushed, sweaty naked hips. Swallowing, Hermione fumbles not sure where to turn, or where to look. There are two very naked, sated witches in her Lady's bed, her hands currently resting on very naked hips.
Hands. Flinching, Hermione pulls her hands back. Naked, hot sweaty, Bellatrix Lestrange standing in front of her. She shivers, eyes are drawn to erect nipples, forcing herself to look away. To not reach out, to not touch forbidden goods.
"Granger," Lestrange greets. "Wondered where you got to,"
Speechless, Hermione forces her hands down to her sides, as Lady Lestrange moves past her. With the clink of ice in a glass, she turns to see her mistress swigging the remains of the fire whiskey.
"No matter," Lestrange disregards. "We need to pack a bag."
Bending over, Bellatrix lifts a disposed of an item of clothing. Hermione tracks every movement, the firm bum, poised legs. The wetness between her mistress's thighs, the scratches that cover her back. With the indents of nails, Hermione can only imagine what marks linger on the witches in the beds.
"See anything you like?"
The words snap Hermione from her daze, Bellatrix watching her in return. Blushing, Hermione looks down to the floor, not daring to meet the witch's eyes. Heart pounding, she tries to ignore the shiver running through her body.
"Oh no," Bellatrix whispers, hand clasping Hermione's chin. "You know better than to look away."
Forcing herself to meet the stern gaze, Hermione ignores the smirk that crosses her mistress's face. The smell of sex lingers on her mistress's fingertips.
"Now, a bag."
"A bag?" Hermione croaks.
"Get your head out the gutter," Lestrange warns. "I want my bags packing, yours as well. We may also need one other."
"Sorry?" Hermione questions, mind struggling to catch up. "Did I miss something…"
"Yes, my patience, look there you see it floating away,"
"I'm sorry I just…"
"Just got distracted?" Lestrange teases, taking a seat on the arm of a chair, revealing everything. "Yes, I noticed. Besides, you didn't miss anything, My Lord has called an assembly."
"So soon?"
"It would appear so, anyway. We leave first light."
"For how long?"
With a shrug, Lady Lestrange studies her nails bored with the conversation. There was an assembly only four months ago, usually, the Dark Lord only summoned one every fourteen months.
"I will pack." Hermione nods.
"Well obviously, I'm not going to do it." Bellatrix drawls. "Oh, good, they're awake."
Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione spots the witches waking from their slumber, a Cheshire grin on their faces. The blonde rose from the bed, kneeling on the edge, coaxing Bellatrix to come to join them.
"Oh, is joining us?" The blonde asks smiling at Hermione. "Always room for more."
"Now Granger," she grows still as Bellatrix's arm hangs limply around her shoulders. "Isn't that a nice invitation?"
"Oh, go on Bella, let her play." The dark-haired girl whispers. "Be a shame not to."
"Wouldn't it just," Lestrange replies. "Someone needs to pack my things though."
"Next time."
Most likely not, Hermione thinks to herself, turning away from the witches on the bed. Not the first time she has seen them in her mistress bed. Nor will it be the last time. It does, however, mean she will have to listen and watch her mistress have fun as she packs. Not the first time.
"Maybe," Bellatrix whispers against Hermione's ear.
Swallowing, Hermione ducks from her mistress's embrace, summoning her trunk. Taking a deep breath, she focuses on the task at hand. Not on the witches playing in the background.
"On your stomach," Bellatrix orders approaching the bed.
The first scream makes Hermione drop a dress, a cackle from Lady Lestrange. She closes her eyes, this is going to be a very long night.