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 Eighteen

Absently, she rubs staring off into the distance. Massaging the muscles beneath her fingertips, for someone who exudes such calm, she's surprisingly tense. A moan, the witch reclining further back into the touch.

Smiling, Hermione stares down at the blonde sitting between her legs, completely at ease. Different today, not in the basement of Luna's somewhere else, Luna had waited for her. Apparating them away, a small part of Hermione wonders if the witch is stealing her away for good. It is foolish, but she can dream.

Sitting in the warmth of the room, drinks left on the table, Hermione hums to herself, Luna's old room. Her childhood room before they moved to the city. It's cute, very Luna.

Luna meant to be finishing off, but her eyes are closed, the work is forgotten, head lolled to the side. Hermione's fingers working their magic. Raspberries, Luna smells like raspberries today.

"Please don't stop," Luna whispers.

Hermione smirks as the witch slips further out of her tops, left in nothing but her bra. Hermione will add it to her list of achievements, massaging the clothes of another. A smack to the leg, Luna's mind wandering, engaging, reading Hermione's random thoughts.

"Don't tempt me," Luna mutters.

Chuckling, Hermione returns to her ministrations, unashamedly, letting her eyes wander across the blonde's exposed chest. Resisting the urge to slip her hands further, to move further down.

"You're so good at this," Luna murmurs.

"Thanks," Hermione replies absently, working on a tight knot.

Never one to sit still, she had seen Luna rubbing her shoulder, Hermione offered to help. She can barely remember when she developed this skill, just from working in Lestrange manor. Normally she gives Lady Lestrange a massage when she's soaking in the bath, helping ease her muscles from a long day.

A shiver, Luna moves forward breaking from the contact and bringing Hermione back to the present. Luna stands stretching her muscles. Did Hermione do something wrong? A flash of a smile from Luna reassures her as clicks her neck. She was in my mind. The thought makes her flinch, she shouldn't have thought of her mistress when she was trying to help Luna.

A small bonus, Luna has yet to put their tops back on.

"She still ignoring you?" Luna asks rolling her neck with a smile. "Lestrange?"

"A week now," Hermione acknowledges. "Up before me this morning, she's getting desperate. Although it makes sneaking out easier."

A snort from Luna, as she reaches for her top. Blue eyes narrow, as the top whizzes out of reach of the witch. Smiling, Hermione stares at the top in her hand, acting innocent.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione grins. "Did you want this?"

"You know I do," Luna replies with a grin.

"Oh dear, what's in it for me?"

"A kiss?"

"That it? Might have to keep it."

"What would your mistress say?" Luna teases.

"Don't care, she's not here."

Lunging, Luna pounces not for the top, but Hermione. Knocking her off the desk, they both go scrambling down onto the ground. Soft lips pressing against chapped ones, a tongue stealing a gasp. A hand roaming.

Groaning, Hermione's hands roam across the exposed skin, sly sneaking beneath the thin material protecting her boobs. A not so sly hand pulls tugging at Hermione's multiple layers, wishing to break through.

Bumping her head on the wall, Hermione laughs rubbing her sore head. Chuckling, Luna pulls Hermione to her feet hands tugging and pulling at each other's clothes. Shimmering out of her trousers, Luna pulls Hermione's top over her head. Pushing, pulling each other down to the single bed, hands roaming.

Heart pounding, Hermione pulls the witch close, both mindful of the crest on her neck. Luna sucking, nipping at her collar bone, moving and exploring lower. Groaning, Hermione tries to breathe, to control her body. A nipple caught between teeth; her eyes roll back a groan breaking out.

Hands slipping into forbidden territory, the first touch, it's electric. She's embarrassingly wet, it makes her blush as Luna pulls the last garment of clothing away. A gasp as they lay flush against each other.

One hand clutching at blonde hair, the other seeking, twisting the erect nipples. Her mind runs blank as a finger grazes her clit. Gentle at first, teasing, a ghost of a touch. A pop as Luna releases a nipple, moving to the next, the finger on her clit, moving, pressing harder. Circles. It drives Hermione crazy, gasping, gripping.

"Kiss me," Luna instructs.

Turning Hermione presses her lips against the blonde. Her hands clutching against soft skin, scratching as invisible pressure builds. Luna kisses, plundering, driving Hermione to the edge of a cliff.

A gasp, Hermione breaks the kiss, arching orgasm making her spasms beneath the witch. Luna smiled into her chest, returning to sucking skin, and finger, gently grazing the bundle of nerves. Sensitive, so sensitive. She groans as she resumes fingers moving against her. Playing her like a symphony.

A pressure, a pushing, stretching, a finger slipping in. A groan, her hands move, slipping between Luna's legs. Groaning at the wetness, she presses against the bundle of nerves. Luna's movement pauses, stuttering, as Hermione moves her hand, circling the clit. With a pinch and a small cry of pleasure, Luna's forehead presses against Hermione's shoulder.

A hand curling around her throat. She clutches the hand choking her, her lungs gasping for air.

The memory makes her jerk, Luna nearly toppling from above. A gasp, she tries to regain control, Luna pausing her ministrations.

"Hey, it's okay," Luna whispers, pressing a kiss against her lips. "It's me, just us here."

"I can't…" Hermione breathes, she cannot have sex with Luna. Body and soul.

"You don't want it?"

"No, I do. I just, I'm not allowed."

"Hermione," Luna smiles, removing her hands, she rotates them, until Hermione is on top. "Fuck her."

"I… I've never heard you swear." Hermione chuckles, studying the naked witch beneath her.

"Look at me," Luna demands. "I… You are everything to me, if you want to stop, we can."

"No," Hermione mutters, pressing a kiss above the heart. "I, it's complicated."

"Let's make it simple. Can I kiss you?"

With a nod, Hermione relaxes into the kiss, Luna pulling her down into a warm embrace. Rotating them again, until she is on top once more. The kiss left Hermione breathless.

"There are other things we can do," Luna smiles mischievously.

Swallowing, Hermione watches the witch sink lower, moving her legs apart. Oh. Oh, merlin. The world goes blank.

Weightless, Hermione feels weightless as she walks back to the manor. Strolling through the gardens, she needs to bathe, to change just in case she bumps into her mistress. Cannot risk bumping into her mistress with Luna still on her skin. She smiles to herself, not one to be outdone, she had returned the ministrations with abundance.

Can still feel Luna coming apart around her fingers, how she deprived the witch of the same luxury she doesn't know. The scream that had left Luna's throat, she wants to hear it again. You scream delightfully. She hadn't screamed for Luna, perhaps she doesn't. The power she had over the witch, watching her come apart. She revels in it, more than she should.

It wasn't enough. Shushing her mind, she forces herself to feel the emotions. I wanted more. Luna is gentle, sweet, and the night perfect. I wanted rough and hard. Shaking her head, she ignores the pressure in her chest. Ignores her imagination, careful to control her thoughts around Luna. Next time, because there will be the next time, they will probably be more uncontrolled.

Stop. Swallowing, Hermione stares at an equally dishevelled witch, Angelina's lips swollen, hair a mess. They blink at each other, both sneaking out. Both smell of sex. Angelina awkwardly pulled at her robes.

"Was just checking the grounds," Hermione explains lamely.

"So was I." Angelina nods straight-faced. "Big garden."

"It is, isn't it."

Clicking her tongue, Hermione glances around the garden, wondering if any more servants will come stumbling out. Wondering who Angelina has been sneaking out to see. Not finding herself to care. Smiling, Angelina bursts out into laughter, both witches snickering like children.

"I find myself in need of a bath," Hermione states. "I seem to be sweaty."

"It's difficult, isn't it, such hard work checking these gardens."

"Isn't it just."

Laughing, Hermione offers her arm to the witch, hooking the arm, Angelina guides them both back to the manor. They will have a bath, it's big enough for five servants, the witches bathing together the wizards bathing separately. Saving water, Lestrange does not allow them individual baths. Not a luxury to bath alone. They've grown accustomed to it over the years, no one bats an eyelid. Tonight though, Hermione reckons this will be the longest conversation she's had in a bath.

A nightmare had plagued her last night, the future calling her name, her death. More frequently, they leave her sweaty, scared and painfully alone in her room. It leaves her tense, the day is in full swing, and she feels tense. The nightmare erased the memories from the other day spent with Luna. Spent in Luna's arms.

Lady Lestrange still not fully speaking with Hermione, maybe she's angry. Annoyed, she should be upset, Hermione should be upset that Lady Lestrange isn't speaking with her. It doesn't matter, not in the long run. She had only reported on her findings if she was wrong then Lestrange can reprimand her.

A part of her wonders if Lestrange is absent because she's scared. Scared of the truth, one of her sisters orchestrated an assassination attempt. It would scare Hermione; someone she trusts dearly is willing to organise someone to kill her.

"To the left," Hermione instructs watching Brett Bags as she tries to follow instructions.

The new starter has grown on Hermione, the first few days are always rough for new starters. No one wants to help, to slow down their work to help another. It would put them behind and would garner no favours. Bags a quick learner, managing to adjust. Also, quick-witted something Lady Lestrange will appreciate.

"Like this?" Bags asks.

"That's it." Hermione agrees, stepping closer to the bed. "Make sure it's tight."

Nodding, Hermione returns to her spot, watching Bags work, using the mistress room to train while she is out. Perhaps she will never tell Lady Lestrange just wait until the day she dies. Bags the next logical one to take her place.

The idea of putting someone next in line of becoming a Red Kite fills her with dread. Hating the idea of sentencing someone to death. Was it worth it? Maybe, the small luxuries, the small respect. The only blessing being she will not be trapped in servitude her whole life. Soon, death will move her on, the only way she will ever be free.

It makes her wonder what will be next, what comes next. Will she become a ghost? Move on to another world, knowing her luck she will be probably reincarnated into another servant. Or most likely one of Lady Lestrange's dogs.

"Three?" Bags checks.

"Always needs to be three," Hermione acknowledges. "They need to be put there the night before or first thing in the morning. Lady Lestrange always likes them there in the morning. She may not use them, but it's not up for us to decide."

"What happens if I do some wrong."

"You will do something wrong." Hermione states. "The point is to learn from this, and not do it again."
They all make mistakes, it's part of the position. Always difficult to learn their masters' tricks, to learn the way they work. Hermione tends to pay attention to her mistress actions rather than her words. Actions will always speak louder; it's how she anticipates Lady Lestrange's mood.

"No, not there," Hermione calls firmly.

"It's better here?"

"It is, but Lady Lestrange prefers it where it was."

"Why?"

Well, isn't that a loaded question? Because she does. Who knows why Lady Lestrange prefers to have a quill pot next to her mirror and not on the desk? It's just the way it is.

"Yes, Granger why?"

Ice, the words are like ice. Both growing still at the words. Biting her lip, Hermione tries to control her breathing, she should have been paying attention. Too complacent, Lady Lestrange spends so much time avoiding her. She didn't even think to listen out for the Lady of the manor.

"Lady Lestrange," Bags greets with a small bow, unaware of the danger. "You're looking lovely today."

"Who is this snivelling thing?" Lestrange demands.

"Bags, my Lady, you met me the other day."

Closing her eyes, Hermione wonders why Bags is talking, can she not read the room? Perhaps, Hermione should have explained to Bags, that Lady Lestrange is not aware nor wants a change in a Red Kite.

Turning, Hermione forces a smile, meeting the intense dark eyes that are currently glaring at Bags. A part of her wonders if she could play the sick card, that she has asked Bags to help her cover her duties while she recovers from a bug.

"I'm training Red Kite," Bags continues.

Nope, they're all going to die, Bags has condemned them all. Oh, those dark eyes are moving, changing swirling. The room so pretty seems to be a waste for it to be trashed. Nevertheless, the storm is here, if it's not their blood that covers the walls, then the furniture will be trashed.

"Are you now," Lestrange drawls.

"You are not aware?"

"Bags," Hermione interrupts the servants. "Shut up."

"Oh, no, Bags, please continue," Lestrange demands stepping further into the room. "Please, I'm curious. It seems I've been left in the dark."

"I… I'm sorry my Lady, I had assumed you were aware." Bags stutters.

"Well, that would be protocol." Bellatrix agrees. "Now wouldn't it."

"It would," Hermione agrees. "If Lady Lestrange were willing to listen to reason."

Hot, the look is pure malice, it could burn through rock if she wanted to. The gaze levelled at Hermione, but she is angry. Furious, time and time again she has tried to organise, a replacement. It is her duty.

"You see, Bags," Hermione continues. "A less commonly known position of a Red Kite is to overrule your stubborn masters."

"I think you should stop." Bags whispers.

"Oh, no Granger continue. I'm dying to know more." Bellatrix snaps.

"Fine," Hermione grinds out. "Another less known fact is Lestrange doesn't like to not know things. However, if you tell her what she needs to know, she won't be happy with it. Maybe you'll be cursed, maybe she will just ignore you like a child. Just depends."

"Stop." Bags begs.

The curved wand is twirling, a dragon, barely contained, Hermione is going to pay dearly for her disobedience. A part of her rages like an animal chained gnawing at the bars for release. Is this what McGonagall had warned her about? The true human trapped inside the obedient position would push. Push and push until they were either burnt from the world or kneeling pleading for forgiveness.

"Also, another thing," Hermione states calmly turning to Bags. "Little known fact, that we are also just fleeting replaceable objects."

Pop!

The house is shaking, moving, the ground rumbling. Screaming echoing through the halls, she should investigate. Follow the sound, through the shaking hallway, stopping outside her Mistress room. Wait. The door is shut barring the entrance, the screaming contained inside.

The world is swirling, she's walking amongst the roof, and lights are flickering shifting. The servants she can see them, some of them shrinking under the noise. Some carry on about their day, unbothered some hide.

The lights are flickering, the ground seems to be shifting, and a door slamming. Burning, there's burning beneath the skin. Scorching the earth.

Numb.

Silence follows as candles blow out. The house falls into darkness.

A breath inflates her chest. A gasp, leaving chapped lips, the taste of blood mixes with the mandrake root. Her body arches, the spasms running. Spluttering, Hermione groans as a weight presses down on her, holding her in place.

Through blurry eyes, she stares at her mistress, hostile, angry straddling her, the wand still pointed. Her ears are ringing, everything seeming so muffled, there's a heat beneath her skin.

Scraping, frowning, she lolls her head to the side, Bags, scrambling, tumbling as she runs for the doorway. Screaming, she's screaming in fear. Bemusement crosses Lady Lestrange's face as they listen to the servant run screaming from the house.

"Ah," Hermione groans spitting the saliva on the floor. "I liked her."

"Why, why do you keep pushing," Bellatrix demands angrily. "Do you enjoy the punishment?"

"No…" Hermione breathes, her body still spasming from the effects of the spell. "I'm trying to do my job."

"Well, you're failing."

"You don't understand." Hermione hisses, annoyed, hands curling into fists.

"Yet still you fight?" Bellatrix shakes her head disappointed. "Did you swallow your mandrake leaf?"

"You know I didn't," Hermione replies hotly.

"Good."

Rising to her feet, Hermione tries to follow. She cannot move. Straining, she realises she's trapped against the cold floor unable to move. Cursing under her breath, she watches as Lady Lestrange summons her cloak.

"No," Hermione demands. "Please."

"I think, you should take some time, Granger," Lestrange replies looking down at the Red Kite. "Little time out don't you think?"

"I have chores," Hermione groans.

"Not my issue. I'll see you later, could be tomorrow yet. Be a good girl."

"No, Lady Lestrange, please!"

She struggles with her invisible bonds, straining to fight. Cursing, she watches as the bedroom door shuts, locking her in and anyone who could free her out. A scream leaves her throat, not pain, anger pure anger. She screams until her throat goes raw and leaves her coughing.

"LET ME GO!"

Her words fall to silence, no one there to hear them. She'd rather have her mistress's anger than this. Her mistress is aware, that Hermione hates being tied down, and hates being restrained. She can take the violence, the anger, she cannot stand being trapped. Never stand being trapped.

Gasping, her body is blazing, exertion, falling to her knees. Eyes watering, she can barely see, the chemicals in the air burning her iris. Stumbling, her knees scrape across the ground, shouting.

Heavy, she feels so heavy, hands are holding her up, moving her. Her feet tripping, and people are running screaming in all directions. The world feels as though it's on fire. Crunch, she flinches. A large chunk of brickwork narrowly missing her, makes them stumble backwards.

Falling collapsing onto her bag, the blood is pulsing between her fingers. Her head is buzzing, fizzy she feels woozy. Coughing, liquid drips from her lips, and she rolls coughing up the blood, spitting it on hard ground. Hands are pulling, tugging trying to move her.

She can barely catch her breath, her chest is burning, and her feet struggling to stand. The hands are holding her up. Her mistress. Needs to find her mistress. She wipes blindly at her moist cheeks, blood tainting her hand.

She falls, dropping to her knees, bringing the other down with her. She pushes against the hands, she's done. There's nothing left. Clutching her chest, it's searing, the pain pounding, she can barely breathe. Clutching at her own throat, willing the air. Please god, please.

The ground is shaking, the sky is roaring. She collapses, barely able to catch her breath, it's like fire in her chest. Hands, someone is yelling, trying to move her. Darkness, falls over them, the hand stopping. A terrifying loud noise, it's deafening, rolling over. Black, she sees the remains of a church, toppling, falling towards them.

No time to run. She moves, covering the other with her body. Crunch, something is breaking. Pain sends shockwaves through her. Stopping. Nothing there's nothing. No pain, no nothing. Her heart is no longer bleeding, or crying she's fallen numb. Only darkness, blissful darkness, takes everything away, she welcomes it with open arms.

Gasping, she wakes chest heaving, she tries to move. Disorientated, the room dark, the memories sluggish to return, cold. She's cold. Not hot, not as though inside an inferno. Confused, her hands shake, eyes adjusting to the darkness, of her mistress room. It brings small relief, safe, she's safe not dying.

Tears, tumble from her eyes, glossing her cheeks, she strains against the bonds. Crying silently, her mistress could be sleeping, she dares not wake her. The memories return, her disobedience. It's little in the way of the death that's waiting for her. Anything is better than the death that is waiting for her. She'd rather have her mistress kill her than die such a painful death.

"That was intense."

She jumps out of her skin, the silky voice penetrating in the dark, her eyes searching trying to find the witch. Trying to find her mistress who is lurking in her room, who had seen her dream. Like a switch, she's able to move. Her body is stiff from being stuck for so long, she's not even sure what time it is.

Slowly, she sits up, rubbing her arms, she hugs herself, staring at the floor. The tears falling, scared, she is so scared of what is to come. Reckless. Only now, does she realises she's shaking, she feels sick.

Bare feet plod along the wooden floor, coming to rest in front of her. Tired, gosh she's so tired, maybe it's the aftereffects of the crucio. Maybe it's the lack of sleep catching up on her. Regardless, she is so very tired.

"You saw?" Hermione asks, voice gruff.

"I did," Bellatrix replies just as quiet. "Very intense, nothing like a nightmare to keep you on your toes."

"It's not a nightmare," Hermione murmurs, rubbing her face.

"No? Didn't seem like a dream."

"It's my death." Silence. "I keep seeing my death."

"Don't be so dramatic," Lestrange scoffs. "Just a nightmare, it'll pass."

"No, you don't understand," Hermione sighs, leaning heavily against the wooden unit.

"Well explain it to me oh wise one." Sarcasm laced with anger, the events from early linger in the air. "You did wake me from my beauty sleep, so best be good."

"I wish I could sleep," Hermione whispers. "Little to explain. In a few weeks, maybe a month, I will die."

Mind-wandering, Hermione picks at the thread of her robe. The dream sticks to her like a smell, it's all she can see every time she closes her eyes. All she can hear is the crunch as her body is squashed beneath a church. The tears are dry, too tired for any more to fall.

The feet pad closer, perhaps Lestrange intends to resume torture from earlier, perhaps she will just put Hermione down. Hopefully, Bags will return, not too scared by all the events. Kneeling, Lestrange appears at eye level, frowning at Hermione in confusion.

"Have you become a seer overnight?" Lestrange jokes, without her usual bite.

"It's a curse," Hermione shrugs. "Curse of the Red Kites."

"Explain." Is the strict demand.

"From our research…"

"Ours?"

"Luna has been helping."

"Loony Lovegood?" Bellatrix scoffs. "Well, you are doomed."

"Don't," Hermione whispers. "Don't do that, she's not crazy."

"Aww did I hurt your wittle feelings?"

"Yes, you did," Hermione replies hotly. "I die, I will be crushed to death by a sodding church, so taunt all you like. But really at this stage I have very little left to lose."

"It's a dream pet, don't need to get…"

"A dream that every Red Kite has. Every Red Kite envisions their death. Lily saw hers, her predecessor, Susan Bones saw her death at the hands of the Dark Lord. Not one single Red Kite in history has ever lived past eight years. They either die before or they will die at the eighth-year mark. Don't believe me, it's in black and white. This role is cursed. It is why I have been trying to find a replacement. I need to find a replacement. It is my duty."

It's too dark to read her mistress's face, the silence speaks volumes. She can barely make out her silhouette, how Lady Lestrange blends into the dark is beyond Hermione. Someone so pale, it makes no sense, but the dark clings to her, embracing her like a friend.

"You don't believe me?" Hermione breathes. "It doesn't matter, time will tell the truth."

"Is this why you've been a little bitch lately?"

Molten hot, her veins they pulse, her runes reacting to her anger. It's burning, the hatred, the tiredness, everything. It's thundering through her body, every muscle tightening.

A stillness washes over her, for a second the world stops, peaceful. She can hear nothing. Her mind, blank. Somewhere, lights are flashing. An out-of-body experience. Fire, it's engulfing her veins, spreading, burning taking control.

Silence.

In a blink, the reality is back, no longer sitting on the floor. A muffled sound, pain in her side, a hand, nails digging in breaking the skin. Gasping, squirming, her face aches. Her hand's strain, blinking.

She's straddling Lestrange, a bruise forming on immaculate skin. Hands wrapped around a swan-like neck. Gasping. She's strangling Lady Lestrange.