Grey Kittens

by Animekitty2

The summer following fifth year brings some unexpected changes to Hermione's life. Embarking on a new path to a new future and her desire to rescue Harry, whether he wants to be rescued or not (from his apparent and unpleasant destiny) her life changes in ways she had never expected; with people she had never imagined. (Mary-Sue) Hermione/multi. femslash and extreme naughtiness.

3. Third Kata--The Cats Came Back

Grey Kittens

Obligatory blah blah blah:

I do not now, nor have I ever and only will if I'm the last person on Earth (at which point the whole concept of rights, royalties and responsibility, etc. . . becomes moot, to say the least) own Harry Potter or the characters therein, they belong to J. K. Rowling; I'm just playing with them.

Warning:

This story is rated 'M' and is intended for mature audiences; it may contain coarse language, violence, nudity and/or mature subject matter. It also explores acts of graphic sexuality; including—but not limited to—extreme and/or alternate lifestyles behaviors and/or choices that may offend some: Reader discretion is strongly advised.

There, you've been warned; now don't send me nasty-grams if I write something that upsets you.

Squick and Other Warnings, etc:

SW1 . . . The Lestrange brothers are sick f***s (or is that Animekitty's imagination?), consider yourselves well and truly warned, again; here be references to acts of nasty stuff.

SW2 . . . A reminder: Hermione is no longer a goody-two-shoed bookworm who's worried about being killed or worse . . . expelled; she has embraced her inner-feline and has a new set of priorities.

SW3 . . . Cats—and cat-girls—in general can be as savage and vicious as they can be cute and cuddly, at least my Grey Kittens can. On top of that, in addition to her feline behavior, Hermione now has what one might call Darwinian Imperatives. As such, this places her racial survival and repopulation ahead of humanity's ethos, ethics or other societal mores. To put things bluntly, my very OOC Hermione is utterly and amorally pragmatic but she is still a cat; she likes to play with her prey first . . . Or, in other words; Hermione is a bad ass 'Mary Sue'; she's also somewhat arrogant (I prefer to call her supremely self-confident with some social skills issues ) but she's come by it honestly.

Author's Etc. . :

This rather belated update is more novella than chapter! It's as long as it is because when I originally mapped (well sketched is more accurate) the content and chapter titles to follow the lines from a children's song. Hopefully, the next one won't take as long as this one but I'm not promising anything.

Third Kata—The Cats Came Back

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens: Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens: Brown paper packages tied up with string: these are a few of my favorite things,"(1) A surprisingly good voice softly sung from behind a steaming cataract, which rose from a conjured waterfall that cascaded into a free-form pond amongst tropical trees in a conjured jungle.

That the pond and waterfall were secreted behind a grimy and unremarkable door off the beaten track of Knockturn Ally only helped to hide them and the tropical jungle-like setting they were a part of; and for all that the door might be unremarkable what it hid most certainly wasn't. Concealed behind that door was the product of clever magic cast without wands or words, it was the result of playful practice and experimentation by a reborn rather dark witch come cat-girl and her 'now' Empress, mother and fellow bakeneko Hermione Granger. Together, Bellatrix—now Bellakits or just Bella, her adopted preferences—Lestrange and her muggle-born turned kitty-queen had spent hours turning a long-forgotten Death Eater recruitment and training hideaway into their very own jungle paradise. True, the jungle hadn't been part of any grand scheme, it had evolved naturally as two feline changelings sought to exercise and train their new bodies and abilities and the tropical theme seemed a perfect place to develop and hone their cat-like enhancements. It began a few weeks ago when Hermione had conjured some simple poles, dangling ropes and a few narrow bridge-like spanners linking simple platforms of varying heights: the jungle motif cam in response to Bella's playful jibe about her Empress' lack of imagination and woeful sense of aesthetics.

"I want to learn how to use my body," Bella remembered her Empress saying after the initial conjuring. She had followed that with a cheeky interruption and salacious rejoinder, "You already know how to use your body, my Empress: how to use mine, too; just the thought of being used makes my tail and other areas tingle." "Bad kitty!" Hermione had teased and her tone and smile was scalding, which Bella recalled with a shiver. "If you can catch me, I'll give you a reward, kitten," the young witch had challenged, banished her clothes and shifted to her bakeneko body; with a leap to one of the lower platforms the chase had begun and the reward was compelling: she had joined her queen in form and dress and pounced in pursuit. Such naughty games of tag had become commonplace as both Bellakits and Hermione revelled in their abilities to run, leap and pounce—magically and mundanely—like kittens and, for a time, they had forgot the world and the war now openly declared.

As Bellakits, currently in her human form, rejoiced under the almost too hot water flowing over and intimately caressing her body the forgotten war came knocking in the form of two stunners that caught Voldemort's former right-hand witch embarrassingly off guard.

"Bloody hell, Dolph," said a man's voice, "the Dark Lord ordered us to find the bitch; not drown the bitch: Wingardium Leviosa!"

An unconscious and limp Bellatrix Lestrange rose languidly from the steaming water, levitated a few inches above the pond's surface and then dropped unceremoniously onto a floor that looked and felt like soft grass-covered ground (the original tile floor having been too hard on the paws of a naked bakeneko).

"Does it matter how my bitch wife dies, Stan," Rodolphus Lestrange spat venomously, "Dead is dead; does it matter how or who or when?"

"It does when the Dark Lord wants to ask her why she hasn't answered His summons lately," Rabastan told his brother, "Bugger Merlin, Dolph! I don't know about you but I'm tired of being the Dark Lord's crucio pet; He should just go kick puppies . . . like other dark lords do: why the hell should I suffer His wrath; besides, the bitch is your wife, not mine."

Remembering the Dark Lord's pain induced nightly reminders of 'hurry up and find the disloyal slag', Rodolphus replied, "You're right Stan; I'm just pissed off, that's all. Hey, what say we have some good old-fashioned fun and play with my 'wife', before we call the Dark Lord?"

"What sort of fun, Dolph?" Rabastan asked lecherously; he liked his brother's games.

"Remember that pretty little mudblood a while back?"

Rabastan smiled wickedly, felt his trousers' crotch tighten a little and replied, "You mean; to her? I don't know; we tore that filth up pretty bad . . ."

"Our Master wants the bitch alive and whole; he didn't say undamaged," Rodolphus reminded his brother with a mirrored smile, "besides, I know how much you love feeling my cock rubbing against yours when we fuck tight little mudblood ass together. I'm glad you remembered the enema charm last time, otherwise our dicks would've tasted like shit. I hate tasting other people's shit on your cock, it ruins the flavour."

"Tell me about it Dolph," agreed Rabastan, "I can handle the taste of ours; can't stand anyone else's, although Bella's was almost okay: at least her piss was; as long as it was mixed with ours that is."

"Just okay?" said Rodolphus as he raised his eyebrows, "you loved it; so did the bitch. She would almost cum just feeling the nozzle stuffed into her pee-hole and she would cum, sometimes, when we filled her bladder with that enema syringe. Now those were some good showers to suck dick under!"

Squirming, Rabastan sheathed his wand, unbuttoned his trousers' fly and pulled out his semi-erect other wand—an ego bruising reminder of time spent in Azkabana—and began stroking in a vain attempt to coax more blood into his little friend. He said through shallow breath, "Have you ever wondered how much it would take to really burst one, Dolph?"

"You're a sick fuck, bro," Rodolphus replied and licked his lips; his eyes fixated on his brother's exposed masculinity. "If I was certain it wouldn't kill the bitch, we could find out; we could even use her pond water."

"Yeah, we could but we'd have to heat the water more: it needs bubbles, lots of bubbles; not just steam," he replied evilly. "Maybe we can grab a muggle or another mudblood and bring it here; all in the name of research of course. Still, I don't get 'here'; what was going through the bitch's head when she made this I wanna know."

"No kidding, Stan," agreed Rodolphus, tearing his eyes from his brother's penis long enough to quickly glance around. "Still, it's some good work and must'a took'n a good bit of magic to do; glad the bitch is bound proper to House Lestrange, she would've killed us otherwise: Black bitches are bloody scary when pissed."

"Tell me about it, it's a wonder Lucius is still alive," Rabastan observed, "He's never been properly discreet in his indiscretions: good thing Narcissa don't care; still, she's got him pretty pussy-whipped, she wouldn't even take the Dark Lord's mark when Lucy—after tricking her—presented his bitch to Him."

"That was so funny," Rodolphus said breathily as his incestuous hunger grew, "Only the bitch I married and the Dark Lord can cast a Crucio stronger than that; still, it's a lucky thing the Dark Lord agreed keeping her unmarked was a good idea or Lucy would've b'n a widower before having that spoiled brat of his."

"No kidding . . . Anyway, let's get the bitch properly trussed and gagged, Dolph; we can even hang'er up with those weird vine things we saw."

"Yeah, good idea Stan; then we can wake the bitch and ask her some questions, before fucking her bloody. I'm in the mood to find out how much of my arm I can ream the slag with after we fuck her haughty Black ass, the way a witch deserves; wish we could have go at Narcissabitch, she needs to learn her place, too."

"And you called me a sick fuck," said the luridly smiling Rabastan, "but let's not wake the bitch yet; I wanna get off before we have to listen to her ragging."

"I'm good with that, bro; I'm too damned turned on and don't want to hear the bitch until I've empty my bollocks down your choking throat: how 'bout you?"

"Same here but this time, Dolph, I better be cumming down your throat when I pass out or I'll find a new fuck buddy."

Feigning a hurt look Rodolphus said, "I said sorry, Stan, a bunch of times now; what more can I do?"

"Stop fantasizing about face-fucking that blood traitorous Potter spawn and choking him to death; at least till our dicks are lodged in each other's throats," Rabastan replied before adding with a depraved smile, "keep that fantasy for when I'm deep in your ass; I bet it'll make you cum gallons. Now, let's deal with the bitch. Levicorpus!"

As if hoisted by her ankle, Bellatrix rose from the grass-like carpet and dangled upside-down. With her head a few inches above the floor, she hung motionless until Rodolphus plunged two fingers deep into her dry sex, hooked them into what would've been her g-spot if they had been Hermione's fingers and began dragging the unconscious witch behind him.

"Bet the bitch would've like this if she was conscious; I bet she'd be cumming from it," Rabastan said with a sneer.

"Naw, not near 'nough pain; the bitch is a total pain-slut, you know that, Stan. Remember that time with those little pointy hooks?"

Nodding, Rabastan—with a debauched leer—said, "Yeah, I do; the slag was totally into it. How many did she use on herself: ten? Fifteen maybe? It was a lot, I know that."

"Remember how the bitch moaned when she was hooking her boobs?"

Rabastan nodded, took a firmer grip on his still exposed member and began pumping slowly, and followed his brother; his breath hitched as he said, "And that was just the prelude; she was flowing like a tap when she was do'n her quim-flaps and the slag nearly gushed when she hooked her clit."

"She was begging to be fucked too but there ain't no way I was gonna stick my dick in that pincushion," Rodolphus stated hungrily as he dragged his wife by her quim.

"Me neither," agreed Rabastan, "glad we had whats-his-name's—you know, the blood-traitor's—son; he would've b'n a what? fifth or sixth year I guess: ne'er did get no money for the boy but we had fun playing till he broke. His mommy and daddy were killed soon after if I remember right."

"Think so Stan. Still, you gotta love that unrestrained libido hex; the boy was shredding his little dick in Bella's hooked cunt: he was screaming as loud as my bitch . . . for different reasons."

"Over here Dolph, let's use these," Rabastan said, coming to a stop by the vine-like things he had mentioned. "You wanna hang her ankles together or ankles apart? These vine things are close enough to do either."

"Apart, I'd say; as far apart as possible," sneered Rodolphus, "let's split her quim wide and use our belts on her; you know, foreplay: I bet the bitch still loves that."

"Bring her over," Rabastan instructed. Rodolphus dragged the still unconscious Bellatrix to where his brother was waiting and yanked his fingers from his wife's pussy. Using a spell to bind her with the vines and believing she couldn't slip her binds, they hoisted her higher using a shortening charm. As she rose, her arms dangled and revealed why Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't been answering their Master's summonses: a black kitten had replaced her Dark Mark.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Rabastan exclaimed as he seized the witch's arm and looked at the offensively too cute replacement for the skull and snake, which had once adorned her arm. "I though the only way to get rid of our Lord's Mark was to cut off the limb and not regrow it because the Mark is as branded to your soul as it is to your arm. Bella's Dark Mark has been redrawn; only someone as powerful as our Master could've done that."

"You think maybe Dumbledore?"

"Nah, I don't think so, Dolph. The Mark is part blood magic, part soul magic and part necromancy; it's pretty black magic from what I understand, at least that's what the Dark Lord said to Bella once. Dumbledore's a coward; he'd never be brave enough for that type of magic."

As the Lestrange brothers attempted to figure out how Bellatrix's Dark Mark had been altered, they never noticed their captive had begun to stir. Damn dwarfs are hammering on anvils in my head . . . again, Bellakits thought as she slowly opened her eyes but slammed them shut, immediately, as waves of vertigo assailed her. By Morgana's teats, am I upside-down? What happened? Was that Rabastan's voice? Just fucking wonderful; I've been caught by my husband and his frigging peg-buddy brother. What can I do; my Empress will be here soon: I won't let them have her! Thought Bellakits as she reopened her eyes to mere slits; hoping neither her husband nor brother-in-law would notice she was awake.

Thankfully, even if they did realise she was awake, neither Death-Eater was sufficiently wand competent to be a real challenge to her; she had dueled them often enough to know but that didn't mean she wanted to fight them on even terms: after all, she was a cat now; no self-respecting cat would attack head on like that. Whatever I do, the black-haired bakeneko considered, must drop them both before either can counter or get away, I'd rather not face Tom without Hermeownee. She mentally cackled over her inner cat's ever present, yet often unexpected, feline twists to her thoughts. 'Hermeownee' that's cute, Bellakits' reflected as her mind veered in feline tangential, I hope we have fish for lunch and cream; definitely cream . . . Oh yeah, need to deal with the useless toms first. She thought with a figurative snap of her fingers; she resumed considering her escape options, while trying not to smile.

"I still don't get it Stan; why would she betray Him? I mean, I know I married her for cover and she was to be my heir-whore. Sure, it's fun to play with her sometimes and I still need a son and all but it's not like we ever really liked each other. Still, I'm sure she loved the Dark Lord and was loyal to Him. Mordred's bollocks, Stan, she would've been almost a queen when we win; I don't get it."

"She's a witch Dolph," Rabastan replied, "Ya know y'can never trust no witch. Merlin's buggered backdoor, mate, remember how mommy treated us when she found you up my ass that time; even daddy was pissed we got caught by his heir-whore."

"I remember; I still have the scars from that thrashing, thanks to mommy," he replied. "At least daddy made it up to us; once his brood-bitch went t' bed."

"Yeah, that's true," Rabastan agreed, "that was the first time he let us fuck him: not that I minded the other way."

"Daddy did give us some good stretchings back then, didn't he?"

Rabastan nodded and replied, "I'd say . . . How many times didja cum that night, Dolph?"

"Can' really remember; you?"

"Don't really remember either. I'd really only just started to cum proper back then; same as you."

I always knew Lestrange senior was a bent fuck, Bellakits thought, forced—as it were—to eavesdrop on her captors' reminiscing. It's kinda get'n hard to think with all the blood rushing to my head; it wouldn't bother me so meowch if I changed but I don't wanna risk them finding out about us. Still, if I meowst . . . I can turn'em into mice first; a hunting game will keep me amused until Hermeownee comes back . . . but I don't want to miss my mid-meowning snooze.

The former Death Eater's dilemma conveniently vanished as two red pulses streaked from nowhere, hitting Rodolphus and Rabastan with enough force to throw them at least twenty feet. In the place from wench the beams had hailed, two blue cat-eyes faded into view; soon a body followed from the aether. As bakeneko Hermione took form; Bellakits shifted her shape, slipped her bindings and magic-pounced to her empress' feet. She rolled onto her back and brought her hands up; her wrists were bent and paw-like against her chest as she took the Posture of Submission.

"I see we have visitors," Hermione said with disdain; looking at the unconscious brothers.

"I'm sorry my Empress, it's my fault; please don't expel me," Bellakits begged.

"What utter nonsense, my faithful kitten; I'd become awfully lonely and frightfully frustrated if I sent you away," said the young bakeneko, regally, "Now get off your back, pet, and tell me what happened."

Bellakits rolled from her back and rose to her knees; she kept her hands on the floor and her head bowed: she replied, "I'm very sorry Empress . . ."

"Enough of that 'Empress' thing, Bella. Now get on your feet and explain why they're here," she hissed while pointing at the Lestrange brothers. "I know I didn't invite them over to play; I don't think you did either."

"They meowst've followed me when I came back from breakfast, Hermeownee," Bella answered.

"Hermeownee?"

"Sorry my Empress that was disrespectful."

"Whatever," Hermione said dismissively, "So they saw and followed you."

"Yes Hermione that's what I suspect; I should've been more aware of my surroundings," Bellakits answered, "I was negligent in my duty to you, my Empress, and await my punishment."

"Nonsense Bella," the brunette bakeneko said thoughtfully, "It's as much my fault as yours; I'd forgotten the outside world too. I've had so meowch fun that I'd forgotten why I walked down Knockturn Alley in the first place; what happened was bound to happen, thanks to me not thinking beyond our fun and games."

"My Empress?"

Hermione scowled, hearing that address, and said, "I came here to find a way to save Harry, remember, but I allowed myself to be distracted and then ignored my purpose. Perhaps 'their'," she spat with a hiss, "arrival was needed so that I'd remember it. We'll save Harry from his puppeteers and make a life for ourselves: without the spectre of Voldemort—or the great Dumbledork—hanging over us."

"Yes my Empress!" Bellakits agreed before the feline took over and asked offhandedly, "Is Potter well-endowed; I've heard Potters can tame the wildest cats. I remember Lilly—meow! I wonder if her pussy matched her hair—and she obviously wouldn't be easily satisfied by just any tom's dick or hairy."

"Bellakits!" exclaimed Hermione before adding, "how should I know? Harry is my bestest friend."

"Bestest?" Bellakits teased.

"You know what I mean."

"You may be my empress but you're still young and naïve, Hermione," she said sagely and without jealousy. "A girl wouldn't do what you've done, even for her 'bestest' friend, the things you've done for Harry Potter but at least he's worthy of your affection: few have stood, unbroken, in the shadow of the Dark Lord as he has; he's a promising tom—for all his youth. I'll gladly bear his kittens once my empress thinks I'm worthy and ready; I hope he'll forgive me as you have, Empress; I hope he seeds my first litter."

"Bella . . ."

"Empress, we are not human we are bakeneko," Bellakits proudly declared, "our duty is to our race; our kyndyll first: you said so yourself."

"Kyndyll?"

"A brood of cats," Bellakits replied with a smirk, "I've been reading in my spare time."

Hermione smiled warmly, "Thank you, kitten, my mind has strayed from its purpose but playtime is over—or at least reduced—and we meowst consummate our place, with our made or born of kith, if we wish to survive."

"So, now what and what should we do with those; kill them?" Bellakits hissed, turning her eyes to her husband and brother-in-law; Hermione's eyes followed and became as hard and cold as ice.

"I think I have a use for them," she said frigidly, her arctic tone even chilling the much-feared Bellatrix Lestrange. "They'll be a fine message to Voldemort and the rest of the corrupt bigoted meat—I mean sheep—of Wizarding England."

"My Empress?" Bellakits said, ignoring Hermione's icy glare for being called 'Empress' again, "I fear you're not the same little witch I first encountered at the Ministry."

"I'm not, Bella," stated the brunette and scantily clad bakeneko, "just look at me."

"You look tasty and hungry; I like it . . . Meow! . . . Fuck me," she replied breathily and licked her lips with the tip of her rough kitty tongue.

"It's funny how things change; only a few weeks ago the mere thought of dressing like this—even as a costume—would've terrified me."

"What's wrong with tight leather and fishnet and skin . . . lots of skin? Not to mention stiletto-heels, which accent your purrfectly gorgeous legs I meowght add?"

"My dress reflects my identity; an identity that has been devouring the good little bookworm that was me, before Dolohov and his nasty little curse," Hermione replied. "John Smith mentioned my darkening nature; he referenced it quite often, actually, when I met him. Becoming bakeneko and enslaving you, Bella, only hastened me on this path: what am I becoming?"

"You are the vanguard of a reborn people," soothed Bellakits, "You've a duty beyond yourself and Harry Potter's salvation, now. Are you fearing you've become dark? Evil? You haven't. You're an intelligent and rational young witch who's been thrust into a life of another's choosing. You've been marked by destiny, a destiny now shared between us and destiny will not be denied: look at Harry Potter and what has befallen him; in that, see an echo of yourself. You and he are the Chosen of Fate; you and he must be pragmatic and you and he might save our culture from drowning in its self. Providing, it hasn't already proven itself unviable, uneducable or 'just too damn corrupt' to be salvageable in the first place."

"But Harry isn't enslaving others and binding them to his will; I am."

"Again naivety clouds your eyes, Hermione. I set the stage for my enslavement when I captured and bound you in this place, which I did for my own amusement and another's vision. Look at Rodolphus and Rabastan; that was me before my so-called enslavement. We willingly gave ourselves unto servitude to a man who only thought of himself and his jealous desires. Me, the pureblooded daughter of a noble and most ancient house, bowed to what my creed saw as half-blooded filth. Lord Voldemort used his followers to become what Tom Riddle could never be. His seductive voice called to our fears and our prides because we couldn't admit that many new-bloods are commonly more powerful than many of our old-bloods. We feared for our place and our prominence in the world; we shrouded our minds with a cloak of ignorance and covered our egos with a blanket of denial. Lord Voldemort told us what we wanted to hear and Tom Riddle revelled in the power we gave him. I bowed before Tom Riddle and fashioned my shackles of my own free will and of my own free will I wore them . . ."

". . . You've been reading Dickens, kitten," Hermione interrupted with a smile.

"What's a Dickens?" Bellakits asked.

"Dickens was a muggle author of . . . oh, never mind," she said to the blank staring sable-hair bakeneko, "Nevertheless, I gave you no choice; even Tom gave you that."

"Again you're mistaken because you are still good, my yummy Hermeownee. I gave you no choice when I captured you and by capturing you I gave you no choice but to defend yourself. Had I left you alone, when I saw you exiting the wand shop; I would've remained 'free' in my continuing bondage to the Dark Lord, his temper or ever shifting moods and whims. For all I am the slave of my Empress, I am far freer than my former master would've ever allowed. My life is a hundredfold better; I'm part of something that may bring forth a revolution and is a far more worthwhile endeavour than the selfish ambitions of a petty wizard."

"Is that not just a reflection of my desires forced upon you, Bellatrix?"

"Perhaps or perhaps you just opened my eyes, who knows for sure," she replied sagely, "but I know this: my thoughts and my memories are still my own and I'm intelligent enough to know my life is better now than it was with him; my former self-delusional pride would've never allowed me to see that or choose this. When her time comes and the choice is hers; my sister will see and submit willingly, she is far wiser than I."

"What's this about Lady Malfoy?"

"I want to save her from him, my Empress; I beseech you: please claim and rescue her."

"Which him?"

"Both," Bellakits dropped to her knees and supplicated.

Sensing the poignancy in the former Death Eater's plea, Hermione drew Bellakits' closer. The older witch rested her head against the stomach of the young, scandalously attired cat-girl who began stroking the naked and kneeling bakeneko's sable hair: Bellakits began to purr and her paws began to wander the knickerless flesh beneath Hermione's short leather skirt. She gasped as Bella firmly grasped and squeezed her ass and thrusted against her playmate; the mingled scents of bakeneko arousal triggered a primal fog nearly more than Hermione could contain.

"Me . . . ow Bella," Hermione forced herself to say, "We g-gotta deal with our prey first . . . I'm not in the mood to hunt, should they somehow escape during an impassioned dalliance."

Dragging her hands, sensually, to Hermione's hips, Bellakits looked up at her mistress; she received a smiling promise from her empress and rose to her feet, she asked, "Yes, that would expend energy better used for other things; so, you want to send a message."

"I do; let's strip, bind and hang'em up . . ."

". . . Upside-down?"

"Hmm . . . I don't think that's necessary," she replied with a relatively evil smirk.

"Can we play with them at least a little?" asked Bellakits eagerly.

"What do you mean by play, kitten?" Hermione replied.

"Oh, I suppose kinda like how cats sometimes play with their prey," she suggested.

"Well I suppose they'll be purrfectly adequate lab rats," said the brunette-haired cat-girl pragmatically, "besides, I'd rather not make any innocent creature—or any rat not named Pettigrew—suffer in the name of research."

Having appeased her sense of ethics, which admittedly was now a little warped, Hermione pointed a finger at the unconscious wizards and flicked it up; immediately the brothers rose brutally off the floor. With a swipe of the same finger, she glided their limp, dangling figures to the vine-like ropes that had bound Bellakits. Hermione pointed her finger at the ceiling and drew a little circle in the air; immediately the vines wound about, tied their wrists and suspended the brothers—back to back—with only their toes brushing the faux grass covered floor. Then, at the snap of her fingers, the stitching on Rodolphus and Rabastan's finery vanished; the fabric panels drifted to the floor and vanished on impact.

"Hiss . . . that's rather unpleasant to look at," Hermione muttered in obvious disgust.

"At least you don't have to fuck them," Bellakits commented.

"Well, I suppose but still; I had a rather nice tuna omelette and a glass of cold cream for breakfast; I'd purrfer them to remain in my stomach: thank you very meowch. Purrhaps . . ." Hermione replied, snapped her fingers and the brothers then hung face to face, "I guess that's not quite as meowseating."

"Meowseating? Not by much it ain't."

"Ain't?" said the brunette bakeneko as she cocked an eyebrow.

Bellakits just shrugged her shoulders and asked, "So, now what?"

"Why we wake our guests of course," Hermione replied, shifted to her human form (as did Bellakits who then clad herself in the manner of her Empress; that is to say, scantily skanky but oh so delicious looking) and then said, in a tone too much like Delores Umbridge's sickeningly sweet voice, "Wakey, wakey you barbless neutered toms."

"Wha' the fuck?" Rodolphus muttered as he woke to a rather hazy set of memories and cheek-to-cheek with his brother, he stammered, "St-Stan?"

"Merlin's saggy bollocks!" Rabastan exclaimed on opening his eyes to the too close face of his brother.

"Good morning, Death Eater scum," the brothers snapped their gaze towards the sound of Hermione's voice.

"Hey! Ain't you Potter's mud-blood whore?" Rodolphus said, "We're gonna get so rewarded by the Dark Lord when we give ya to'em."

"Bella . . ." Hermione began inquisitively, "has he always been this . . . um . . . dim?"

"My loving husband was never the pointiest wand but I'm pretty certain Azkaban made him dumber."

"Bella, capture this mud-blood and release us!" Rabastan ordered.

"His brother seems the same," observed the young witch.

"Usually Stan is the smart . . . well, smarter one," the older witch said, "at least from my experience; they did kinda come as a package deal, unfortunately."

"Wow, a package deal? That meowst've been at least kind of fun."

"I suppose . . . at least sometimes—well, at first—anyways; they're really more into each other than me and both have a penchant for young wizards," Bellatrix replied rather bitterly. "I was mostly left to find my own ameowsement and had to deal with my own frustration by my own hand . . . it's really not the same, especially considering the games I enjoy."

"Poor pussycat," Hermione said sympathetically, "I'll give you a good flogging later but first . . ."

". . . Let us go, filth," Rodolphus rudely interrupted, "obey your betters. And you, Bellatrix: you'd let a mudblood get away with this. When did you become a Dumbledore loving blood-traitor? Morgana's thrice grimm-fucked quim, you bitch, when we tell the Dark Lord . . ."

"Silence Death Eater scum," Hermione angrily interjected and, with a swipe of her hand, the brothers' lips were stuck closed, "You two can't be this stupid. You're both bound, silenced and alive by my whim and by my whim you live or die . . . well, just die actually but I'll decide when and how and how meowch fun I'll have before then."

She back-swiped her hand and their lips became unsealed.

"When the Dark Lord hears of this!" Rodolphus exclaimed.

"By Merlin, he sounds like Draco now," commented the bushy-haired witch, offhandedly, "Nevertheless, what I want . . ."

". . . is to be fucked be a pure wizard; if you let me'n'Dolph free we might keep you as a toy," Rabastan sneered, "Won't that be easier than having to capture one to fulfill your mudblood hunger. All you filth know: nothing beats pure meat."

"Bella, I thought you said he was the smart one?"

"Smarter, not smart; there is a difference, as I'm sure you know, my Empress," said Bellatrix as her lips drew near Hermione's ear. The young witch shivered under the effect of the warm zephyr and almost moaned when she felt teeth teasing her earlobe.

"Stop that Bella or you'll be on your back . . ."

". . . gladly, I'd love to show'em it takes a new-blooded witch to satisfy the daughter of an Ancient and Most Noble family," the older witch said as she magically shed her now pointlessly conjured clothing, laid on her back and offered herself to Hermione. Positioning herself so that her hairless pussy—glistening moistly—was mere inches from the toe of one of her empress' boots; Bellatrix sought her mistress' eyes and silently begged to be touched in a manner a pureblooded and noble witch would generally find utterly humiliating.

"Meow! You sure?" Hermione questioned sincerely.

"Yessss . . ." her sable-haired playmate kitty-hissed, alluringly in an almost moan, before saying, "I . . . I want them to see and know I am utterly yours My Empurress."

"Very well then, kitten," the younger witch purred, "but I don't see the point really; it's not like they'll live to tell anyone but I suppose this does gives you an audience for that exhibitionist kink of yours. Let them see the real you, then; my playful pet: remember your tail this time."

Tail? The brothers thought in unison; the question obvious on their faces. Hermione smirked and watched Rodolphus and Rabastan intently: she couldn't wait to see their surprise when 'her first' returned to her real form. The stupid and stunned expressions of the two Death Eaters was priceless to witness, Hermione thought, as they watched the much feared Bellatrix Lestrange's auricles transfigure from human to sable-furred kitty ears, which then sifted from the side and to the top of her head. The ears were followed by the rapid spread of ebony fur that—from what the brothers saw—spread not only across Bellakits' back but across the backs of her hands, arms and legs as well. Fighting not to laugh; Hermione maintained her composer, but for a small smile, as Rabastan and Rodolphus watched as Voldemort's former right-hand witch's breasts began to shrink from a generous 'D' to a modest 'B' cup and, as they shrunk, a tail grew from the prehistoric remnant of her prior primordial and primate legacy. After Bellakits' bakeneko shift, Hermione shed her human form, which tended to feel—with each passing day—more and more like an itchy old sweater and joined Bellakits in her own regal and resplendent feline form; although she remained clad but for the loss of her high-heeled ankle-boots. Wanting to hear the Death-Eater's shocked response, Hermione silently cancelled the silencing spell she had cast.

"Mordred's mudblood b-buggering b-bollocks; w-w-what are you?" Rodolphus exclaimed, "You did this to her; didn't you? When the Dark Lord hears off this . . ."

". . . Pfft, Dark Lord," Hermione scoffed, "Do you really think I care or worry about your so called Dark Lord? Voldemort is nothing but a jumped up jealous half-blooded bastard with mommy and daddy issues."

"H-How d-dare you. . . . you mudblood!" Rabastan exclaimed.

"How dare I what? Not cower in fear of an anagram made up by a jealous teen: or have my way with the purretty kitty at my paws," Hermione replied and then asked ardently as her eyes reflected a cruel gleam, "Whatever will I do to my Bella?"

"Use . . . use me h-hard, p-please. Do a-a-anything you w-want, Empress." Bellakits plead fervently, "L-let them know I'm yours, wholly yours . . ."

"You're such a filthy kitty but you're my filthy kitty," Hermione replied, her tone sending shivers down the spines of not only her playmate but of their uninvited guests as well.

"You common bitch!" Rodolphus exclaimed as he craned his neck in an attempt to see—expectantly—how this bestial creature might use his now nonhuman wife. Hermione responded with a savage glare from her cerulean cat-eyes and an unspoken curse brought a crackling electric-blue discharge upon the brothers' skin and screams of agony from their throats.

"I take great offense to that," growled the angry brunette-furred cat-girl, "do I look even slightly canine?"

She lifted her curse from the writhing and squealing Lestrange brothers and as their magically contorted and contracted muscles released so too did their bladders. Their acrid emissions mixed and soiled the other and beneath toes, barely touching the floor, a yellow puddle formed; Hermione rejoiced in the malice she inflicted upon the sadistic siblings. She felt hungry pulses radiating from her quim and those pulses racked her body with waves of pre-orgasmic bliss, which she could barely contain. She felt copious moisture flow across her engorged arousal; it spread down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and as her scent and the scent of her Bellakits mingled enticingly upon the air, like a fine wine, she grew intoxicated. Her eyes half-lidded, Hermione ignored their uninvited guests and their foul odor and looked upon her naked pet lying spread-legged and open; inviting whatever her empress might visit upon her. Bellakits' bosom, crowned by extra-hard nipples, heaved in shared arousal and the glorious sight fueled Hermione's own dark desires and on her lips formed a smile never seen by any of her friends: a debauched smile; a smile that some might even run from.

That Hermione's friends from Hogwarts might be unsettled—or worse—by the mien and manner presented by the teenaged witch turned bakeneko: the former Death-Eater only felt exhilaration. Bellakits' own twisted needs found resonance in her young queen's feline nature, which vacillated wildly between gentle loving and savage passion. Hermione stood over Bella and her smile called to her partner's deepest and most masochistic self: Bella's body demanded touch and it needed to be severe.

"P-Please . . ." rose Bellakits' ragged whisper.

Hermione replied with a feral growl. She lifted and then planted her foot firmly against the hairless mound between her eager slave's legs. The sable-furred cat-witch gasped, lifted her hips and Hermione felt her thrall's almost scalding and free flowing lubrication bathe her bare sole. Ignoring and yet performing for their suspended captives' benefit, the brunette-furred bakeneko ground her foot savagely against Bellakits' fully engorged labia and hoodless clitoris. An unchaste yowl (a mixture of pain and pleasure) tore past the clenched crimson lips of Voldemort's former First Lady and in a most unladylike manner, in the presence of 'proper' company that is, Bella seized and mauled her heaving breasts with bruising strength. Her self-engendered torture fueled her all-embracing, euphoric and rapturous agony, which coursed through her feline-like body like fiendfyre and; through their psionic bond, Hermione and Bellakits became both the inflictor and the inflicted of what was wrought between them.

Rodolphus and Rabastan, as the bakenekos caterwauled in decadent duet, found their gazes fixed upon the exhibition of savage depravity being played out before them. The brothers—although suffering from Azkaban Erectile Dysfunction or AED as it was more commonly referred to—sought to satisfy their increasing frustration by thrusting their hips together but contact between their semi-flaccid members was sporadic at best, only teasing them to agonizing and unfulfillable arousal. Upon their misery, an unknown muggle—at least to them—known as Sir Isaac Newton smiled evilly from his place in Heaven as the Lestrange boys attempted to violate his third law in an amusingly crude fashion.

[Witless, unobservant, stupid bastards, thought Isaac Newton, the First Herald of Modern Calculus. Indeed, replied the Second, once known as Gottfried Leibniz; with a modicum of common-sense, they'd figure out that all they have to do is have one brother wrap his legs about the other. Indubitably, my former rival, agreed the first, but I've no interest in pendulums these days and will instead focus on the forces acting upon pussies at play. You've become a voyeuristic perv, Isaac, accused Gottfried. What more is there, once you've solved the mysteries of the Universe? Isaac retorted. True, very-true, concurred Gottfried, I suppose I'll just have to make do with the study of 'Principia de Femme-Homofelidae Erotica' . . . It's a shame, really, I should've done this while alive; hands on experimentation is far more gratifying than observation any day.]

Unaware of their heavenly audience and uncaring of their worldly one; Hermione and Bellakits remained consumed by their shameless profligacy that had reached an epic yet stymieing plateau, which stubbornly refused to release them or allow them to ascend to the heights of ecstasy they craved. The maddening, unrelenting frustration irritated the brown-furred bakeneko, whose savage sensuality compatibly mirrored her sable-furred playmate's willing and demanding submission.

Herself enslaved by her impassioned and dominating feline nature; Hermione sought release in the abuse that Bellakits craved: whether by giving or—in Bella's admitted preference—receiving. Coveting the agonizing pleasure, which bled through their link, the once hazel-eyed witch viciously ground her foot against the sodden puffy lips and unhooded nub belonging to the much-feared but former Death-Eater. Bellakits yowled in rhapsody as her punished quim wracked her feline nervous system with an indefinable explosion of sensation that was so extreme it was neither pleasure nor pain but an infernal marriage of both and beyond each. Unnamed and ineffable but sometimes alluded to by the experienced; a paled yet powerful echo of the indescribable leapt across the bond and coursed into Hermione. It almost drove her to her knees and the teenaged cat-girl threw back her head and added her voice to Bellakits' caterwaul. Hermione's wanton fervour reached for the heights her masochistic mate had achieved and in that arduous euphoria, her focus weakened. Unconsciously, her foot—damming the flow of moist, unmetered arousal—shifted slightly and the pressure against the sable-furred bakeneko's sodden sex diminished.

Bellakits whimpered.

With a fiendish smile gracing her face, Hermione stopped crushing Bellakits' pussy beneath her foot but her big toe remained in feather-light contact with her paramour's heated flesh. Delicately, she caressed the smooth v-shaped mound and traced the responsive valleys that defined the sides of her pet's puffy triangle. A frustrated moan answered and plead to Hermione; begging her to end the merciless tease, which was intended to keep Bellakits below the threshold of her needed release.

Hermione, herself experiencing almost as much as her mate felt, drew her toe delicately over her playmate's pubic rise. Fuelled by sensations that echoed across their link, she continued to explore her lover; almost feeling the tantalizing pressure upon her own body. These ripples of broadcasted pleasure left Hermione unconsciously thankful for her feline poise and dexterity, which allows her to remain effortlessly agile and balanced upon one foot; permitting the exploration of her mate's yielding flesh with the other. Relentlessly, the brown-furred bakeneko's meandering toe drew an enflamed serpentine wake in its passing and crested the ebony-furred witch's shivering mons. Bellakits gasped as sybaritic spasms racked her body but Hermione remained indefatigable and unhurried in her teasing and descending caress.

The Empress, her gaze cast down, saw her thrall's half-lidded eyes begging for relief but she refused to be merciful. Slowly, her big toe neared Bellakits' hoodless nub but paused briefly as a naughty smile parted Hermione's lips; for the first time, the brothers Lestrange—through the haze of their own wicked desires—saw the fangs that were as much part of being Bakeneko as the ears and tail were but Hermione ignored their leers. She remained focused on her keen playmate's throbbing arousal, kept her touch feather-light yet firm, and finally brushed Bella's engorged clitoris. In harmony, Hermione and Bellakits yowled as shared pleasure echoed across their arousal-enhanced and overloaded link, which had begun bleeding their shared sensations beyond the confines of their duet.

On the periphery, a metaphysical hammer struck Rodolphus and Rabastan with a rapturous blow of unbridled ecstasy that their human bodies perceived as physical. Responding as their natures demanded, the brothers erupted with groans and coated their stomachs with white sticky ropes of shared release. Their mixed secretions were hot on contact but cooled quickly to uncomfortable rivulets of viscous fluid, which rolled down their bodies; a sensation that usually belonged to Bellatrix—or some other hapless plaything—who often would remain bound and covered by the various and unpleasant excretions, which endured once the Lestrange siblings had had their fun.

The irony of turnabout was irrelevant to Bellakits and meaningless to Hermione, as the brown-furred bakeneko ignored her audience and focused on the shared euphoria, which she engendered by skillfully manipulating her partner's arousal. Hermione fought the chaotic urgings of haste and continued to exploit her kitty-courtesan's freely offered sex. Slowly, the brunette cat-girl drew beyond Bellakits' engorged bundle of hypersensitivity and shallowly split—top to bottom—her thrall's swollen labia with her big toe. The sable-furred bakeneko's nether-lips gripped the intruding digit in a moist and silky embrace and in Hermione's own frenzied and amplified debauchery, it was almost as intense as if risen from her own sex.

However intense the sensations coursing through her empress might be; they paled in comparison to the pleasure, bordering on pain, which wracked Bellakits' body. The relentless waves that barely waned before another swell followed left the former and much feared Death-Eater bereft of any thought beyond her rapture and her need to satisfy her carnal hunger. Frustration reigned as Hermione refused to violate her toy's eager quim with more than a meager and humiliating—to one of purest descent—lower digit that barely penetrated beyond the sable-furred bakeneko's swollen, trampled and abused nether-lips. The sting, wrought by her queen's foot, which had crushed her sex and degraded her person (in sight of her husband Rodolphus and his brother Rabastan), would not be quelled and fueled the tempest of Bellakits' fervour: a fervour that demanded satisfaction. With feline speed and dexterity, Bellakits seized Hermione's ankle. With strength that belied appearance, Voldemort's former first lady forced the teasing toe harshly past her ready nymphae. Lifting her hips, Bellakits brutally split herself on Hermione's foot and savagely drove her Empress' foot into the her core and, if she had been able to—for all she seemed to try—past the gate of her cervix and into her very womb.

Bellakits yowled orgasmically; a yowl echoed by Hermione as she felt, through their link, the sensation of being stretched beyond what nature intended for an entry to that place or of this nature. The once know-it-all young witch embraced the ecstasy of agony that, if wrought upon her own body, wouldn't have engendered even the barest hint of pleasure for her but when experienced through the filter of her playmate's aberrant depravity, flowing across their bond it flooded Hermione's feline-like body with cresting waves of rapture. She cared not from wench it came nor how it was achieved and such occasions of conjoined intimacy allowed Hermione to feel what she'd never allow another—except for maybe one—to do unto her; since she much preferred in the doing unto others, as her new and dominate cat-like nature now demanded. Ever thankful for her kitten's submissive and masochistic disposition, she had experienced and explored depths of perversion that her peers—even those of dark and sadistic persuasions, like her pet's nephew—had yet to, if ever, embrace.

Another rhapsodic caterwaul tore from Bellakits' throat as she tried again to breech the tight ring of muscle, which prevented her from fully receiving her queen's lower paw. That cry went straight to Hermione's overflowing arousal, as did the accompanying sensations that bled across the psionic-bridge, which linked the two bakenekos. Amidst the cacophony of ineffable euphoria, a memory flared and for the briefest moment, Hermione once more experienced the fierce orgasm that had been one of her first introductions to Bellakits' warped utopia of sensuality. Bellakits' dreamland, her inner Shangri-La; a place where pain and pleasure twisted together and formed a sensation, which had neither a name nor a description for the uninitiated, had rooted that day in Hermione's very being.

That experience had been an unexpected—like many such things found during exploration—discovery, which had paralleled the stripping of Hermione's inhibitions and innocence by a master sensualist and had occurred within days of their feline transfigurations. That day, at behest of her licentious new playmate, Hermione had learned an obscure cleansing charm, which also conjured an odorless and tasteless lubricant. When she had asked her playmate its purpose, Bella smiled profligately and wandlessly conjured a padded bench, which she then knelt upon. She spread her legs and offered her behind invitingly faced her empress. The sable-furred bakeneko subsequently bent forward until her breasts mashed against the bench top and seductively wiggled her still raised ass and tail in invitation. Bellakits' bidding had confirmed a naked Hermione's well founded suspicious, which she acted upon with feral hunger. The teen cat-witch had cast the newly learned charm upon her eager thrall's anus a little too earnestly but the sight of that puckered ring of muscle in spasm and oozing the viscous colourless excess only enhanced Hermione's, by then but still newly debauched, arousal.

Do it, Bellakits had both begged and virtually ordered, Hermione recalled and—in that lust hazed moment—she remembered she had placed her finger against and then through that tight but slippery exit and into the smooth walled tunnel that laid beyond. The black-furred bakeneko had hissed with combined pleasure and frustration, Hermione recollected, as her finger—knuckle deep—explored the sides of the, for most others, usually taboo passage. 'Please, my empress,' the much-feared dark witch had plead through bated breath. 'I'm not made of glass; I need to feel your hand not just a finger: I need to feel molested and used.' 'But . . . but I'll hurt you, kitten,' Hermione recalled saying but Bellakits' unrelenting hunger gave voice to her thrall's savage dark desires. 'I need the hurt, I need the pain; I need to wallow in a sea of agony of my mistress' infliction,' Hermione remembered her pet's ardent declaration. She reminisced on the uncertainty of her inexperience. She had withdrawn her finger and had asked, 'But . . . but how? It's . . . it's too small; I might tear you, Bella.' (Hermione's concern, she later recalled, had been unnecessary. Bellakits had reminded her that a witch's magic would immediately adapted her body to accommodate things that could cause permanent injury to a non-magical's. However, if by chance, an injury did occur it could be healed by a wave of a wand) 'B-bring your fingers together and just shove,' Bella had begged in instruction, the young cat-witch recalled. Hermione remembered how she did as her playmate suggested and, with her fingers drawn to point and her thumb across her palm; gently, she had begun pushing into Bella's spasming rectum. Bellakits wanted none of that; she just forced herself back and screamed as her empress' hand was forced in. Hermione had added her voice to her thrall's shrieks, which combined agony with ecstasy, and felt—as if she was experiencing it—the ripping and tearing sensation, which brutalised Bella's bowels and it had felt glorious.

As it had been that time, so it was now and with the addition of their unwilling but excited audience, Hermione allowed herself to vicariously experience the sensations her Bella was feeding her. Her body and mind, unable to distinguish the difference between hers and her playmate's stimulation, behaved as if what was physically happening to the pet was happening to the master. Hermione's flooded quim spasmed in concert with Bellakits' and she felt the odd responsiveness that came from the feeling of having her body trying to do two contradictory things. The young witch shared in the sensations racking her mate and reveled in the feeling of trying to draw the intruding appendage deeper at the same time as trying to block something that was too big. In their conjoined haze, time became irrelevant and intrusive, as the two intimately knew the other's rapture. The Empress' lower lips, gaped and ready, vibrated as if being directly and powerfully stimulated by an odd curse (which flashed into Hermione's memory), which would disrupt a witch's ability to cast anything while being held under it.

This curse, the Rapturo, which Bella had gleefully taught Hermione, was almost like the Cruciatus in that it would penetrate any shield but what made it so diabolical was that it directly roused a witch's pleasure centres and induced unending ecstasy until canceled. To teach Hermione how malevolent bliss could be; Bellakits held the young witch under its effect for a minute or so. Bella didn't stop casting (even with her Empress begging and threatening her) until Hermione's blue eyes rolled back in her head and she fell unconscious from the incessant agony that came from prolonged ecstasy: still, she did pass out with a smile on her face. Unfortunately, she was altogether useless and excessively horny for the remainder of the day; Bella even had to secretly Fade her empress to her bedroom in the Granger's house, much to Crookshanks' amusement. Hermione's cat even gave a Bellakits the feline's equivalent of a thumb's up in appreciation; he'd always thought that his now physically much more attractive servant had been too tense and had lacked a certain levity in her generally staid life.

The brunette-furred bakeneko's memories of that day leaked from her mind as Bella built to her ultimate release and Hermione was, in a vicarious yet physical way, along for the ride. Caught in the relentless and lascivious torment (thanks to the feedback loop that existed between the bakenekos), the two lost awareness beyond each other and forgot their bound audience. The brothers, unable to rise fully to the show before them, resumed their chaotic attempts at taking pleasure from one another as their senses remained captive to the peripheral waves of hedonism rolling off the two cat-girls in heat. Each passing second of pleasure built upon the previous until at last Bellakits began to scream in climax. The sound behaved like a physical intrusion into Hermione's body that caused her to simultaneously yowl and explode with a gushing g-spot like orgasm, which soaked her legs and further drenched Bella's sweat covered body.

Panting, Hermione was again thankful that her feline agility and dexterity kept her standing after such an intense encounter. She was further thankful that she no longer bothered with nickers that habitually became sodden and rather uncomfortable more often than not under the short skirts, which had become her usual attire these days. An attire that would scandalise not that she really cared about such things anymore both Molly Weasley and Professor McGonagall if they should see her like this; especially with an evil Bellatrix Lestrange naked, subjugated and in the throes of the 'La Petite Mort' upon the floor before her. That the dark and feared witch was currently vaginally impaled upon Hermione's foot might've raised a conservative eyebrow or two as well; though, from the looks of their uninvited gentlemen callers, at least someone had enjoyed the show.

"Lucky kitten," Hermione said somewhat enviously as she sought to remove her foot from her playmate's pussy, which through suction most likely refused to release the large and welcome intruder. With a firmer tug, the brown-furred bakeneko freed herself from the tight confines of her lover's well-used quim; a loud moist squelch followed as did a copious flow of Bellakits' juice. With a wordless and wandless Scourgify, she cleaned her foot and then turned her sight to Rodolphus and Rabastan.

Her eyes almost aglow glinted maliciously and her lips formed an evil smirk; she addressed the brothers, "As you can see, Bella is mine now . . . all mine. Don't you think I'm a better master than that envious, lying half-blooded wanker of questionable self-esteem you've pledged your lives to? Unlike him, I know how to treat my kittens and I freely give them what they want and need. Morgana' boiling cauldron of lust, for once, look at yourselves honestly and see what I see: two proud noble purebloods of the highest order, who allowed themselves to be branded like common cattle by a mongrel who's ashamed of his heritage. He must wet himself with laughter when he thinks about how he's stepping all over the legacy he claims to defend."

"Do you dare compare yourself to our Dark Lord, you mudblooded filth!" Rabastan managed to spit out with a sneer, "You've no idea how powerful he is; you insult his greatness by denying his purity."

"Hah! Why would I compare myself to such a lowly worm, you misogynist inbred insult to magic and wizardry, not to mention humanity," Hermione countered imperiously, "but if you want a show of power, then I'm glad to provide it: Crucio!"

The Lestrange brothers screamed in an agony that usually only Voldemort could inflict but it didn't last very long; Hermione quickly made her point and stopped casting. She watched, enjoying the feeling she got as her sadistic side came out to play. Definitely a different witch than I once was, she thought with mild amusement as the brothers recovered; they adopted a properly submissive and awed attitude. Rabastan and Rodolphus finally understood that they, perhaps, had seriously underestimated the strange part-cat witch who held them captive. Their fear grew exponentially when, after blinking the tears and sweat from their eyes, they realized the mudblooded half-breed had effortlessly cast an unbearably powerful Crucio on them; without even holding a wand.

"Wh-what are you?" Rodolphus whispered.

"Your death," Hermione simply replied and if either had had anything left in their bladders, it would've been on the floor.

"Please," Rabastan began to beg in terror, "we could serve you, faithfully; really we could."

"Why would I want you?" she asked with nary a hint of emotion.

"We . . . we know things; secrets and stuff: stuff that will help you take over," Rodolphus added his voice in fearful supplication.

Hermione Granger laughed.

"W-why are you laughing?" asked a terrified Rodolphus.

Hermione focused her cat-eyes on the brothers and her glare was a serrated knife penetrating their very souls. She said, "What makes you think I want to 'take over'? Is that the extent of ambition you see; is that all you think of mine: to be the ruler of this petty boondock of a culture, which is doomed to die if it doesn't change? I don't want to rule; I want to be left alone. I intend to take my chosen away from this cesspool called Magical England and begin anew. I intend to let your marvelous culture implode into the vacuum of its idiocy and will gleefully watch as the muggles that you so despise teach you the true meaning of fear and crush you like the bugs you are. Bah! Wizarding superiority; what a joke! For every one magical there are thousands of non-magicals and I'm only speaking of their militaries. Have you forgotten why you lot went into hiding in the first place? You have no idea what truly waits for you on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron, do you? Muggles have fought wars that killed tens-of-millions of people in the span of five years; that's more than all the magicals currently in existence, combined. You lot are bunch of pikers who know not the enemy you demean or scoff at; how Tom Marvolo Riddle, in his zeal to become 'I am Lord Voldemort', has forgotten that is beyond me? By Merlin, you neutered toms, he grew up in a muggle run orphanage and spent his summers in muggle London during the Blitz; has he ever told you about it? Of course not; his envy sealed his lips lest others find he's not nearly as pure as he wants you to believe."

"And . . . and m-my Bella; she's good enough to s-serve by your side?" Rodolphus haltingly managed.

"My Bellakits was a wonderful accident; one that I'm loath to repeat but recognize as perhaps the most important accident in my life," replied the kitty-witch, "I would've never touched her but for my need to protect myself. I know what she was and what she is; I'd never consider such a person as an ally or more but Harry Potter has taught me something very important: fate is a funny and fickle thing; you never know what you're gonna get, so you might as well adapt to what you can't change. Regardless, she's mine now and mine she'll remain; others will have to accept her just as she'll have to accept others as my family grows. Her inclusion will be divisive; I know that. I can accept that having Bella will likely result in Neville Longbottom's exclusion from my family for all I like him but I know we need her far more than him; she's a link to our history, has loads of experience and knowledge and is really really fun to play with. Meow!"

"What about Potter?" Rabastan asked.

"My Harry may have problems with my Bella her actions did lead to Sirius' death after all but she wants to atone for her crimes against him and against her Family (the Black Family that is; she cares nothing for yours) and fully intends to have Harry tom for her first litter," Hermione replied with a smirk. "I think with that offer on the table or in bed or wherever and considering Bellakits somewhat extreme proclivities; I'm sure Harry will be able to work through his feelings in a way they'll both shall find pleasurable . . . at least in the end."

"Why are we unworthy of your favour, our mistress; our Empress?" Rodolphus tried pathetically to subjugate himself and his brother.

"You," hissed the brown-furred bakeneko, "seem awfully quick to renounce your master, in an effort to save your tails; which is odd considering last time you allowed yourselves to be sent to Azkaban in his name. Still, I suppose you've finally realized that I'm not a gutless peon who worships Dumbledore and his creed of redemption: I can smell your fear brothers Lestrange and that fear is well justified. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds'; you have been judged and found wanting but yet you still have a purpose so fear not: you won't be forgotten for a long time."

"W-what d-do you m-mean?" Rabastan asked in dread.

"I have a message to send and you two are the media of my message, little wizards who thought themselves important and powerful while riding another's coat-tails," Hermione replied caustically, "At least Tom follows and forges his own path to his desires."

)(

Hermione silently Faded into the vestibule of the Ministry of Magic on the paws of a cat. Her eyes, able to see in the lowest of lighting, scanned the area and; beyond the ruins of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, saw little and definitely nothing immediately threatening. Even the night guard was asleep; his snores were quite obvious to her furry-feline ears. A second later, Hermione summoned an entity akin to a Patronus Charm; she smiled as the ethereal kitten playfully bounded away. It would report if it found any one else within the Ministry building; an exploration that would've taken a very long time if the wraithlike kitten didn't divide at each junction it encountered within the myriad of corridors, which wormed their way through this labyrinthine campus of pointless complexity.

"That is a very interesting spell Miss Granger," said the calm voice of a man from behind the bakeneko.

Hermione Faded and immediately reappeared behind the owner of the voice; her conjured fang an ivory dagger-like weapon against the man's throat, she hissed, "Who are you; why did I not sense you? Speak!"

"My name is Croaker, Miss Granger, I am a . . . Unspeakable; the Unspeakable you might say. I mean you no harm; I am just curious. Our mutual friend, John Smith, mentioned you in passing the other day, we were enjoying a couple of pints at the time and even the tongue of a 'Supreme Wizard' will loosen if plied with copious amounts of ale," the man ended with a chuckle.

"I imagine you intend to try and stop me," Hermione assumed in tonal absolute.

"Heavens no, Miss Granger; why ever would I do something like that?" Croaker replied in a contemplative but dreamy tone, tinted by obvious amusement. "If I stop you, not that I could actually, my curiosity would not be satisfied; now would it?"

"You sound like my friend Luna Lovegood . . ."

". . . Do I?" he interrupted with airy abstraction, "I suppose there is a family resemblance; she is my niece after all. I am glad you are her friend Miss Granger; she was very alone for a very long time. I worried about her but feel much better now, knowing you and your friends are her friend in matters of friendship and friendliness."

Hermione shook her head and vanished her Fang; it felt wrong threatening Luna's uncle. She stepped back and said, "Sorry about that, Mr. Croaker, but I thought as a ministry employee you'd be . . . well, you know . . . obligated to stop me if I was planning anything anti-ministerial."

"Are you . . . you know . . . planning something anti-ministerial?" He asked casually as he turned towards her; he continued, "and Miss Granger, have you forgotten what Mad Eye, well the fake Mad Eye, taught you about vigilance; you just let down your guard and I'm a stranger, for all I gave you my name." In a very Lovegoodian manner, the Unspeakable radically veered off and said unexpectedly, "You have beautiful blue eyes, Miss Granger; being bakeneko becomes you and you are really quite fetching with those ears and tail; I have always had a thing for furries. However, your dress should be more conservative; you are here on business are you not? Not that you don't wear high-heeled ankle boots and black fishnet stockings well, you do. They work very well with the black leather and lace miniskirt and corset look you wear so well; you should invest in a whip, pretty kitty; it would complete the look."

She blushed but replied, "I sense your intent, Mr. Croaker, you're telling me the truth that's why I let down my guard but I don't understand; what about your duty?"

"Ah, my dear, I understand your misguided assumption; it is what most wizards including the minister think," he replied. "You see, as Unspeakables our duty is to Magic, first, and peaceful coexistence between magicals and non-magicals second; the Magical governments of the world barely rank a distant third. To be honest, if we were to report to or seek council from any, it would be from you or your peers. After all, only Supreme Magi are worth listening to or have the power to interfere with us: we would have to be facing Ragnarok or worse to warrant such intervention, though. Thankfully, Supreme Magi tend to be amoral and aloof and more than willing to leave us to our own devices and follies; usually only acting when Magic herself is threatened."

Hermione sighed and said, "I think I missed the classes covering amorality and aloofness when I ascended; my purpose tonight is decidedly dark."

"And that purpose is?"

"I intend to send a message regarding intolerance; a very loud message," she replied cautiously, "but I'm not planning to stick around and see if anyone listens."

"Oh, are you going somewhere?" Croaker asked, "Can I come? I have become rather disenchanted, of late, and being the Chief Unspeakable has grown tedious as well."

"Um . . . well, we're not really sure where we're going, yet; we just want to go somewhere else, Mr. Croaker."

"I hear Japan is quite pleasant and I am certain the Magical Community of Akihabara would readily welcome you," he told her with a smile. "Besides, once the Japanese Diet of Magic and the Mahoe Shogun herself finds out about you and she will, trust me; she will beg you to revive your people's long vacant seat. She is quite the Otaku, a major yuri and shoujo-neko Fangirl; she is going to love you. Especially with you being the head of a long-lost guild of some of Japan's most feared assassins; that will go a long way to win Sashoutsuki Yume's favor too, I'm sure."

Hermione shook her head in confusion as her tail-tip flicked rapidly, an obvious manifestation of perplexity or agitation, but Mr. Croaker's information beyond the Mahoe Shoujo-neko Fangirl Shogun part deserved further thought. She liked the idea that there might be a place to call home, already. It was a promising piece of information, which deserved a proper investigation but she had things to do first. Hermione's attention suddenly refocused as one of her kitten-wraiths began broadcasting a mental image to her. In them, she saw that aside from herself, the snoozing night watchman and Mr. Croaker, there was another person in the Ministry's offices: a very familiar witch.

Then Hermione got an idea; an awful idea; Hermione got a wonderful, awful idea; and she turned to Saul Croaker, with her fangs on display, and wickedly smiled before she did say, "Mr. Croaker you told me, you'd not interfere; and after my message you'd let me go free."

"Of course my dear kitty, for all that I see; will be told to no others and I'll do so with glee. But one thing I must ask you, before you are gone; why are we speaking in couplets like song?"

Hermione stared at Saul Croaker, with a rather odd look, and said in conclusion, "I suppose we misspoke. But is it so bad that our words end in verse but if it disturbs, we will end this strange curse. But one final thing, of this I must know; you'll do nothing to me, whatever I do?"

"Unless you attack me; to you, I'll remain true,"(2) the Unspeakable replied, ending the verbal silliness with a smile.

"Really?"

"Really, really," he replied, "Although I intend to copy my memories to the Department of Mysteries achieves for prosperity, my dear, if you do not mind that is; if you want I will 'fuzzy' your face so you will not be recognized but I want something in exchange."

Hermione squinted her eyes suspiciously and asked, "And what would that be, Mr. Croaker?"

"I want to join you once things are settled," came his startling answer, "Like I said earlier, I have grown bored in my current position and being the archivist for a rebirthed culture would be a lovely retirement. Besides, I love the smell of parchment and ink and I have a thing for cats, which I have never been able to indulge."

Her cat-ears twitched as she rose her eyebrows in surprised understanding; she said casually, "You'd have to be bakeneko before I'd allow that."

"Being bakeneko would be a small price to pay, my dear. After all, I have been human my whole life, Miss Granger, and I have become rather jaded with being human of late, too. I think changing species would be a fine way to alleviate my dispassionate ennui; I do not like the wizard I am becoming and I tire of the constant game of politics I am persistently embroiled in these days."

The brown-furred bakeneko shook her head and realized that this was not the best time to dissuade Saul Croaker from his self-invitational cure from tedium; she said, "Excuse me Mister I mean Saul; I'll be back once I deal with something. I'll be back in a tail wag or two."

"Oh, of course dear, my apologies for holding you up," he replied as he watched Hermione shift to her witch body. Her body and then her eyes Faded away and the Unspeakable said with wonder, "Oh my, curiouser and curiouser, what an interesting way to travel. I wonder if it was this and not the opium which inspired the Cheshire Cat?"

)(

Buried in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic and near the office of the Minister himself, a lone pink-garbed witch hunched over a pile of parchment, which covered the top of her overly ostentatious and baroque desk in a very pink office. Sure, the witch had a lot of paperwork to catch up on and she knew she would have to be careful (having used up her blackmail material to keep her job) but she was far happier; she much preferred this to that hideous office she had had at Hogwarts and she was away from all those hideous little ungrateful children. Even her wall-mounted too cute for words kitten plates seemed happier (she could hear them purring, quite soothingly, behind her) since they'd been unpacked and rehung; unfortunately the custodian, who had mounted them, was a filthy mudblood but that was something she'd take care of when she had a free moment: at least his hands had been clean. Sighing contentedly, she snuck a few properly worded amendments into a recently passed bill, which the Minister would sign into law on the morrow, and reviewed her clever efforts; she was certain that the pure and proper folk of society would appreciate her hard work and effort on their behalf. In time, Dolores knew her efforts would be rewarded.

That finished, the witch shook the remaining ink from her quill and rested it on her desk's blotter. She stretched out her kinked neck muscles and glanced at her picture of a smiling Minister Fudge. I feel a sorry for Cornelius; such a good wizard and a good man, she thought in self-pity. Too bad the sheep will fold to what that blood-traitor Dumbledore and his half-blood Potter brat thinks is right but at least there are a few in the Wizengamot who won't let us give everything away to the filth, half-breeds and traitors to or sacred traditions. I wonder if we can get Dumbledore and Potter on charges of Willful Destruction of Ministry Property? They destroyed our beautiful Fountain of Magical Brethren in their carelessness. Proper folk would've fought You-Know-Who somewhere else. Proper folk would've protected such an important historical artifact that depicted the benevolence and wisdom of our superior Wizarding society and culture. Yes, it was really irresponsible of Dumbledore and Potter to lure He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named there, what were they thinking and what about the poor souls caught in the crossfire, like Lucius Malfoy? An innocent wizard should not be sent to Azkaban without receiving a fair trial, especially the Lord of a Noble House. Poor pretty Lucius, painted in the same light as that awful Sirius Black; thank Merlin, that blood-traitor has finally passed the Veil. Perhaps, I'll check how Lord Malfoy's son is doing; poor Draco, such a good and upstanding young lad, suffering now because his father was incarcerated unjustly. Unknown to her, Voldemort had already sprung Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban and had left a simulacrum in his place.

A sudden sense of 'presence' disrupted Dolores Umbridge's inner monologue. She glanced towards her office door and saw, sitting on the floor, a glowing white spectral-kitten, cleaning its paws in a typically cute kittenish manner. The kitten looked up as it detected the eyes on it, gave the Senior Undersecretary a cute 'mew', and then started to chase its translucent moonbeam colored tail, playfully.

"A Patroni?" Dolores asked aloud as she smiled at the sight of the little feline but her kitten plates hissed in warning; she ignored them and said in her sickeningly sweet tone, "I wonder who you belong to little girl, you're very cute. I'm sure your caster is a very powerful and pure witch; only a pureblood could manage such a corporeal looking servant. I'm sure Potter cheated somehow to make that horse thing of his. I must say, though, you look solid enough to touch: may I pet you?"

The ethereal kitten stopped chasing its tail, looked at the pink-robed witch and said, "Meow?"

She rose from her desk, approached the kitten and crouched for a closer look. Cautiously, she reached slowly for the little feline and was surprised to find that it was, indeed, solid enough to be touched. Dolores Umbridge (whose only partially redeeming quality was her love of all things kittenish) happily began to pet the wraith-like kitty and scratch it behind its glowing little ears. As she lavished attention on the strange feline, it began to grow and before she knew it; the Senior Undersecretary was petting the bushy brown head of a very familiar and wholly unwelcome young witch.

"Why hello Professor Umbridge," Hermione said, smiled amiably and shook the woman's hand from her hair. Yuck, I need to wash my hair now, she thought in annoyance before continuing, "Fancy meeting you here tonight. Trying to catch up on a backlog of foulness and bigotry, perhaps?"

"Y-You're P-Potter's mud-blood whore; that . . . that bookworm of his, H-Hermione Granger!" Dolores exclaimed in haughty fear.

"I. Am. Not. A. Whore!" Hermione hissed and unintentionally shifted to her real body, her bakeneko body: to Madame Umbridge's dismay and horror. The brunette-furred cat-girl firmly grabbed the stout witch's wrist with one paw and in the other, Dolores' throat. She lifted the pink-clad witch to the tips of her toes and growled, "I only fuck the people I like and I don't charge for it either! I'm quite free with my affections; thank you very much: not that you'll ever discover how good and thorough of a lover I've become or that I am virtually without inhibitions."

"D-dirty half-breed! Take your f-filthy, muddy paws off me!" she choked out as she tried to escape her former student's iron grip. "I'm going to report you to Care and Control; I'm going to happily see you destroyed. Potter will be so upset when his pet is exterminated!"

"Are you a fool, Professor and I use the term very loosely: the Professor part that is, the fool part is accurate Umbridge? Do you think I'd give you a chance to report me? Come now, you stupid bint, you must know how smart I am and you must know that I was ranked in the top percentile of power; even more powerful than many adult witches and wizards, yourself included. I've read the official report from the Ministry Debacle in June you know, the one on your desk there but my power have grown since then; I doubt you could even scratch me, even if I let you try."

Dolores' anger crashed to fear as her senses finally detected the level of magic and strength in this creature, now effortlessly holding the ministry witch on her tiptoes. This can't be, it's wrong, it must be wrong; the mudblood should not be this powerful . . . Why is she a cat? She thought as horror superseded panic and reason; she exclaimed, "W-What are you!"

"I'm Batman!" Hermione teased as gruffly as her feminine and feline throat could muster before she started to giggle: an almost unhinged giggle that further terrified the toad-like witch.

"Y-You're mad!"

"You betcha toady the toad but only a little; I've received a much higher calling than madness and have learned the importance of enjoying myself. Now let's head back to the atrium, shall we Professor?" The bakeneko's tone somehow twisting that title to insult, "I have someone I'd like you to meet. Oh, by the way, she's mad too but I'm sure you'll love her."

Keeping a firm grasp on her former Professor's wrist but releasing her throat, Hermione Faded back to the atrium. Saul Croaker, his hood over his head once more, remained alone (but for the snoozing night watchman) and the sole witness to their arrival.

"You, Unspeakable; arrest this vile creature!" Dolores ordered when she recognized the cloak of the DoM; she thought her rescue was imminent.

From the shadow of his hood, he asked, "Why?"

"Why! I'm ordering you to, that's why; are you an idiot! I am Dolores Umbridge! I am the Senior Undersecretary to the . . ." she suddenly fell silent.

Hermione tilted her head and asked, "Did you do that?"

Saul nodded his shrouded head and said, "The Senior Undersecretary's voice always gives me a headache and she is a rather foul creature. You know, I have wondered about her heritage too, Miss Granger; I am not entirely sure if she is all witch or some sort of strange toad-like hybrid in disguise. I suppose that might explain her near pathological aversion to nonhumans and her incessant need to proclaim her blood status; like Voldemort does."

"Petrificus," Hermione casually evoked and dropped the ossified Dolores Umbridge, offhandedly, to the floor. She turned to the Unspeakable and asked, "Do you mean that the Department of Mysteries knows that Voldemort is a half-blood?"

"Of course we did, dear; you cannot possibly believe we would not investigate someone calling themselves Lord Voldemort do you? We snickered about it too; what did the French language ever do to deserve that level of abuse, I shall never know."

Hermione chuckled as both she and Saul Croaker ignored the aura of shock and scandal, which rose from the immobile and magically muzzled pink-robed witch.

"So, my dear, what do you intend to do with our honorable Madame Undersecretary?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Um . . . you sure you want to watch this? I said my purpose was decidedly dark and Madame Umbridge, here, has volunteered to be part of my message: it'll likely be the only beneficial thing she ever does for humanity, I'm sure."

"Ah, I see; you mean to kill her then," the Unspeakable stated cavalierly; much to Dolores' dread. "Well I cannot say she does not deserve it, considering all her promotions were oddly preceded by the death or disappearance of the job's former occupant. Too bad about that whole 'evidence before prosecution' thing; she might have been stopped before 'Loony make-believe animals are not real' was carved into my niece's dainty arm, by her own hand and in Luna's distinctively flowery script no less. It is very hard to maintain a mantle of professional apathy when something like that happens; I cannot abide the abuse of innocents and when it is family . . ."

He was too angry to continue and Hermione shared his anger: Sure Luna was a bit—okay, a lot quirky—but she was sweet and kind and thinking about the pretty, petite, sexy, little blonde; younger witch made the brunette bakeneko thankful her no knickers rule. Bella dear, she thought to her playmate, you can come through now and please bring our guests. Did you keep them entertained in my brief absence? Oh and bring some cream, I'm thirsty.

Yes my Empress and are you thinking something naughty? I can sense your arousal, Bellakits thought in reply but Hermione didn't rise to the playful goading. A moment or so later, two sapphire-blue eyes faded into view, followed shortly by the rest of a sable-furred cat-witch. She was holding the Lestrange brothers by the scruff's of their necks. Once fully visible, Voldemort's former first lady tossed her husband and his despised brother beside Dolores Umbridge and petrified them. She'd already chased them around Hermione's Hideaway to amuse herself while casting rather nasty stinging hexes at their willies when she saw them; just to alleviate the tedium in her empress' absence. She'd grown bored of such sport though.

"Madame Lestrange, what a pleasant surprise, and a furry too I see," Saul Croaker said with obvious amusement. "I had heard rumors of your disappearance but I must admit none came close to the truth: who would have thought the darkest witch of her age would join forces with the brightest witch of hers and become a cat-girl? I suppose becoming a bakeneko had something to do with that but I would be speculating."

"Hissss!" Bellakits exclaimed and leapt an easy fifteen feet straight up; although, her landing remained noiseless even in her stiletto-heeled boots. She whirled to face the Unspeakable, drew her wand and demanded, "By Morgana's over-used cauldron, who the hell are you; why didn't I sense you when I arrived?"

Resting her hand soothingly on Bella's head, Hermione tousled her mate's hair and then sensually stroked her back. When her hand reached the base of her partner's tail, Hermione griped the feline appendage and slowly ran her hand to its furry black tip; she gave it a playful tug.

"Me-ee-ow!" the black-furred bakeneko exclaimed in a manner that brought a red tint to Saul's cheeks and an air of scandalized contempt from the former Defense Against the Dark Arts non-instructor.

"It's fine, my pet, Saul is I think a friend," Hermione soothed, "he caught me off guard too, so don't feel too bad about being surprised. He's an Unspeakable, so I imagine he has lots of useful little tricks like hiding his presence he's yet to tell us about."

Bellakits gently butted her head against Hermione's shoulder and said, "Yes, I see how that would be useful . . . Is that Dolores Umbridge!"

"Why yes . . . yes it is," the brunette-furred cat-witch began, a trifle too innocently, "Madame Umbridge has graciously accepted my invitation to help me deliver my message. Now, I suppose I should get this over with before someone else arrives and disrupt my creativity."

Once Hermione stopped speaking, a golden glow settled onto the ruins of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. From the rubble, a form took shape in the middle of the pool. The blob of light shimmered and sparkled but as the golden light dimmed a skull shaped rock, surrounded by water, emerged from the rubble.

"Oh my, very nice work, Miss Granger; wandless and wordless no less, color me impressed," cooed the Unspeakable, "Is Madame Lestrange . . ."

". . . Just Bella or Bellakits, please, I've left the name Lestrange behind me," said the former dark witch turned kitty-witch but still rather dark.

"Oh, I hope not legally yet, Miss Bella, you do have a bit of a fortune to inherit first; we would not want the Lestrange estate end up in the coffers of the Ministry and Gringotts, do we?" Saul mentioned casually. "That beside, are you as proficient in wandless and wordless magic as Miss Granger is?"

"My Empress is the master, I'm not near as good," Bella replied.

"Don't cut yourself short, my purry plaything, you are very talented in that and in other meowch mewore important and meowch mewore pleasurable things, meeeow!" Hermione said with a suggestive grin.

The copiously feared but now furry Bellatrix Lestrange did something that only her empress had seen recently; she blushed adorably. Dolores Umbridge, forced to watch this strange and unbelievable scene, from her place on the floor, found herself thinking (in a bid to distract herself from her looming and inevitable fate) rather enviously: Why, cat-ears and tail notwithstanding, does Madame Lestrange look so . . . so twenty-five-ish?

Bella, sounding very concerned, asked softly, "Are you sure you want to continue? Are you ready to do this?"

"No but it's something I must do," the brunette-furred bakeneko said with an obvious hint of uncertainty but the Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor for a reason; she continued, "I'm to lead a renewed nation of mischievous yōkai who just so happen to be ranked amongst the most feared assassins in the world. If I can't do this, to people like this," she said, with an indicating glance at the Lestrange brothers and Madame Umbridge, "I have no business being the Empress of my rebirthed clan. Still, I'm going to need a good domination when we get back, Bella. Just remember, I don't like receiving quite as viciously as you do."

"I'll give my exquisite tsarina a full-body cropping; followed by a few rounds of Rapturo, once your pussy is red, swollen and stinging," Bella purred seductively, much to the discomfort of the non-bakenekos in hearing range, "mmm, yummy . . . you like that, don't you my empress? I can smell you divine musk already."

"Please, Bella . . ." Hermione began, her voice hitched before she continued, "don't distract me like that; I need to focus; besides, what will others think?"

Hermione and Bellakits giggled, very much like giddy teenaged witches do when exposed to something naughty; Saul thought it displayed quite the weird juxtaposition that vacillated, wildly, between gentle innocence and vicious profligacy.

"Anyways, I need to do this before my Gryffindor runs away," stated the brunette bakeneko as her tone and mien ran the gamut from heated impish to icy stoicism.

With a wave of her hand, Hermione flipped the three petrified magicals onto their backs and positioned their arms outwards from their shoulders. She stepped towards the stilled figure of Rodolphus Lestrange and looked upon his naked and disgusting body. She searched her mind for the merest hint of pity but found none; all she felt was loathing for the horrors and depravities written about this thing, which called itself a man. Deep inside anger flared and from her anger, she conjured a cross beneath the foul creature's form and three ivory claws (barbed dart-like spikes, which when thrown could be guided by thought; accurately and with surprising force) to her hand. She glanced at them for a moment, before she willed them through Rodolphus' wrists and crossed ankles and; as Hermione's claws drove firmly into the wood behind her targets she lifted the Petrificus Totalus that bound him, the dark wizard uttered a tortured and piercing scream that woke the night watchman. Saul Croaker spelled the wizard back to sleep; there would be no witnesses, reporting the next morning, about the first sword swung in the war for equality.

Having ensured that Rodolphus was firmly mounted to his crucifix; Hermione soundlessly translocated the wizard and his cross to the top right of the skull-shaped construct that was once the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The Death Eater cried out in anguish as the bakeneko's claws bore the man's full weight against the relentless pull of gravity; he was soon struggling to breathe. Rodolphus' lack of breath silenced the dark wizard to gasping torment and whispered pleas that no one would listen to, even if heard.

With the first brother planted, the brunette-furred kitty-witch turned her attention to the second brother and dispensed the same vengeance and judgement upon him; Hermione teleported the second cross, consigning Rabastan's crucifixion to the top left side of the skull like edifice. He responded much the same as Rodolphus had and in as much torture.

"Well, I suppose that about wraps it up for the two supercilious narcissists," Bellakits guffawed, "Farewell, my once husband and brother-in-law; your tiny and unsatisfying manhoods will soon be forgotten."

With the Lestrange brothers dealt with, Hermione looked at the petrified Senior Undersecretary and allowed her to speak.

"You . . . You f-filthy half-bred m-mudblood," Dolores Umbride spat in dread fueled rage, "how dare you lay your soiled p-paws on the honorable brothers of H-House Lestrange! And . . . and you, Lady Lestrange! How c-can you pollute yourself with this . . . this filth and p-partake in the vile obscenity and perversion of 'la Ardeur Sorcière' with this . . . this profane c-creature: has Potter's mudblooded and wicked whore enthralled you like some libidinous veela in order to steal your magic? What aberrant and lascivious acts have you been forced to endure at her hands as her perverted plaything?"

Bellakits cackled heartedly before she replied, "Yes, Madame Umbridge, this evil, deviant and half-bred pussy-witch has enslaved me but I'm loving every minute of it! The things she does to me makes my quim weep! The welts from her floggings, heavenly! The pain she inflicts, divine! And when she is buried to my depths and thrusting in time with my heart; my rapture leaves me blissfully limp and in dissolute darkness."

An unwelcome tingle stirred in Dolores' core, which had been rarely touched by anything other than her own wand or fingers; aside from the lips and unclean tongues of a few young mudbloods (no older than a second year and preferably from Gryffindor) that she had used and then oblivated, during her tenure at Hogwarts. She had revelled in her filthy little dalliances and loved the fear she could engender in those thieving little fledglings of pureblooded prerogative and magic, when she brutalized them. The lovely screams, which rose from the youngsters cursed to experience simultaneously pain and ecstasy with every lash of her blasphemous whip; their shrieks echoing like a triumphant rondo of 'Ein Teuflisch Sinfonie' of which she usually was the conductor but tonight. Tonight she was the orchestra; tonight Dolores was terrified and, to her revulsion and self-loathing, aroused by the scene and her role to come in tonight's performance. She glanced between the amalgamate beasts of felinity and witch and found no mercy in their sapphire colored cat-eyes. The slit-like pupils of the two cat-creatures narrowed in abhorrence and glared at the Senior Undersecretary but it was the mudblood Granger's gaze, which truly terrified her. Dolores Umbridge would never have believed that a goody-little-two-shoes bookworm could be so brutal or efficiently savage. Nevertheless, she could not deny the manner in which the vile half-breed had dispatched the Lestrange Brothers to their painful and likely drawn out deaths. Moreover, as she contemplated their fate, her own impending doom grew nearer; her heart sank in despair. Her terror exploded and overwhelmed all other emotions as her clothes vanished from her body. Naked, she felt the rough-hewn cross, which the filthy feline brute had conjured, against her skin.

"Eww! Is that even a healthy shade of pink," Bella exclaimed after an unwelcome eyeful of unclad toad-like witch, "People will be losing their breakfasts when they arrive for work today; you are truly an evil empress but you're my evil empress, not to mention my frisky, delectable and abandoned playmate."

Hermione smiled at her partner then looked at Dolores; she queried in a cold voice, "Do you know what the cross symbolizes to muggles, Professor Umbridge? Its underlying meaning?"

The confused look in the her eyes was an obvious answer.

"I thought not Professor," the brunette-furred bakeneko continued, "Allow me to elucidate. The cross, or crucifix if you prefer, has come to embody at its basest that redemption is achieved through sacrifice. Now, back in the first century; humanity's road to salvation was paved by the blood of one who was at the very least an exceptionally good man, if not more; he has been revered ever since. Too bad all I have to offer for wizard-kind's reclamation is you and my pussy-paramour's husband and her vile brother-in-law; I doubt you three will be remembered with reverence, if you're remembered at all beyond my message. Good-bye Madame Undersecretary."

The cavernous expanse, which was the Ministry's atrium, swallowed Hermione's words and then Dolores Umbridge felt the burning agony of a bakeneko's ivory claws being hammered through her wrists and ankles a little at a time. She screamed as loud as any mudblood student that she had fondly tortured and her blood, now oozing over spikes that secured her to her cross, was the same red as any she had shed for her own amusement. Weak, the Senior Undersecretary's vision faded to black as pain overcame her (at least the brothers were still squirming on their metaphoric hooks) and Hermione Bellakits too for that matter found it darkly disappointing; Madame Umbridge hadn't even been planted upright yet and she was already unconscious. Tsking in dissatisfaction, the brown-furred bakeneko waved her hand and teleported Dolores to the top of the skull-shaped conjuring and placed her between Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. After conjuring signs with big bold lettering over each of their heads, Hermione cast a series of spells that prevented either magical or non-magical means from reaching the three. She further blocked any ability that her three unwilling messengers had to identify her or Bellakits in any manner and even Legilimency wouldn't reveal the author of the message Hermione now left behind.

With her work complete, the brunette bakeneko collapsed into Bellakits' arms and began to sob. Without saying good-bye to Saul Croaker, Hermione and Bella Faded from the Ministry. The Unspeakable looked at the loud and gruesome missive and read the words written on the signs; they spelt Hermione's First Commandment:

"THOU SHALT NOT TOLERATE INTOLERANCE," he recited aloud and to no one before he vanished from the Ministry's Atrium.

)(

Clad by shadows that lurked forebodingly in the dark extents of an opulent ballroom, if properly lit, Lord Voldemort sat absently drumming his fingernails against the arm of his Queen Anne chair; thinking. Nothing had gone as expected since Severus Snape had brought that damnable prophecy to him, all those years ago. Sure, in hindsight, he might've been the author—well co-author—of his own misfortune, he had lent credence to that sherry-marinated self-proclaimed seer's prophecy but—being honest with himself—it was mostly young Severus' fault. If Severus had not told him about that premonition; then, he, the Mighty Dark Lord Voldemort, wouldn't have acted on it nor would he have suffered from dis-incorporation for nigh on fourteen years, but for a brief yearlong respite: now would he? The worst of it all, his Potions' Master had only delivered half of the dratted thing. No, on reconsideration he thought; what was worse was that a combination of fourth and fifth year students had held his inner-circle at bay, until Dumbledore's order arrived! How will he rule when his servants are this weak and publicly so? In the end, the only good thing that came from that catastrophe was Sirius Black's death. With that highborn blood-traitor gone, Draco Malfoy became Heir Apparent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and that was definitely a good thing.

Unfortunately, thinking about Draco made the Dark Lord think about the boy's father, Lucius; what a disappointment that man had turned out to be. First, the wizard with an obsession for hair-care products had cowardly renounced and denied his Lord and claimed the Imperius Curse had controlled him. Lucius had also spent a lot of gold to keep himself out of prison but bribery was a perfectly acceptable defence for one such as him . . . but betrayal? Betrayal was an entirely different thing and when Lord Malfoy had denied his master, he betrayed the just cause so he could save his own hide and reputation. Between that and the blonde wizard's most recent sin of failure had Voldemort thinking, again, that he should've left Lucius to languish a while longer in Azkaban. Sadly, the Dark Lord was currently shorthanded in the useful Death Eater department. Besides there were other and more important things to worry about like Potter, Dumbledore and the continued absence of three of his most loyal and fanatical inner circle Death Eaters. His fingernails drummed harder against the chair arm, marring the varnish even further.

"Wormtail," Voldemort called, "where is our morning Prophet?"

The Dark Lord's eyes peered through the darkened ballroom and waited impatiently. He was about to call again but he noticed someone hovering by the door. His sensitive nose detected the pungent aroma of a fearful Peter Pettigrew lurking just beyond the entrance.

"Come now, Wormtail," the Dark Lord oily invited, "We grow tired of waiting for our newspaper; your hesitance makes us think you've done sssomething wrong, have you?"

The rat animagus nervously entered the room, clutching the Daily Prophet to his chest; he replied, "N-no My Lord, I've done nothing but I f-fear you'll not like today's headline."

Without speaking, Voldemort summoned the folded newspaper from Wormtail's grasp and unfolded it. His eyes leapt to the photograph on the front page and for the first time in many years he felt an uncomfortable gnawing in the pit of his stomach, when he saw the half-page picture of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, along with Dolores Umbridge, crucified of all things in the Ministry of Magic's atrium. The brutal sight, which even made the Dark Lord uncomfortable; for all it fascinated his sadistic impulses, even surpassed some of Bellatrix's more horrific and despicable exploits during her early years in his service. Nonetheless, for all Bellatrix might be lethal, she was rarely this bloody and tended to prefer the neat efficiency of a well-cast Cruciatus or Killing Curse.

After the photograph, the Dark Lord's attention fell on the bold headline. Horror at the Ministry: New tactics for You-Know-Who or New Shadow over the Wizarding World?

Horror awaited the arrival of Ministry employees, yesterday morning; he read, when, upon arrival, they discovered the gruesome sight of the notorious Lestrange brothers and our very own Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic (the soon to be retiring Cornelius Fudge) nailed to large wooden crosses with long ivory spikes driven through their wrists and ankles. They were alive and struggling upon discovery but later succumbed to their horrific injuries.

Voldemort continued in growing apprehension. The crosses were planted on top of a skull-shaped conjuring that stood at the center of the pool, which once surrounded the Fountain of Magical Brethren. (See: Mayhem at the Ministry, June 21st) Neither Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement nor Albus Dumbledore were able to penetrate the shields, erected around the pool, which prevented rescuers from reaching the victims. The three hapless targets were not silenced but Ministry Officials were unable to attain any information about the perpetrator(s), as both the Lestrange Brothers and Madame Umbridge were somehow prevented from naming or describing the criminal(s) who had committed this heinous and cowardly act. Even attempts to use Legilimency failed to reveal any evidence and the only clear and readable images "contained frolicking kittens," said one Legilimencer, who refused to be named. He did tell reporters, "I'll never be able to look at kittens or cats the same way ever again!" He further added, "I don't know what I'm going to do, now; I promised my daughter she could have a kitten for her eleventh birthday but just thinking about cats is far too disturbing to even want such an animal in my home now."

Ministry Officials held a macabre vigil and were forced to watch; unable to intervene as the three slowly died.

Rabastan Lestrange was the last to perish; he finally passed-on shortly before 9:00pm last night. To add insult to injury, as soon as Rabastan Lestrange exhaled his final breath, the shields collapsed and some form of decomposition curse struck the three. They were reduced to a foul sludge that left nothing remaining for proper funerals. A visibly shaken Albus called the culprit(s) monsters since they denied two misguided individuals a second chance and summarily executed a witch, who'd not even been charged with a crime. And while the Daily Prophet isn't exactly in despair over the passing of the Lestrange Brothers; the loss of the Senior Undersecretary, a staunch supporter of the Ministry and this paper, definitely saddens our hearts.

Speculation is running rampant at the Ministry, as they attempt to identify the culprit(s) of this reprehensible act. However, it is believed by some that it was not the work of You-Know-Who or his supporters, since the message found at the scene: 'Thou shalt not tolerate intolerance', written on signs posted above the victims, does not follow the ideology or style commonly associate with Death Eaters and their crimes. Because of this, it appears unlikely that it is the work of He-Who-Isn't-Named or his followers; the absence of a Dark Mark over the victims further supports this theory, a theory that the writer doesn't even find remotely comforting.

Rita Skeeter.

Without warning, the Daily Prophet erupted into flames in the Dark Lord's hands. He tossed the first example of accidental magic in a long time from his hands and felt the gnawing in his stomach grow more pronounced.

"Wormtail!" he shouted.

"M-master?"

"Find Luciusss and bring him to usss; you and he have a new mission," sneered the Dark Lord.

"Yes my Lord," Peter Pettigrew said with a bow and hastily exited the ballroom.

{Morgan's quim, Nagani, we don't like this,} Voldemort hissed in parsaltongue as his familiar lurked in the nearby shadows, {who could've done this to two of our most faithful and deadly servants? It wasn't Dumbledore, of that we're sure and it's even excessive for Mad-Eye, although definitely more his style. It's undeniably the work of a dark wizard or witch and, by Nimue's knickers, if we didn't know Potter's mudblood mother was dead, we'd suspect her: she was never as enamored by Dumbledore or the old fool's 'no kill' policy. Pity her blood-status, she proved much smarter than the average pureblood by far, her blood-traitorous husband included. Lily Potter was at least Bella's equal but everything we've built was built on the rich chumps believing their fools' creed of blood-purity and that mudbloods were barely above the animals from whose loins they sprang.}

{Idiots the lot of them,} he hissed on, vehemently; {we should've paid more attention to the relative differences between magical and non-magical parented power levels instead of the relative differences between gold levels when we were at Hogwarts. By Mordred, even mud-blood Myrtle what's-her-name was more powerful and smarter for that matter than most of our oh-so-noble purebloods glutting our ranks. Nevertheless, it's too late to derail the juggernaut we've built but we were a fool yes we said 'a fool' our beautiful and deadly Nagani we should've approached Potter differently in the graveyard, when we were resurrected. We should've presented Wormtongue as a peace offering to buy the boy and lure him to our side with promises of protection and training, for him and his little friends. Especially that Granger witch of his, she reminds us of how we were at Hogwarts; there'd be no love lost between them and most of the Wizarding Community—we're sure—after all that nasty propaganda spouted by the Daily Prophet throughout the Triwizard and then after, thanks to Umbridge and her idiot Minister, Fudge. More's the pity that Bellatrix sent Black through the Veil by accident; the loss of his godfather will probable ensure that Potter forever remains firmly entrenched in Dumbledore's camp.}

{Yes, Nagani our pet, our anger clouded our judgement,} he hissed regretfully; {we definitely should've handled things differently. We should've used Umbridge's time as a false teacher at Hogwarts to push Potter and his pet witch further from Magical Britain and into our arms; too bad Granger and Bellatrix would clash so, but our power over the Lestrange bitch would've been enough to keep her reigned in, we're certain. What a team they'd make if we could've bent Granger to our cause. Sure, we'd have to change focus, but we've grown weary of pure-blooded vitriol, anyways; we'd rather have poorer but more powerful servants than richer and stupider ones. If we had such servants, we'd not need worry about the loss of the Lestrange brothers and we could've left Lucius to rot in Azkaban a while longer; perhaps a change in focus would've bought Narcissa's favor and her power as well. Unquestionably, things would take us longer if we did that but what's time to the Defeater of Death? Not to mention, the incorporation of mud-bloods would've given us inroads to the muggle world, which we can't afford to ignore any longer. They've become more powerful with each passing year and if we don't control them they will crush us altogether, regardless of what the foolish purebloods believe: Bah! The travesty that's called faith. Yes, they're all fools; we saw muggle power when we were young and living in that vile orphanage, and it's grown considerably since then. Yes, we cannot snub the muggles any longer if we wish to reign as sovereign by right of magic and conquest. What do you think Nagani?}

Voldemort's familiar hissed, {It makes no difference to me, father; but I want you happy. I get more tasty treats when you are happy; can I eat the rat-man, yet?}

The Dark Lord chuckled in reply, {Not yet, our pet; Wormtongue still has his uses as a spy; we've never seen an animagus form that so closely matched the wizard it belonged to.}

Voldemort reached for his cup of tepid tea and took a sip. Scowling, he put it down and waited for Peter Pettigrew and Lucius to return. As the Dark Lord sat, he felt ripples in the magic that permeated Malfoy Manor and sensed a familiar presence cross the mansion's ward line in the company of another. This other's presence seemed aberrantly powerful (in a manner that brought vague recollections of something he'd experienced in his youth) and unexpectedly unfamiliar; he always kept track of those he considered powerful and would memorize their magical signatures: Voldemort didn't like surprises. He waited expectantly for the plume of black smoke to appear and from it emerged his most powerful servant; Bellatrix had returned at last and had brought a kneeling and hooded figure with her.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said as she knelt, forcing her companion's head into a low bow.

"Crucio!" Was the Dark Lord's first word of welcome and Bellatrix writhed beneath Voldemort's wand but she didn't collapse. Typical Bellatrix, he thought amusedly, she'll not even show weakness to me; I'd almost think she likes being Crucioed but I don't think she's that bent, regardless of what her dead husband thought. Satisfied he'd made his point with a brief spell of torture he asked, "Our dear Bellatrix, wherever have you been and for what reason did you ignore our repeated summoning? We'd almost thought you dead but just in case you had betrayed us, we had Rabastan and Rodolphus looking for you and look what happened to them. And now our favorite witch has returned and brought us a gift, we assume; is this to appease your guilty conscious, my dear, or something else? ssSpeak!"

Bellatrix replied as naturally as she could that is to say fearfully and reverent to the Dark Lord's order and said. "It was what happened to my beloved and his brother that compelled my return. I apologize for my long absence but I had to prepare your gift, properly; it was quite a challenge but worthwhile I hope."

"Very well, Bella, we shall withhold judgement on your disappearance and your refusal to answer our calls; until after you present your gift. We hope we'll not be disappointed; it will not bode well for you if we are."

"My Lord, I carefully selected this gift and trained it for you; it'll make a wonderful pet, I'm sure, and will help to show how powerful you truly are," Bella said with a carefully metered tone and carefully selected and almost evasive words.

"Let usss sssee our new pet, then; hopefully, we find it pleasing."

The Dark Lord's First Lady took a handful of hood and ripped her gift's cloak off; it revealed a familiar bushy-haired witch. Bella had even opted to dress the young woman in the same tawdry fashion and revealing clothing that his First Witch favored, the Dark Lord observed. Voldemort looked very surprised, smiled evilly and said, "Well, well, my dear Bella; you've truly outdone yourself, this time; have you fully tamed her, our faithful servant, or does she still have that ssspark, which so infuriates your nephew?"

"Potter's pet witch still has some spark left, My Lord, but she is not the same creature we encountered during our skirmish at the Ministry: I can guarantee that. I doubt her blood-traitorous and half-blooded companions would even recognize her. I hope we can play this like she joined willingly, wanting to become a pureblood's toy because she realized that that is the proper place for one such as her. We might even be able to brood her with a worthwhile wizard or two."

Voldemort rose from his chair and stepped towards the young witch kneeling before him, "Miss Granger, how wonderful to see you here and on your knees like the filth you are. Our dear Bella sssaysss you've been trained; we believe we should give you a try."

"In your dreams snake boy," Hermione growled and leapt at Voldemort.

"Avada Ked . . ." He began, defending himself from the young witch's surprising attack. The incantation died on his lips as the mudblood vanished mid leap but before she disappeared, the Dark Lord thought he saw her transform. It didn't look like an Animagus shift, though. Suddenly, he felt someone strong grab him from behind and the sharp cold edge of a blade against his neck.

"Foolish girl, you cannot kill usss; we are . . ."

". . . Stick a sock in it Tom Riddle," Hermione hissed cat-like and allowed her formable power to pulse in silent warning, "I know I can't kill you but I can bloody well make you suffer if I discorporate you, again. I'm sure that would disrupt your plans rather nicely. Either way, it doesn't matter; I know about your little trinkets. Let's say we have a race to see who gets to them first; I'm certain I'd win you know being physical and all."

"If you're not going to kill usss . . ."

". . . Lose the royal 'we' Tom; you don't deserve it," she said imperiously as if she had the right to use it; she did, "we are here to make you an offer . . ."

". . . Nagani!" Voldemort called and the large viper emerged from the shadows. It slithered to strike but as it reared, it hissed in agony as Bellatrix threw three ivory claws at the creature; they burrowed easily through Nagani's hard scales and lodged deeply into the serpent's body. In severe pain, it came crashing to the floor. Hissing loudly in agony, Nagani slithered into the shadows and left a trail of foul smelling blood in its wake: for the first time in a long time, Voldemort felt the stirrings of something that might be akin to fear.

"Did you kill it, my pet?" Hermione affectionately asked Bella.

"I don't believe so, my Empress. Tom's snake was greatly altered through repeated exposer to very powerful, very dark and very ancient arcane rites, it's more magical creature than serpent now; it's far more intelligent than a normal snake should be, too," Bellakits replied and shed her witch's body for her much preferred Bakeneko one. Voldemort looked in awed confusion. His Death Eater's physique had become decidedly feline and she was worshipfully addressing the mudblood like royalty.

Working hard to hide his growing anxiety, the Dark Lord said, "I see you've turned my most faithful servant but remember, mudblood, once a traitor always a traitor; you'll never be able to fully trust her. Nevertheless, I see you've already made use of her talents; that was your message she left at the Ministry I take it: 'Thou ssshalt not tolerate intolerance', how quant. I would've never suspected one of Dumbledore's ssstooges to be so brutal; it's not the old coward's style. I suppose he's okay with magical abominations like you two, too."

"We are not abominations, we are Bakeneko! And it was my Empress' work, Tom; she's not working for Dumbledore either," Bella told him and, with her fangs on display, she smiled when she saw the look on his face and felt amused; she also felt something else when she looked at Hermione but that would have to wait, "and yes she is that yummily brutal. My kitty-kitty was weeping when we got back from the Ministry that night, after such a masterful display of torture; even at your peak you never made me feel that sodden!"

"What's a bakeneko; I've not heard of such creatures," Voldemort asked with surprisingly calm, considering his situation; it proved, for all intents, that the Dark Lord was the quintessential Slytherin when it came to self-control. "And if you're not here to murder me then what do you really want? By the way, you've made your point Miss Granger, shall we discuss things civilly?"

"No tricks?" Hermione asked, her voice whispering into his ear and her tone brought forth another feeling he thought he'd long forgotten; even Voldemort had to admit that for a mudblood she had become pretty enticing.

"No tricksss," he replied, "you've made your point and you're very powerful my dear; I've not felt this much power for a long time, not even Dumbledore ranksss. Besides being what was that? Ah yes a bakeneko; are you a ssSupreme Witch?"

"I am," Hermione conceded, "I am ascended a little while ago but, regardless of how little time since my ascendance, I think you know better than to openly challenge me."

"I do . . . Could I interest you in an alliance, perchance?" the Dark Lord surprisingly offered.

The brunette bakeneko, well aware of this 'once' man's power, easily sensed his honesty simply because challenging her wouldn't be to his benefit. She released him, vanished her Fang and then herself. She Faded in beside Bella, eyes first as usual.

"Hmm, I sssee Bella isn't the only kitty visiting me today. What an interesting way to travel, Miss Granger," he commented aloofly, "Is the ability racial or one you developed?"

"Racial, my Bellakits can do it as well," replied Hermione.

"'My Bellakits', rather possessive aren't we? But that's neither here nor there; you said you have a deal to offer, kitten," Voldemort drawled and the way he said 'kitten' made the brunette's skin crawl.

Hermione forced a fang-revealing smile and made her offer, "In exchange for a couple of small favors, I'll remove Harry from Magical Britain and leave you, the Ministry and Dumbledore to work things out between the three of you."

"There isss a prophecy as you well know, my dear; what of it?"

"I've heard the prophecy. The fact that both Harry and you are alive suggests it was either fulfilled in 1981, negated or a false prophecy that became self-fulling by your actions." Her tone and reply did not belie her intelligence, regardless of Draco's opinion but Voldemort knew the boy was a barely half-witted clone of his father.

"That's . . . interesting; what's your opinion, Miss Granger?"

Hermione briefly tilted her head in thought and then answered, "I'm not a fan of Divination and tend not to listen to soothsayers or astrologers so I believe it was a self-fulling prognostication. I believe that had you not gone after Harry you would've won; since from what I've read you had Wizarding England by the short and curlies, as non-magicals say. It was only a matter of time before they capitulated."

Voldemort stepped back, returned to his chair and sat; he looked thoughtful for a while then said, "I think you may be correct. I ssspent nearly ten yearsss as little more than a ghost and then Quirrell happened by. I had plenty of time and opportunity to contemplate my existence and my mistakesss; you have succinctly summed up my conclusions. Even before you and Bellatrix or as you call her, Bellakits arrived today, I was rethinking my strategy and finding far too many holes in my actions to date. Think what you will about that, my love, but considering how powerful you've become; I'd rather remove you and your pieces from the board you might say. So, Miss Granger; in exchange for taking Mr. Potter with you what do you want? By the way, will young Harry willingly be removed himself from the game?"

"Harry and I have little reason to stay; look how Magical Britain has treated him. One minute he's a hero; the next he's vilified as a reckless, spoiled and attention seeking brat. I doubt he'll miss that. As for me; even many so-called 'liberal' witches and wizards think I'm little better than the 'muggles' who bore me and see me as little more than an animal who's learned a few tricks. My intelligence and power, even before my ascendance, was greater than most of my fellow students and quite a few of my teachers but I was marginalized and called a bookworm by most and a mudblood by many. I owe nothing to this society and, if anything, this society owes Harry more than it's willing to give. I think Harry will be happy to leave, not that he'll have choice; I intend to save Harry, whether he wants me to or not, although I'd prefer not do to him what I did to my Bella."

Voldemort laughed, heartily, and stated, "Wonderful, you intend to sssave Harry Potter whether or not Harry Potter wants to be saved. You sound a little like me when I was you age; be weary of good intentions, kitten, many don't sssee them for what they are and your actions will likely put you at odds with Dumbledore, hisss Order and hisss ssso called 'Greater Good'."

"Hmph," Hermione scowled, "Dumbledore's a bigger threat and a more damaging influence to Harry than you are, by far. At least you're honest with your intentions; I know you'd Avada Kedavera me in the back, given half the chance: I can't say that about Dumbledore. If he thought it would serve his 'Greater Good', though, he very well might. I dislike uncertainty."

Bellakits cackled and the Dark Lord chuckled before saying, "I never thought I'd hear a mudblood sorry, muggle born say that about Dumbledore the Great Leader of the Light; although Lily Potter might've, had she been given the chance. I must admit, Potter wizards know how to pick their witches; hopefully Harry Potter listensss better than his father did. Regardless of all this, its's refreshing to ssspeak with someone who's not trying to curry my favor, is in awe of my magnificence or ready to wet themselves in fear. I believe that it's in my best interest to agree with your offer, as long as your price doesn't damage the means to my end. So, Miss Granger, in return for Harry Potter absence; what do you want?"

Hermione was about to reply but her sensitive feline hearing heard approaching footsteps. She and Bella shifted to their witch forms and prepared for unwelcome visitors. A moment later, Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room and immediately drew their wands when they saw the bushy-haired witch. They started to cast as Voldemort tried to order, "No . . ."

". . . Stup . . ."

". . . Damn," the Dark Lord muttered as red flashes (produced by neither words nor wands) splashed over his servants, knocked them backwards and unconscious with unanticipated force. Shaking his head in all-too-common discontent, Voldemort said, "Fools; they're as bad as Gryffindorsss at least Lucius is; Peter was always a reckless but cowardly lion acting without thinking, like usual . . . They're not dead are they?"

Hermione shook her head and replied, "No Tom, just stunned."

"Wordless and wandless, wonderful; by the way, kitten, how do you and Bella know my former name? I thought I'd buried that long ago," he asked with concerned curiosity.

"My empress told me," Bellakits replied, the Dark Lord looked at Hermione.

She answered his unspoken question, "I've known since the end of second year, Harry told me about his encounter with one of your trinkets when he rescued Ginny Weasley and killed the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Beyond Dumbledore, how many know?" he asked.

"I don't know how many order members might know but quite a few students do," Hermione responded, "No Slytherins as far as I know. Does that make you feel any better?"

He actually looked relieved and said, "I suppose I should be happy with that; can't have my future servants thinking less of me but back to the question: What do you want Miss Hermione Granger?"

"In exchange for taking Harry with me," she began but paused for effect before continuing, "You will give me Narcissa Malfoy I promised Bella after all, she's quite attached to her sister it seems and we shall spirit her and us away. You'll likely never see us again, Mr. Riddle; once we step away from the board."

"Is that all? It sounds like I'm getting a pretty good deal here; are you sure that you don't want something else, like a vow of non-aggression or something?"

"Well, I have some personal matters with Antonin Dolohov," Hermione told him, "and since I'm not about to trust your word I won't ask for a promise; why bother? Either way, I don't want to screw around with oath binders and all that. I trust that you're smart enough to know not to cross me because of what I am. After all, you've nothing to gain and much to lose if you challenge me openly. I'll leave it to that and your intelligence."

"Hmm, interesting reasoning but sound; I'm not a fool, Miss Granger," he said, "but just to quench a bit of domestic curiosity, may I ask Lucius if he'll give up his wife to you for me?"

"As long as you understand that whatever his opinion, our deal stands; can you bring Narcissa here, Tom, Lord Malfoy's actions may prove entertaining but I doubt we'll be surprised by his actions," stated the bushy-haired witch and the Dark Lord smiled in amused agreement.

"Mipsy," Voldemort called; a house-elf popped into the room.

"M-My L-Lord?" the she-elf said fearfully.

"Bring your mistress to us, we have things to discuss."

"Y-Yes my L-Lord," she replied and vanished.

"Can you wake Lucius, Miss Granger?" Voldemort asked, "I hope he'll not attack so recklessly again but if he does; please don't kill him, he's rather useful in hisss own way that's why I got him out of Azkaban as fast as I did."

"Bella, please retrieve Lucius and bring Wormtail with him; I don't want his unconscious body to attract unwanted attention," Hermione instructed.

Bellakits gave an acknowledging bow of her head and replied, "Yes my Empress. Wingardium Leviosa."

The Dark Lord watched Bellatrix levitate his two Death Eaters, sans wand, with merely a wave of her hand. He commented, "You've become more proficient with wandless magic, I see, Bella dear."

"My skill and power increases are thanks to my Empress, Tom," his former First Witch replied.

Voldemort glanced at Bella and then at the young kitty-witch, currently in her human form; he asked, "Hermione, my dear, is there a reason why Bellatrix refers to you as 'My Empress' or is she just being facetious in her usually impudent manner?"

"You would never understand, Tom," Bellakits interjected, "but My Empress Hermione is my one and true empress by the right of strength, vision and conquest; she is my light and life, she is Queen of the Bakeneko, she shall revive her people and her throne. We will serve her . . ."

". . . and we will serve them, to the fullness of our power and life," Hermione continued, her automatic response more rite than mere idle words.

If Voldemort had eyebrows, he would've risen them in surprise as he considered the meaning of this information but this train of thought was disrupted by Mipsy's return; Narcissa in tow. The she-elf immediately popped away. The Lady Malfoy was about to kneel but noticed her older sister and Potter's mudblood in her ballroom and with the Dark Lord; they seemed even shockingly civil, she observed. Voldemort glowered when he noticed that Narcissa, instead of kneeling and giving him proper homage, rushed to her sister and hugged her. Perhaps not really a loss, Narcissa was never really Lucius' nor was she ever mine; she tolerated me but she was useful to me so I let her remain unmarked and unbound. He considered as he watched the sisters, I wonder if Granger will have any better luck binding Narcissa's indomitable will. Still, she did take Bella from me—who would've predicted that?—and Bella was never this loyal to me. In fact, it looks like Bella actually has very deep feelings, maybe even love, for young Miss Granger in a way she never felt for me. Curiouser and Curiouser.

"Oh, Bella, I was so worried," Narcissa said as she wrapped her arms about her sister, "You've come back to me and you brought Potter's pet to the Dark Lord."

"Narcissa . . ." Voldemort began.

Realising she may have committed a fatal insult to her houseguest, the Lady Malfoy turned towards Voldemort, knelt and bowed her head; she said earnestly, "I'm sorry My Lord, I forgot myself in the joy of seeing my sister again; please forgive this humble witch."

"That is to be determined," said the Dark Lord sinisterly, "this is not the first example of your incomplete loyalty; perhapsss we should banish you or just kill you outright. We'll let Lucius decide, shall we? Not that it matters and you've made an erroneous assumption, my dear Narcissa; Bella didn't bring Miss Granger to me, Miss Granger brought Bella, although Bellatrix provided the method of transportation."

Narcissa Malfoy looked stunned and very confused; not to mention absolutely terrified.

"Wake Lucius, Miss Granger, we shall ask him what we should do with his wife and her irreverent manners, towards me. Young Draco's opinion is of course irrelevant in this matter; he's yet to prove himself to us but he'll have his chance when he returns to Hogwarts."

Hermione waved her hand and Lucius began to stir. Suddenly the too blonde wizard leapt to his feet and reached for his wand, he couldn't find it. He fearfully looked about his manor's ballroom and saw his wife, Potter's mudblood and his traitorous and crazy sister-in-law currently holding his and likely Pettigrew's wands in his Lord's company. Something felt very wrong and he had a sick feeling in his stomach but his first rather delusional thought had been, when he spotted Potter's pet witch, was that the Dark Lord was about to give him the mudblood. She needed to be properly educated and he'd teach her to be appropriately deferential to a superior wizard of superior blood. She didn't look half bad as witches go perhaps a little too curvy for his tastes but she'd make an enjoyable plaything for him and Draco, once trained up in the proper forms; which his wife refused to provide as her duty would've demanded if she had not be a Daughter of House Black.

"Ah, Lucius, our most cunning servant; did you think the mudblood was for you?" Asked Voldemort before he started to laugh. He resumed with mirth still obvious in his tenor, "Did you really think you've earned such a grand award or favor from us? ssShe's Potter's witch, by Merlin, only Potter himself is worth more to usss; and you feel you deserve her charming company. Miss Granger has bested you at every turn and I'm certain she was behind that hippogriff's escape, which angered you so, a couple of years back. Bah, you're such a disappointment to us and your son, so far, seems even worse. By Merlin man, ssshe's wandless, in the stronghold of her enemy and you were on the floor before you finished your first spell; how does it look when our most trusted lieutenant and advisor is defeated by a mere ssslip of a witch not even finished her education? Perhaps we should send you back to Azkaban and give you some more time to reflect upon your inadequaciesss."

Lucius Malfoy blanched and fell to his knees, "M-My Lord, mine is b-but to s-serve; p-please forgive me. I will endeavour t-to serve you b-better."

"ssScaredy-cat," the Dark Lord unexpectedly hissed; Hermione and Bellakits giggled a little madly normal for Bella, everyone knew she was crazy: but Potter's mudblood? the Malfoys remained utterly perplexed by the circumstances but Voldemort continued regardless, "Fear not Lucius, our slippery friend, you've not been brought unto us for punishment but for council; we seek your advice."

Looking marginally relieved, Lord Malfoy asked, "On what does My Lord seek advice on?"

"We've been offered an interesting proposal and since it involves you and your lovely wife, we thought to ask your opinion."

"My Lord?"

"Miss Granger has graciously offered to remove Harry Potter from our current conflict in exchange for your lovely wife, Narcissa," Voldemort informed. "Miss Granger will take possession of the Lady Malfoy and then ssshe and her Bellatrix will leave. We think that this is a good proposal for us and our goals but since Narcissa is your wife and property, we sought to hear your opinion on this matter. ssSo Lucius, our oily friend, do you think we should give Narcissa to Miss Granger and her Bellatrix to use as they will in exchange for not having to worry about Harry Potter in the future?"

Narcissa Malfoy was stunned. The Dark Lord and Lucius were casually discussing whether she'd become the property of the mudblood Granger. Infuriated, if she'd been anywhere else she would have stormed from the room but instead she was forced to listen to this; her future being decided without any regards to her or her opinion. That foul worm I was forced to marry and his silly Dark Lord are going to sell me and Lucius will not make a peep in my defence, she indignantly thought. She glanced at her beloved sister who seemed very different from before—happier even—and then looked at Potter's pet and considered. To see Bella as part of this is understandable, she's a pureblood through and through, and knows how these things work but to see Granger involved. She seems wholly out of character from my son's description and the way he would go on about her so often; wasn't she running around spouting nonsense about house-elf rights, in her fourth year? This is a long way from that, does she think so little of witches now—likely thanks to Umbridge—that she believes we can be bartered in trade? And what about Bella? Why is my sister here with the mudblood and why does the Dark Lord keep referring to her as Granger's property? Something is amiss; that is very obvious and disturbing. Even the Dark Lord is out of character; how can Granger even be alive—let alone standing—in the presence of my husband's master, like an equal no less. I suppose I could do worse than Potter's pet, at least she's sort of attractive—in an innocent way—and Bella looks happy but, by Morgana, I don't understand what's happening here.

"My Lord," Lucius began, "if you want to accept the mudblood's offer, who am I to deny you; I'd gladly exchange my wife to further your desires, if that is your will."

Voldemort pointed his wand at Lucius, "Crucio!"

Hermione and Bellakits watched impassively as Lord Malfoy writhed and screamed on the floor before the Dark Lord; Narcissa sported a little smile but to Bella, it was obvious that her sister was seething on the inside. Cissy is going to need a good fuck when we get her to the Hideaway, Bellakits thought, Hermeowne and I will have to show her that we will always value and cherish her. Cissy is going to be so hot once she's in her white-blonde fur, ears and tail. Bella reflected carnally, it had been a long time since the taste of her sister had been on her lips and tongue. From your thoughts and your scent in the air, I take it you and your sister were once very close, my pet. Hermione's voice intruded into Bella's feline hormone addled brain, which hungered for a Black sisters' reunion; the brown-furred bakeneko then added brazenly. I agree with you, my Bella, she will be hot once she's furry and we will have to make her feel welcome; do you think she'll willingly join us or will I have to take her? Cissy, will come around, my Empress, Bellakits replied amorously, she's rightfully angry right now but once she finds out how wonderful and willing you and I are to please our playmates, she'll come around. You bet she'll cum around, lover, the brunette bakeneko replied in silent liquid heat. I'm sure she will, my queen. Bellakits and Hermione giggled again, drawing strange looks form both Narcissa Malfoy and Voldemort.

The Dark Lord released a now self-soiled Lucius from the torture curse and angrily hissed, "We grew up in a filthy orphanage in the middle of muggle World War Two. We would've nearly given our magic for a family to call our own and here'sss Luciusss, willing—nigh on eager—to give up what we never had but wanted when we were young. We hate people who don't value family," the Dark Lord took a calming breath, then said smoothly, "However, enough of our angry trip down memory lane: it seems, Miss Granger, Narcissa no longer belongs to Lucius; we can feel her conjugal bindings shifting to you. Use her, as she deserves, my dear. Good-bye Narcissa, we think you're new owner will pamper you and you'll sssoon forget about usss."

"My Lord?" Narcissa said, uncertain of how she felt.

"Miss Granger is your Lord . . . Lady now, Narcissa; we fear we will be enemies ere we meet again. Serve your new Empress better than you served us and you might live a long time. Now leave, and you too Bellakits; take your Empress' bartered goods with you: we shall remember your betrayal of usss, for whatever reason, and we are not a forgiving Lord, as you well know. We hope your new master keeps you on a ssshort lease, lest you find yet another."

"Bella take our new partner to the Hideaway and treat her right but don't wear her out without me," Hermione instructed with a seductive smirk; then added. "I will be along shorty, my pets. Once I've concluded my negotiations with the Dark Lord and tidied up my personal business with Dolohov, I'll join you two. And Narcissa?"

"Yes mud . . . Miss Granger?" the former Lady Malfoy said haughtily but she felt her connubial bindings were now fixed upon the young witch. They forced her to capitulate to her new and, for all intents, spouse and her will. She didn't know if she should laugh or cry but, as it was in her youth so it still was; her life was not her own and it would again unfold, as it always had, without her consent. Narcissa Malfoy felt bitter but at least she'd be with her sister again and maybe Granger wouldn't be such a bad mistress; she could only hope. She bowed her head in supplication and prayed that she'd be treated well.

Hermione grinned at Narcissa, well aware of what the older witch had been about to say and she felt sorry for her. Has Narcissa ever been allowed to make any choices about her life? The bushy-haired teen asked herself, rather sadly, before thinking. I will have to ensure that any decisions about Narcissa includes her opinions and desires.

"I will so enjoy getting to know you and hope you'll share your nectar as readily with me as you do my Bella," said the brown-haired witch with a mischievous grin and seductive tone; Narcissa's very fair skin grew crimson and Hermione tittered again before instructing, "Off with you now, my pet and our new playmate."

"Yes, my Queen," Bella obeyed without question. She clutched Narcissa to her bosom, tightly in a loving embrace and Faded away with her sister.

"That is very Lewis Carrol, Miss Granger; what with the eyes fading away last, very tasteful," Voldemort said, turned his wand on Lucius and cast, "Stupify."

The odorous Lord Malfoy fell into darkness.

"Yes, it's a cool effect and one of many gifts that come from becoming bakeneko; I hope we can conclude things quickly, Tom, I have a new toy to play with."

"You are not like young Draco has described, Miss Granger, you seem—I don't know—slutty is the best word to describe it, sorry if that offends; what has wrought such a change? It's more than just becoming Bakeneko, of that I'm sssure," the Dark Lord said with a smile that seemed almost warm.

Hermione, remarkably comfortable in her current company, stated with a smile, "Becoming Bakeneko completed me but after what happened at the Ministry and the injury I received at Dolohov's wand back in June; I came to the conclusion that life is too short to not enjoy and experience new, exciting and different things. I had planned to explore my new feelings and sensations, which I'd denied myself, when I returned to Hogwarts; I wasn't going to give a ruddy damn about what other's might think, either. Morgana's nickers, if Draco hadn't been such a purrsistent git since I met him, I might've even allowed him to meownt me. I was also going to do my best to mate with Daphne Greengrass since even before my change I thought her hot (not that I would've admitted it to myself or anyone else for that matter); I wonder if all snakes taste like my Bella. Aside from her, there are a number of other witches and wizards I find attractive at Hogwarts; I wanted to play with them too. Maybe a teacher as well, I'm very curious about Professor Flitwick and wonder if all of him is as small. Becoming a bakeneko just makes all that easier. I'm a cat now and cats don't regret and since acquiring Bellakits by horizons have most definitely expanded."

Voldemort laughed softly before saying, "It sounds as if you've chosen not to return to Hogwarts; have your NEWTs become unimportant to you?"

"Do I need them, Tom?"

"You're a Supreme Witch, I suppose not; but what of your little friendsss other than Potter?"

"I will take who I want with me, like Harry," Hermione replied, "and my chosen and I will this leave this bigoted backwater and let you all go to hell. I'm not planning on looking back, why should I?"

"What about power?"

"What about it?" she replied, "It sounds like such a bother to me and a dreadful bore; I've never understood its appeal. Knowledge is worth more and it's not nearly as transient. I may rule over my elect but I'll never be their master; they'll be as free as I can make them and the place we make for ourselves will be for us alone. Pleasure and learning will be the hallmarks of my paradise, my pride, my Shangri-La."

"Perhapsss you are ssstill too young, Miss Granger, and still blinded by an utopian dream but who am I do deny your goals," said the Dark Lord, "but as I am rather busy wizard and you have a new toy to break in, can we finish this up? You said you've some business with Dolohov, shall I sssummon him?"

"Yes, Tom, I'd appreciate that."

Voldemort shucked his sleeve, pushed his thumb against his Dark Mark and focused on the desired Death Eater. A few moments later, a pillar of black smoke rose before him and from it emerged Antonin Dolohov. He knelt before his Lord and bowed his head.

"My Lord summons?" he asked humbly.

"Ah, Antonin, how good of you to be so prompt; we hope we haven't interrupted anything important," the Dark Lord droned.

"Nothing is as important as your will, my Lord."

"Good, good, always happy to hear of such loyalty," Voldemort said with an unpleasant smile before continuing, "but it's not for usss that you are sssummoned; we have a guest who has business with you. So rise, our faithful servant, allow us to introduce someone you met a little while ago; Antonin, allow us to introduce Miss Granger: Miss Granger allow us to introduce Antonin Dolohov."

The Death Eater jumped to his feet, drew his wand and pointed it at Hermione, "My Lord, that's Potter's mudblood; I almost gutted her at the Ministry, I'd be honored if you'd allow me to deal with her in the appropriate manner; I promise her screams will be music to your ears my Lord."

"Now, now Antonin . . . Miss Granger is our guest; that would be very rude if we allowed that," said the Dark Lord before turning to the young witch, "So, Miss Granger, what business do you have with our servant?"

"I will fight him, Voldemort," she stated in a flat and cold voice that seemed to chill the very air around them.

"You dare say the Dark Lord's name, filth, when I'm finished with you, you won't be so smug you dirty little mudblood," the Death Eater spat and then began, "Stupi . . ."

Voldemort flinched as two loud reports echoed through the ballroom and silenced Dolohov; almost deafening the Dark Lord in the process. With his ears ringing unpleasantly, he looked and saw Antonin lying in a crumpled heap on the floor; bleeding profusely from two gaping holes in his midsection. Voldemort stood quickly and looked at Hermione; what he saw made him shiver: the young witch, in her feline form once more, was pointing a very large and deadly looking handgun in the direction of his downed Death Eater; its barrel still smoking. Hermione, with her cat ears and tail twitching in irritation, studied her handiwork briefly before casually tossing the pistol away: it vanished mid-air but the smell of cordite hung heavily as a powerful aide-mémoire to what had happened.

"A reminder, Tom," Hermione growled frigidly and the Dark Lord felt ice in his veins, "You and you foolish followers will soon come to the attention of non-magical England; they will not be happy with you. Witches and wizards might be able to stand one against one, our magic against their weapons, but you know it won't happen that way. Have you forgotten, Lord Voldemort, that for every Death Eater you have, there are a thousand muggles with modern weapons, which they've been trained to use. They are as lethal, if not more so, than you and your misguided little friends and you are vastly outnumbered. Consider this my only warning to you and your stupid slaves and understand: The two slugs I pumped into Dolohov were spelled to prevent magic any magic from working on him; he will join the Lestrange brothers as a useful object lesson. I also stuck him to the floor and he will remain immobile until he dies; which will likely be quite slowly, and his corpse will be stuck for an additional three days beyond that. Show him to Draco and the rest of your oh so mighty and noble pure-blooded scum; tell them what they are really facing as they waltz down the path you've charted. Good-bye Lord Voldemort; hope to see me no more: I may not be able to kill you fully until your trinkets are dealt with but you can be damn well sure that the members in your little club will dwindle; if you disturb me or mine in your upcoming follies!"

"ssSupreme Magi are not allowed to interfere!" the Dark Lord excalimed.

Hermione snickered and replied, her voice magically reverberating, "Of course we can; we just don't. I am an ascendant of my generation and for the new millennium. I will protect my world from tyrants who'll get us all killed and as long as I don't try to conquer or expose magic to unrelated non-magicals; my actions are sacrosanct: The Society's brethren will not interfere."

With her piece said, Hermione Faded away; her cold blue eyes remained ever so briefly as a piercing reminder of her presence and warnings before they vanished as well. As the last echo of her words died, Voldemort looked at his fallen and pain wracked Death Eater and collapsed to his knees in actual fear. Just to be certain that Granger hadn't been lying; he tried to heal Dolohov. He felt his magic gather, as it should; rush down his arm as usual and into his wand. It exited at the tip and quickly crossed the distance between him and his servant but once it reached Antonin, it splashed like water against a rock and vanished without a trace. The Dark Lord preyed, to any deity or demon who might listen; hoping earnestly that Hermione Granger, the Bakeneko Empress and Supreme Witch, would remain true to her words and promises.

)(

Narcissa Malfoy, held in her sister's warm and firm embrace, watched in amazement as her ballroom her former ballroom she reminded herself seemed to fade away and then somewhere else faded in. That somewhere else appeared to be a tropical jungle, if the heat and humidity were any indication, but it didn't seem quite real. She glanced to the sky and saw, overhead, a diffusely glowing ceiling that bathed this place in a warm soothing light. She felt Bellatrix release her and saw her sister step back to an arm's length and smile. Not the insane sneer, which had become all too familiar on Bella's face but a loving and sisterly smile. Narcissa was forced to admit that Miss Granger had been good for the usually restless Bellatrix. Her sister was acting like a giddy teenager and her body was as hot and supple as it had been when Bella had been twenty-five; Narcissa could tell.

"Oh Cissy," Bellakits actually squealed happily and began to ramble, much to Narcissa's shock and dismay; not to mention affronting her dignity, "I'm so glad our Empurress agreed to steal you fromeow that foul Tom Riddle and your useless and awful husband, Lucius. It'll be like at Hogwarts all over again and together too; we're gonna have so meowch fun! I know you're gonna find it difficult at first but you're just love our Empurress Hermeownee; the things she'll do to you meow! your gonna love them-mew too. And just wait until you become one of us, Meow! We'll get linked together likes sisters should be; each of us enjoying what the other feels almeowst as meowch as if it's happening to mew . . . you! Oh Cissy, you'll get all these really neat meowgical gifts too! Things will be purrfectly heavenly again like fresh fish and cream! and you'll have so meowch stamina that you'll reach unbelievable heights of purr . . . pure ecstasy!"

Narcissa could not believe the change; it was as if Bella was a young witch again and so happy but it was rather hard to understand her mode of speech with those odd cat sounds and references interspersed amongst her prattle. Regardless of how or why, Bellatrix was glowing and full of glee and her manner while not in the least decorous was contagious. Narcissa felt the icy restraints formed by years of self-protection, thanks to a husband who didn't like her or females for that matter, begin to melt as the youngest Black sister bathed in the warmth radiating from her elder sister, which could not be contained. Infectious in her irreverence, the new Bellatrix was unlike any of the previous witches she had ever been and Narcissa could not contain her smile.

"Oh, Cissy, I missed you so meowch and we're completely free to do meowst anything we want. Let's play!" Bellakits exclaimed and vanished her clothes; Narcissa's vanished too.

Bellakits almost leapt to her naked sister and wrapped her arms around the white-blonde-haired witch. Surprised by the sensations of having their breasts mashed together in a tight hug, Narcissa felt her resistance fade as she softened into Bellatrix's embrace. As their cuddle grew longer, the youngest Black found her well-developed sense of propriety flagging as such ideas began to feel distasteful, irrelevant and forced. Within the fog, slowly filling Narcissa's mind, she found it easier and easier to reject the life she had been forced to endure; it hadn't been natural and never would be.

Their embrace continued and their true natures of past sisterly aberrances eroded what remained of Narcissa's sense societal decency that melted to triviality as her eyes closed beneath the gaze of Bella's blue eyes, which stared with loving passion, into her own; that her sister had cat eyes didn't matter.

Narcissa's former values lost the war to her returning hunger; it compelled her lips against the soft fullness of Bellatrix's. Her sister, always immodest and uncaring of others opinions, took Narcissa' invitation a step further as her tongue sought passage through the closed lips it encountered. She licked enticingly and her unspoken request was granted as Narcissa's mouth opened to accept the welcome visitor. Their kiss grew hotter as their tongues sought to sensuously dominate the others and; as the sisters abandon grew and became all that mattered to them, Narcissa felt Bellatrix's tongue become rougher and grow longer. The odd sensation cleared the blonde sister's thoughts long enough to recognized that it was more than just the tongue that had changed. Beneath her arms, Narcissa felt a soft downy surface cover Bella's back and beneath her now heaving chest, she felt her sister's endowments shrink considerably. For a moment, both concerned and confused, the younger sister opened her eyes. The very first thing she saw was Bellatrix's ears; now pointed, furry and sprouting though her sisters black curly hair on top of her head: they were twitching and seemed to be covered by velvety black fur. Narcissa leapt back from their embrace and took a proper look at her sister

"Wh-what happened to you Bella?" Narcissa asked in fear. The sight of a black furry tail, seemingly growing from where tails usually grow, did not alleviate the younger sister's concern. The way the tail twitched at its tip, while hanging prominently behind the much-feared witch didn't help either.

"My Empress gifted me with her felinity, Narcissa, and I've never felt freer or happier," Bellakits cooed in reply, "I'm much more sensitive this way, too; I love being a bakeneko and so will you. Please, please Cissy let Hermeownee . . . I mean Hermione make you her daughter like me too; I know you'll not regret it, I promise you."

Narcissa stammered, "But . . . but . . ."

Bellakits was uninterested in her sister's words or reticence and closed the short gap that had opened when Narcissa had broken their former cuddle; she wrapped her arms once again around the devastatingly attractive blonde witch and pulled her back into her willing and always ready bakeneko embrace. Lady Malfoy thought she should resist but her sister's wiles were too beguiling. Almost like a Veela's thrall but far more subtler, Narcissa found she could not resist the lure of the sensuous cat-girl her sister had become. She let her inhibitions fly and Narcissa fell once more into a lascivious haze. So involved with each other, they were not aware of the arrival of another until she had joined them.

Narcissa flinched as an arm reached around her, from behind, and a stranger's hand with velvety brown fur growing from its back brazenly cupped one of her full breasts and firmly squeezed. The blonde witch, unable to slow the quiet moan that slipped through their pressed lips, felt an additional and enthralling aura envelop her with an even more powerful force for arousal. The stranger, obviously female by the sensation of two smallish bare breasts pushed prominently into her back, swept Narcissa's long flowing hair to the side and exposed her décolletage. Instinctually, she tilted her head and invited further contact. Soft lips tantalizingly peppered her sensitive skin with soft kisses, which traveled the distance from her bare shoulder to the stretched skin on the side of her neck. The supple lips broke contact with Narcissa's flesh only briefly and then the stranger nibbled her ear lobe.

Warm breath caressed her ear as a soft and sensual voice whispered, "Welcome home Narcissa."

Huskier than she had heard before, Narcissa still recognized the voice; it belonged to Hermione Granger. So too did the new erotic pressure she felt that when combined with Bellakits' became undeniable in its intoxicating decadence. She felt the brunette's lips return to her neck and whatever witty response she might've uttered, literally just minutes ago, was suborned leaving only a gasp of pleasure as her response. She grew weak kneed and felt herself drop to the soft, green carpet of faux grass; both Bellakits and Hermione followed her to the floor. Somehow, she had turned and now found herself staring into Hermione's cerulean cat-eyes—just like Bella's—and felt what little remained of her self-control drown in the deep, intelligent but feral gaze that enchanted her mind and body. By Morgana, she thought in a moment of fleeting clarity as she gazed at the catlike witch before her as her heart fluttered. If our mother or aunt ever found me or Bella with a mudblooded half-bred cat-girlish creature, doing what we're doing; we would've been blasted from the Black Family Tapestry faster than Andromeda was.

The moment of clarity was just that, a moment, and disappeared when Hermione pounced on Narcissa's willing body; forcing the blonde witch to the soft floor, the brown-furred bakeneko followed and landed on top of Bellakits' sister. The younger kitty-witch worked her arms beneath Narcissa's back and embraced her new playmate's fine female and naked form in a patented 'Hermione' hug. She crashed her lips into Narcissa's, who immediately welcomed the bakeneko by parting her own red and engorged lips. A strong, rough and long tongue invaded Mrs. Malfoy's willing and open mouth. Their tongues entwined and battled back and forth between their parted lips and, as Narcissa explored Hermione's mouth; the tip of her tongue felt the fangs of the bakeneko she was ardently kissing. Those hard sharp teeth hinted at the sweet and tempting danger that would be unavoidable if Narcissa choose to stay with Bella and her young lover; indulging in the fierce couplings she had so missed being married to Lucius. The blonde witch's earlier aversion to Hermione's lowly blood status fled as ripples of shameless wantonness rent her body; leaving her breathless and uncaring that her pleasure was at the hands and lips of a half-breed abomination in feline form.

"Oh Cissy!" Bellakits moaned in vicarious gratification; feeling what coursed through her Empress and, through loving experience with her sister whilst in the throes of ardor, what Narcissa must be suffering. "And it'll be so meowch meore intense once you become one with our empurress and you'll be drop dead gorgeous in your mien of snowy-blonde fur; resplendent in your own beautiful tail and kitty-ears!"

Hermione broke their kiss, rose to her knees and giggled playfully. While kneeling, she looked upon the nude form of her soon to be hopefully new kitten and playmate. Known for her unyielding and sophisticated properness, Narcissa at this very moment was looking decidedly improper and shameless; the young bakeneko empress drank in the exquisite and classic beauty that was Lady Malfoy.

Shifting, Hermione maneuvered herself in a manner that parted Narcissa's legs and left her kneeing between the glorious pale thighs. The Lady Malfoy's breasts were firm and full, her hard nipples begging for the brown-furred bakeneko's tongue to explore and her lips to suckle. As was the case for most witches, Narcissa's body showed not the ravages of age nor any indication that she had once mothered a child. Her stomach was flat and absent of stretchmarks and Hermione gloriously drank in the sultry beauty that was now her property but not yet her eager possession. Her sapphire cat-eyes could not get enough of the splendour that was lying before her and her glassy in arousal gaze drifted to the carefully manicured and trimmed white-blonde triangle, which pointed to a noticeable swollen and very pink clitoris that glistened with moisture. Hermione's feline sensitive nose twitched as the scent of Narcissa's arousal, wafting from her ready, sopping and husband-neglected sex, was intoxicating. Lady Malfoy's perfume mixed with Hermione's own potent and tantalizing aroma and that of Bellakits' bathing the three in a sea of pheromones, which could even drown a veela.

Unable to contain her hunger for the scrumptious blonde witch any longer, Hermione crashed down upon Narcissa and landed skin against skin and breasts against breasts upon her. Her bakeneko lips and tongue, beginning with the pale skin of her new paramour's very feminine neck, began exploring every inch of exposed and succulent flesh; nibbling and licking in exploration, Hermione made her way to the mound of Narcissa's heaving chest. Climbing the soft rise with kisses and playful nips, Hermione at least reached the hard pebble of a very erect nipple. The brown-furred cat-girl encircled the hard point with her lips and sucked.

The prim and proper Lady of House Black descent gasped and pushed her breast deeper into Hermione's willing mouth, as the feline-like female's hands explored and squeezed the soft and distinctly womanly mounds, which the kitty-witch had zealously encountered. Narcissa moaned and hedonistically yielded to the bakeneko's unrelenting and pleasurable assault, which culminated as Hermione sensually bit the nipple between her teeth a tad viciously; yet not so hard as to draw blood: Hermione wanted to pleasure Mrs. Malfoy not make her. Narcissa ardently cried out as the hard and moist pinch created by the brown-furred cat-girl's teeth wracked her body with acute waves of indefatigable indulgence. Kneeling nearby and looking on in flagrant beguilement, Bellakits brutally mauled one of her breasts with her hand, while despoiling her pussy with four fingers of her other; her bountiful flow (barely dammed by the digits thrust deeply into her spasming quim) streamed over Bella's knuckles, down the insides of her thighs and onto the floor.

Beneath her lips, Hermione felt Narcissa's panting breaths through the soft supple flesh of the Lady's plump breasts. With a few more nipple nibbles and a thorough tongue-bath, the brown-furred kitty-witch migrated the valley of flawless cleavage, leaving a moist wake that rapidly cooled in her passing. Hermione's lips and talented tongue erotically climbed the smooth alabaster skin of Mrs. Malfoy's other breast, drew its nipple and surrounding areola deep into her mouth.

"F-fucking M-Morgana's doubly diddled quim . . ." Lady Malfoy moaned most improperly in words and tone.

Hermione released her mouthful, gazed into Narcissa's glazed eyes and smiled sultrily as her cute kitty ears twitched in excitement.

"P-please M-Miss Granger . . . d-don't stop; please don't s-stop! I-I n-need . . ." stammered the well stimulated blonde witch.

The brown-furred bakeneko had no qualms in fulfilling the request and feeding Narcissa's fervent hunger. Slithering seductively against the noble woman's body, Hermione's lips returned to their interrupted inspection of naked skin, arrayed beneath her and began the inexorable trek across the blonde witch's well-toned tummy. Ever closer but still teasingly slow, Narcissa's felt her sex spasm with every fluttering kiss that lit upon her skin as Hermione approached her carefully trimmed and vigilantly sculpted carpet of white-blonde hair. At last, she felt a rough tongue's first tentative and moist exploration of the erogenous crease where Narcissa's legs and mons veneris met. The sudden erotic shock, which came with first contact was almost torturous and caused a forceful pelvic thrust into Hermione's face. The young witch-kitty's tongue maintained firm contact with her willing partner's flesh and never relented in its quest to drive Narcissa to even greater arousal. Careful not to come into direct contact with either the voluptuous witch's clitoris or her almost painfully engorged nether lips; Hermione cruelly skipped that hypersensitive region and began planting feathery kisses on the insides of Narcissa's thighs.

The blonde-haired witch moaned breathily and weakly entreated, "M-m-more . . ."

"Oh Cissy, you look so . . . so; I have to touch you," Bellakits whimpered in lascivious thirst.

The sable-furred bakeneko spectator put her need to action. Slipping her self-plundering fingers from her sopping quim, Bella crawled closer to her sister and knelt near Narcissa's head. Looking across her sister's lithe body, her eyes fell on her empress. Blue cat-eyes met blue cat-eyes and Hermione seductively smirked at her first playmate and then brought her lips to within millimetres of Narcissa's glistening pink and swollen labia. She gentle exhaled and her warm breath tickled the blonde witch's weeping slit, making her shiver. Narcissa bucked and thrust her ready sex to Hermione's mouth. The tip of the teenaged cat-girl's rough tongue slipped through her slightly parted lips and tasted Narcissa's plentifully flowing nectar. Another thrust of need met the brown-furred bakeneko's lips and lingua and finally she allowed herself to lick the partial parted folds from bottom to top. As Hermione orally lavished attention on Narcissa's nether lips, Bella eyed the generous mounds she had neither touched nor tasted since before her sister's marriage. Bellakits leaned forward and allowed her hands to slide from the blonde's shoulders to her well-formed breasts; she encircled them with her fingers and squeezed. Drawing still closer, Bella descended to a stiff nipple. Her tongue drew moist circles around her sister's areola before her lips seized the hard point and drew it into her mouth. The familiar taste of her empress' lips, mixed intoxicatingly with her sister's sweet sweat, glistening moistly upon Narcissa's chest, was an overpowering aphrodisiac for the ebony-furred bakeneko.

The blonde screamed as Hermione's tongue found the older witch's engorged nub, peeking from behind its hood, and Bella ravaged her sensitive breasts with her hands and mouth. The chestnut-furred feme-feline forcefully licked and suckled Narcissa's excited clit before taking the responsive nub of nerves between her teeth and nibbled gently. Narcissa shrieked in pre-orgasmic ecstasy and Hermione's proficient oral talents grew more intense and unrelenting as the witchy-kitty revealed another undocumented aspect of her formerly thought to be extinct species: a bakeneko's nearly prehensile lingua had a length and a girth that was expandable at the cat-girl's will.

The snowy-blonde, writhing in sumptuous euphoria, was well beyond biological curiosity as Hermione distended her tongue and plumbed the depths of her newly won courtesan's quivering quim. The brown-furred cat-girl explored the folds and surfaces of Narcissa's canal, methodically, until the tip of her tongue found a rougher and spongier minor protrusion on the slick upper surface of the witch's vagina. With strength more akin to a finger's, Hermione's lingua stalwartly probed the slightly swollen surface with vigour and her amatory efforts were rewarded by another uninhibited squeal, rent from Mrs. Malfoy's orgasming body. Accompanying the scream was a flooding release of hot liquid that gushed into Hermione's mouth with sufficient volume and nearly triggered her gag reflex. The overflow drenched the cat-girl's face. With a rapturous scream even louder than before Narcissa's body tensed before growing wholly limp in post orgasmic debauchery; she barely noticed Bella lifting her mouth from her nipple and releasing the nearly bruising grip she had had on her breasts.

"Isn't our empress divine, baby-sis," Bellakits whispered into Narcissa's ear as she retreated from the blonde's resplendent chest but her baby sister could barely hear anything over her ragged rapid breaths and her swift hammering heart.

Panting while trying to recover from the greatest orgasm Narcissa had had in many a year, she focused on regaining some semblance of post coital control. It took a few moments for her heart and breathing to slow but once they had, she sat and then dominantly forced Hermione Granger her lowborn half-bred felinesque enchantress of accomplished seduction onto her back. The brown-furred bakeneko yowled as her tail bent too far at its base but a quick lift and shift freed the furry appendage from its tender position. Narcissa followed her young lover to the floor and fell upon the cat-girl. She slid her hands between Hermione's shoulders and the soft cushiony faux grass surface. Breasts crashed together again as the youngest daughter of House Black instigated a kiss with her new mistress; the first passionate kiss she had initiated since shortly after her marriage. The once proscribed action associated with Hermione's youth and blood-status added spice to the battle between their tongues and lips but the blonde witch had no intention of stopping at just a snog, no matter how passionate, and intended to taste and explore the enigmatic felinity of bakeneko erotica.

After an intense battle between interwoven tongues, Narcissa lifted her lips from her lover's and began a slow sensual examination of feline yet feminine flesh. Across Hermione's cheek and beyond, the blonde witch's feathery kisses left lasting humid trails of excited skin in their wake. Unrelenting in her oral exploration of the pristine expanse of sensitive flesh, the youngest Black traversed a course that followed the beautiful lines, which defined Hermione's throat. Rounding the junction at the base of the bakeneko's neck, Narcissa's luscious and full lips found the curve of the cat-girl's collarbone as clever fingers drew caressing circles in the soft, dense and velvety brunette fur that covered the kitty-kemonomimi's back. Fluttery kisses followed the arc of Hermione's clavicle to the apex of her breastbone. From there Narcissa explored downwards until her lips reached the shallow cleavage, which divided the bakeneko's rapidly rising and falling bosom. The B-sized breasts crowned by dark pink areolas and hard nipples, invited indulgent scrutiny and the blonde witch lustfully complied. Her mouth seized a breast and sucked it as hard and as deeply into her mouth as possible. Hermione was purring in wanton decadence as Narcissa seized the young cat-teen's nipple between her teeth and bit. Hermione yowled in heat and her cry pierced and conquered whatever might've been left of Narcissa's haughty pureblooded pretensions.

Narcissa rose to her knees and straddled the young witch's hips. Hermione's brown back fur—the same shade as her hair—was soft against the older witch's gently caressing palms, which were gradually drifting towards the bakeneko's well-defined waist. Mrs. Malfoy's caressing fingers reached the bakeneko's waist and wandered across the unevenly scalloped transition zone between brown fur and youthful skin. Although by age the young witch was still taboo; Narcissa's sense of propriety had been thoroughly skewed by the hormones she usually suppressed to avoid feeling frustrated and the flood of pheromones that Hermione and Bellakits exuded were as intoxicating as a Veela's Thrall. Abandoning 'a proper English witches' decorum, Narcissa's hungry gaze took in the appetizing sight of the naked bakeneko submitting and she was going to feast. She shifted further back, until her knees were nearly beside her young lover's, and let her hands caress Hermione's tone stomach and hips as she moved to kneel before the alter of Sapphic indulgence. The bakeneko parted her legs in welcome, her moist shimmering thighs spreading enough for Narcissa to accept the young witch's sinful invitation, made all the more wicked by the sight of Hermione's smooth and puffy hairless mons. Looking on, Bellakits' eyes devoured the sight ravenously and her self-control was wearing entirely too thin to be maintained much longer.

Having lost what little concern she might've once held for either Ladies Nott or Parkinson's approvals, Lady Malfoy succumbed to her baser cravings as the potent musk of kindled bakeneko wafted in the air and demanded to be savoured. Narcissa bent forward, as her hands continued to rove the soft feline flesh beneath them, and her lips fell upon flushed and eager skin. She took each nipple, one after the other; into her mouth and her tongue drew moist circles about the hard points, which begged for attention. From the crowning of Hermione's smaller but overly sensitive breasts, the mature witch's lips and tongue continued to explore southwards. First across the tummy and then down the cat-girl's abdomen, drawing ever nearer the source of an aroma, which now commanded Narcissa's attention and long thought abandoned desires. At last reaching the youthfully smooth triangle, the blonde witch noted absently that Hermione's bald pubis was naturally hairless and even the follicles needed to grow hair were absent but what truly enticed Narcissa was the surprisingly large and hoodless nub that stood at the triangle's lowest point.

Erotically fascinated, Narcissa lips and tongue spent little time exploring the fleshy mound that was obviously ripe but absent of pubescent growth; she was far more enticed by Hermione's engorged and exposed clitoris. Reaching the cat-girl's glistening nub, she swirled her tongue about the excited point before closing her lips upon it. She drew it further into her mouth and her teeth pinched the organ as she gently bit and pulled. Hermione caterwauled as an intense jolt of mixed sensations coursed through her cat-like and enhanced responses. Strong hands found the back of Narcissa's head, pulling her into the bakeneko's arousal as Hermione pushed herself firmly against the eager lips. Sizzling liquor abundantly flowed from the youthful feline witch's pussy; sopping the older witch's chin as she eagerly devoured what for all intents her new spouse was offering.

Looking on, Bellakits was growing increasingly frustrated but she recognized that today was for her husband-neglected little sister, who was currently imbibing in passionate and deserving congress with Hermione. The sable-furred bakeneko licked her lips; unable to tear her eyes from the sight of Narcissa kneeling between the brown-furred cat-girl's spread legs and the erotic spectacle of the former Lady Malfoy's mouth fervently worshiping her new empress' quim. The blonde witch's skin, glistening in her sweat swathed glory, invited touch and Bella refused to remain a spectator to her sister's ravishment. She crawled nearer to her two well-involved mistresses and placed herself behind Narcissa's raised behind. The elder Black's gaze was immediately drawn to the sight of her blonde sister's dripping sex and partially parted nether lips quivering in need. Her hands came to rest on Narcissa's perfectly proportioned rump and gingerly spread the pale cheeks to reveal the unvisited playground since their Slytherin dorm days. Bellakits allowed her tongue to swell and grow as she bent forwards and when the tip of her rough lingua reached its sopping goal, she firmly licked and explored the wondrous territory around her sister's clit and between the folds of engorged labia. Narcissa tilted her head back and uttered a long lung-emptying moan that belied her status as a Lady of noble and pureblooded birth.

Propriety, pretty much forgotten since arriving at Hermione's Hideaway, was meaningless as Narcissa allowed herself to be drawn further down the rabbit hole of unbridled lasciviousness and into a warren of feral feline debauchery. She inhaled a much-needed breath and then immediately returned to her oral explorations of brown-furred bakeneko femininity as the kitty-witch's fur-backed hands pulled the blonde witch's face to it former place. As Bella was doing to her, Narcissa repeated on Hermione; unknowingly wishing her tongue could penetrate in the manner that Bellakits' could, as she felt her sister fording well past her ready entrance and at least as deep as the young witch had earlier. The blonde witch may not have been able to plunder as deeply as her older sister could but she wasn't any less enthusiastic in her attention towards Hermione's free-flowing cauldron of brash delight. Narcissa's lips and tongue worked diligently as she took great pleasure in pleasuring the cat-girl before her and beneath her busy mouth, she felt things change.

Debauched curiosity bled through the haze of hormones flooding her being and during a moment of lucid awareness, Narcissa observed Hermione's clitoris was growing in length and girth much like a penis did. Within seconds, its size rivaled the only male member the blonde witch had ever seen but Lucius' endowment had never been physical but financial and political. Quickly she purged her thoughts of her husband's pitiful manhood and marvelled at another marvel of Hermione's bakeneko heritage. More conical than cylindrical it grew in width and length to about the same size as a middle, ring and index finger brought together and Narcissa began lavishing her reward with her tongue. One thing was obvious, the engorged organ that had begun as an overly large and unhooded bundle of sensitivity remained internal until the bakeneko allowed it to emerge. It grew upwards like a male member but was more triangular and Narcissa couldn't help but be intrigued when she noticed that Hermione's nether lips stretched along the underside, joining together just below the blunt point that her clit had become. The youngest Black earnestly explored the elongated wet slit and when she reached the tip, she wrapped her lips around it; drawing the alien feline's organ all the way into her mouth without hesitation and sucked. Hermione began yowling and bucking in an attempt to force more of herself into Narcissa's mouth.

Narcissa felt Bella's tongue withdraw from her pussy long enough for the black-furred bakeneko to say quietly, "Take the reward our empress is offering, Cissy; let her fuck you. Your quim begs for it and unlike the two strokes at meowst and spurt that Lucius could meowuster, you'll be able to ride Hermeowne until you both collapse from exhaustion."

The need to fill her pussy with something other than her own fingers—before Bella and Hermione had begun ravishing her—was paramount and Narcissa's arousal so thorough that she acted on instinct. Taking her mouth from the brown-furred cat-girl's nonhuman but alluring addition, the blonde witch glanced towards Hermione face and saw the young witch's open and begging eyes, which were an intoxicating sight. Narcissa straddled the bakeneko before bending and passionately kissing her youthful lover. Once again, tongues ardently battled and entwined; each tasting themselves on the others lips as Mrs. Malfoy positioned herself to accept what promised to be the most erotic encounter she had ever had. Narcissa began to lower herself and felt the tip of Hermione's bulbous phallus part her pulsating, in time with her heart, lower and hungry lips. She hesitated, fearful that the lack of a fulfilling sex life had left her with a pussy nearly as tight as a virgin's and that the intrusion of something at least as large as Lucius might hurt. Warily, Narcissa lowered herself and allowed more of what had been the bakeneko's clitoris cleave into her; Hermione wasn't nearly as patient. With another loud yowl, the brown-furred feline-like witch placed her hands on the older witch's hips and then forced the rest of herself into Narcissa. Mrs. Malfoy, throwing her head back, released a long gasping moan as her more than ready quim welcomed the invader readily but, unlike when with her soon to be forgotten husband, there was no sense of urgency or hurry in her young cat-girl lover. Just wanting to enjoy the feeling of fullness, Narcissa remained still for a moment before she almost fell, nipple to nipple, against Hermione's lithe and beautiful form. Supple lips came together in an ardent and extended kiss that heightened the tingle between their coupled loins as the brown-furred bakeneko began to slowly thrust.

Bellakits hungrily gazed at the conjoined duet of Narcissa and Hermione in the throes of Sapphic indulgence and under the influence of their mingled pheromones found her needs growing to nearly painful frustration. From where she knelt, the sight of her empress' member firmly rooted in her sister's weeping sex was an unspoken invitation for her to indulge in her own bakeneko and feral passions. Bella's eyes drifted to the sight of Narcissa's puckered rosette, which convulsed wildly as it received vicarious stimulation from her sister's plundered pussy. Too far gone to consider anything beyond her own wanton hunger, Bellakits whispered a charm that cleaned, lubricated and relaxed Narcissa's virgin sphincter.

Amidst the fervent waves that radiated from her sex and through her body, Narcissa felt something tingle in a seldom-stimulated place. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation but it did feel odd as her bowels suddenly felt abnormally empty and a slick gelatinous fluid began to seep from her unexplored—by any lover—rear passage. By Morgana, Bella, I've never . . . She thought as panic attempted to override passion but her body seemed to be of a differing opinion and with her lips and tongue thoroughly engaged with Hermione's, she remained silent. Narcissa felt Bella's hands on her well-formed behind as her sister separated her cheeks. She felt something soft but firm pressed against her rosebud. Any lingering doubts fled as her body became inundated by new sensations that wracked her pleasure centers. She felt herself dilate as something gently pushed, opposite to the direction of the usual traffic, for entry; she shivered and let it probe deeper. An entirely unfamiliar form of ecstasy blended with the familiar as whatever had penetrated her rosette wormed deeper into the forbidden passage. Another breathless moan passed through tightly pressed lips as Narcissa realized what was generating these new sensations. From out of nowhere came the visualization of Bellatrix (the once wholly proper daughter of House Black) engaging in a deed more befitting of or forced upon a lowly Knockturn Alley whore and doing so with vigor as she force her tongue ever deeper into her younger sister's backdoor. Just thinking about how humiliated Bella and she would feel if they were caught like this added spice and thrill to the whole encounter making it all the more savory for the blonde witch.

Hermione maintain a slow and steady rhythm, which allowed Narcissa to savour the feeling without being overwhelmed, especially considering what her sister was doing in her behind, after so many frustrating years. The blonde witch grew less passive and began forcing herself back on the duel intruders, needing to feel herself being filled beyond what nature intended and this allowed Bella to recognise that Narcissa was ready for the pièce de résistance whether she wanted it or not. The black-furred bakeneko withdrew her talented tongue from the recently cleansed passage and heard her younger sister whimper, as if lamenting the sudden loss of the sensual invader. Bellakits moved and repositioned herself, behind her sister, and then placed her own enhanced bakeneko arousal against Narcissa's rectum. Her sister's sphincter spasmed in arousal as Bella's firmness pressed against the ring of excited muscles and began pushing into the blonde witch, who had begun to tense.

"It's okay Cissy," Bellakits whispered in erotic encouragement, "Your body wants me and is ready to receive. Just let go and enjoy."

Narcissa shivered on hearing her sable-furred sister's amatory advice and felt her concern melt as desire rose. She let herself surrender to the firm pressure against her behind and felt the usually small opening begin to receive her sister's new anatomy. Bit by bit, both deeper and wider, she permitted Bella to delve further into the unexplored track. She shivered, ecstatically, as her sister's slow and relentless progress plumbed the fathoms of her now broadening but formerly illicit passage. Narcissa felt herself filled in a manner she had never imagined as Hermione bottomed out in her quim as Bellakits slowly stuffed the warren on the other side of the thin divide between each place and she felt herself climb beyond the highest heights she'd ever experienced. Unconsciously, she worried that her current state of near hyperventilation would cause her to pass out so she broke the extended kiss, with the brown-furred bakeneko, and took a gulp of needed air. Her breaths came out as ragged gasps, mixed with rapturous moans and blissful whimpers, which spoke volumes without words as Bella groaned impassionedly and wholly entered her sister. Thankfully, she was given an opportunity and grew accustomed to the stretched feeling as the thick base of Bellakits' highly modified organ tantalizingly rested in the blonde witch's broadened rosette.

"S-so f-full; s-so g-good," Narcissa panted in breathless euphoria and pleading profligacy.

Bella withdrew all but the tip of her member, the sole purpose of which was the bakeneko's need to give and receive pleasure, from the depths of her sister's bowels. Narcissa moaned salaciously and the seductive sound fueled the black-furred cat-girl's fervour, which spurred her to drive her entire length into the blonde witch's excited and ready behind with more force and speed than before. The formerly neglected witch threw back her head, opened her rapture-clouded eyes and stared blankly into space as she uttered a low carnal moan. The wholly erotic sound sent shivers through the brown and Black-furred bakenekos enhanced erogenous centers, which chipped away their veneers of genteel behaviour and revealed the feral felines that lurked just beneath. Hermione and Bellakits' usually urbane façades of self-control began to fragment as their inner-cats demanded to be freed. Still, they held a modicum of their human restraint as the cat-witches began to thrust into Narcissa's body with a slow and steady rhythm but such self-discipline was fleeting and on hearing the blonde witch's whimpers becoming increasingly breathless and licentious their untamed felinity broke free. Bella and Hermione began plunging harder and faster into the youngest Black sister without regards to the near brutal force being used in Narcissa's disused pussy or newly deflowered anus and each thrust was met as their new playmate eagerly pushed back to receive the intruders. The scent of sweat and sex fueled the growing cacophony of bestial lust as their ears rang from the roar of their blood and the pounding of their hearts. Narcissa began screaming as she was pushed beyond simple rapture into something else and the bakenekos added their feral yowls and caterwauls. Time became nonexistent as the three became nothing more than the euphoric sum of their coupling; minutes or hours might've passed until at last they began to convulse in unmeasurable orgasms and at their most savage release, the still human witch felt something slash into her shoulder. The sensations that tore through the blonde as her flesh was penetrated was beyond either pain or pleasure and, as her world went dark, Narcissa felt herself explode; herself adding copious amounts of slick liquid to the steaming torrents being expelled by Hermione and Bellakits.

)(

Narcissa Malfoy woke to the sensation of being embraced and naked on a soft bed with the oddest textured sheet she'd ever felt. Powerful and arousing scents hung languidly in the air and she heard soft sighing breaths and heartbeats that were not her own. She felt different, not a bad different just an odd atypical different like she was taller . . . no longer than earlier, which suggested she needed to remember something. Like an itch, she couldn't scratch it clawed at her muddled mind as she rolled onto her back. Narcissa yowled. Her eyes snapped open and she leapt upwards and it felt odd; like she spent too much time in the air before landing silently and gracefully on the soft floor beneath her. Confused, she began to check her body and immediately noticed her breasts had grown smaller. Stunned, she reached for her now B-cups and immediately saw that the backs of her hands and arms were now covered with blonde nearly white velvety fur. Worried, Narcissa allowed her non-fur covered palms to explore further and the quiet sound of hands exploring her sensitive body made her ears twitch. This twitching felt weird to the witch and drew her hands to the sides of her head; something was missing. Vexed, she slowly felt her way to the top of her head and was not quite relieved to find her ears: they felt furry, pointed and undeniably cat-like; they were also . . . ticklish.

"What's happened?" she whispered, looked around and she saw Bella, sleeping soundly on the grassy looking floor. She stared at her sable-furred sister, felt a pleasant tingle ripple through her body and, somewhere low in her throat, Narcissa felt an odd rumble.

Merlin's beard, she thought in confusion, am I purring? Can't be, that's silly; I wish I had a mirror. To her surprise, a full-sized dressing mirror appeared with neither word nor wand. Narcissa gazed at her reflection and thought, Oh Morgana! The mud . . . Narcissa nearly yowled as pain shot, front to back, through her head but the lesson was obvious; she stopped purring . . . Granger turned me into a frigging cat! Vanity, a common trait amongst witches of House Black, was never something Narcissa lacked to begin with; becoming a cat cat-girl? Kitty-witch . . . whatever, she pondered; then dismissed would not change that; no, if anything, becoming feline would likely make such a trait insufferable: not that she cared, she hadn't before so why start now? Well, let's take a good look; I'm likely stuck like this now and fretting isn't going to help, she concluded as her bakeneko side unconsciously shoved pointless thoughts aside; her appearance was stoking her ego further. Hmm, Narcissa contemplated her reflection with a critical eye and let her hands explore her new body. Bella was right; I do look hot! What's with the boobs, though? No bigger than a B-cup, what's with that? Still, my waist is nice and narrow, my hips are proportionally broad and it would be a sin to hide my long beautiful legs. With her hands on her hips she turned a little, looked over her shoulder and smiled naughtily as she further checked herself out. Hmm, Half-furry, like Bella and the mud . . . yeow! Pain shot through her head again, reinforcing the earlier lesson. What the? Did Granger curse me? I thought she was a goody-goody Gryffindor? Goody-goody Gryffindors don't curse people; wait, didn't Draco say something about some nasty hex Granger used on some Ravenclaw witch. What was itoh yesshe had cursed piece of parchment that the witch had signed. Stupid bint, didn't look for fine print or embedded magic? I guess that's why she's Ravenclaw and not Slytherin. Pretty advanced magic for a fifth-year . . . wow, I do look good with a tail. Her thoughts unconsciously changed tangent. She ran her hands from her hips, took hold of her behind and gave it a little squeeze; she smiled impishly. Nice firm butt . . . interesting, there's a furless strip beneath my tail . . . meow, that feels nice! Narcissa realized as she lightly squeezed her tail before giving it a little tug. Her hand traversed it white-blonde furry length then drew it to her front, where she took hold of her quivering tail with both hands and gazed at her reflection in rapt contemplation. Entranced, Narcissa thought her current erotically innocent appearance was especially redolent and the little seductive smile—with a hint of fang—suggested danger, it made her wish she had a twin. Even boy-loving Lucius couldn't resist me now; not that that useless tom will ever get another chance, I'm done with that neutered emasculated effeminate. Besides, I've got Bella and Hermione now, she thought as more of her bakeneko took over. My body is perfect, I'm super fuckable and I'm hornier than Morgana in heat . . . I wonder if there's any milk or cream about, I'm a little thirsty; I wouldn't say no to a bit of smoked salmon either . . . meow, I'm practically purrfect from every angle.

She dropped her tail and went back to exploring her body; it was so sensitive now. A sensual sigh parted her lips as her hands cupped her significantly smaller yet highly responsive breasts that begged to be squeezed. Narcissa did and with hard nipples between clever fingers; she managed a reasonably forceful pinch while she squeezed. Mewing softly, she felt pleasure radiate from her chest and into her quim, which was growing progressively damper and demanding. She gave herself another hard squeeze, which sent delightful ripples throughout her body; before sliding her hands down, across her stomach and reaching just shy of her hairless mons. Clever fingers explored the pillow mound and brought whimpers of pleasure to Narcissa's lips and a rising scent of arousal to her far more sensitive feline sense of smell. Past the hairless vee, her fingers sought for and found her now hoodless clitoris and she gasped when she gave it a little rub.

You don't need to do that alone, Mrs. Malfoy, Narcissa listened to a seductive voice but she didn't hear it and thought, What . . .

. . . is going on? The other completed the blonde's question; it was in her head and sounded familiar. Narcissa looked around the room and saw Bella was still sleeping on the floor and then she noticed a large round, red and gold silk cushion that was resting on a raised dais. Sitting on the cushion and looking at Narcissa was the largest brown house-cat the blonde witch had ever seen. It's head rested on its crossed paws and it seemed to be studying her, intently.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa asked, "is that you? You look like a very big house-cat."

In time, you'll likely find that of our three forms, the full cat form is the best for sleeping or resting or just contemplating life in. Cats are masters of rest; I'm sure you'll soon be the same. First, allow me to apologize Mrs. Malfoy; you are so sexy and got me so worked up while we were playing and fucking that I forgot the promise I made to myself; I hope you'll forgive me in time. Hermione thought repentantly to the new white-blonde bakeneko.

"Wh-what did you do, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked, "Not that I had any say in the matter; when Lucius allowed our bond to die it was reassigned to you. I'm yours now, the conjugal bindings ensure it, what have you done the requires forgiveness; I'm simply yours to do with what you will. I suppose Bella's the same. By the way, being a little new to this can we talk face to face?"

I suppose I can happily honour that request Mrs. Malfoy, Hermione telepathically agreed and jumped from her round ottoman like bed. Narcissa, watch in awe, as Hermione shifted forms midflight and landed before Narcissa in her core bakeneko form without a whisper of a sound. The still naked brown-furred bakeneko wrapped her arms around Narcissa, hugged her and said, "I'm sorry I changed you like I did; I meant to talk to you first. I was hoping that after you spent a little time with me and Bella, we'd convince you that becoming Bakeneko was something you'd want. You'd become one of our sisters because you wanted to become one of us; I took that from you. I'm very sorry."

Narcissa studied the young cat-girl and said, "Would there have been a difference if I volunteered?"

"My conscience would be clearer."

"Your conscience would be clearer! That's it," Narcissa began to rant, "you've taken me from my husband, my life and my social life and you're worried about your conscious? Are you daft! Sure, we had great sex, is that to make me feel better. Regardless of your conscious, you now basically own me Miss Granger and I was once again denied the right to choose my own life. I'm going eviscerate Lucius and his Dark Lord for this."

"Give it a rest, Cissy," Bella said groggily, "you've woke me from cream bath orgy with you and Hermeowne and I was about to cum. Stop your yowling, you're away from Lucius, the Dark Lord and his annoying neutered cohorts. Sure, you're bound to our Empress but if you think you are more powerful or a better leader, challenge her for the Clowder. If you win, you become Empress but I think Hermeowne is doing just fine for us right now. Besides, she's a Supreme Witch as well as our Empress: consider those odds if you're going to offer a challenge. Otherwise get over yourself, Cissy, we're in a much better place than we were and the perks aside from the really hot and frequent sex—in our new forms—make the idea of becoming a simple witch again unappealing: I like my racial abilities and you will too."

"The mud . . . yowl!" Narcissa began.

"I suggest that you remain careful with you words and thoughts, sister mine," Bella said, "Hermione didn't cast a punishment spell on you, that's part of being bakeneko and if you actually think about it—like I have recently—you'll see that our prejudices are pretty shallow. You'll see, very soon, that you and I are the freest we've ever been and our Empress' goals are for all of us."

Mrs. Malfoy scowled and said, "You've been imperioused or something, you're not in control."

"I am and I'm not; it complicated. Yes if my Empress commands me, I have to act; but if I think her order is wrong I may challenge for the kyndel as can you. Sure we're bound but we're still free; in time you'll understand Cissy. We are in a much better place as our Empress' subjects than we ever were as slaves to Tom Riddle . . ."

"Who's Tom Riddle?" Narcissa asked.

Hermione answered, "Tom Riddle is Voldemort's given name; he's born a half-blood like Severus Snape. They both had witch mothers and muggle fathers and Tom grew up in a muggle orphanage. Harry is less half-blood than Tom is, at least both his parents were magical; even if his mum was first generation like me."

"Enough doom and gloom, you two," Bellakits said, "let's play; we need to teach Cissy how to use her body for things other than sex. Come and get me if you can, baby sis."

Bella leapt to a low platform and began running through the fake forest, Narcissa watched, torn between maintaining her dignity and having fun; she look a Hermione and hesitantly asked, "Um . . . Miss Granger."

"Just Hermione, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Fine Hermione then, I suppose you may as well call me Narcissa or Cissy; I'm not Mrs. Malfoy anymore, if anything I suppose I'm Mrs. Granger since my connubial-binds shifted . . . that still pisses me off . . . . but it's not your fault I suppose. Anyways, you and Bella can do thinks with your tongues and other . . . things; will I be able to do that too?"

"In time, as you grow accustomed to being Bakeneko, you'll discover how our kitty magic works," the brown-furred Bakeneko said, "Bella and I will work with you on your Cheshire Fade invisibility and Fade travel. We'll also help you with you Pounce and Schrodingering, they're useful skills trust me. Finally we'll help you learn to summon you claws and fangs and use them efficiently. As well, we'll help you learn how to change through our three forms and hone you body. That's what this place is for: improving balance, strength, dexterity, agility, etc . . ."

Narcissa looked around and asked, "So what's first?"

"You're in your bakeneko body, go find Bella: I'm sure you'll like your reward when you find her. As for me, I need to Fade home for a bit and see my parents.

Nervous and self-conscious, Narcissa looked around and sniffed the air instinctually; she could smell Bella, some distance into the odd inside forest. She glance around and saw a thick low branch. Letting her instincts take reign she jumped for it and began searching for her sister in the treetops. As the blonde-furred bakeneko vanished from Hermione's sight, she set her mind to her bedroom and faded away.

Author's Afterword:

The next chapter, once written, enters into the crossover territories of: A Rainyday Tale from my fanfiction for the Negima! Magister Negi Magi by Ken Akamatsu universe and Dance in the Vampire Bund by Nozomi Tamaki.

1 . . . 'My Favorite Things' © 1959: Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein

2 . . . Obviously inspired by and shamelessly reworked from 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas!' © 1957: Dr. Seuss.