Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 4: A Path is forced...

"One might ask: why risk life and limb to venture to wild and dangerous places without having certainty of ever even finding anything noteworthy? Well, there are a multitude of reasons to name. The most cliche yet poignant one is a search for fortune and glory, with a dash of fame thrown in. Others are in it for the journey itself and the adventure of discovery. For some, it might even be a simple as it being a wage-paying job, if a risky one. Yet others use it as a way to leave everything behind and start anew. All equally valid reasons to join an expedition. However, there are those who do not have a choice in the matter.

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

If there was one rule within Catterborough Woodhouse that was sacrosanct, it was the one that evening dinner should be had as a family together in the dining room. Though the rule was flexible enough to allow any member of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black enough leeway to not have to return to the house when out on business, any member present at the house was expected to attend.

Hermione was grateful for it. These dinners which could last an hour, sometimes two, was often the arena for spirited debates over excellent food and drink and a wonderful bonding experience for the family she felt she very much belonged to. Sundays were her favourite, when both her own parents usually attended. As a child, Hermione had often taken up a plate to her room to eat while doing homework or reading a book rather than having dinner with her parents… something she now very much regretted having done so often as a child.

Unfortunately, today was not the scene of a fun family dinner. Though Andromeda and Nymphadora sometimes had clashes, these were often rather cheeky affairs of two women exchanging pointed barbs. Sometimes the arguments could get more heated, but these bouts usually didn't last all that long. Today, however, was a bit different. Today, Andromeda had dropped a bomb right on top of Nymphadora's head and nobody at the table even knew how to properly react to it.

For Andromeda had just told Nymphadora and Tahki that they had been volunteered by her to join an Arctic expedition. The same Arctic expedition Hermione and Bellatrix would be joining.

Hermione, Bellatrix and Tahki exchanged awkward glances for a moment. Achille, making a rare appearance away from his atelier, looked to be rather amused. As did Cygnus. Next to him on the table, blissfully unaware of the tension, was Zipper. The wasp was fully focused on his dish containing his most recent favourite meal; salmon richly smeared with thick sugary apricot jam. While Zipper was digging in, Cygnus reached over to give the eating wasp a few playful pats on the back, causing his wings to flutter for a moment.

The silence was broken when Nymphadora finally gave her reaction. "You fucking wot, mate?!" Nymphadora tossed back at her mother. "Are you taking the piss?! You'd better be taking the piss!"

"I am dead serious," replied Andromeda, looking directly in her eyes.

Hermione looked over at Ted; the man returned the glance and bit his lip to signify his thoughts on the matter. Aye, Hermione understood. She'd learned the hard way it was best to keep quiet and not get caught in the middle of a spat between Andromeda and Nymphadora. Any word spoken or even the slightest form of non-verbal cue could be used by either woman as a weapon against the other. And this particular spat seemed far more worse than a debate about machines with wheels wrecking the lawn.

Druella was smiling, seemingly unaware or uncaring about the conflict. Sat next to Nymphadora, the older Black woman lay a hand on hers. "Oh, how wonderful. Ma Petit Puce is going on an adventure!" she drawled with her usual French intonations.

"Nan!" Nymphadora threw back. "I don't want to go on an adventure!"

Next to Hermione, Tahki sat in deep silence, her head bowed down and her lips pursed. It was obvious that the Native-American Black was quite excited and eager to go, but realized that her dear cousin was not. So she was torn between the loyalties of her own wants and feeling for her cousin who didn't. Tahki, not knowing how to deal with this contradiction, remained uncharacteristically silent and tried her best not to be noticed.

"And who's going to take care of nan, hm?!" Nymphadora challenged. "Because you as hell certainly fucking won't!"

"Don't you dare use your nan as a shield!" Andromeda shouted back. "My mother has seen and done more than you ever have! Your nan will be fine and is very busy with foundation work!"

"I…" Nymphadora started to say, but her argument died in her throat when her nan nodded vigorously. Druella wouldn't be much help in making her case. Instead, Nymphadora gritted her teeth as she started to restrategize in her head.

"It'd be good for you, non?" said Achille, almost startling the gathered diners. "Gain some life-experience, perspectives. Seeing something else than the manor grounds. I hear the Arctic can be quite hauntingly beautiful."

"Oh, you're one one to talk!" Nymphadora shot back. "You hardly leave the bloody attic! Why don't you go in my place then, oncle?!"

"His point remains sound," Andromeda spoke. "You are going, Nymphadora. It's going to teach you some responsiblity and that's a lesson you are in dire need of."

Nymphadora shook her head. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You can't force me to do any bloody thing, yeah?! And certainly not force me to go up to the bloody North Pole so I can freeze my non-existent bollocks off! What the bloody hell would I even do there?!"

Andromeda slammed her fist on the table, obviously magically enhanced. Hermione could feel the shockwave, could feel magic in the air electrifying the hairs on her arm. Zipper looked up from his food for a moment, wondered what was going on, before he decided the food was more interesting and he started to dig in again.

"You will do…" started Andromeda, her voice dangerously low. "Everything either the captain of the ship or the expedition leader will tell you to do. To the letter."

"Mum…" Nymphadora hissed.

"YOU ARE THIRTY-FOUR YEARS OLD!" shouted Andromeda, startling her daughter and everyone else at the table. "And before you start comparing yourself to others, remind yourself that Bellatrix is a published author with three books under belt while working on two more, Hermione is a celebrated herbologist who works her fingers to the bone, while Tahki is an enterprising explorer who travels the UK countryside on her own! All in their twenties. You're halfway through your thirties, you barely leave the house and you spend your days stoned out of your skull on the sofa!"

Nymphadora opened her mouth to speak, but could form no words in defense.

"I am as much to blame for this as you are," said Andromeda. "I've stood by for far too long and let it all happen. I run House Black and its businesses, yes, and that was so overwhelming I could not spend the time with you that you deserved. That is on me. But your complete and utter lack of any sort of ambition is on you! It's time for you to grow up, Nymphadora."

"I… will… NOT… set a single foot on any fucking boat going to the fucking Arctic!" Nymphadora replied, her hands shaking with rage and her eyes brimming with tears. It was… painful to see. Hermione liked Nymphadora. She was a good person who looked out for her family and who had always welcomed her personally. But even Hermione had to admit that Nymphadora wasn't exactly active and enterprising.

"You will," said Andromeda. "Because if you don't, I'll force the issue another way. No more money. No more rent-free living. No more Catterborough Woodhouse. No more sponging off mum. I'll help you find a place to live, but no more than that. Maybe get you a job at Tesco's to make ends meet. Who knows."

Nymphadora blinked. "Y-you'd… cut me off? Seriously?! Just like that? What have I ever done to you that is so wrong that you would banish me from my own sodding home?!"

She was shaking now. On the verge of tears. But the sad part was is that Hermione thought that Andromeda was actually wrong. Nymphadora had ambitions, but they were limited in scope, focused purely on the things she held any interest in. Hermione knew that Nymphadora actually had it in her to do really well out in the world. She loved her machines, her motorbikes and the car she was working on. She could take an engine apart and put it back together in record speed. If Andromeda were to kick her out, Hermione had no doubt that she could find work as a mechanic in the muggle world. Any garage should be happy to have her. Unfortunately, she had a poor work-ethic and lacked social skills expected in the workplace. If it would come to it, Hermione considered she should talk with her mum. Reverent Frost's brother Ernie owned a garage. Maybe…

"Nymphadora."

Cygnus. All heads turned to him. With a happily fed Zipper in his arms, the gentle old wizard offered the warmest of smiles. "I will not go against Andromeda. She is the head of our House and once she has set her mind on something, she is rarely swayed. This is your chance to rise to the occasion. You're a smart and capable young woman, but your qualities are rarely fully used. I know you must be feeling sad, angry and betrayed right now, but if you see this an opportunity, you might surprise even yourself. Don't deny yourself a grand opportunity because of fear."

Hermione smiled. Cygnus always knew just what to say.

Nymphadora threw up her hands. "You know what? Fine! FINE! I'll go on that stupid fucking boat and freeze my arse off if that makes you lot happy!"

Dinner was over, before desert even. Nymphadora stood up and stormed into the hallways. Bellatrix and Hermione shared a look and immediately the two went after her. On the way out, Hermione passed the tray of desserts ready to be served: Black Diamond ice cream from Dubai. Mouthwatering Madagascar Vanilla ice cream, topped with high-quality Italian truffle pieces, Iranian saffron, chips of Belgian chocolate and topped with edible 23-karat gold leaf. Hermione let out a croak of sorrow at the gorgeous ice creams on display when Bellatrix grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her out of the room.

They didn't find Nymphadora far away as she was stood leaning against the wall, taking in deep tugs of breath as her whole body shook. She looked about ready to punch the wall.

"Dora?" asked Bellatrix. Slowly, ever so slowly, her cousin turned her head towards her. Seething with anger, Hermione was startled to see how the normally so mellow Nymphadora had the look of a wild animal about her. Without warning, Nymphadora shot forward, stopping mere inches away from Bellatrix.

"YOU!" shouted Nymphadora. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T GONE TO TALK TO THAT BINT SNOWBELL, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED!"

There was a stricken look on Bellatrix' face, unsure of how to deal with this outburst. Meanwhile, Hermione felt anger flare up from the pit of her stomach. "Stop it!" Hermione raised her voice. "This isn't Trix' fault and you bloody well know it!"

There was a flash of surprise and, more poignant, embarrassment which crossed Nymphadora's face. The anger melted away as quickly as it came and stood there again was the normally mellow and easy-going Nymphadora. "I…" she sighed. "You're right. It's not. Soz."

Nymphadora reached out and embraced Bellatrix. Still surprised by the outburst, Bellatrix needed a moment to overcome the shock before returning the embrace.

"You're dead sound, yeah?" said Nymphadora. "It's just…"

"I understand," Bellatrix returned with a soft voice.

Hermione nodded, starting a little when she heard a voice from behind. A fourth person had joined them. Tahki, more demure than she usually was, stood in the corridor with a slight smile on her face. On top of her head was sat Zipper. The wasp teleported with a crack and appeared on top of Bellatrix' head a moment later. "It won't be so bad," spoke the Native-American Black with her usual Montanan twang. "We'll all be there. You, me, Bella and Hermione."

Nymphadora smirked, wagging her finger at her. "You bloody want to go, don't you, your treacherous cunt!" she laughed briefly.

"Well, of course I want to fucking go, Nymph!" Tahki exclaimed. "What did you expect?!"

Bellatrix crossed her arms. "Dora, it's going to be great! Exploration! Adventure! These things are best shared with family and we're best family there is."

"The Terrible Trio," Nymphadora sighed, turning towards Hermione. "Plus one. And the four of us together, freezing our non-existent bollocks off on a tub surrounded by ice. Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Tahki.

"No," replied Nymphadora with a sigh. "But much I can fucking do about it, now can I? Fuck me, I need a spliff. Or two. Or ten."

Tahki smirked. "Mind if I join?" she asked. At that moment, Hermione knew Nymphadora would be reasonably okay. She and Tahki were close and the small Native-American witch could certainly find ways to improve her mood down at the clubhouse.

And so, Hermione and Bellatrix found their way back to their private quarters, past their living area and into the large bedroom she shared with Bellatrix. Once Bellatrix' childhood room, Hermione had integrated her belongings quite well into the room. Her fairy figurines had found a home in a very nice display case by the window and Pete, her beloved old ratty childhood teddy bear, had been place among Bellatrix' small army of stuffed animals, all in a far better state. Most of her books had been put on shelves right next to the massive four-poster bed.

Bellatrix herself was sat at her writing desk, leafing through one of her many notebooks. Unlike her, Bellatrix elected not to have a separate office but preferred to write in the comforts of her own room. Bellatrix' desk was beyond messy; notebooks, scrolls and books for research were scattered and piled up on the desk, among inkwells and quills. How Bellatrix was able to find anything on her desk was anyone's guess, but Hermione wasn't about to be the pot calling the kettle black considering the current state of her office.

Of course, before going back to their quarters, Hermione had swung back to the dining room to fetch her dessert and, to her delight, found that almost everybody except Cygnus and Druella had abandoned their dessert. Meaning, Hermione now had no less than seven servings of delicious expensive ice cream to eat. One taste orgasm in her mouth definitely wasn't enough, and when she was digging into the third one.

"You know," sounded the bemused Trix when looking up from her work. "You're going to be so round you won't be able to get through the door."

Hermione stuck out her tongue. "But you'll still love me, right?"

"Absolutely!" replied Bellatrix.

Hermione put down the ice cream for now, its dishes being magically enchanted to keep it frozen. She hopped off the bed and stood next to Bellatrix, running a hand through her curly hair. "Are you alright?"

Bellatrix frowned. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Trix," said Hermione. "You don't give a toss about anyone's outbursts or opinions. You just don't. Unless… it's from family. I saw the look on your face, Trix."

Bellatrix' cheeks flushed a little, embarrassed perhaps. "It was just… unexpected, was all. I'm completely fine, me! Nymphadora's a Black, right? We're quick to anger and quick to calm down."

"Not so sure about that last one," winked Hermione.

"Oh, do one!" Bellatrix chuckled.

"Help me eat this ice cream, will you?"

Bellatrix frowned. "Hermione Granger? Sharing her ice cream? Give over!"

"I'm serious!" Hermione replied, glancing over to her bounty still stood on a tray on the bed. "Well, mostly… just… have some ice cream before I change my mind!"

And so Bellatrix ended up lying belly-down on the bed, digging into some icecream while playfully throwing her legs in her air. Comfortable next to her, a pillow in her back while digging into yet another icecream, was Hermione, looking at her girlfriend enjoy herself. By now, Zipper had retreated into his hutch for some snoozing. Apparently full of salmon and jam, the wasp had shown no interest in coming out to claim some of the icecream. Well, his loss, Hermione supposed. She decided it would be devoured between the two of them then. One thing was still on her mind, however.

Hermione gave her a look. "You still seem a little conflicted about this whole thing."

"I suppose you're right, but Nymphadora said soz, didn't she?" replied Bellatrix before popping another bit of icecream in her mouth. Like Hermione, she had a look of intense enjoyment from the taste-explosion in her mouth. "It's not that Nymphadora's angry, I get that. It's more that I'm worried that we'll have someone on our expedition who vehemently doesn't want to be there. I mean, if Nymphadora doesn't want to go, Andromeda shouldn't force her. On expeditions like this one, everybody is important. Everybody has to rely on each other. If there's someone on the expedition who doesn't want to be there, it could be actively dangerous."

Hermione nodded. "I suppose you have a point," she said. "When we went into the Fae Realm, it was a leap of faith, but we both wanted to make it."

"Exactly," said Bellatrix. "I wanted to meet you. Hold you. Kiss you…"

"Kiss me, hm?" Hermione gave her a half-smile.

"Yeah," said Bellatrix, holding a spoonful of icecream in front of her mouth. "And if you hurry, you might still lick some of this icecream out of my mouth."

Well, that was a challenge Hermione wouldn't let pass. She embraced her and pressed her lips on hers. When her tongue entered Bellatrix' mouth, she felt the softness of her girlfriend's tongue amid the cold and tasty icecream. Of course, Trix made her fight for every drop of that delicious icecream guarded by her equally delicious tongue. And when the icecream was gone, Bellatrix broke the kiss, popped another bit of it in her mouth and went on the offensive again.

When the last of the icecream was finished, Bellatrix lay with her head parked on Hermione's shoulder, curled up against her side while Hermione ran a silver hand through curly hair.

"Should I read you my latest story?" she said, producing a small book from underneath the pillow. She propped herself up a little without leaving the cuddle-pile and flipped through the pages with one hand. "This chapter is almost out of editing."

After a few moments, Bellatrix got comfortable and started reading.

"Who I am is not important for the tale I am about to tell.

Once I was part of a group to take down our government for the sake of ideals.

We lost. And I lost everything.

And so as a fugitive, I have been on the run for years. Do not pity me, for I do not pity myself. My lot is of my own doing and it is not the reason why I am committing my tale to paper. Like my identity, it is unimportant to this tale outside of providing relevant context. As such, my tale is about the situation I have found myself in

You see, during my flight I came upon Woodchester Manor. This is not its real name, of course, which I will not reveal for obvious reasons, but the sake of the story I will refer to the manor as such. Woodchester Manor is a large abandoned mansion surrounded by acres of once kept lands which have now largely been reclaimed by nature. Two stories tall, with an attic running the width of the structure and a cellar which is mostly flooded. This once opulent manor has fallen into severe decay after its abandonment. It was, I thought, the perfect place to hide out for a while, especially since it has history of a wizarding nature.

Best I've been able to piece together is that it was built early 18th century, commissioned by a wealthy family of half-bloods. This family stood with one foot in the muggle world, so the mansion lacks the usual security measures pure-blood mansions have. This is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it keeps my pursuers off my tail and a curse because, well… let's just say animals have the good sense to stay far away from this mansion. Nary a bird in the sky at all moments of the day. Were it that muggles could be so wise. Woodchester Manor is close enough to the big city to attract all sorts. The homeless in search of shelter, especially during the winter months. Teens looking for a thrill or some illicit sex. Foolhardy urban explorers getting in over their heads. Criminals looking for a quiet place for their illegal dealings.

Most don't even last the night.

Some survive a day or two.

I have outlived them all.

For months I've stayed at Woodchester Manor, surviving because I heed and follow the rules this house has implicitly set for all those daring to enter. The muggles of the nearby village know better than to ever set foot in this place. I have earned a modicum of respect from these muggles, to a point that they have come to see me as the unofficial caretaker of the manor. I sometimes do odd jobs there in exchange for some muggle pounds or some food. Merlin, to even consider the depths this once pure-blood paragon has sunken to. In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. The muggle police often come to the mansion when yet another muggle has gone missing. I tell them what or if I've seen or heard, the nod knowingly and leave just as quickly as they came.

Why do I stay, you might ask? Well, this is part desperation and part fascination. Desperation because begging fugitives certainly can't be choosers. Fascination because, well, this house does have a life of its own. Though it is certainly not magical in nature.

The rules this house has set are many and varied, but they are consistent. The most important ones are these, though they are by no means the only ones:

Rule #1. Never be out in the hallways after dark. Things roam the hallways. How many I do not know. What they are, I do not know. All I know is that those caught in the dark are found the next morning as a fine red paste of viscera and shards of bone which I then sweep into a pail and dump out into the yard before rot sets in. There is never enough viscera to account for a whole person, the implications of which I prefer not to dwell on.

Rule #2. Never disturb the surface of the water in the flooded cellar. The creature in the water prefers to keep to itself.

Rule #3. Never enter the attic, under any circumstances at any time of day. As I walk the second floor I always hear heavy footsteps above me. Where I go, they go. When I move, they move. When I stop, they stop. Whenever I come to a place where the ceiling is damaged, I can feel baleful eyes upon me. Out of precaution, I avoid standing under or near a damaged ceiling on the second floor, no matter how small the sliver of a crack may be. I do not know what is up there and I do not want to know.

Rule #4. Never enter the hedgemaze in the garden. People who step into it come out younger or older than they were when they went in. Some never come out at all.

Rule #5. Never remove anything from the house. The manor always reclaims what belongs to it, one way or another. And it will always claim its pound of flesh in recompense.

Rule #6. Some rooms have rules of their own. There are rooms in this house which are more hostile than others. The upstairs bathroom, for example, is a place to avoid under all circumstances and the less said about the psychomanteum, the better. Some other rooms, in contrast, are much more welcoming. The children's playroom is always warmer and brighter than the rest of the house. Do not be fooled, however, as some rooms might feel welcoming at first but are anything but. The kitchen, for example, is always eager to receive guests. But when said guests disappear without a trace and, the next morning, a well-prepared feast mysteriously appears on the counter ready to be served, any correlations are easily made.

You may ask how I've learned of these rules. The answer is simple: through observation of others breaking said unspoken rules. The failures of others contribute to my own survival.

Do not think harshly of me as I do tend to warn those who come to the manor. It is simply not my concern what happens to them if my warnings are not heeded, aside from cleaning up the mess afterwards.

I watch. I learn. I keep to the rules. I survive. It is as simple as that.

I set up my living space in the most welcoming room, the library. It is located in a tower separate from the house, thus not covered by the attic above or the cellar below. Access is granted through the second floor mezzanine above the foyer. The house allowed me to move a cot from one room to this library and I am always greeted with a cozy fire in the fireplace.

The creatures in the hallway at night know I am here, however, as is evidenced by the claw-marks on the other side of the heavy oaken door which now guards me from them.

I like to think the Woodchester Manor allows me to stay here. Or tolerates me, at least. As long as I heed the rules, it treats me well as I treat it well.

And yet I have more tales to tell of this capricious manor and its rule-breaking visitors. Read on, if it pleases you to do so."

Hermione smiled, having rubbed Bellatrix' belly while she read the story to her. "Your stories are getting more complex," she said.

"This will be more of a novella-length anthology series," Bellatrix said. "Fans demand you to top yourself constantly. Can't keep writing the same 'creature in the woods' story again. And I like to think I'm improving. But what about you?"

"Me? What about me?"

"Come on," said Bellatrix. "You've been distracted as of late. Throwing yourself on your work again. I didn't send Father to talk to you without reason."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "It's stupid, I know it's stupid, but it's still driving me barmy."

"What is?"

So, Hermione told her. How for the past few months, this strange creeping feeling she had that she simply didn't belong in this world, this universe. That something was deeply wrong with her and the maddening sense that she simply couldn't remember what it was. And how Cygnus had told her that she had purposely wanted to forget something. Something bad enough to lock it away in her head.

"Hm," said Bellatrix. "You've been overthinking things. I love you, Hermie, but you could overthink yourself into a depression if I wasn't here to stop you from sinking in it. Time-travel is the answer here. You were convinced I was going to die and that you needed to save me. But what it is, right, all you knew at the time was that I had disappeared and that there was a whole lot of speculation about what happened to me with the most likely thing happening is me being murdered and buried in the woods. But no body, right?"

"Right," said Hermione. "Where are you going with this?"

"See," Bellatrix grinned in a way of trying to tell her 'I know something you don't!'. "There was no body and no murder, but I still disappeared because I went forward in time. But you didn't know that, because I hadn't arrived yet. I was supposed to go into the future and you were supposed to bring me to the future. And it was always supposed to be like that, otherwise I wouldn't have disappeared. See? Closed time-loop and predestination paradox. No more nonsense about 'not belonging' because the outcome was always supposed to be like this. You did exactly what you were supposed to and you belong. In this universe. In this world. And here in bed… with me."

She leaned in for another kiss, a brief brush of lips this time.

Hermione chuckled, indeed feeling much better. "You always know just what to say. And clearly you've given this a lot of thought."

"Writer. Hello?"

"But that still doesn't explain the Water of Lethe," said Hermione. "What would I want to forget so badly?"

"If I were to hazard a guess, some sort of war trauma?" Bellatrix suggested. "A particularly bad one? One therapy wouldn't help with?"

"But then why would Andromeda also want to forget?"

"Maybe it was so bad that even Andromeda was disturbed by it?"

Hermione sighed. "I suppose I'll never know," said Hermione. "All I know is that I made the conscious decision to block it in my own mind, maddening though not knowing is. I know, in my heart, it was the right decision, but I'll never know exactly why. Purpose of forgetting, I suppose."

Bellatrix purred slightly and started to unbutton Hermione's blouse. A hand slid over her clothes, undid the top button and then playfully handwalked towards the next. "You have too much stress," grinned Bellatrix, a twinkle in her eyes.

Bellatrix always did know the best ways relieve Hermione of stress. Scant ten minutes later and all their clothes strewn about the bed and floor later, Hermione lay on her back in their oversized four-posted bed, sweaty naked and writhing. Eyes closed and teeth gritted, the sensation of curly hair tickling her inner thighs while soft hands gripped her outer thighs mixed with the severe tongue-lashing she was receiving.

Pleasure was mounting rapidly, the sweat on her skin cooling in the air of the room, her nipples hardened while giving voice to her delight with every roll of Trix' unimaginably merciless tongue. Her silver hand dug into the mattress, away from Bellatrix out of fear of losing control over it, while her good hand found the back of her girlfriend's head. Grasping a clump of curly hair and pushing her Bellatrix down against her sex, Bellatrix let out a chuckle in response. Hermione's eyes almost rolled back in her skull when Bellatrix decided to 'punish' her for this transgression by treating her to some playful bites.

Before she was even prepared, waves and waves of pleasure washed over her like a tsunami. Hermione arched her back and let out a primal scream from the depths of her lungs. Instantly, she felt boneless and deflated, collapsing onto the bed like a puppet with its strings cut while panting like a whippet. Still delirious from pleasure, Bellatrix chuckled and cuddled up against her from the side like she had earlier that evening. Sliding her hand over Hermione's belly, Bellatrix lay her head on Hermione's shoulder. Once Hermione was lucid again, she kissed the top of Bellatrix' head.

"God," whispered Hermione in between gasps. "You have no idea how much I needed that."

Bellatrix playfully walked her fingers up Hermione belly and tickled one of her nipples while Hermione lay an arm on her side. "I always know the best way to cure a stressed and high-strung girlfriend. Lots of tongue involved. Often fingers. Sometimes teeth, but that's advanced treatment," Bellatrix said. "You've been working too hard. And… I couldn't help but notice that you're still keeping your hand away from me."

Hermione closed her eyes."I broke your arm, remember?" Hermione sighed, reminding herself just how horrified she had been when she had lost control and almost crushed Bellatrix' wrist as a result.

"That happened nearly a year ago," Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"Six months isn't nearly year, Trix!" Hermione sighed. "It's always the same. I think I have control over this thing, I get complacent and I accidentally hurt someone. Cycle repeats."

"Well, it felt much longer than six months because a certain someone didn't dare to have sex with me for two weeks because she was afraid of hurting me! You worry about the past too much. Besides, it was my own fault for not paying it mind while driving you mad with pleasure." chuckled Bellatrix. "Your silver hand feels really nice."

Bellatrix reached over to grab Hermione's other wrist and gently lay her silver hand on her breast. Though there was no sensation in her hand, she could feel the slight pressure of Bellatrix' breast against the metal.

Hermione chuckled and stared at the canopy of their bed for a moment. "Only you'd be blasé about having your arm crushed."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Magic. It was better in a matter of seconds," she replied and leaned in to whisper in Hermione's. "Now… your… silver… hand… feels… really… nice."

Hermione frowned for a moment, to which Bellatrix rolled her eyes and sighed. Well, it was closer to a groan.

"Give your head a wobble and catch the hint!" Bellatrix stressed. "Seriously, how long have we been together?!"

"Oh?" Hermione thought for a moment until it finally hit her, along with the blood rushing to her cheeks. "OH!"

"Yeah, 'oh!'," Bellatrix snorted before flashing her a grin. "Don't make me beg…"

The young witch smiled and lay on her side, facing an eager and expectant Bellatrix. Hermione decided not to waste any time and gently slid her silver hand down over her belly. Her Bellatrix grinned, raising her leg a little just as Hermione found her target. A shudder went through her curly-haired girlfriend's body and she let out a brief moan when two silver fingers entered her. Already slicked, Hermione could feel pressure tighten around her metal fingers. The young witch found a steady rhythm and treated Bellatrix to gentle and deep strokes. Bellatrix' breath quickened, her expression changing from that of a smirking brat to that of an eager hedonist overcome with sensation. She started to move her hips to match Hermione's strokes.

Dark eyes locked with hers. Eager. Pleading.

Hermione saw the love in those eyes. Love and passion in equal measure.

The young witch leaned in and kissed her Bellatrix on the lips. Their tongues met and she felt two arms wrap around her while she dug her fingers of her good hand into Bellatrix' shoulder.

It was a moment of pure bliss. All theirs. In this moment they simply belonged to each other. Hermione couldn't imagine ever being with anyone else. Bellatrix belonged to her. She belonged to Bellatrix.

That was how it was always ever supposed to be.