A/n: Guess who? Long time no see. I'm doing a double posting for the hell of it and because I kind of miss you guys. By double posting I mean you can also find this on AO3 under my psuedo Kallmeking.
And as a gift, I've been working on the origin story for my kigo series. It's decent, more polished than this tidbit. Mostly as an apology for updating Mistakes just to call you all pervs.
As always, enjoy.
It was trapped, forever hidden in those infinitely deep ink wells Bellatrix called eyes. Whatever it was she took from Hermione, she hid it there. Or perhaps it was in the chaotic void of tangled curls piled atop her head. Either way, the woman had been reduced to dust and a part of Hermione was permanently lost. Though, Hermione still caught flashes of her, or worse, heard echoes of that wicked cackle. Bouncing around the walls of her mind, it almost seemed to surround her. She could practically feel her ears ringing from the force of it. Her eyes welled in response, knowing what slurs of violence usually followed after.
It was enough to make her silently excuse herself from the room, paying little heed to the worried eyes following after her. She stopped.
Merlin forbid they actually follow her.
A tired smile, fairly genuine crawled across her lips and she turned back towards the concerned group. She'd not heard a word that was said for the last hour, but she knew they were there for her. Unfortunately, it simply wasn't them she needed. But they didn't need to know that.
"I had a nice time." She said to the group and saw them relax. She turned back towards the door, and the mad cackle of her nightmares echoed in the empty room.
No, they didn't need to know that she suffered severe, realistic flashbacks of her time underneath Bellatrix. They didn't need to know how she enjoyed them.
She cast a muffliato spell on the room and a few wards on the door before sliding down to the floor. On her back, she lay, wishing she could feel tendrils of curls gently grazing her cheek. A sharp contrast to the harsh cheekbones sneering down at her.
"Filthy mudblood."
She gasped and stared beyond the ceiling into the face of her torturer.
"Worthless, magic-stealing mudwhore."
She released a pained moan and curled in on herself before snapping back into position. Confused tears dropped onto the stone floor.
"Please don't." She pleaded but to no avail, thankfully. That gorgeous, deadly face merely stared back at her. Bellatrix's head tilted to the side. It was adorable, and oh so dangerous. Irresistible pools of black seeped into her soul and found everything Hermione wanted to hide. She knew what was coming next.
"No, Bellatrix. No. Please. Anything but that." she whimpered. It earned her another cackle and a sharp slap to the face. Her head jerked to the side and her legs squirmed in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
"Stop lying to me, mudpup." The sadist demanded, cruelty shining in mad eyes. "You're enjoying this." She declared almost breathless.
Hermione flushed, her denial cut off by surprising soft fingers at her throat. Suddenly, she was aware of herself existing between two extremes in multiple dimensions. There was the cold of the stone in contrast with the heat of Bellatrix's thighs around her hips. She was straddling the hair's breadth between pleasure and pain. Not to mention, she was blurring the line between the utter fantasy of today, and the horrors of her past.
"Tell me the truth girl, and I will give you what you so clearly crave."
Dark ink stained her body as Bellatrix's eye's trailed lower. Hermione's own nails carved the path in a pale imitation of the heat she once felt under that gaze. She whispered a spell to remove her clothing, and grit her teeth against the cold. Her nails continued their path, down, down, stopping at her stomach and crawling back up her ribs, breast, neck, and her face.
"Better yet, show me." Bellatrix whispered and – gods – her breath left her lungs as though she'd been punched in the gut. Her mind was invaded, ravaged and Hermione willingly opened herself to this shadow of a woman. She felt Bellatrix's presence like nails dragging along the inside of her skull.
"Crucio." She whispered and loosed a sharp scream at the sensation. It wasn't even a fraction of what she felt that day, but it was as close as she could get. She squirmed underneath the heat of the other woman's body and whined when it was over.
"You're mine." Bellatrix growled and Hermione's eyes widened as a thumb dragged across her lips. Her breath caught, watching that same hand slide down her body. Her own hand mirrored the action, remembering the way Bellatrix's digits trailed between her breasts. She was so sensitive, so aware of the woman's touch. Bellatrix's hand crossed the border of their bodies and trailed up her own legs, gathering her skirt to help her settle more comfortably astride Hermione's hips.
All muddy mine. She said slowly, her hands rising up to her own breasts.
Hermione couldn't help herself. She did what she wished she could have done that day. Her fingers slipped down to her clit and she watched intensely as Bellatrix caressed the swell of her breasts. Pale skin parted for slim digits as they sought their goal.
What came next was always like a moment out of time. While Bellatrix pulled a knife from her cleavage and began carving into Hermione's flesh, her own fingers began abusing her dripping cunt.
Anyone watching would have only heard a recreation of that day, but only Hermione knew the questions had changed
How did you escape? How did you get away?
Became
Why are you doing this to yourself?
How could you be so disgusting?
She didn't know.
Where is Weasley? Did you let him touch you mudslut?
"He's not here!" she shouted.
How dare you defy me?
Filth. Bellatrix spat but almost sounded pleased. There was only one way to end such torture, try as she may. Sobbing, she switched hands, letting the throbbing scar scrape against her skin as she pinched and pulled her clit.
Shame flooded her senses, and she cried hot, wet tears before giving in and whispering,
"Mistress, please."
She screamed her thanks as the hand seemed to take on a life of it's own. Her clit was slapped, tweaked, and viciously rubbed until she was practically hyperventilating and scrambling away from her own hand.
"I can't." she cried but her hand continued. "Mistress," she amended, "I can't! Please." Her body twitched through one last orgasm, the act of shamelessly begging a ghost having pushed her over the edge.
Her arm was hers again, though she wasn't quite sure how true that was. She held it close and sobbed as she curled into a ball on the floor.
"What have you done?" Someone shouted. "I knew you looked weird when you left."
She opened her eyes and gasped. Her blood was smeared across her body with the word 'mud' on her thighs. She didn't remember doing that. She covered herself quickly and ran to the bathroom, knowing she would not get the chance to relive those moments again.
Someone shouted through the door as she stared herself in the mirror.
"She's dead, Hermione. You have to get past this."
MudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudblood. Filth.
Three years later found her staring in shock at her worst nightmare.
"Will you marry me?" Ron asked. Hermione, not for the first time, was deeply uncomfortable. She played it well though.
"I might." She teased. Ron faltered but not so much that he would blow his top. "But only on one condition." She let her eyes twinkle with mischief and fool that he was, he fell deeper in love.
"Three months, muggle London, no magic." She said, taunting him with a kiss. How pathetic, loving someone he couldn't even begin to understand.
"Aw come on Mione. Isn't there something else I could do?" he leaned into her space and her skin crawled. She allowed it for the last time. He would undoubtedly fail at this task. His temper would outpace his words, and they would fall apart. He would leave her in muggle London with her thoughts, her truth, her desire.
"No. I need to see that you love all of me, starting with the fact that I'm a mud – muggleborn." She hadn't stumbled like that in a while. He took it as proof if her insecurity and his eyes softened. She however knew it was time to break out her favorite journal.
Mudblood. Mudblood. Filthy little mudblood.
"Hermione, you know I don't care that you're muggle born, or about any of that purity stuff." He moved to hug her and she evaded his grasp, taking the 'moment of insecurity' to rub her scar.
It hummed underneath her hands and the echo of a cackle bounced around the room. Suddenly he embraced her.
"Don't. Ron. I need – " she exhaled and turned in the embrace to gently move him back a bit. "I know you don't, but can't you see? You should care. I have access to two completely different worlds. You've never set foot in the muggle one. You've never asked me anything about it."
He lulled over her manipulation and sighed. "You're right. Let's do it." She nodded and they set up a plan.
MudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudblood. Worthless little worm.
Two months in, Hermione was starting to get nervous. Ron had adjusted well. He was a bit messy but at the end of the week, the house was in order and they would watch a film. She didn't exactly panic, knowing she would leave him anyway, but she worried. Luckily, when she wasn't looking, the red head reached his limit.
It was a benign little thing, yet it seemed to haunt him like laughter in the walls.
He stormed into the kitchen and began slamming cupboards and throwing things. It was frightening and she almost reconsidered leaving him.
"I can't do this anymore!" he cried. Hermione walked into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway.
"Ron?" she asked gently. He turned on his heel and stared at her.
"Where's my wand?" he demanded. "I need my wand. I can't do this anymore, 'Mione. It was fun at first having a device for everything. But now the devices need devices and those devices need to be plugged into whatever the hell keeps this place running. It takes forever to get anywhere and for merlin's sake there's trash everywhere! It stink, it reeks, and the bloody government won't do a thing about it. I can't take it. I spilled wine on the couch and it's apparently ruined according to some old crone named Debby on the internet. No. I'm bloody fixing it."
Hermione would have laughed if she weren't busy driving him insane.
"Even if it means losing me?" she asked. "Sometimes I need a vacation from your world Ron. I'd expect my husband to join me." She felt something die inside of her at the word 'husband.' "Surely the stain comes out with a bit of vinegar and elbow grease."
He groaned and for a second she thought he would rip his hair out. "Stop. Stop saying elbow grease. No wonder you people die young!" he said. The silence lingered between them until her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Finally.
"Is there…is there really no other way for us?" he asked. His lips quivered and hers twitched.
"I was going to take you to the states for a hiking trip." She lied through her teeth with such glee. It was a wonder he didn't pick up on it. "No magic, no devices, just us, nature and some muggle survival tools."
His face told them everything they needed to know. She sighed and he seemed to sink below the burden of his next words. It was the weight of her shoulders.
"Dad was so looking forward to having muggle in laws. Perhaps you should take him instead." His wand appeared on the table and he grabbed it as though it would disappear. "I'm sorry." He said softly. "I'll move my things out by tomorrow." Hermione loosed a laugh through her nose.
"Is it really so quick to wipe the house of entire years together?" she asked. He shrugged.
"Magic."
With a pop he was gone and Hermione broke into a sob. Eventually, it evolved into laughter before she began crying again, and that's how Ginny found her. She didn't understand, only looked on in pity as Hermione rejoiced her freedom. After a few days, she tried to explain how funny it actually was, but it ended with her crying tears of joy. She gave up.
After one week, Ginny deemed her stable and left Hermione alone in the apartment. She wasted no time. Over the years she'd been forced to tolerate Ron's affection in bed. There'd even been a few times when she almost enjoyed it, sort of. More often than not, however, if she truly wanted sexual pleasure, there was only one answer for it.
Those eyes, that laugh. She was ready to tumble over the edge, the first time since she'd been caught three years ago. She considered begging for it while Ron was on tip of her, had even mewled a desperate 'please' once. All that had earned her was a stark feeling of emptiness. Now, however,
"Oh please. Please, please, please." She begged, humping her hand. She heard a growl, felt the heat of a breath that was not her own.
How could you be so disgusting?
Hermione's entire being reached for that sound, for the shame.
Playing at being a person? You're nothing.
"Nothing." Hermione repeated, straining past the pain, chasing the mind numbing pleasure.
You're just mud stuck on the bottom –
"Of your boot." Hermione finished and was dizzy with the feeling. It wasn't enough. She needed more. Needed to burn with humiliation as she was fucked into the ground. "Why?" she sobbed. Why wasn't it enough? Why couldn't she have been happy with Ron? Deep heaving sobs filled the room as she spiraled, sounding much like she did the day Bellatrix cursed her.
She imagined Bellatrix's delight at seeing her so broken and needy. Would the woman laugh? Or would she take pity on Hermione? For a moment it calmed her long enough to hear a dark whisper.
Show me.
Breathless, Hermione kicked off the sheets and lay bare for a ghost of the woman.
Show me.
A whimper freed itself from her throat and Hermione glanced towards the sound. Her eyes blurry with tears, she could practically make out a shadowy form with wild hair.
"Mistresss." She exalted. "I.."
Flames of need burned at her self restraint, causing her to twitch and cry out pitifully. Desperation fueled both sides. If only she were normal, if only she were shameless, if only she'd tried harder, gone to therapy, did more, thought less…
If only Bellatrix were alive.
Her eyes turned back to the corner and the blurry form grinned and in an instant appeared above her like a demon. Her hands went to grasp around her own throat and squeezed. She could never bruise herself the way Bellatrix could and would if she were truly in the room. She imagined a sneer contorting those sharp features until her disgust was clear. She imagined those deceptively delicate hands lashing out, striking her cheek. The demon in her dreams should be every inch as unpredictable as it's counterpart.
She snapped her head to the side and exposed her neck.
I bet you taste as filthy as you look.
It was a horrible idea, but she was possessed. She weakly accio'd a knife and held it up to her throat. Her hands trembled.
Show me.
She wanted to. She would have ripped herself open if Bellatrix demanded it. She would bleed onto the sheets from every major vein and artery if asked. But Bellatrix was not here. She was alone. And whatever that demon had taken from her, she would never get it back.
MudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudbloodMudblood. Useless creature.
One night later found her taking a walk around the neighborhood. It started as a way to occupy herself with anything but thoughts of the dark witch, but suddenly it turned into a witch hunt.
Someone was following her, chasing after her and matching her step for step. At first she thought she was imagining it, perhaps the goosebumps trailing along her arms were a result of the cold. But then she turned suddenly to glance at a bird and found there was a shadow just out the corner of her eye. She turned a few times and caught sight of a figure hiding just as she looked its way. She rushed to a park and ran along the paths she'd come to know so well and exited out the other side. That seemed to have worked but she decided to drop by a small store on her way home, making sure she was seen.
She was halfway there when she began to hear footsteps behind her. She saw nothing when she turned, not even the shadow of a figure. She walked at a brisk pace, those steps encroaching until they were seemingly right at her back. When she entered the store, she glanced up at the camera and saw nothing, no one. She waited, browsing through the items and belatedly wondered if it was just her mind playing tricks on her. When no one came in after her, Hermione grabbed a few chips to soothe the clerk following her down the aisles and walked out. A long glance up and down the street showed she was alone.
Now she was in the elevator, those ghost steps having followed her all the way home and she swore she could hear the soft pant of someone next to her. She murmured a low 'finite incantatim' but nothing changed.
She reached out slowly towards the sound.
"If you want to keep that hand, you'd better keep it to yourself."
The mud in her veins ran cold. She knew that voice, had been dreaming of it for years. Her hand dropped and she waivered in place, falling heavily against the elevator wall. Was this a dream? Was she insane? Had she perhaps not let go of the knife and found herself in hell? Heaven? The elevator dinged and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Move it." That voice ordered impatiently.
Hermione obeyed, still dazed at the revelation. The moment her key twisted in the door and she pushed it open, she was shoved inside. The door slammed behind her like the close of a coffin. The locks clicked in place and she swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth. Slowly, she turned to face the intruder.
Once again, tears made the vision blurry, but the living flesh and pureblood before her was unmistakable.
"Hello muddy. Did you miss me?"
Seeing those pitch black eyes for the first time in years…she fell. It was as though the world had ceased to exist and she was spinning, her entire being sucked into two coals and lit aflame. She nearly said yes, nearly fell to her knees and begged.
"N-No." she whispered, a tear falling from her eye as the lie twisted something inside of her. Whatever that something was, it ignited in her arm. The scar Bellatrix left her with burned hot and Hermione cried out in surprise. She wrenched her eyes down to her arm and back up to the intruder.
"Oh muddy. You're lying." Bellatrix said with a laugh. It started soft but grew and transformed into something so achingly familiar, it constricted around her, penetrating her, like Devil's snare.
A dream. This has to be a dream. She stepped forward despite her better reasoning and croaked out her question.
"Are you real?"
Burning hot hands grabbed her by the jaw, and somehow, she was spun until her back slammed against the door. The madwoman spat in her face and used her free hand to smear it.
"You tell me." She said and laughed. "Now, you look like the filth you are." Hermione broke away from the door and put some distance between them so she could clean her face. She was mortified and thoroughly disgusted. The demon in her dreams never did that. "Tell me the truth muddy." Bellatrix demanded, her face still as stone. "Did you miss me while you were whoring yourself out to that Weasley scum?" she approached slowly and now Hermione wondered why she didn't recognize those distinctive footsteps, the predation in them, the signature booted high heel. Hermione backed away, step for step.
Maybe she did recognize them. Maybe that's why she stupidly ran though the forest. Maybe that's why she didn't call harry or Ginny or use the DA coin in her pocket. Maybe that's why she left herself vulnerable. And maybe that's why she didn't scream when she tripped over a chair and found herself sprawled across the floor. Like prey accepting its fate.
Bellatrix pounced on her, eyes alight with glee.
"We're going to play a game, muddy. I'm going to ask you seven questions. If you lie," she pulled her knife, the knife, from somewhere unseen, "I'll open one of those pretty letters on your arm."
Hermione's world tilted on its axis and realigned to the woman before her. Never did she believe she'd find herself here again. Nothing made sense anymore or perhaps everything did.
"If I open all seven letters, I disappear, forever."
"No!" Hermione cried despite herself. Bellatrix's eyes gleamed and suddenly a sharp, cruel, unhinged laugh echoed in the room making Hermione wince. She gave a mocking pout and coo'd.
"Aw, is that a no to me leaving or a no to my game?" Bellatrix asked gleefully. Hermione's brain scrambled for anything, anything that would buy her more time with the woman, more time to think and get this demon out of her system before she was killed, or worse, fully possessed.
"Why? Why should I play this? What do I get in return for answering your questions?"
Bellatrix sneered. "Fine. You can ask me one question for every two you answer. If you correctly guess whether or not I'm honest…"
Everything about her set even Hermione's teeth on edge, especially her unpredictability. So when Bellatrix leaned down, smirking dangerously, the last thing Hermione expected was to feel soft lips brushing against her own. The air between them crackled with electricity and Hermione jumped as though she'd been jolted.
"I suppose," Bellatrix whispered, their lips touching on occasion, "I will deign to offer you a bit of pleasure with your pain. Hm?" A pink tongue darted out to wet her lips and Hermione whimpered as it grazed her. "Good. First question: " she whispered, her head moving from side to side. Hermione hardly noticed herself chasing after those lips until Bellatrix chuckled and stilled.
"Do you want to kill me?"
She was going to lose this game. The moment she answered she was damned one way or the other. By the end of it all she could no longer pretend to be moral, upstanding. She could no longer pretend not to want desperately this woman. Or worse. She could lie and be free of thus curse. She could watch Bellatrix's eyes dim and return whatever was stolen.
She didn't know if she even wanted it back, but she knew she should.
Her self-restraint thus far had not faltered to such an extent and she loathe for it to do so now. She should say yes. She should want this woman dead. She would resist. She would resist as long as she could and let the cards fall where they may.
Perhaps pain would be the deciding factor here. She would either endure physical pain or an emotional one. The relief would come either way. The truth would be known and she would be free, but…hadn't she waited long enough to be hurt by this woman?
"Yes."
Was this resisting or giving in?
There was only a heartbeat between her lie and the burning sensation in her scar. The moment she winced, Bellatrix smirked and was gone from her view.
"Good girl."
This was nothing like her feeble attempts in the dark. Perhaps the knife was enchanted? She couldn't bring herself to care beyond that because she was free. She was free to kick and scream. She bucked like a wild horse, trying to free herself and testing the strength of the woman before her. She let herself go and gave in to the painfully slow tracing of the letter M on her arm.
MudbloodMudbloodFilthyMudblood
When it was over, the two of them were flushed and panting. Bellatrix's hand was gentle for a split second before becoming harsh on her jaw.
"Second question: Did you enjoy that?"
She keened. It was like Bellatrix was trying to slice through Hermione's very being. The excitement and adrenaline still coursing through them both, Hermione licked her lips and answered.
"No."
Her eyes didn't waiver from those dark pools when the pain hit and took her breath away.
"Oh pet." Bellatrix breathed. "Four years. You made me wait four years, for this."
Just like that she was gone and carving her way into Hermione's arm, her psyche, her life. She blushed as her cries began to sound like laughter. This time Bellatrix finished quickly and returned to Hermione's lips.
"Your turn." She exhaled. Hermione wasted no time.
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, all notions of resistance obliterated. One question, one swipe of the knife and she'd forgotten why she ever wanted to hold back. Bellatrix released a sound that travelled straight to her clit.
"Oh no, Muddy. Not even a little." She said with a smirk. Her eyes travelled down to Hermione's lips as she waited.
"Lie." Hermione whispered, a bit worried it was a trick of some kind, but Bellatrix smiled, eyes still on her lips.
"Mm, however did you know?"
Their lips met and it was more, much more than Hermione ever dared hope for. She was right about one thing however. Bellatrix was a demon and Hermione was possessed. By the time it was over she could only think of one thing, one person really. Well, once she got past the copper flavored pain in her lips.
"Are you pregnant with that half-wit's child?" Bellatrix asked. Those bony fingers clawed at her jaw and searching eyes bore into her own almost desperately.
"No." Hermione responded, knowing that there was only one way to find out. After a breath or two, Bellatrix lazily stroked Hermione's cheek with her index finger.
"Tell me Mudblood, my filthy, depraved little mudblood. Did you enjoy having sex with him?" She asked ever so sweetly. For all the pain and ache she had hoped for, this sweetness, however fake and twisted and manipulative, she craved. Every time Bellatrix whispered her name (Wasn't her name mudblood? Had it ever been anything else?) she felt herself sink deeper under Bellatrix's spell.
"No Mistress." She whispered. "Never." she was ashamed of the fervent loyalty in her voice, but then the dark witch smiled.
"Good girl." Bellatrix whispered against her lips, and Hermione decided this too could be her name. Good girl Mudblood Lestrange. "Ask."
She had more space to think, to breathe. Now that their bond was assured and she was certain Bellatrix wouldn't evaporate into thin air, she realized that she had so many questions. She was done pretending this wasn't everything to her. But was it everything to Bellatrix? Why was she here? Did she really choose to wait four years for…for what? A mutual obsession or a cursed one? And if the scar on her arm was the source of Hermione's obsession, why didn't Bellatrix give it to Harry or Ron?
"Why me?" she asked and waited with bated breath. "You knew that was Harry, that day. Why me?"
"Because when I close my eyes," she inhaled deeply, eyes closed and moaned, before opening them again. "I can still hear your screams."
Hermione bit her lip. Bellatrix's face was unreadable aside from the obvious lust she was supposed to see, but there was something underneath.
"Half truth." She said, wincing slightly. Bellatrix's eyes widened and she growled.
"Changing the rules, pet? Truth or lie? Pick one."
Hermione swore, but anything that wasn't a complete truth was a lie. She answered as such and this time the kiss was swift.
"Correct." Bellatrix said, breathless as though they'd been kissing for hours. "Do you want to be owned by me? Stripped of your name, your rights as a person? Completely, legally mine?"
"Yes." She answered as though Bellatrix had just offered her the world.
"Will you swear your loyalty to me? Agree to be ruined by me and me alone?" Bellatrix asked, her knife leaving sharp kisses against Hermione's throat.
"Yes, please." Hermione answered. "It's all I want."
"For the rest of your filthy life?" She was hardly sitting on Hermione's waist at this point. She was leaning in, her eyes searching as though she needed this as much as Hermione did.
"Forever." She confirmed.
"Last question, pet. Ask it." She said sharply as though she could hardly wait much longer.
"You own me." Hermione said softly and rose her hand to rest lightly on the one holding a knife against her neck. "But can you love me?"
She craved harsh words whispered in the night, desperately ached for bruises, crucio's, welts and whispered insults that stripped her of dignity. The one thing she never dared let herself fantasize about, however, was the softness that would inevitably come. The apologies after a heated debate, the care and healing after the bruises, romantic dinners, dates, and the tender after care filled with affirmations. She could only lust after a ghost, but her heart would melt for flesh and blood.
"Never. You are nothing but a bitch to be kicked, fucked, and fed." Bellatrix said fiercely and the only thing keeping Hermione together was the weird tinge of anxiousness in Bellatrix's eyes. Before Bellatrix was practically trembling in anticipation but now, she was still.
"You're lying." Hermione said with a hint of wonder in her voice.
Bellatrix's lips twitched before twisting into a half smile.
"Right again, Muddy mine."
How do we feel about this? Constructive criticism is welcomed and requested