I'm alive! Hope you've all been doing well and enjoying the story so far.
Relatively a short chapter today, warning for m/f sex scene with heavily implied f/f. Some angst for everyone as usual!
Reviews are always welcome and appreciated and I'd love to hear everyone's views.
Chapter 8 will focus more on our main girls and I'll be starting the chapter this week.
I had to upload this chapter from my phone so I apologise for any layout issues and will fix this asap - forgive me!
With that being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter of Why do Birds Sing!
- WeeklyCrisis
Hermione watched as Ron fumbled and flustered over his words. Lavender, for her part, stayed quiet as she wiped her lips, having the decency to look ashamed as she shrugged her bra strap into place, buttoned her shirt, and stood up awkwardly.
Though it was clear that there was no denying her enjoyment at the situation…and at potentially hurting Hermione.
Ron swallowed audibly, his eyes wild and panicked as he began a foolishly long rant in an attempt to convince the brain of the trio that it wasn't what it looked like.
"'Mione, I-" Before Ron could continue his pleading, Hermione turned her cold gaze to Lavender and spoke with little to no emotion.
"Leave." She spoke with an air of authority, one that challenged Lavender to disobey her as she gestured vaguely over her shoulder, paying no attention to the girl as she shuffled awkwardly out of the closet, past Hermione, and slithered down the winding corridors.
As soon as the sound of Lavender's shoes disappeared down the hall, Hermione brought her attention back to the simpering boy before her, who's eyes would not meet hers. Ron had placed his hands over his crotch to hide the obvious tent in his trousers, drawing a disgusted frown from Hermione.
If Hermione wasn't already abhorred with Ron, she would be tenfold now. However, her mind had already slipped into autopilot. She had one goal, and it was to find out how Ron had found the safe house and ensure he did not see anything he shouldn't have.
"How did you do it?" Hermione's tone was grimed with ice, eyes cold. A stark comparison to the warmth of hot chocolate, or the rage of ravaged bark. This was dried wood; ice cold, easily splintered if not careful, and prone to ignition.
"Do what?" Ron avoided those eyes. The eyes of a woman scorned, the eyes of a woman who had lost all respect for him, and the Antarctic rage of Hermione Granger, the love of his life.
Hermione's lips pursed into a thin line, her patience practically paper as she observed Ron's awkward stance, his avoidant tone and the embarrassment and shame colouring his cheeks. She took a deep breath, a headache setting in preemptively as she crossed her arms.
"Don't do this, Ron." She spoke with restrained anger, her mind working overtime to ignore the rage padding slyly across her skin, seeping into her muscles and sneaking up her bones. "Answer my question."
Ron scoffed, a sound that had the stalking anger in her skin ignite and dig its claws into her veins with vengeance.
"You haven't even said thank you, why should I bother?"
"Thank you?" Hermione could barely believe what she was hearing! The absolute cheek. The sheer audacity of the foolish boy she once called her best friend. "You almost destroyed my experiment! You nearly ruined everything!" The young witch practically snarled at the redhead, her emotions blistering as she tried not to smack the boy before her.
Ron's brows furrowed at Hermione's reaction; his lips curled into a judgemental scowl as he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.
"You and this bloody experiment!" He cried out in disdain, his eyes settling into a storm of jealousy as he took in the flurry of rage in the golden girl's eyes. "I saved you, Hermione! She was going to kill you! Or worse, she looked like she was going to-"
"She wasn't!" Hermione bristled at the accusation, her magic itching beneath her skin. "She wouldn't! She is-"
"She is a death eater, 'Mione!" Ron bellowed angrily. Breaths heavy and accusatory as he threw his hands up before pointing a finger at the brightest witch of their age. "Someone ought to remind you of that! Lestrange-"
"Black."
She hadn't meant to correct him. It slipped out. But she wasn't annoyed at her slip, because it was true. Bellatrix was a Black, not a Lestrange. She had made that clear to Hermione, and it was incredibly important to her that the distinction be made. And so… Hermione corrected Ron without a second thought.
Ron stared agape at the witch before him, confused and affronted by his friend's defence of the murderess.
"What?"
"It's Black. Not Lestrange." She repeated resolutely, unphased by Ron's sneer of disapproval, nor the way he shook his head in disbelief.
"Bloody hell… does it even matter? She married Rudolphus, took his name. Why do you care what I bloody call her?" He asked in a rhetorical scoff, arms crossed and brows furrowed as he tried to understand why Hermione was so invested in the death eater.
"I-" Hermione stopped short. She needed to explain this logically, in a way that would make sense to the likes of Ron and anyone that could potentially question her in the future. She took a short breath. Swallowing, before she continued more confidently. "Because she's still human! She's another person like you or me who got caught up in this shitstorm but on the wrong side!" Hermione kept her eyes trained on Ron, watching as understanding and frustration filled his gaze and she knew she had convinced him of her reasoning. Which meant it was time to go for the jugular of this whole conversation. "Just answer my question, Ron! How did you find the safe house?"
Ron took a moment to look at Hermione, her blistered, brown eyes, her dishevelled hair and the way her jaw was set as she looked at him with pure anger. He sighed, running a hand through his reddish hair and rubbing his face tiredly. He knew Hermione would not let this go, and in all fairness to her, she was right, he shouldn't have followed her. So, he responded quietly, perhaps a little guiltily.
"… Invisibility cloak. I followed you through the forest. Made it easier to get through the wards and glamours when you're right behind the one person who can pass through them." He admitted, avoiding the angry brunette's eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I had to see if this was worth it. Hermione, all of your time is spent with that murderer, and you're losing yourself in saving someone who doesn't even deserve it." He tried to speak to her more placatingly, reaching out slowly to attempt to rest his hands on her shoulders, to try and coerce her into forgiving him. To implore her. Hermione in return, pushed his hands away, a look of betrayal and hurt evident in her expression as her lips set into a thin line.
"That was not your call, Ron. Morgana, why can't you just trust me?" She responded slowly, with more upset than she intended as she turned away from him. She was hurt. To think that this was the perspective of supposedly one of her closest friends was frustrating, incredibly hurtful and was a serious blow to her confidence.
"I do trust you, love." Ron tried gently, only for Hermione to whip a nasty glare in his direction, halting him from proceeding any closer to her.
"Stop calling me that."
"What?"
"'Mione', 'love'. Stop calling me those names." Hermione explained icily, a very sharp glint in her eyes as Ron laughed in disbelief and reached for her once more.
"But-" As Ron's hands brushed against Hermione's arm, it took all of a second for Hermione's wand to be pressed threateningly against his chest, leaving the young Weasley taken aback.
"No." Hermione whispered, her tone dripping with poisonous wrath. "Listen, and listen very closely to me, Ronald Weasley. We are not a couple. We are not in a relationship. I am not yours, nor am I some toy for you to play with." She stated clearly and coldly, each point annunciated with a jab of her wand against his chest. The Gryffindor boy grumbled in discontent at Hermione's words, disagreement clear in his eyes and in his tone as he responded determinedly.
"I know that, I love you."
Hermione's response was a curt and distant laugh. A sound that was sharp. Hurt. A sound that resembled more of a broken bell than her usual joyous chime.
"You love me?" She repeated incredulously, waving her wand in disbelief and frustration before she pointed towards Ron's still tented trousers. "And what were you doing moments ago? Showing me how much you love me? I'm sure Lavender could really feel how much you love me." She turned her head as she spat the words.
"Lavenders just a past time." Ron didn't like the look in the muggleborns' eyes. That distant, cold and blank expression. The way her lips were curled into a frown, as if her smile was burning paper that twisted and crumbled into something unforgiving. So he said whatever he could to try and convince her. As it turns out, Ron's words were a consistent noose for him, as his words did nothing to ease the witch, and only served to fan the flames of anger and distrust further.
"This is your problem Ron, how can you say that? She's a person; and you treat her like property." Hermione couldn't bear this conversation anymore. She didn't have time for it; nor him. She had too much to do. She had to change the wards; improve the safe house defences, get back to Bellatrix and… and make sense of Bellatrix and her. For her sake, for the sake of the experiment, for her sanity. "Let me make this crystal clear, I am not in love with you. I have never been in love with you, and should you interfere with my project again, I will make sure that it's me dealing with you. Not McGonnagal, not Harry, me."
"Hermione-" He tried once more, desperate to try and fix this.
"No. Don't come near my project again. Do not come near Bellatrix again, in fact, don't come near me again." Hermione's words were final. Commanding and threatening. There was no denying the dangerous tilt in her voice, the darker look in her eyes and the way her wand tiptoed dangerously in the air; magic sparking from the tip as she sheathed her wand back up her sleeve, before she walked out of the closet and slammed the door in Ron's face. Her mind racing as she stormed through the halls towards the Gryffindor common room.
"Hermione!" Ron called out uselessly before standing bewildered in the closet, the weight of his actions hanging heavily in the silence that followed Hermione's departure.
Finding Harry Potter was a surprisingly easy task. The boy wonder was lounging in the dorms as he read reports, diligent eyes scanning the text as he twirled his wand absentmindedly, unaware of the brunette about to storm into the room. At her sudden entrance, his eyes went wide at the display of tears and red cheeks on his best friend's face. Hermione threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.
After a moment… he gently stroked Hermione's back.
"… What happened?" He asked quietly, soothingly, as he worked his hand up Hermione's back muscles towards her shoulders.
"Ron." She murmured tiredly, defeatedly, as she used Harry's shoulder to muffle the sounds of her sobs. Her head hurt. It felt like her thoughts, which were usually organised and stacked carefully, as if books in a library, had been scattered all over the floor with the pages ripped out.
Her thoughts were spiralling. Yet, the only constant was Bellatrix Black. She could not stop thinking about Bellatrix. Her dark eyes, that look of restraint, the way they both ignored the pull between them, despite the irresistible electricity that always seemed to spark whenever they were near each other.
It was driving her crazy.
She needed a distraction.
Anything to stop her feeling as if she was descending into madness.
"What did he do this time?" Harry mulled quietly, not wanting to speak louder than necessary when Hermione was in such a vulnerable state. He only rarely saw Hermione this unperturbed; his friend looked frantic and full of an unpredictable energy.
"He followed me to the safe house." She scoffed softly, appreciating the return to conversation as she tried to pick up the torn pages of her mind. "He attacked Bellatrix, and then instead of talking to me about what happened, he went and fucked Lavander instead."
"Blimey… I'm sorry." What else could he say? Ron was foolish, and rash, and he had hurt Hermione one too many times for his liking.
"Why can't he trust me?" Hermione whispered in a voice brimming with desperation and a need for understanding… an understanding Harry couldn't provide. As much as he wanted to.
"I'm not sure, love." He murmured back apologetically, his hand rubbing the back of Hermione's neck. After a moment of silence, Hermione lifted her head to meet Harry's gaze, her eyes distant, vulnerable, and the perfect shade of chocolate.
"You trust me, right?" She asked softly, eyes pleading. "You believe in me? That my plan will work? … That I'm right about Bellatrix?"
"Of course I do." Harry responded with certainty as he held the golden girls gaze, his fingers rubbing her skin affectionately. Hermione rarely showed this side to him, something so raw and vulnerable, and he didn't know what he could do to help. All he wanted to do was comfort the girl before him. Another second later, he wasn't sure what possessed him in that moment, be it the intimacy, the vulnerability, the softness; it all compelled him to cup her cheeks and press his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.
Hermione didn't understand why Harry kissed her, nor why a pit in her stomach formed at the feeling when normally this would be a welcome distraction. A known one. Familiar. But… this time, she didn't know how to react.
She didn't know what to do. Only that moments later, his lips had found their way to her neck, and she found herself unbuttoning his trousers, fingers deftly tugging at fabric, and his hands pulling at her shirt. It felt like in a matter of seconds, lips were meeting lips, teeth was against skin, and Harry's bulge pressed against her thigh.
Yet, all she could think about… was dark eyes full of want. Soft lips dancing across her skin. Gentle hands on her waist being careful with the claws. Fangs grazing her throat teasingly… and a thigh pressed wantonly between her legs.
She could not stop thinking about Bellatrix.
Whether it was in nightmares; dreams, the past, passing thoughts and apparently even now when her mind should be in the moment. The Black witch had besotted her, had doomed her and she felt as if she could finally resonate with what Bellatrix had told her all that time ago when she was deciding whether to save her or not… she had ruined her.
"Fuck." She cursed softly under her breath when Harry pressed forward, sliding into her with ease.
Morgana… when did she get so wet?
Did thinking of Bellatrix really have such an affect on her?
Harry let out a quiet groan at the first thrust, the feeling of Hermione squeezing around his cock familiar and a welcome embrace as he pressed her against the couch. Though Hermione was rarely ever this wet, he wasn't complaining. He rocked against her steadily, a light pace and nothing too sudden or sharp. He gripped the back of the couch as her hips met his, the bright witch gritting her teeth as she whispered 'harder'. Her nails trailed a path down his back, making his hips buck forward unintentionally, drawing a sharp moan from the girl beneath him.
He could feel her nails digging into his back, her breaths sharp; she was rarely ever rough. So again this was a surprise for him, but he complied regardless. His thrusts harder as Hermione exhaled shakily, taking the whole of his length with each rock forward, her eyes screwed shut.
Hermione could barely think straight, her mind a whorl of smoke as her gasps and moans filled the space between them. Reality and fantasy were blurring, she could feel Harry inside her, she could smell his aftershave, yet she couldn't hold onto it. The tangible scent of Bellatrix was too tempting; the smell of vanilla and mocha and hazelnuts, the feel of Bellatrix's claws gently digging into her skin, one hand covering her mouth to help muffle her cries of pleasure, the other sliding between her thighs, fingers stroking her clit teasingly before slipping into her in an achingly slow manner just to tease her. Just to make her squirm before inevitably using those fingers to make her scream in pleasure. The memories of crying out in pain when a dagger carved up her arm and possessive whispers in the shell of her ear being replaced with fangs leaving their tender mark along her skin, and affectionate murmurs breathed against her lips.
She knew she was being extra rough with Harry, that she was begging for more, pleading for him to be harder as she left marks down his back that she knew must have hurt, but she couldn't help it. The image of Bellatrix fucking her was too much to handle, and within seconds she could feel heat coiling tightly in her abdomen, her thighs tensing as her muscles contracted and before she could let Bellatrix's name slip from her lips, she dug her nails into Harry's shoulders harshly.
She buried her face in his neck to muffle the sound of her cry of pleasure, as she came to the fantasy of Bellatrix Black.
Harry was caught unawares. The roughness, the way Hermione seemed to be mumbling something under her breath before, without warning, he felt her muscles squeeze around his length as she came… hard.
…
Silence ensued. No words outside of quiet, rapid breaths.
Hermione didn't know what to think or feel as the two of them panted quietly. She purposefully avoided Harry's gaze as her thoughts slowly became clearer. She was terrified he had heard a certain dark witch's name on her lips, worried that he would identify the true source of her pleasure. Harry watched Hermione questioningly, lost in his own thoughts as he slowly moved away from the brunette.
Harry turned as he began sliding his clothes back on, his back towards Hermione as she did the same. The silence was almost deafening between them, the sound of fabric moving against skin and zips being done up echoing in the room.
"You've… never been like that before." He started, his voice quiet and questioning as he finally turned to her, his gaze guarded.
"I know." Hermione responded indifferently, her gaze hard set on the floor between them. Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, glancing away as he considered what to say next before deciding to just be direct.
"Who were you thinking about?"
"No one."
Hermione's response was quick. Probably too quick since Harry raised an eyebrow before he scoffed and looked away. He took a moment to collect himself before he allowed his expression to soften. He knew Hermione and he knew when she wasn't being herself. When she was struggling with something. So, he took a seat next to Hermione who drew her knees up to her chest. He gently placed a hand on Hermione's knee, a gentle encouragement for her to look at him, which she eventually did.
"Draco?" He asked, his tone gentler, more understanding.
Hermione sighed. Her head hurt and she felt a pit in her stomach and an ache in her chest. Her head felt a mess and it was near impossible to deny her attraction to the dark witch anymore.
"No." She whispered softly, her eyes brimming with tears.
Harry was taken aback by the sight of Hermione tearing up. He rarely saw the girl cry anymore and it was a startling sight.
"… Hermione?…"
She needed an excuse. Something else she could tell Harry to cover up the fact that she was hopelessly… what? What was she hopelessly doing? It wasn't… love. It couldn't be. She wasn't falling for Bellatrix. She was just… lusting after her? A crush?
Crushes happen all the time. It's just a crush. That's all it is. Crushes go away like a jinx, it'll fade. It has to fade.
But until then… What should she tell Harry?
"I like women, Harry." She whispered. It was the truth, she did like women, she just chose not to disclose which woman in particular.
Harry for his part took this confession very well. A laugh bubbled out of his throat and he shook his head as he gave Hermione a knowing smile.
"That much is obvious, Hermione." He chuckled as he fixed his glasses. "So… is there a woman you like?"
This was a dangerous question, but one she could work with. She smiled when Harry laughed and chuckled herself as she pushed her hair out of her face.
"Yeah… she's … a slytherin. Stubborn, rude but…" She took a breath as she laughed and shook her head, a warm smile on her lips as her gaze softened as she thought about Bellatrix. "She's also caring… and funny and sweet and I just— she makes me feel… I don't know—"
"Human?" He offered the word supportively, a smile on his face. He had never heard Hermione speak like this about anyone, and it was a refreshing change in his friend.
Hermione glanced at Harry in surprise at his choice of word. The phrase struck a chord deep inside her and it felt as if someone had cast a nebula spell on her mind and Harry had just cleared it.
"Sounds like you like her a lot huh?" He chuckled in amusement, patting her knee.
"I… it's just a crush."
"Mhm." He hummed, amusement and disbelief clear in his gaze as he gave Hermione a knowing look. The bright witch herself simply looked away, cheeks flushed a light pink as she scoffed.
"It's a crush, seriously, stop looking at me like that." She groaned as she shoved Harry's hand off her knee playfully, the blush in her cheeks spreading to her neck. She sighed and covered her face as Harry broke into laughter.
"You should tell her." He eventually said once his amusement settled. His tone was softer, sympathetic. "You've been through hell and back… you deserve a little love in your life." He said teasingly.
"Love?" Hermione grumbled the word defensively, her head shooting up to fix him a rather embarrassed glare. "Who said anything about love?"
"Alright, alright, I meant you just deserve some happiness." He chuckled, rolling his eyes at the golden girls defensive and flustered reaction. "I mean it… you should tell her. Who knows, maybe she feels the same?" He smiled as he patted her knee once more before standing from the couch.
Happiness?
Did she truly deserve such a thing?
After witnessing several traumatising events from several different timelines. After trying over and over to change the future and getting stuck in timelines, being scarred over and over, witnessing death after death of her friends, her family. Could she really allow herself a moment of joy when she couldn't even guarantee how long she could remain in this timeline?
She had used the time turner time and time again until it had thrown her into time periods she didn't choose. Each time resetting events until it had flung her into different dimensions. Places and people that were not meant to be alive or exist in which she had to adapt and change and pray to Morgana that she wasn't inadvertently changing her own timeline.
Until the time turner finally flung her into this dimension. One where Voldemort escaped the final battle, where Bellatrix was never killed by Molly Weasley, where Umbridge was still alive. Where Bellatrix Black was a bloody werewolf. And then when she thought she would be ripped from this time and thrown into another… the time turner just… stopped responding. And she had been here longer than she had anticipated. But now who knows when the blasted thing would send her hurtling through time and space and she'd have to start over again.
Was it worth it? To allow herself to enjoy this time? To just breathe and have fun?
Could she allow herself to explore such a thing… with Bellatrix Black of all people?
Was she worth it?
Hope you enjoyed this chapter, again reviews are appreciated.
See you soon.
- WeeklyCrisis