Chapter Text
The ancient crystal chandelier exploded in a shower of glittering shards as Bellatrix's hex connected with deadly precision. Her wild dark curls whipped around her face as she spun, already targeting the priceless Ming vase in the corner.
"Bella, please!" Narcissa's voice cracked with desperation. "You have to understand - we had no choice!"
"No choice?" Bellatrix's laugh was high and unhinged. "There's always a choice, Cissy. You've chosen to sell me like cattle to that filthy little Mudblood!"
Another hex - this time the ornate mirror above the fireplace shattered, sending fragments of reflected light dancing across the drawing room walls. Narcissa flinched but held her ground.
"The Dark Lord suspects us already. Lucius made the only deal he could to keep us all alive. The Order will protect us, but they needed..." she faltered.
"Insurance," Bellatrix spat. "And I'm to be the collateral. Bound for life to that buck-toothed little swot." Her wand trembled as she aimed it at a portrait of their great-grandfather. "I'd rather die."
"You don't mean that." Narcissa crossed the room swiftly, catching her sister's wrist before she could cast again. "Think of Mother, of Father. Think of me. We'll all be killed if you refuse."
Bellatrix wrenched away, but her arm dropped to her side. Tears of fury gleamed in her dark eyes. "How dare they. How dare that Mudblood agree to this? Does she think she can tame me? Own me?"
"Miss Granger didn't have much choice either," Narcissa said quietly. "The Order insisted. They need someone powerful enough to...contain you."
A harsh laugh. "Contain me? I'm sixteen! She's what - seventeen? Does she fancy herself my keeper?"
"She's brilliant, Bella. You know that. And she has... experience dealing with dark magic." Narcissa's eyes flicked meaningfully to her sister's unmarked left forearm.
Before Bellatrix could retort, the drawing room doors swung open. Lucius swept in, his face grave. Behind him came their parents, Cygnus and Druella Black, followed by a severe-looking Ministry official.
"Ah good, you're both here," Lucius said smoothly. "Please, everyone be seated. We have much to discuss."
Bellatrix remained standing, her spine rigid as the others arranged themselves on the velvet sofas. The Ministry wizard cleared his throat importantly.
"Miss Black, I am here to outline the terms of the binding contract. The ceremony will take place in three days' time. Immediately following, you will take up residence with Miss Granger at her London address. Your wand will be held in trust by the Ministry until such time as your loyalty to the arrangement is proven."
"You can't take my wand," Bellatrix hissed. "It's illegal!"
"Under emergency wartime provisions, actually, we can," the wizard replied primly. "Now, regarding the binding ritual itself..."
The next hour passed in a blur of legal terminology and magical stipulations. Bellatrix heard phrases like "fidelity charm" and "proximity ward" through a haze of mounting horror. She would be magically compelled to remain within a certain distance of Granger. Any attempt to harm her would result in crippling pain. And the marriage bond itself would be unbreakable - not even death would sever it.
"The Grangers have agreed to honor certain pureblood traditions," Lucius cut in smoothly. "The binding ritual will be performed according to the old ways, three days before the ceremony."
Druella gave a small sob. "My baby girl... I never thought..."
"Spare me your crocodile tears, Mother," Bellatrix snapped. "You're selling your sixteen-year-old daughter into magical slavery and you dare to cry about it?"
"That's enough!" Cygnus thundered. "You will do this, Bellatrix. For the family. For our survival."
She met his gaze, seeing no trace of paternal affection there. Only cold determination. Her shoulders slumped minutely. They had her trapped and they knew it.
The next three days passed in a whirlwind of preparations. Bellatrix submitted with savage grace to being measured for traditional bonding robes, letting the seamstress fuss over black silk and silver embroidery while fantasizing about strangling her with measuring tape.
The binding ritual itself was performed at midnight in the manor's ritual chamber. Bellatrix knelt naked on cold stone as her mother painted ancient runes across her skin in dragon's blood. The magic sank into her flesh like brands, sealing her fate. She bit her lip bloody to keep from screaming.
Finally, the dreaded day arrived. The Ministry atrium had been cleared for the ceremony, with only essential witnesses present. Hermione stood waiting by the officiator's podium, her formal robes a deep burgundy that made her skin glow golden in the magical light. She looked calm, composed - everything Bellatrix was not.
Bellatrix glided down the aisle like an avenging shadow, her black robes billowing. The traditional silver diadem in her dark curls felt like a crown of thorns. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at her soon-to-be wife.
The ceremony itself was mercifully brief. Ancient words were spoken, magic swirled, and golden chains of light wrapped around their joined hands before sinking into their skin. Bellatrix felt the bond settle into place like a collar around her throat.
"You may seal your union with a kiss," the officiator intoned.
Hermione turned to her new wife, expression unreadable. Bellatrix's lip curled in a sneer, but she allowed the brief brush of lips, fighting back a shudder at the spark of magic it ignited.
And then it was done. She was no longer Bellatrix Black, but Bellatrix Black-Granger, bound in magical matrimony to a Mudblood. Her wand was surrendered to Ministry custody. Protective wards settled around her like invisible chains as she was escorted to her new home - a modestly elegant flat in magical London.
Hermione unlocked the door and stepped aside. "Welcome home," she said quietly.
Bellatrix swept past her without a word, feeling the wards ripple and adjust to recognize her presence. Her gilded cage was ready. And she was trapped inside it with a lioness for a keeper.
She made it three steps into the sitting room before her legs gave out. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Hermione rushing forward to catch her, concern written across her features.
How dare she look concerned. How dare she act like this was anything but a prison sentence for them both. Bellatrix's last conscious thought was a promise - she would make her new "wife" regret ever agreeing to this arrangement.
The wards hummed softly, settling into place around the unlikely pair as night fell over London. Neither witch slept well that night - one watching over her unconscious charge with worried eyes, the other lost in dreams of revenge. Their forced union had begun, but the real battle was yet to come.
Chapter Text
Consciousness returned slowly to Bellatrix, her head pounding as she opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. Cream-colored walls, tasteful artwork, and shelves upon shelves of books surrounded her. The events of yesterday crashed back like a tidal wave - the ceremony, the binding, her new "wife."
She bolted upright, finding herself in a large four-poster bed with burgundy hangings. Someone - Granger - had changed her into silk pajamas while she was unconscious. The very thought made her skin crawl.
"Tempus," she muttered wandlessly. Golden numbers showed 7:13 AM. At least that basic magic still worked, though she felt stripped naked without her wand.
Bellatrix slipped from the bed, bare feet silent on hardwood floors as she began systematically exploring her new prison. The bedroom itself was spacious, with an ensuite bathroom featuring marble fixtures. A walk-in closet revealed her belongings had already been unpacked and arranged alongside Granger's clothes.
The hallway led to several other rooms - a study crammed with books and scrolls, a guest room, and what appeared to be a potions laboratory. Bellatrix's fingers itched to explore the ingredients and equipment, but she forced herself to continue her reconnaissance.
The flat's wards thrummed against her magical senses as she tested them. Complex layering, with anti-apparition and anti-portkey barriers woven through. No obvious weak points. She could feel the proximity charm tugging at her core - she wouldn't be able to get more than a hundred feet from Granger without crippling pain.
The sound of movement from the kitchen made her freeze. Granger was awake. Bellatrix considered retreating to "her" room, but her pride wouldn't allow it. Instead, she stalked into the kitchen, chin held high.
Hermione stood at the stove, already dressed in casual robes, her wild curls tied back. The scent of coffee and bacon filled the air. She turned as Bellatrix entered, expression carefully neutral.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?"
Bellatrix ignored her, examining the kitchen's large windows. Warded, of course.
"I made breakfast," Hermione continued, placing two loaded plates on the small table. "We should discuss some household arrangements-"
With a savage gesture, Bellatrix sent every dish flying. They shattered against the walls in a spectacular crash of porcelain and food. Hermione didn't flinch.
"Reparo," she said calmly, wandlessly reassembling everything. "Are you done?"
"Don't act like this is normal," Bellatrix spat. "Like we're just roommates working out a cleaning schedule. You're my jailer."
"I'm your wife," Hermione corrected. "And while neither of us chose this, we can at least be civil."
She stepped closer, and Bellatrix caught a wave of alpha pheromones - commanding, dominant. Her own omega biology betrayed her with a shiver.
"Don't you dare try to scent-mark me," Bellatrix warned, backing away.
"It's part of the binding," Hermione said firmly. "You know that. The magic requires physical claiming within the first twenty-four hours."
"I'd rather die." Bellatrix grabbed a newly-repaired mug and hurled it at Hermione's head.
The alpha witch deflected it easily. In three swift steps, she had Bellatrix pinned against the wall, one hand gripping her throat. The omega in Bellatrix whined at the display of dominance, even as she fought against it.
"Stop fighting this," Hermione growled, her face inches away. Her scent was overwhelming now - books and lightning and raw power. "You're only hurting yourself."
Bellatrix thrashed against the hold, but Hermione's grip was implacable. The alpha leaned in, nose trailing along her neck. Instinct screamed at Bellatrix to bare her throat, submit to her mate. She bit her lip bloody fighting the urge.
"There," Hermione murmured, placing a deliberate kiss on her pulse point. Magic sparked between them. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
She released Bellatrix and stepped back. The omega witch slid down the wall, shaking with fury and unwanted arousal. She could feel Hermione's claim settling into her magical core, another chain binding them together.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know." Hermione's voice was tired. "Try to eat something. I have Order meetings all day, but the wards will let me know if you need anything."
She left Bellatrix huddled on the kitchen floor, breakfast cooling untouched on the table. The day stretched endlessly ahead, each hour marked by Bellatrix's increasingly desperate attempts to find weakness in her cage.
She tried the Floo - locked. The windows - sealed. Even the bloody mail slot was warded against communication. By afternoon, she had worked herself into such a state that her magic was crackling visibly around her, shattering lightbulbs and rattling furniture.
That's when the first wave of heat hit.
Bellatrix doubled over, gasping. No, no, no - it wasn't due for weeks. But the stress, the proximity to an alpha, the magical binding... her body was betraying her in the worst possible way.
She stumbled to her room, slamming the door. Sweat beaded on her skin as another wave of need crashed through her. The sheets still held traces of Hermione's scent from when she'd helped her last night. Bellatrix buried her face in them before she could stop herself, inhaling deeply.
"No," she snarled, ripping herself away. She would not give in to this. Would not let her biology make her yearn for her captor.
Hours passed in a haze of desperate denial. By the time evening fell, Bellatrix was nearly delirious. She needed... needed... No. There had to be a way to contact her sisters. They would help her escape before she lost control completely.
Dragging herself to the study, she found Floo powder in an ornate box. The fireplace was still locked, but maybe... yes! A tiny gap in the wards, just enough to make a call if she timed it right.
Green flames had barely flared when she heard the front door open. Hermione's scent hit her like a physical blow - alpha, mate, need. Bellatrix swayed, the Floo powder slipping from trembling fingers.
"What are you doing?" Hermione's voice was sharp. She took in Bellatrix's state - flushed skin, dilated pupils, the sweet scent of omega heat filling the air. "Merlin, Bella..."
"Stay back!" Bellatrix tried to sound threatening, but it came out as more of a whimper. "I won't let you... won't let this..."
She raised her hands, raw magic gathering. But her heat-addled body betrayed her again, knees buckling. Hermione caught her before she hit the floor.
"You're burning up," the alpha murmured, concern overwhelming anger. "Why didn't you call for me? The wards would have alerted me you were in heat."
"Rather die," Bellatrix slurred, even as her body melted into Hermione's embrace. "Won't be your pet omega..."
"You're going to hurt yourself." Hermione's voice was strained as she fought her own instincts. With a wave of her wand, gentle magical bonds wrapped around Bellatrix's wrists and ankles. "I'm getting you to bed and calling a healer."
"No!" Panic gave Bellatrix strength. She thrashed against the bonds, magic flaring wildly. A bookshelf exploded, sending volumes flying. "No healers! No one sees me like this!"
"Okay, okay," Hermione soothed, tightening her hold. "Just me then. But you need help, Bella. Please let me help you."
The use of her nickname, spoken so tenderly, broke something in Bellatrix. She sagged in Hermione's arms, tears of frustration and need spilling over.
"I hate this," she whispered. "Hate wanting you. Hate that my body doesn't care that you're my enemy."
"I know." Hermione pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I know, love. We'll figure this out. But first, let me take care of you."
She lifted Bellatrix easily, carrying her to the bedroom. The omega part of Bellatrix purred at the display of strength, while her mind screamed in rebellion. But she was too far gone to fight anymore.
As Hermione laid her on the bed, their eyes met properly for the first time since the ceremony. Bellatrix saw her own conflict mirrored there - duty warring with desire, hatred tangled with something deeper.
"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" Hermione murmured, brushing sweat-damp curls from Bellatrix's face.
"Nothing worth doing ever is," Bellatrix quoted bitterly, remembering her mother's words at the binding ritual.
The magical bonds dissolved as Hermione stretched out beside her, pulling her close. Bellatrix knew she should fight, should rage against this forced intimacy. But as another wave of heat wracked her body, she found herself clinging to her alpha, her mate, her captor.
They had three days of this ahead - three days for heat and rut to break down their carefully constructed walls. Three days that would either forge them into something stronger, or shatter them completely.
As consciousness faded, Bellatrix felt Hermione's lips brush her mating mark. The gesture was possessive, protective, promising. Despite everything, she felt safe for the first time since this nightmare began.
Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that maybe, just maybe, there were worse fates than being bound to Hermione Granger.
Chapter Text
Bellatrix awoke to fire in her veins. The silk sheets felt like sandpaper against her hypersensitive skin. She was vaguely aware of magical restraints keeping her from thrashing too violently - Granger's work, no doubt. The thought of the alpha should have filled her with rage, but instead...
"No," she growled through clenched teeth, fighting the omega urges demanding she call out for her mate. The bedroom door was closed, but she could smell Hermione in the kitchen, likely working on suppression potions. The scent made her whimper.
In the kitchen, Hermione's hands shook as she crushed moonflower petals. The sound of Bella's distress was like physical torture to her alpha instincts. She'd been brewing for hours, trying to find something - anything - to ease her mate's suffering without requiring... that.
"Damn it!" The cauldron bubbled over, ruined by her lack of focus. She vanished the mess with a wave and started again. This time she added twice the usual amount of willowbark, hoping it would be enough to override the marriage bond's demands.
A particularly loud cry from the bedroom made her grip the counter until her knuckles went white. The bond tugged insistently, urging her to go to her omega. To claim. To mate.
"No," she muttered, echoing Bella's earlier denial. "There has to be another way."
But after the fourth failed potion, she knew she was only prolonging the inevitable. The marriage magic wouldn't be denied. She could feel it thrumming between them, growing more insistent with each passing hour.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered the supplies she'd prepared - water, cool cloths, healing salves. Her steps felt leaden as she approached the bedroom.
"Bella?" she called softly, pushing the door open. "I'm coming in."
The sight that greeted her nearly brought her to her knees. Bellatrix lay writhing on the bed, dark curls wild against the pillows, skin flushed and glistening. The sweet scent of omega heat filled the air, making Hermione's head swim.
"Stay back," Bella rasped, but there was more desperation than venom in her voice now.
"The potions aren't working," Hermione said, forcing herself to maintain distance. "The bond... it wants..."
"I know what it wants!" Bella spat. Another wave hit her and she arched off the bed with a strangled moan. "Just... just do it. Get it over with."
Hermione's heart ached at the defeat in her voice. "Not like this. Not with you thinking of it as an assault."
"What else would you call it?" Bella laughed bitterly. "We both know I have no choice. The great champion of house-elf rights, forcing herself on an unwilling partner."
The words stung, but Hermione kept her voice steady. "I won't touch you unless you explicitly consent. We can keep trying potions-"
"And watch me go mad from heat?" Bella's eyes were fever-bright. "Just... please. Help me. I can't... can't fight it anymore."
The plea broke something in Hermione. She crossed to the bed in three swift strides, gathering her mate into her arms. Bella's skin burned against hers, feverish and slick with sweat. The omega's scent was intoxicating - dark honey and spice, tinged with the sweet musk of heat.
"Please," Bella whimpered, pride forgotten in the face of desperate need. Her hips bucked against Hermione's body, seeking friction.
Hermione's alpha nature surged forward, demanding she claim and mark and possess. She fought to maintain some semblance of control, even as her hands roamed possessively over Bella's curves.
"Tell me what you need," she growled, voice rough with desire.
"Everything," Bella gasped. "Anything. Just make it stop burning."
Hermione captured her lips in a fierce kiss, swallowing Bella's moans. Her tongue swept into the omega's mouth, claiming and exploring. Bella's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer with desperate strength.
Breaking the kiss, Hermione trailed her lips down Bella's throat, pausing to nip and suck at her pulse point. The omega tilted her head back, baring her throat in instinctive submission. The gesture made Hermione's alpha howl with satisfaction.
She lavished attention on Bella's breasts, rolling hardened nipples between her fingers as her mouth left marks across pale skin. Each touch drew increasingly desperate sounds from the omega beneath her.
"More," Bella demanded, arching up. "Need you inside."
Hermione's fingers slid lower, finding Bella dripping wet with need. The omega's hips jerked at the first touch, seeking more contact.
"So ready for me," Hermione purred, circling Bella's clit with teasing pressure. "So wet."
"Stop teasing," Bella snarled, but it came out more like a plea.
Hermione responded by sliding two fingers deep inside, drawing a keening cry from her mate. She set a steady rhythm, curling her fingers to hit just the right spot with each thrust.
Bella writhed beneath her, lost to sensation. Her nails raked down Hermione's back, leaving stinging trails that only fueled the alpha's ardor.
The air was thick with pheromones and magic, the marriage bond humming between them. Hermione could feel her body responding, magic gathering to manifest what was needed to truly claim her omega.
When the transformation completed, Bella's eyes went wide with mingled apprehension and desperate need. Hermione paused, giving her a moment to adjust to the change.
"Yes," Bella hissed, spreading her legs wider in invitation. "Take me. Make me yours."
The words snapped the last threads of Hermione's control. She surged forward, claiming Bella's mouth in a bruising kiss as she pressed inside in one smooth thrust.
Bella cried out, back arching off the bed. Her inner walls clenched around Hermione, drawing her deeper. The alpha set a punishing pace, driven by instinct and need.
"Mine," she growled against Bella's throat. "Say it."
"Yours," Bella gasped between moans. "Alpha, please..."
Hermione's hips snapped faster, harder. She could feel her knot beginning to swell, catching on Bella's entrance with each thrust. The omega's legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.
"Need your knot," Bella panted. "Fill me up. Breed me."
The words sent fire through Hermione's veins. With a final powerful thrust, she buried herself to the hilt as her knot locked them together. Bella screamed as orgasm crashed over her, inner walls rippling around Hermione's length.
The sensation triggered Hermione's own release. She sank her teeth into Bella's shoulder, marking her as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over them both. The bond between them flared blindingly bright, sealing their connection.
They stayed locked together as aftershocks rolled through them, Hermione's hips making small, instinctive thrusts as she continued to fill her omega. Bella's body trembled beneath her, occasional whimpers escaping her lips.
When the knot finally began to subside, Hermione carefully withdrew, drawing a soft sound of loss from her mate. She gathered Bella close, alpha instincts demanding she provide comfort and care.
But as soon as the magical restraints released, Bella pulled away, curling into herself at the edge of the bed. The rejection stung, but Hermione forced herself to respect the unspoken boundary.
Chapter Text
The next few days fell into an uneasy rhythm. Hermione attended Order meetings, returning with maps and intelligence reports that required Bella's expertise. The former Death Eater provided information with cutting remarks and barely concealed disdain.
"Your intelligence is pathetic," she sneered, marking locations on a map. "The Dark Lord hasn't used these safe houses in months. Here and here are the current locations."
"And we should trust you why?" Moody's voice crackled through the Floo.
"Because unlike some, I understand the concept of magical binding oaths," Bella shot back. "I literally cannot lie about this. Though I do enjoy watching you waste time and resources."
Hermione intervened before the argument could escalate. "Thank you, Bella. That's enough for today."
She closed the Floo connection, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. These sessions were draining for everyone involved.
A knock at the door made them both tense. Through the wards, Hermione sensed a familiar magical signature.
"It's your sister," she told Bella, who had already half-risen from her chair. "Narcissa."
The blonde witch swept in as soon as Hermione opened the door, making a beeline for her sister. "Bella! Are you alright? Have they been treating you properly?"
"As properly as one can treat a prisoner," Bella said acidly.
Narcissa's eyes darted between them, noting the tension. "You're not a prisoner, sister. You're a war bride. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Bella laughed harshly. "Tell me, Cissy, how is being magically bound and forced to fuck my captor any different from imprisonment?"
"Bella!" Narcissa looked scandalized. "Such language-"
"Oh, I'm sorry, would you prefer I say 'made love to'? Should I pretend this is some romantic fairy tale?"
"I would prefer you try to make the best of your situation," Narcissa said firmly. "The Dark Lord is losing. This arrangement saved your life."
"Maybe I didn't want to be saved!" Bella shot to her feet, magic crackling around her. "Maybe I'd rather have died fighting than live as a kept omega!"
"Stop being dramatic," Narcissa snapped. "You're alive. You're mated to a powerful witch who, from what I can see, is treating you with more consideration than you deserve. Start acting like the pureblood lady you were raised to be."
"Get out." Bella's voice was deadly quiet.
"Bella-"
"GET OUT!"
A wave of wild magic shattered every window in the flat. Hermione quickly erected shields to contain the glass.
Narcissa drew herself up with wounded dignity. "Very well. When you're ready to be reasonable, you know where to find me."
She swept out, leaving silence in her wake. Bella stood trembling with rage and something that looked suspiciously like tears.
"She's wrong," she said suddenly, startling Hermione. "About you treating me well. A gilded cage is still a cage."
"I know," Hermione said quietly. "I don't expect you to be grateful. Or happy. I just... I'm trying my best in an impossible situation."
"Your best?" Bella turned to face her, eyes blazing. "Your best is keeping me locked up, using me for information, taking me when heat forces you to?"
"Would you prefer I let the heat drive you mad? That I ignore the bond's demands and watch you suffer?" Hermione's own temper flared. "I'm trying to give you as much freedom and dignity as I can within the constraints we're both bound by!"
"Freedom?" Bella laughed wildly. "You call this freedom?"
She gestured around the flat, at the wards humming in the walls, at the invisible chains binding them together.
"No," Hermione admitted. "But it's the best I can offer right now. And whether you believe it or not, I'm trying to protect you."
"Protect me?" Bella's voice dripped scorn. "From what?"
"From the Ministry, who wanted to throw you in Azkaban. From the Order members who wanted to use Veritaserum and Legilimency to rip the information from your mind. From your own sister-in-law, who suggested using the Imperius to make you compliant." Hermione's voice shook with suppressed rage. "This binding wasn't my idea, but I agreed to it because the alternatives were worse."
Bella stared at her, momentarily speechless. Finally, she said, "Why do you care? What am I to you besides a source of information and a convenient omega?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implications neither was ready to face. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but another wave of Bella's heat chose that moment to hit.
The omega witch swayed, catching herself on the back of a chair. Her scent flooded the room, making Hermione's alpha instincts roar to life.
"Don't," Bella gasped, even as her body betrayed her by leaning toward her alpha. "Not now. Not after-"
But it was too late. The bond pulled them together like magnets, need overwhelming anger and pride and everything else.
This time was different. Still desperate, still primal, but with an edge of something else. Something that felt dangerously like understanding.
Later, as they lay catching their breath, Bella spoke into the darkness.
"I don't know how to do this," she admitted, voice barely a whisper. "How to be... yours."
"I don't know how to own someone who should be free," Hermione replied honestly. "Maybe we can figure it out together."
Bella didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Chapter Text
The changes were subtle at first. Bella noticed her favorite chair carrying traces of Hermione's scent. Her books, her clothes, even her hairbrush - all bore the alpha's distinctive mark. It was instinctive territorial behavior, she knew, but that didn't make it less infuriating.
"Must you rub yourself on everything I own?" she snapped one morning, finding her tea cup freshly scented.
Hermione looked up from the Daily Prophet, genuinely confused. "What?"
"This!" Bella thrust the cup under her nose. "Your scent is all over it. And everything else I touch."
Understanding dawned in Hermione's eyes, followed by embarrassment. "I... I didn't realize I was doing it."
"Well, stop it. I'm not your property to mark."
"Actually-" Hermione bit off the words, but not fast enough.
"Actually what?" Bella's voice went dangerously soft. "Go on, finish that thought. Tell me how I belong to you."
The air crackled between them, heavy with unspoken challenge. Hermione's pupils dilated slightly, her fingers tightening on the newspaper until the pages crinkled. She rose slowly from her chair, and Bella found herself taking an involuntary step backward, her spine hitting the kitchen counter.
The younger witch advanced, her movements fluid and predatory. "You know exactly what you are to me, Bella," she murmured, close enough now that her breath ghosted across Bella's cheek. "Why fight it?"
Bella's retort died in her throat as Hermione's scent enveloped her, making her head swim. The alpha's proximity was intoxicating, maddening. She could feel herself yielding, despite her pride screaming in protest.
A distant sound penetrated their bubble - footsteps on the stairs outside, followed by familiar voices. They grew closer, accompanied by the creak of old wood.
"'Mione? You in there?"
The spell broke gradually, like waking from a dream. Hermione's expression shifted from intense focus to mild annoyance as she recognized Harry and Ron's voices. She straightened up, putting slight distance between herself and Bella, though she remained protectively positioned between her and the door before opening it.
"Harry, Ron. This isn't a good time."
But they were already pushing past her, Ron's face darkening at the sight of Bellatrix.
"Still keeping the pet Death Eater, then?" he spat.
Bella's magic crackled dangerously. "Better a Death Eater than a blood traitor."
"Enough!" Hermione's voice carried alpha command. "Both of you, stand down."
But it was too late. Ron's hex met Bella's shield charm with explosive force, shattering windows and sending furniture flying. Hermione's protective instincts roared to life as she physically placed herself between her mate and perceived threats.
"Get out," she growled at her friends, magic thick in the air. "Now."
"Hermione, she's dangerous-" Harry started.
"OUT!"
They left, but the incident had consequences. That evening, Kingsley arrived with a delicate silver bracelet.
"Non-negotiable," he said firmly. "Either she wears the monitor, or we move her to a secure facility."
Bella's fury was incandescent, but she had no choice. The bracelet locked around her wrist with a final click.
Weeks passed in tense silence. Bella, chafing under the new restrictions, decided to try a different approach. She began wearing revealing robes, letting her scent drift temptingly when Hermione was near. Small touches, heated looks - a calculated campaign of seduction.
It came to a head one evening as Hermione worked at her desk. Bella draped herself over the back of the chair, lips brushing the alpha's ear.
"Wouldn't you rather play with me instead?"
Hermione stiffened. "Stop it."
"Make me." Bella's hand slid lower. "Or are you afraid you'll enjoy it too much?"
Hermione caught her wrist in an iron grip. "I said stop. I won't be manipulated."
"No?" Bella yanked free. "You'd rather just force me when heat comes? Take what you want without the pretense of seduction?"
"That's different and you know it!"
"Is it?" Bella laughed bitterly. "At least then it's honest. This cage you keep me in, these pretty lies about protection - that's the real manipulation."
Her magic lashed out, reducing a bookshelf to splinters. Hermione contained the destruction with a shield charm, but then did something unexpected - she lowered her wand and stepped closer, her eyes darkening with unmistakable intent.
"You want honest?" Hermione's voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Fine. Let's be honest."
She advanced slowly, and Bella found herself retreating until her back hit the wall. Hermione's scent enveloped her, rich and dominant, making her knees weak despite her determination to resist.
"I can smell how much you want this," Hermione murmured, trailing a finger down Bella's neck. "Your body betrays you, little omega. All that bravado, all that rage... and yet you're practically dripping for me."
Bella tried to snarl a denial, but it came out as more of a whimper when Hermione's teeth grazed her pulse point. The younger witch's hand slid to her hip, pulling their bodies flush together.
"Tell me to stop," Hermione challenged softly. "Tell me you don't crave this just as much as I do."
Suddenly, a searing pain shot through Bella's left arm. She gasped, clutching at her Dark Mark as it burned black against her pale skin. At the same moment, the enchanted mirror on Hermione's desk - their secure connection to the Order - began to vibrate violently.
Hermione released Bella and strode to the desk, waving her wand over the mirror's surface. McGonagall's face appeared, lined with worry.
"Miss Granger, the castle's defensive enchantments are being tested. Massive concentrations of dark magic at the boundaries. He's making his move on Hogwarts."
Bella's fingers traced the writhing mark on her arm. "He's gathering them all," she whispered. "Every Death Eater who still bears his mark. I can feel it."
Both witches exchanged a long look, the heated tension of moments ago transformed into something far more grave. The war they'd been avoiding had finally found them.
"Well?" Hermione asked quietly. "Will you help?"
Bella's face was unreadable. "You know what you're asking. To betray everything-"
"Everything you once believed in? Yes. To save children's lives."
"Don't pretend this is about children. It's about winning your war."
"Then help us win it!" Hermione stepped closer. "You're already bound to our side. Why keep fighting?"
"Because it's all I have left!" Bella shouted. "My beliefs, my loyalty - it's who I am!"
"No, it's who you were." Hermione caught her arms. "You're more than your allegiance to him."
They grappled briefly, magic sparking between them. Bella found herself pressed against the wall, Hermione's strength holding her immobile.
"Let go," she hissed.
"Make me."
The kiss was violent, all teeth and dominance. Neither could say who moved first. They fought even as they came together, neither willing to submit.
Bella bit down hard on Hermione's lip, drawing blood. The alpha growled, pinning her harder against the wall. Their magic clashed and merged, the bond between them singing with dark pleasure.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Bella's lips were swollen, a bruise forming on her throat. Hermione's eyes were still alpha-gold with arousal and aggression.
"This changes nothing," Bella said, voice rough.
"No?" Hermione's thumb traced the mark she'd left. "Then why can I smell how much you want me?"
Bella shoved her away. "Get out of my head. Get out of my space. Just... get out!"
But they both knew it was impossible. The bond had grown too strong, their bodies too attuned. Every touch, every shared breath drew them closer, even as they fought against it.
That night, Bella sat alone in the darkness, staring at a piece of parchment. On it, she'd written everything she knew of Voldemort's plans for Hogwarts. Every detail that could save lives - or betray her former master.
She hadn't given it to Hermione yet. But she hadn't burned it either.
In the next room, she could hear her alpha pacing, probably wrestling with her own demons. The monitoring bracelet felt heavy on her wrist, a constant reminder of her captivity. And yet...
And yet something was changing. Something neither of them could control or deny, no matter how hard they tried.
The war was coming to a head. Soon, they would all have to choose sides definitively. But for now, they remained suspended in this strange limbo of reluctant attraction and desperate resistance.
Bella touched her fingers to the bruise on her throat, remembering the feel of Hermione's teeth. The omega in her purred with satisfaction, even as her pride raged against it.
She could burn the parchment. Keep her secrets. Maintain what little remained of her former self.
Instead, she found herself walking to Hermione's door, intelligence in hand. Some choices, it seemed, were made in inches rather than miles.
The alpha looked up as she entered, eyes immediately drawn to the paper. Neither spoke as Bella placed it on the desk between them.
"This doesn't make us allies," she said finally.
"No," Hermione agreed. "But it's a start."
The tension in the room shifted palpably as Bella turned to leave. Hermione's scent spiked - a heady mix of arousal and dominance that made Bella's knees weak. She froze, one hand on the doorframe.
"Don't." Her voice was hoarse. "Don't you dare use your pheromones on me."
"I'm not." Hermione stood slowly, like a predator approaching cornered prey. "This is all you, Bella. Your omega responding to your alpha."
"You're not my-" The words died as Hermione stepped closer, her magic crackling in the air. Bella's body betrayed her, producing slick at the alpha's proximity.
"Your scent says otherwise." Hermione's voice dropped an octave. "You've been fighting this for weeks. Fighting us. I can smell your need."
Bella spun to face her. "Stay back."
Instead of complying, Hermione stepped forward until she was face-to-face with Bella. "Go ahead. Hex me. But we both know you won't."
"You don't know anything about me." But Bella's hand trembled.
"I know your heat is coming." Hermione's words hit like physical blows. "I know you're wet right now. I know you dream about me - these walls are thin, Bella. I hear you moaning my name."
With a snarl of rage, Bella cast a stinging hex. Hermione deflected it wandlessly, then with a swift motion disarmed her. Before Bella could react, she found herself pinned against the wall, Hermione's body pressed against hers.
"Let go!" But her struggles only served to create delicious friction.
"Make me." Hermione's breath was hot against her ear. "Fight me, Bella. Show me how much you hate this."
Instead of fighting, Bella found herself tilting her head, baring her throat in unconscious submission. Hermione growled - a deep, primal sound that sent shivers down Bella's spine.
"That's it," Hermione murmured, nuzzling the sensitive spot below Bella's ear. "Let go."
"I hate you," Bella gasped as Hermione's teeth grazed her pulse point.
"No, you don't." Hermione's hand slid down to cup Bella through her robes. "You hate how much you want me."
The truth of it burned. Bella bucked against the touch, seeking more even as she tried to pull away. Hermione's other hand tangled in her wild curls, yanking her head back.
"Look at me."
Bella kept her eyes stubbornly closed until Hermione's grip tightened painfully. When she finally met the alpha's gaze, the raw hunger there made her whimper.
"Good girl," Hermione praised, and Bella hated how those words made her clench with need. "Now, shall we see just how wet you are for me?"
Before Bella could protest, Hermione had vanished their clothes with a wandless spell. The cool air made her nipples harden, and she felt exposed, vulnerable.
"Beautiful," Hermione breathed, drinking in the sight of her. "All mine."
"Never," Bella spat, but her body arched into Hermione's touch.
The alpha chuckled darkly. "We'll see about that." With a swift motion, she spun Bella to face the wall. "Hands above your head."
When Bella hesitated, Hermione's magic crackled warningly. Slowly, fighting herself every inch, Bella raised her arms. Cold metal encircled her wrists as Hermione conjured magical restraints.
"There." Hermione's hands slid down Bella's sides. "Now you can stop pretending you don't want this."
"Fuck you," Bella gasped as those hands cupped her breasts.
"Oh no, love." Hermione's teeth scraped her shoulder. "I'm going to fuck you."
The alpha's fingers pinched and rolled Bella's nipples until she was writhing, pressing back against the hard body behind her. She could feel Hermione's cock hardening against her ass.
"Please," she heard herself whimper, and hated herself for it.
"Please what?" Hermione's hand slid lower, teasing through wet curls. "Tell me what you need."
"I need- ah!" Bella cried out as fingers circled her clit.
"Say it." Hermione's voice was pure alpha command. "Beg for it."
"Please fuck me!" The words burst from Bella's lips. "Please, alpha, I need-"
She screamed as Hermione thrust two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that perfect spot. The cuffs rattled as she pulled against them, desperate for more.
"So tight," Hermione groaned. "So wet for me." She added a third finger, stretching Bella deliciously. "Going to fill you up. Knot you. Make you mine."
The words sent lightning down Bella's spine. She fucked herself back on Hermione's fingers, pride forgotten in the face of overwhelming need.
"That's it," Hermione encouraged. "Take what you need." Her thumb pressed against Bella's clit as her fingers worked faster. "Come for me."
Bella's orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her trembling and gasping. But Hermione didn't stop. Instead, she withdrew her fingers and spun Bella around, vanishing the cuffs only to reposition her hands behind her back.
"Look," Hermione commanded, forcing Bella to face the floor-to-ceiling window. The London skyline sparkled beyond the glass. "I want you to watch yourself as I take you."
"Someone might see," Bella protested weakly.
"Good." Hermione's cock pressed against her entrance. "Let them see who you belong to."
With one powerful thrust, Hermione entered her. Bella cried out at the stretch, her body eagerly accommodating the alpha's impressive length. The position forced her to watch their reflection in the window - her own face twisted in pleasure, Hermione's powerful form behind her.
"Eyes open," Hermione ordered when Bella tried to look away. "Watch me claim you."
Hermione's pace was relentless, each thrust driving Bella closer to the window. The glass was cool against her breasts, a sharp contrast to the heat of the alpha behind her. She could see everything - the way her mouth fell open in pleasure, how her breasts bounced with each impact, the possessive grip of Hermione's hands on her hips.
"Such a good omega," Hermione growled, one hand sliding up to wrap around Bella's throat. "Taking my cock so well." The pressure on Bella's windpipe increased gradually, making her head swim. "You were made for this. Made for me."
The lack of oxygen heightened every sensation. Bella's pussy clenched rhythmically around Hermione's length, drawing a groan from the alpha. Through the haze, she could see her reflection growing flush, her eyes glazed with pleasure and oxygen deprivation.
Just before darkness crept in, Hermione released her throat. Bella gasped desperately for air, the sudden rush of oxygen sending sparks through her body. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out.
"I've got you," Hermione murmured, supporting her weight. The tenderness in her voice was at odds with the brutal pace of her thrusts. "You're doing so well."
"Harder," Bella found herself begging. "Please, alpha..."
Hermione's response was to bite down on her shoulder, hard enough to break skin. The pain-pleasure sent Bella spiraling into another orgasm, her cries echoing off the glass.
"Mine," Hermione snarled against the bite mark. Her knot was beginning to swell, catching on Bella's entrance with each thrust. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to."
"Yours!" Bella screamed as the knot stretched her impossibly wide. "I'm yours, alpha, please!"
With a final powerful thrust, Hermione buried her knot inside. Bella felt it expand, locking them together as the first pulses of the alpha's release filled her. The sensation triggered another orgasm, her inner walls milking Hermione's cock.
They stayed like that for long moments, both panting heavily. Hermione's arms wrapped around Bella's waist, supporting her as aftershocks rippled through them. The city lights twinkled beyond the window, witness to their coupling.
"Let's get more comfortable," Hermione murmured eventually. With careful movements, she guided them to the nearby bed, still joined by her knot. They ended up spooned together, Bella's back pressed to Hermione's front.
The post-orgasmic haze began to clear, bringing with it the weight of what had just happened. Bella tensed, but Hermione's arms tightened around her.
"Don't," the alpha whispered. "Stay with me. Just for tonight."
Perhaps it was exhaustion, or the knot still pulsing inside her, or the way Hermione's scent wrapped around her like a blanket. Whatever the reason, Bella found herself relaxing into the embrace.
"This doesn't change anything," she muttered, even as her body betrayed her by snuggling closer.
"Of course not." Hermione pressed a kiss to her shoulder, just above the fresh claiming bite. "Get some rest. My knot will take a while to go down."
Bella wanted to argue, to maintain some semblance of resistance. Instead, she found her eyes growing heavy. Hermione's steady heartbeat against her back was oddly comforting.
Just before sleep claimed her, she felt Hermione nuzzle her neck. "Sweet dreams, my omega."
The words should have angered her. Should have sparked another fight. But as consciousness faded, all Bella could focus on was how right it felt to be here, claimed and filled by her alpha.
Tomorrow, she would rebuild her walls. Tomorrow, she would remember who she was, who they were to each other. But tonight... tonight she would allow herself this moment of peace.
The last thing she registered was Hermione pulling the covers over them both, still intimately connected. Then sleep took her, and for once, her dreams were free of darkness.
Chapter Text
The first rays of dawn crept through the curtains as Bellatrix lay rigidly in her bed, hyper-aware of every creak and footstep from the flat's other occupant. Last night's encounter had left marks - both physical and psychological. Her fingers traced the bite mark on her neck, a claiming gesture made in the heat of their struggle that had somehow turned into something else entirely.
"Fucking Mudblood," she muttered, but the usual venom was absent from her voice. Her body betrayed her, responding to even the distant sounds of Hermione moving about the kitchen. The marriage bond hummed contentedly, pleased by their recent intimacy, and she hated it.
A knock at her door made her jump. "Breakfast is ready," Hermione's voice was carefully neutral. "You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry." The lie was automatic, but her stomach growled traitorously.
"Bella." The use of her diminutive made her bristle. "Don't make me come in there."
The threat of alpha command hung in the air. Bellatrix threw back her covers with a snarl, stalking to the door and yanking it open. "Don't you dare-"
The words died in her throat. Hermione stood there in casual weekend robes, her curly hair wild from sleep, and the sight hit Bella like a physical blow. Her omega instincts purred at the proximity of her alpha, especially after their coupling. She took an involuntary step back.
Hermione's nostrils flared, catching the spike in Bella's scent. "Just... come eat. Please."
The 'please' was new. They moved through their morning routine like dancers avoiding collision, hyperaware of each other's presence. Bella picked at her toast while Hermione read the Daily Prophet, neither mentioning how their legs brushed under the small kitchen table.
The relative peace shattered with the crack of emergency apparition. Kingsley's Patronus burst into their kitchen: "Death Eater attack in progress at Diagon Alley. All Order members respond immediately."
Hermione was on her feet instantly, summoning her battle robes. Bella watched her efficiency with grudging admiration.
"Stay here," Hermione ordered, voice thick with alpha authority. "The wards will hold."
"As if I have a choice," Bella sneered, but something twisted in her gut as Hermione disapparated. She paced the flat like a caged animal, fighting the omega urge to follow and protect her alpha.
Hours passed in agonizing slowness. When Hermione finally returned, she was barely conscious, supported by Lupin and Tonks. Blood matted her hair.
"What happened?" The question burst from Bella before she could stop herself.
"Took a cutting curse meant for a child," Lupin explained, helping Hermione to the couch. "She needs rest and dittany."
Bella's hands shook as she retrieved the healing supplies. She told herself it was just the bond, just biology, but she couldn't explain away the relief that flooded her when Hermione's eyes fluttered open.
"You're an idiot," Bella muttered, dabbing dittany on the wound. "Playing hero."
"Someone had to." Hermione's voice was weak but defiant. Their eyes met, and something electric passed between them.
The next week brought changes. Bella's intelligence about Death Eater safe houses proved accurate, earning her limited privileges. She found herself in the Order's library, surrounded by books but distracted by Hermione's constant presence. The alpha insisted on personally supervising these excursions, claiming security concerns.
"You're hovering," Bella snapped one afternoon, when Hermione's scent became too distracting.
"I'm doing my job."
"Your job or your alpha instincts?" The question was deliberately provocative.
Hermione's eyes darkened. "Both. After what happened-"
"Don't." Bella's voice was sharp. "We don't talk about that."
"We should." Hermione moved closer, and Bella's breath caught. "The bond-"
A magical alarm blared through the building. "Security breach! Lockdown initiated!"
Wards slammed into place as lights dimmed. Bella found herself pushed behind Hermione, the alpha's protective instincts in full force.
"Let me help," Bella insisted, frustrated by her wandless state. "I'm not useless."
"I know you're not." Hermione's admission surprised them both. "But I can't risk-"
The explosion caught them off guard. As debris rained down, Bella acted on instinct, wandlessly deflecting a chunk of masonry that would have struck Hermione's head.
Time seemed to freeze as they stared at each other. Then another explosion rocked the building, and they were moving in perfect sync - Hermione attacking, Bella shielding, their magic interweaving seamlessly.
Later, after the attack was repelled and the casualties counted, they sat in tense silence in their flat. The air was thick with unspoken words and pheromones.
"Why did you protect me?" Hermione finally asked.
Bella didn't answer immediately. Her hand drifted to her chest, where the mystical connection between them pulsed like a second heartbeat. The bond hummed between them, growing stronger with each passing day.
"I don’t know," she said finally. It was all she could admit - to Hermione or herself.
That night, as Bella lay awake listening to Hermione's breathing through the thin walls, she faced an uncomfortable reality. The line between captor and mate was blurring, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to keep fighting it.
A wave of magical resonance hit her, and she pressed her hand to her chest where the bond burned bright. This secret would change everything, but she wasn't ready to share it. Not yet. Not when she was still trying to understand her own shifting feelings.
The bond's pull hit like a Cruciatus curse, but this time it carried fragments of memories - flashes of a young girl with wild black curls, crying in a darkened manor hallway. Bella barely made it to the bathroom, her legs trembling as waves of raw magic coursed through her body.
She'd been managing to hide it for weeks, casting dampening charms and timing her magical surges for when Hermione was away. But today, her magic felt unstable, crackling beneath her skin in ways that made even simple spells unreliable.
"Bella?" Hermione's voice came through the door, thick with concern. "Are you alright?"
"Fine!" She tried to inject her usual venom into the word, but another surge of shared power undermined her effort, bringing with it another memory - this time of Cygnus Black's thunderous face as he towered over her. The door opened despite her protest.
Hermione's presence washed over her like a tidal wave - both soothing and overwhelming. The alpha gathered Bella's wild curls back as another wave of magical feedback wracked her body.
Their energies sparked where they touched, creating little bursts of light in the dim bathroom. Through the contact, Hermione caught glimpses of Bella's turbulent thoughts - a kaleidoscope of pain, pride, and desperate longing.
"How long have you known?" Hermione's question was soft but weighted with unspoken implications. She could feel Bella's resistance, the way she fought against their connection even as her magic reached instinctively for Hermione's.
Bella's laugh was bitter, tinged with the hysteria that always lurked beneath her surface. "Known what? That I'm magically chained to a mudbl-" The word died in her throat as Hermione's magic flared warningly, but this time, Hermione felt the self-loathing behind the slur, the way Bella wielded hatred like a shield.
"Don't." The alpha's voice was steel wrapped in silk. "You can lie to yourself about what this means, but you will not use that word with me. Not when I can feel how much it costs you to maintain these walls."
Bella wanted to fight, to lash out with the familiar poison that had protected her for so long. But exhaustion and the persistent pull of their shared magic made her shoulders slump. Through their connection, Hermione sensed memories struggling to surface - lessons in proper pureblood behavior, punishment for showing weakness, the crushing weight of family expectations.
"Three weeks," she admitted finally. "Since the full moon." Left unsaid was how each night since then had been a battle against the bond's pull, against the desire to seek out Hermione's warmth.
Hermione's hands moved to Bella's shoulders, thumbs working into the tense muscles. Each touch sent ripples through their connection, revealing layers of Bella's carefully constructed defenses. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you understand it."
"Because I didn't want it to be real!" Bella spun around, eyes wild with a desperation that Hermione could now feel echoing through their bond. "This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to..." She gestured helplessly between them, memories of her father's lectures about blood purity warring with the undeniable pull between them.
"Matter?" Hermione finished quietly. Her brown eyes held understanding that made Bella want to scream, because she could feel Hermione sorting through the fragments of her past like pages in a book. "Get under your skin? Make you feel something besides the hate they taught you was safer than love?"
"You don't know anything about what I feel!" But even as she said it, Bella knew it wasn't true. The bond thrummed between them, carrying echoes of emotion that couldn't be hidden - the terror of vulnerability, the addiction to pain that had become her comfort, the desperate yearning for connection she'd buried beneath layers of cruelty.
Hermione stepped closer, backing Bella against the cool tile. Through their contact, she absorbed more of Bella's history - the rigid expectations, the harsh lessons, the gradual transformation of a bright, passionate girl into the weapon her family desired.
"I know you're terrified. Not of me - of what I represent. Change. Connection. Loss of control. The possibility that everything you were taught might be wrong."
"Stop it." Bella's voice shook, memories she'd suppressed for decades threatening to overwhelm her.
"I know you wake up reaching for me," Hermione continued relentlessly, but her magic wrapped around Bella like a protective cocoon.
"I feel it through the bond. Just like I feel how much you hate yourself for wanting me, because they taught you that need was weakness, and weakness deserved punishment."
"You don't understand..." Bella's hands came up to push Hermione away, but ended up clutching her robes instead.
Through the contact, Hermione caught glimpses of Bella's training in the Dark Arts, how she'd learned to transmute pain into power, loneliness into strength.
Bella shuddered, memories of her father's lessons on family pride warring with the bond's insistent pull. "I can't... I don't know how to exist in this new reality..."
"I know." Hermione pressed their foreheads together, letting their magic mingle. Through the contact, she sensed the depth of Bella's internal struggle - decades of conditioning battling against the primal truth of their connection.
"But that's why the bond chose us. You need to learn that love doesn't have to break you, that vulnerability isn't weakness. And I need to learn patience, to understand the scars that made you who you are."
A knock interrupted the moment. "Hermione?" Kingsley's deep voice carried through. "The Order is assembled."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, protective instincts flaring as she felt Bella's spike of anxiety. "We're not done with this discussion." She stepped back, straightening her robes while maintaining the soothing flow of magic between them.
"You will attend this meeting. And you will stay silent about our bond until we decide how to proceed. I won't let them use this against you."
"You can't order me-" But even as she protested, Bella felt herself responding to the alpha's authority, her omega nature recognizing the safety being offered.
"I can and I will." The alpha's tone brooked no argument, but her magic wrapped around Bella like a shield. "Now clean yourself up. You look a mess."
The Order meeting was held in what had once been the Black family dining room. Bella felt each step like a betrayal of her ancestors as she followed Hermione inside. The gathered members watched her with varying degrees of hostility and curiosity. Only Narcissa's gaze held understanding - her sister had always been too perceptive.
"Now that we're all here," Kingsley began, "we need to discuss our next move against Voldemort's propaganda machine. The pure-blood agenda is gaining traction, especially among neutral families."
"What we need is a symbol," Tonks interjected. "Something to show that blood purity is a myth."
Bella's magic surged as several eyes turned toward her. Surely they wouldn't...
"Actually," Hermione's voice cut through the murmurs, "I have a suggestion." Her hand found Bella's under the table, grip like iron. "Bella and I are bound by ancient magic. A soul bond that I'm still trying to understand fully, but it's undeniable and unbreakable."
"Preposterous!" Moody growled, his magical eye spinning wildly. "A Death Eater and a Muggle-born? That's not possible!"
"This is an abomination!" Augustus Pye, a traditionally-minded Healer, stood up abruptly. "The Noble House of Black would never..."
"Silence!" Hermione's magic crackled through the room. "The bond exists whether you believe it or not. I can feel her magic intertwined with mine, her emotions flowing through me."
"This is perfect!" Arthur Weasley exclaimed. "A Black witch soul-bound to a muggle-born? It undermines everything they stand for!"
"A soul bond cannot be forced," Narcissa spoke softly, her eyes calculating. "If what you say is true, this goes beyond blood politics. This is old magic. Ancient magic."
"I will not be your propaganda piece!" Bella surged to her feet, but Hermione's grip kept her from fleeing.
"Yes, you will." The alpha's words were for her alone. "Because this is bigger than your pride. This is about ending a war."
"You don't understand what you're asking!" Bella hissed. "My entire family... generations of tradition..."
"Your traditions led to this war," Hestia Jones spat. "Perhaps it's time they were broken."
"How dare you suggest-" Augustus began again, but Hermione cut him off.
"Our bond exists," she stated firmly. "Those who can't accept that can leave the Order. We need unity now more than ever."
"I can't..." Bella whispered, feeling the walls closing in. "I can't breathe..."
Hermione's anger transformed instantly to concern as Bella began to hyperventilate. Without a word, the alpha pulled her close, shielding her from the watching eyes. The familiar magical signature helped, but panic still clawed at her chest.
"Meeting adjourned," Hermione ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Everyone out. Now."
Bella was barely aware of the others leaving, focused only on the steady pulse of magic against her own and the calming energy her alpha was emanating. When had she started thinking of Hermione as her alpha?
"Breathe with me," Hermione murmured, one hand rubbing circles on her back. "That's it. Just breathe."
"I hate you," Bella gasped between breaths, but the bond betrayed her true feelings - fear, confusion, and a desperate need for the connection she'd been denied her whole life. "I hate what you've done to me, how you've made me question everything."
"I know." Hermione's lips pressed against her temple, magic flowing between them like a healing balm. "But I'll keep you safe. Our bond ensures it. Not as a cage, but as a bridge between who you were taught to be and who you truly are."
The promise should have felt like another chain. Instead, it settled something in Bella's chest, easing the panic. She sagged against Hermione's strength, letting the alpha support her weight as decades of rigid control began to crack.
"They'll kill me for this," she said finally, voicing her deepest fear. "The Dark Lord, the other Death Eaters... being bound to a mud- a muggle-born... it's not just a death sentence. It's the destruction of everything I was raised to believe."
"Let them try." Hermione's voice held a promise of violence that made Bella shiver, her magic rising protectively. "Anyone who threatens you or our bond will learn why I'm called the brightest witch of my age. I won't let them hurt you - not anymore."
"I don't know who I am anymore," she admitted, the words torn from somewhere deep and vulnerable. "Everything I was taught, everything I believed..."
"You're still you," Hermione assured her. "Still proud, still powerful. Just... expanding your worldview."
Bella laughed bitterly. "Is that what we're calling it?" Her hand drifted to her chest where the bond pulsed. "My ancestors must be rolling in their graves."
"Good." Hermione covered Bella's hand with her own. "Let them roll. We're building something new."
The touch sparked something primal in Bella - a need she was learning to recognize. "Hermione..."
"I know." The alpha's magic shifted, taking on a heated resonance. "I can feel how much you need me. The bond makes you more sensitive, doesn't it?"
"Don't..." But Bella was already tilting her head, baring her throat.
"Don't what?" Hermione's teeth grazed the claiming mark. "Don't take care of what's mine?"
The word 'mine' sent heat pooling between Bella's legs. She whimpered as Hermione's hand slid lower, cupping her through her robes.
"Please..." The begging came easier now, though it still burned her pride.
"Please what?" Hermione nipped her earlobe. "Tell me what you need, omega."
"Need you..." Bella pressed against the exploring hand. "Need my alpha..."
A growl of satisfaction rumbled through Hermione's chest. "Then let me take care of you."
Hermione's growl deepened as she spun Bella around, pressing her against the ancient dining table. With a wave of her wand, their clothes vanished. Another flick conjured a silk blindfold that wrapped itself around Bella's eyes.
"Keep your hands on the table," Hermione commanded, voice thick with alpha dominance. "Don't move them."
Bella shuddered as cool air hit her exposed skin. Without sight, every sensation was heightened - the rough wood under her palms, Hermione's hot breath on her neck, the wetness already coating her thighs.
"Such a needy omega," Hermione taunted, running her fingers down Bella's spine. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your pride fights it."
"I'm not- ah!" Bella's protest cut off as Hermione's hand slapped her ass sharply.
"No lies." The alpha's voice was dangerous. "I can smell how wet you are. How desperate." Fingers traced Bella's entrance teasingly. "Your body doesn't lie like your mouth does."
Without warning, Hermione thrust two fingers deep inside. Bella cried out, back arching as her inner walls clenched around the invasion. The angle was perfect, hitting spots that made her see stars behind the blindfold.
"That's it," Hermione purred, setting a ruthless pace. "Take what I give you. Show me how much you need it."
A third finger joined the others, stretching Bella wider. The burn of it mixed with pleasure until she couldn't tell them apart. Her hips moved of their own accord, fucking herself on Hermione's hand.
"Please," she gasped, pride forgotten in the face of overwhelming sensation. "Please, alpha..."
"Please what?" Hermione's free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back. "Tell me exactly what you want."
"Your cock," Bella whimpered. "Need your cock inside me..."
"Not yet." Hermione's fingers curled, hitting that perfect spot repeatedly. "First you're going to come just from this. Show me how well you respond to my touch."
The words combined with the relentless stimulation pushed Bella over the edge. She screamed as orgasm ripped through her, inner walls spasming around Hermione's fingers. But the alpha didn't stop, didn't even slow down.
"Again," Hermione demanded, adding a fourth finger. The stretch was almost too much, walking the line between pleasure and pain. "You can take it. Show me."
Bella's legs trembled as another climax built impossibly fast. The blindfold was wet with tears of overwhelm, but she didn't want it to stop. Couldn't stop if she tried.
"That's my good girl," Hermione praised as Bella came again, harder than before. "So responsive. So perfect."
Finally, the fingers withdrew. Before Bella could catch her breath, she was spun around and pushed to her knees. The blindfold remained in place as Hermione's cock pressed against her lips.
"Open," the alpha ordered. "Show me what that clever mouth can do."
Bella obeyed without hesitation, letting Hermione slide deep into her throat. The position should have felt degrading, but something about being blindfolded made it easier to surrender. To simply feel.
Hermione's hands guided her head, setting a steady rhythm. "Look at you, taking it so well. Born to serve your alpha, weren't you?"
The words sent another rush of wetness between Bella's legs. She moaned around Hermione's length, the vibrations drawing a growl from above.
"Enough." Hermione pulled away abruptly. "On the table. Now."
Bella scrambled to comply, spreading herself across the wooden surface. The position left her completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that would have terrified her before. Now it just made her ache with need.
The first thrust came without warning, filling her completely. Bella screamed as Hermione's cock stretched her wider than her fingers had, the slight pain only adding to her pleasure.
"Mine," Hermione snarled, setting a punishing pace. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to."
"Yours!" Bella didn't even try to resist anymore. "Your omega, your- oh fuck, please!"
The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room as Hermione took her roughly. Each thrust drove the breath from Bella's lungs, the table creaking beneath them.
"Going to knot you," Hermione growled, her pace growing erratic. "Fill you up again. Make sure everyone knows who you belong to."
Bella felt the knot beginning to swell, catching on her entrance with each thrust. The stretch was incredible, bordering on too much, but her body welcomed it eagerly.
"Please," she begged shamelessly. "Need your knot, alpha, please!"
With a final powerful thrust, Hermione buried her knot deep inside. It expanded rapidly, locking them together as the first pulses of come filled Bella's womb. The sensation triggered another orgasm, her whole body convulsing with pleasure.
Finally, Hermione removed the blindfold. Bella blinked in the sudden light, meeting her alpha's heated gaze.
"Beautiful," Hermione murmured, brushing sweat-soaked curls from Bella's face. "My beautiful omega."
They stayed joined for long minutes, aftershocks rippling through them both. Hermione's hands roamed possessively over Bella's body, lingering on her chest where a faint golden glow had begun to manifest - the visible sign of their magical bond forming.
Ancient magic, older than time itself, connecting alpha and omega in ways deeper than mere flesh.
"Still hate me?" the alpha asked eventually, voice tinged with something almost vulnerable.
Bella considered lying, but what was the point? "Less," she admitted. "In moments like this... less." She couldn't deny the pull of the mystical connection forming between them, their magical cores intertwining with each pulse of Hermione's knot.
Hermione's smile was predatory. "I'll take it. For now." Her knot pulsed, drawing a gasp from them both as the golden glow intensified. "We have time to work on the rest."
Chapter Text
Bella drifted into consciousness, aware of Hermione's warmth still pressed against her back. Their coupling from the night before had been intense, primal - far from the cold, dutiful acts during their first night together.
She touched the claiming bite on her neck, still sensitive and new. Whatever walls she'd built to keep Hermione at bay were crumbling, and that terrified her more than she cared to admit.
Carefully extracting herself from Hermione's embrace, Bella padded to the bathroom. She caught her reflection in the mirror - love bites scattered across her pale skin, her usually pristine curls thoroughly mussed. She looked... claimed. Owned.
The day passed in a strange dance of avoidance. Bella buried herself in books while Hermione worked in her study, neither quite ready to address how their relationship had shifted. The tension built with the storm clouds gathering outside.
By evening, Bella felt the first stirrings of her heat approaching. Her skin grew too tight, her temperature rising steadily.
She retreated to her room - separate from Hermione's, as she'd insisted when they'd first moved in together. But now, with their bond fresh and her heat imminent, the distance felt like torture.
Still, her pride wouldn't let her seek out the alpha. She wouldn't beg, no matter how much her body craved Hermione's touch.
The night was alive with the rumble of thunder and the sharp crack of lightning illuminating the darkened sky. Rain lashed against the windows of the flat, creating a cacophony that matched the tumultuous atmosphere inside.
Hermione paced in her study, distracted from her work by an inexplicable sense of unease. Her instincts were on high alert, picking up on something she couldn't quite identify. She paused, inhaling deeply, trying to pinpoint the source of her agitation.
That's when she caught it - a faint, sweet scent that made her pupils dilate and her heart race. Bellatrix's heat had returned.
Moving swiftly, Hermione made her way to Bellatrix's room. She hesitated at the door, remembering the disastrous outcome of their last encounter during Bellatrix's heat. But the muffled whimper she heard from within steeled her resolve.
"Bellatrix?" she called softly, knocking on the door. "Are you alright?"
Silence greeted her, broken only by the sound of the storm outside. Hermione frowned, her concern growing. She tried the handle, finding it unlocked.
The sight that greeted her made her breath catch in her throat. Bellatrix was curled up on the bed, her usually pale skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Her dark curls were plastered to her forehead, and she was trembling visibly.
"Go away," Bellatrix growled, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the way her voice cracked on the last word.
Hermione approached slowly, her hands held up in a non-threatening gesture. "You're in heat," she said gently. "Let me help you. I can brew some suppressants-"
"No!" Bellatrix snarled, struggling to sit up. Her eyes were wild, a mixture of fear and defiance in their dark depths. "I don't need your potions or your pity!"
Hermione took a step back, surprised by the vehemence in Bellatrix's voice. "It's not pity, Bellatrix. I'm trying to help you."
"Help me?" Bellatrix laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You want to make me dependent on you, just like everything else in this gilded cage. Well, I won't have it!"
She attempted to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. Hermione moved instinctively to catch her, but Bellatrix batted her hands away.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed, using the wall to support herself. "I can handle this on my own."
Hermione felt her patience wearing thin, her alpha instincts surging at the sight of an omega in distress - her omega, a traitorous part of her mind whispered.
"Clearly, you can't," she said, her voice taking on a firmer edge. "You're in pain, Bellatrix. There's no shame in accepting help."
Bellatrix's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'd rather suffer than submit to you," she spat.
Something in Hermione snapped. In two quick strides, she crossed the room and pinned Bellatrix against the wall. The dark witch gasped, her eyes widening in surprise.
For a moment, they stood there, chests heaving, faces inches apart. Hermione could feel the heat radiating off Bellatrix's skin, could smell the intoxicating scent of her heat. It took every ounce of her self-control not to claim the omega then and there.
Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I'm not asking you to submit," she said quietly. "I'm asking you to let me help you. Will you allow that, Bellatrix?"
Bellatrix stared at her, conflict clear in her eyes. Hermione could see the battle raging within her - the need for relief warring with her pride and stubbornness.
Finally, Bellatrix spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know how."
The vulnerability in those words made Hermione's heart clench. Slowly, giving Bellatrix time to pull away if she wanted, Hermione raised a hand to cup her cheek.
"Then let me show you," she growled, her voice thick with dominance.
Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was nothing like their previous encounters. Where before there had been pure violence, now there was calculated control. Hermione kept her touch firm but measured, showing Bellatrix exactly who was in charge.
She smirked as Bellatrix melted into the kiss, her hands tentatively reaching for Hermione's hair. A whimper escaped her lips, and Hermione felt her cock twitch with satisfaction, already hard against her thigh.
Decisively, she marched Bellatrix towards the bed, maintaining control of the kiss. When the back of Bellatrix's knees hit the mattress, Hermione pulled back slightly.
"You want this, don't you?" she purred, her eyes gleaming with predatory intent.
Bellatrix nodded frantically, her chest heaving. "Please," she begged, her eyes fixed on the prominent bulge in Hermione's pants.
Hermione's smile turned wolfish, a surge of power mixing with her desire. "Good girl," she praised, pushing Bellatrix onto the bed.
She stripped Bellatrix efficiently, marking each newly exposed inch of skin with possessive bites. To her delight, she discovered that Bellatrix responded beautifully to being dominated.
"Such an obedient little pet," Hermione growled, gripping Bellatrix's thighs. "All mine."
Bellatrix shuddered, a desperate moan escaping her lips. "Please, Hermione," she begged, her hips arching upwards. The scent of her submission filled the air, making Hermione's cock throb with need.
When Hermione finally claimed her, they both groaned at the sensation. She started deliberately slow, making Bellatrix feel every inch. She tried to wrap her legs around Hermione's waist, but Hermione pinned them down.
"Stay still," Hermione commanded, establishing her rhythm. "Take what I give you, Bella."
The use of the nickname made Bellatrix whimper submissively. With a keening cry, she surrendered completely, accepting each thrust.
Hermione felt her knot beginning to swell. "Beg for it, Bella," she demanded, "beg to be mine."
"Please!" Bellatrix sobbed, "Please make me yours!"
With a dominant growl, Hermione forced her knot past Bellatrix's entrance, claiming her completely as she came. The sensation triggered Bellatrix's own orgasm, her walls submitting to Hermione's pulsing cock.
They lay locked together, the only sound their gradually slowing breaths and Bellatrix's occasional whimpers. Hermione marked Bellatrix's neck with possessive bites.
When her knot finally subsided enough to pull out, Bellatrix made a needy sound of loss. Before she could move, Hermione flipped them over, mounting her again.
"More," Bellatrix pleaded, as Hermione thrust back in.
Hermione silenced her with a commanding kiss, claiming her in one powerful stroke. This time, she maintained complete control, fucking Bellatrix with an intensity that had her sobbing in pleasure.
As Hermione felt her knot growing again, she gripped Bellatrix's throat lightly. "Come for your Alpha," she commanded, pounding into her willing slave.
Bellatrix arched beneath her, her wild curls splayed across the pillow as she surrendered completely. The sight of such perfect submission pushed Hermione over the edge, her knot claiming Bellatrix once more.
When Bellatrix curled into her chest, Hermione held her possessively, stroking her claimed territory.
They spent the rest of the night exploring each other's bodies, alternating between gentle lovemaking and more passionate encounters.
Hermione discovered that Bellatrix liked to be held down, that she responded beautifully to praise and gentle guidance. In turn, Bellatrix seemed to delight in pushing Hermione's buttons, in finding new ways to make her gasp and moan.
As dawn began to break, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds, they finally collapsed, exhausted and sated. Hermione pulled Bellatrix close, nuzzling into her wild curls.
"Bella," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "We should talk about this."
But Bellatrix had already drifted off, her breathing deep and even. Hermione sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before allowing herself to follow Bellatrix into slumber.
When Hermione awoke several hours later, she was alone in the bed. For a moment, she panicked, thinking Bellatrix had fled. But then she heard movement in the ensuite bathroom.
Sitting up, Hermione winced slightly at the pleasant ache in her muscles. She was debating whether to join Bellatrix in the bathroom when the door opened, and the dark witch emerged.
Bellatrix paused when she saw Hermione awake, an unreadable expression crossing her face. For a moment, neither spoke, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, Hermione broke the silence. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly.
Bellatrix shrugged, moving to gather her discarded clothes from the floor. "Fine," she said shortly. "The heat's passed."
Hermione frowned at the dismissive tone. "Bella," she began, "about last night-"
"Don't," Bellatrix cut her off sharply. "It was what it was. Nothing more."
Hermione felt a pang in her chest at the coldness in Bellatrix's voice. "It didn't feel like nothing," she said quietly.
Bellatrix paused in her movements, her back to Hermione. For a moment, Hermione thought she might say something. But then she resumed dressing, her movements sharp and precise.
"It was biology, nothing more," Bellatrix said, her voice hard. "Don't read more into it than that, Granger."
The use of her surname stung more than Hermione cared to admit. She watched as Bellatrix finished dressing, feeling a growing sense of frustration.
"So that's it?" she asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. "We're just going to pretend nothing happened?"
Bellatrix turned to face her, her expression carefully blank. "What did you expect, Granger? That one night would change everything? That I'd suddenly forget who you are, who I am?"
Hermione felt her temper rising. "I expected you to at least acknowledge what happened between us!" she snapped. "To admit that it meant something!"
For a moment, something flashed in Bellatrix's eyes - pain, perhaps, or fear. But it was gone so quickly Hermione wasn't sure she'd seen it at all.
"It meant nothing," Bellatrix said coldly. "It was a moment of weakness, nothing more. Don't delude yourself into thinking it was anything else."
With that, she turned and strode out of the room, leaving Hermione alone with her tumultuous thoughts.
Hermione spent the rest of the day in a haze of confusion and hurt. She tried to focus on her work, but her mind kept drifting back to the night before - to the way Bellatrix had responded to her touch, the soft sighs and gasps she'd drawn from the usually composed witch.
It had felt real. It had felt like a breakthrough. But now, faced with Bellatrix's cold dismissal, Hermione was left wondering if she'd imagined the connection she'd felt.
As evening fell, Hermione found herself standing outside Bellatrix's door once again. She raised her hand to knock, then hesitated. What would she even say?
Before she could make up her mind, the door swung open. Bellatrix stood there, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before narrowing.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice guarded.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I want to talk about last night," she said firmly. "About us."
Bellatrix's lip curled in a sneer. "There is no 'us', Granger. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Then why did you let me in last night?" Hermione challenged. "Why did you respond the way you did?"
For a moment, Bellatrix looked cornered. Then, to Hermione's surprise, she grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room, slamming the door behind them.
"You want to know why?" Bellatrix hissed, advancing on Hermione until she had her backed against the wall. "Because I'm weak. Because this damned bond won't let me think straight around you. Because sometimes I hate you so much I can't breathe, and other times..."
She trailed off, her chest heaving. Hermione held her breath, hardly daring to move.
"Other times?" she prompted softly.
Instead of answering, Bellatrix surged forward, capturing Hermione's lips in a bruising kiss. Hermione gasped, her hands coming up to tangle in Bellatrix's wild curls.
When they finally broke apart, both panting heavily, Hermione searched Bellatrix's face. There was desire there, certainly, but also confusion and what looked like fear.
"Bella," Hermione breathed, reaching out to cup her cheek. "It's okay to feel something. It doesn't make you weak."
Bellatrix flinched away from her touch. "You don't understand," she said, her voice raw. "I can't... I can't let myself..."
And then, to Hermione's shock, she saw tears gathering in Bellatrix's eyes. The dark witch turned away quickly, but not before Hermione caught a glimpse of the pain and vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide.
In that moment, Hermione understood. Bellatrix was fighting against years of conditioning, against the belief that any softness, any vulnerability, was a weakness to be ruthlessly stamped out.
Slowly, giving Bellatrix time to pull away if she wanted, Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her from behind. To her surprise, Bellatrix didn't resist. Instead, she seemed to sag in Hermione's embrace, as if finally allowing herself to be supported.
"It's okay," Hermione murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Bellatrix's shoulder. "You don't have to fight it all the time. You don't have to be strong all the time."
A shudder ran through Bellatrix's body, and Hermione felt wetness on her arm where Bellatrix's face was pressed. She was crying silently, her body shaking with suppressed sobs.
Hermione held her through it, murmuring soft words of comfort and gently stroking her hair. She didn't try to make Bellatrix face her or speak. She simply offered silent support, letting Bellatrix work through her emotions in her own time.
Eventually, the shaking subsided. Bellatrix took a deep, shuddering breath, then slowly turned in Hermione's arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face streaked with tears, but there was a vulnerability in her expression that Hermione had never seen before.
"I don't know how to do this," Bellatrix admitted quietly. "I don't know how to... to feel."
Hermione felt her heart swell with a mixture of affection and sadness. She reached up, gently wiping away a stray tear from Bellatrix's cheek. "We'll figure it out together," she promised softly. "One day at a time."
Bellatrix nodded, looking exhausted but somehow lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Hermione's.
They stood like that for a long moment, simply breathing each other in. It wasn't a magical fix. But it felt like a start, like the first tentative step towards something real.
Chapter Text
The dim light of early morning filtered through the grimy windows of Number 12 Grimmauld Place as members of the Order of the Phoenix filed in for an emergency meeting. Hermione entered last, her hand firmly gripping Bellatrix's upper arm. The dark witch's eyes darted around the room, taking in the distrustful glares and whispered comments with a sneer of disdain.
"Sit," Hermione commanded quietly, guiding Bellatrix to a chair in the corner. She positioned herself between her wife and the rest of the group, a human barrier against the palpable hostility.
Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat, silencing the murmurs. "We've received intelligence that Voldemort is planning a major offensive. Multiple targets, coordinated attacks. We need to determine his most likely priorities."
As the discussion unfolded, Hermione found her attention split between the strategic debate and Bellatrix's tense form beside her. The dark witch's fingers tapped an erratic rhythm on the armrest, her jaw clenched tight enough that Hermione could see a muscle twitching.
"What about you, Mrs. Granger?" Kingsley's deep voice cut through Hermione's observations. "Given your... unique perspective, do you have any insights to offer?"
Bellatrix's head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the use of Hermione's surname. Before she could respond, Molly Weasley's sharp voice rang out.
"And why should we trust anything she has to say? Once a Black, always a Black. Rotten to the core, the lot of them."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Hermione felt Bellatrix stiffen beside her, magic crackling in the air like static electricity. She reached out, intending to place a calming hand on Bellatrix's arm, but the dark witch was already on her feet.
"How dare you," Bellatrix hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "You know nothing of my family, you simpering blood traitor."
Molly rose as well, face flushed with anger. "I know enough! Your kind has brought nothing but pain and suffering to the wizarding world. You're no better than the Dark Lord you serve!"
"Molly, that's enough," Arthur interjected, but it was too late.
Bellatrix's magic exploded outward in a concussive wave. Every window in the room shattered simultaneously, showering the occupants with glass. Order members ducked for cover, wands drawn. In the chaos, Hermione's eyes were fixed on Bellatrix.
The dark witch stood rigid, chest heaving. But it wasn't rage Hermione saw in those wild eyes – it was fear. Bellatrix's hands shook violently as she raised them, whether to cast another spell or defend herself, Hermione couldn't tell.
"Bella," Hermione said softly, ignoring the shouts around them. She took a careful step forward, palms raised. "Bella, look at me."
For a moment, Bellatrix's gaze snapped to Hermione's face. The raw vulnerability there made Hermione's breath catch. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone – replaced by Bellatrix's familiar mask of contempt.
"Don't touch me, Mudblood," she spat, jerking away from Hermione's outstretched hand.
Kingsley's deep voice boomed through the room. "That's quite enough! Mrs. Granger, please control your wife or remove her from the premises immediately."
Hermione bristled at his tone but knew arguing would only make things worse. She nodded curtly, grasping Bellatrix's arm once more. "We're leaving. Now."
To her surprise, Bellatrix didn't resist. The dark witch allowed herself to be led from the room, though her posture remained rigid. As they reached the front door, Hermione heard Molly's voice drift from the meeting room.
"I told you bringing her here was a mistake. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."
Bellatrix's step faltered, but Hermione tightened her grip, practically dragging her out onto the street. Once outside, she pulled Bellatrix close and Apparated them both back to their flat.
The moment they materialized in their living room, Bellatrix wrenched herself free of Hermione's grasp. Without a word, she stormed towards the library, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the pictures on the walls.
Hermione sighed, running a hand through her unruly curls. She knew she should probably give Bellatrix some space to cool off, but the fear she'd glimpsed in those dark eyes haunted her. After a moment's hesitation, she followed.
She found Bellatrix surrounded by a fortress of books, furiously flipping pages and muttering to herself. Titles like "Unbreakable Bonds and How to Break Them" and "Severing Magical Connections" were strewn across the floor.
Instead of confronting her, Hermione silently selected a volume from a nearby shelf and settled into an armchair. If Bellatrix was determined to research ways out of their bond, then Hermione would make damn sure she understood it too.
Hours passed in tense silence, broken only by the rustle of pages and the occasional frustrated growl from Bellatrix. Hermione found her gaze drawn repeatedly to the dark witch, noting the way she gnawed at her lower lip in concentration, the furrow between her brows deepening with each useless text.
"Useless!" Bellatrix suddenly screamed, hurling a heavy tome across the library. It crashed into a delicate crystal vase, sending both items to the floor in a shower of glass and parchment. "All of it, completely useless!"
Hermione remained outwardly calm, though her heart raced at the outburst. She'd been waiting for this - the inevitable breaking point after hours of frustrated research. "Perhaps," she suggested carefully, "if you told me what exactly you're looking for, I could help-"
"Help?" Bellatrix whirled on her, eyes wild with a desperate sort of fury. "You want to help? Then tell me how to break it! Tell me how to sever this... this thing between us that makes me feel-" She cut herself off, hands clenching into fists at her sides. "That makes me betray everything I am!"
The words stung, but Hermione forced herself to look deeper, to feel through their connection. Beneath Bellatrix's rage was something far more fragile - fear, yes, but also confusion, longing, and a bone-deep exhaustion from fighting what they both knew was inevitable. "Is that really what you want?" Hermione asked softly, rising from her chair. "To break our bond? Or are you just afraid of what it means?"
But Bellatrix was already gone, the library door slamming in her wake. Hermione sighed, moving to clean up the shattered vase. As she knelt to sweep up the pieces, a glint of something caught her eye. Half-hidden beneath a fallen book was a wizarding photograph.
Hermione carefully extracted it, brushing off bits of ceramic. Her breath caught as she took in the image.
Narcissa stood proudly in what appeared to be the Black family gardens. She held the hand of a ten-year-old Bellatrix, who looked up at her older sister with open affection.
A quiet sob from down the hall pulled Hermione from her reverie. She clutched the photo tightly and made her way to Bellatrix's room. The door was ajar, and Hermione's stomach clenched at the sight that greeted her.
Bellatrix stood in the center of the room, surrounded by destruction. Shredded books and parchment littered the floor. The vanity mirror lay in jagged pieces, and feathers from a ruined pillow drifted through the air. But it was the sight of Bellatrix herself that stopped Hermione in her tracks.
The dark witch's wild curls had come loose from their usual updo, falling around her face in a raven curtain. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as she raised her hand, another photograph clutched in her trembling fingers. With a strangled cry, she brought her fist down, smashing the frame against the edge of the dresser.
"Bella, stop!" Hermione cried, rushing forward. She grabbed Bellatrix's wrist, trying to pry the broken frame from her grasp. "You're hurting yourself!"
Bellatrix snarled, whirling to face her. Her eyes were wild, filled with a pain so raw it took Hermione's breath away. "Let go of me!" she shrieked, lashing out with her free hand.
Hermione felt nails rake across her cheek, but she refused to release her hold on Bellatrix's wrist. They grappled for a moment, a whirlwind of flailing limbs and furious curses. Hermione's foot caught on a fallen book, sending them both tumbling to the floor.
They landed hard, Hermione on top, pinning Bellatrix beneath her. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, chests heaving. Hermione could feel Bellatrix's rapid heartbeat, the heat of her body pressed close.
She was acutely aware of every point of contact between them – the softness of Bellatrix's breasts against her own, the way their hips aligned perfectly.
Bellatrix bucked, trying to throw her off, but Hermione held firm. She could feel her alpha instincts surging, urging her to dominate, to claim. But the memory of fear in Bellatrix's eyes at the Order meeting held her back.
Instead, Hermione simply held on. She didn't speak, didn't try to soothe or reason. She just maintained her grip, steady and unyielding, as Bellatrix raged beneath her.
Gradually, the dark witch's struggles began to weaken. Her curses faded to broken sobs, her attempts to break free growing less coordinated. Still, Hermione didn't let go.
As Bellatrix's fury gave way to exhaustion, Hermione found herself overcome by a powerful urge. Without fully understanding why, she focused her mind and whispered, "Legilimens."
For a brief, dizzying moment, Hermione was plunged into a maelstrom of memories and emotions.
A young Bellatrix, no more than ten years old, stood before a towering man with cruel eyes. "Again," he barked, raising his wand. Narcissa cried out as the Cruciatus curse struck her. She crumpled under the intense pain, but she refused to scream.
Voldemort's pale, snake-like face loomed close. "You've disappointed me, Cissy," he hissed. Agony unlike anything Bellatrix had ever witnessed tore through her sister as the curse continued. Bellatrix's small hands clenched into fists, her dark eyes blazing with fury and desperation.
"Stop! Please, stop!" the young girl cried, darting in front of Narcissa to shield her. But Voldemort merely laughed, and with a casual flick of his wand, the curse was redirected onto Bellatrix.
The girl's body convulsed as searing pain consumed her, yet she refused to abandon her sister.
Narcissa, fighting through her own anguish, pulled Bellatrix close. "Shh, Bella," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."
The memories came faster now, a dizzying blur of images and sensations.
And through it all, a voice – sometimes her father's, sometimes Voldemort's, sometimes her own – repeating the same refrain: "Love is weakness, Bellatrix. Sentiment will be your downfall. Trust no one. Love no one."
With a violent mental shove, Bellatrix forced Hermione out of her mind. The abrupt disconnection left Hermione reeling, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to process the onslaught of borrowed trauma.
When her vision cleared, she found Bellatrix staring up at her, dark eyes wide with a mix of fury and naked vulnerability. For a heartbeat, Hermione thought the dark witch might attack her again.
Instead, Bellatrix simply turned her face away, curling onto her side as much as Hermione's weight would allow. Her body shook with silent, wrenching sobs.
Hermione's heart clenched painfully. She wanted desperately to gather Bellatrix in her arms, to whisper reassurances and promises of safety. But she knew such gestures would likely only result in more violence.
So instead, she simply shifted her weight, lying down beside Bellatrix without breaking physical contact. She kept one hand on Bellatrix's shoulder, a gentle point of connection. She didn't try to pull her closer or offer empty platitudes. She just remained present, a silent witness to Bellatrix's pain.
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger, ever the strategist, had begun implementing subtle changes in their shared living space.
Books on healing magic mysteriously appeared on tables and shelves, their spines pristine and pages crisp with promise. The kitchen pantry now boasted an array of Bellatrix's favorite treats - dark chocolate truffles, spiced pumpkin tarts, and bottles of elderflower wine.
Bellatrix prowled the rooms like a caged panther, her wild mane of ebony curls a stark contrast against her pale skin. She'd pause occasionally, fingertips ghosting over the cover of a book on wandless healing or lingering near a plate of sweets. Her mercury eyes would narrow, suspicion warring with curiosity.
"What game are you playing at, Mudblood?" Bellatrix hissed one evening, hurling a book across the room. It slammed against the wall with a resounding thud, pages fluttering to the ground like wounded birds.
Hermione, seated at her desk, didn't flinch. She turned slowly, amber eyes calm as she regarded her volatile wife. "It's not a game, Bella. I thought you might find the material interesting."
"Don't call me that," Bellatrix snarled, but there was less venom in her tone than usual.
Hermione stood, bringing them chest to chest. She didn't back down, meeting Bellatrix's gaze steadily. "I'm your wife. I'll call you what I like."
The air between them charged, alpha pheromones mingling with omega heat scent. Bellatrix's pupils dilated, her breath coming faster. For a moment, it seemed she might lunge - to attack or to kiss, even she wasn't sure.
Hermione made the decision for her, reaching out to brush a stray curl from Bellatrix's face. The omega jerked back as if burned, but not before Hermione caught the slight lean into her touch.
"Fuck you," Bellatrix spat, whirling away. She grabbed a vase from a nearby table and hurled it against the wall, satisfaction blooming as it shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
Hermione sighed, drawing her wand to repair the damage. "Feel better?"
Bellatrix sneered but said nothing, storming off to her room and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
The next morning brought an unexpected development. An owl arrived bearing an urgent message from the Order - intelligence suggested a Death Eater safehouse had been located. Hermione read the parchment, brow furrowed in concentration.
"We're needed," she announced, looking up to find Bellatrix watching her intently. "There's a raid planned on a suspected Death Eater location."
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with interest. "And you expect me to help? How delightfully naive."
Hermione approached slowly, like one might a skittish animal. "I know you have information that could be valuable. This is your chance to prove your worth to the Order."
A bark of laughter escaped Bellatrix's lips. "My worth? To a group of blood traitors and Mudbloods? I think not."
"Your worth to me," Hermione said softly, close enough now that Bellatrix could feel the warmth of her breath. "Show me what you can do, Bella. I know you're more than just a pretty face and a warm cunt."
The crude language shocked Bellatrix, her cheeks flushing despite herself. She wet her lips, noting how Hermione's gaze dropped to follow the movement. "Fine," she said at last. "I'll help. But I'm coming along."
Hermione frowned. "That wasn't part of the deal. It's too dangerous."
"Worried about your pet Death Eater?" Bellatrix taunted. "I assure you, I'm quite capable of handling myself in a fight. Or have you forgotten who trained me?"
The reminder of Bellatrix's brutal upbringing made Hermione's jaw clench. "You don't have a wand."
"Then give me one," Bellatrix challenged. "Or I don't say a word about what I know."
They glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally, Hermione nodded curtly. "Fine. But you stay by my side at all times. If you try anything..."
"Yes, yes, dire consequences, eternal suffering, I'm sure," Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively. "Now, shall we discuss strategy? Or would you prefer to continue posturing?"
Hours later, they arrived at the coordinates provided by the Order. The safehouse was a dilapidated manor house, its grounds overgrown and windows boarded. Hermione and Bellatrix crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, waiting for the signal to move in.
"Remember the plan," Hermione whispered, her breath warm against Bellatrix's ear. "Stay close to me."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes but nodded. The thrill of impending battle sang in her veins, awakening something primal within her. She gripped the wand Hermione had procured - not her own, but serviceable enough.
Red sparks shot into the air, and chaos erupted. Order members swarmed the property as wards shattered with a thunderous crack. Bellatrix and Hermione moved as one, years of dueling experience evident in their fluid motions.
They fought their way through the ground floor, stunning and binding Death Eaters as they went. Bellatrix's intelligence proved invaluable - she knew the layout, the likely hiding spots, the secret passages.
As they ascended to the second floor, a sickly yellow curse came hurtling towards Hermione. Without thinking, Bellatrix shoved her aside, taking the hit square in the chest. She crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain, blood blossoming across her robes.
"Bella!" Hermione's anguished shout echoed through the hall. She dispatched the attacker with a vicious Stunning spell before dropping to her knees beside Bellatrix.
"Stupid... Mudblood..." Bellatrix gasped, her face contorted in agony. "Watch... your back..."
Hermione gathered Bellatrix into her arms, panic clawing at her throat. Her hands shook as she cast diagnostic spells, assessing the damage. "Hold on," she murmured. "I've got you."
With a crack of Apparition, they vanished, reappearing in the bustling emergency ward of St. Mungo's. "I need a Healer!" Hermione shouted, still cradling Bellatrix in her arms. Medical staff rushed forward, quickly transferring the injured witch to a floating stretcher.
Chapter Text
Hermione lingered in the doorway of the private room, watching as Healers bustled around administering potions and casting diagnostic spells. Bellatrix lay pale against the stark white sheets, dark curls a wild contrast.
"Come to gloat, Granger?" Bellatrix sneered weakly when she spotted her, though the effect was somewhat dampened by her wincing as a Healer pressed on her wound.
"I brought you some things," Hermione said quietly, setting down a bag. "Your favorite quill, some books..."
"How thoughtful," Bellatrix drawled sarcastically, but her eyes followed the bag with poorly concealed interest.
The second visit, Hermione arrived to find Bellatrix propped up against pillows, idly flipping through one of the books she'd brought - though she quickly shoved it aside when Hermione entered.
"The Healers say you're improving," Hermione ventured, placing fresh narcissus flowers in the vase by the bed.
"Brilliant deduction. Did the fact I'm not actively dying give it away?" Bellatrix's words dripped with sarcasm, but there was less bite to them than usual.
That evening, when Hermione returned with dinner, she found Bellatrix had retrieved the book from where she'd hidden it under her pillow.
The next morning, Hermione brought tea and scones from Bellatrix's favorite bakery in Diagon Alley. She pretended not to notice how Bellatrix's eyes lit up at the sight.
"You don't have to keep coming," Bellatrix muttered around a mouthful of scone. "I'm not some invalid who needs constant supervision."
"I know," Hermione replied simply, pouring them both tea.
That afternoon, she returned with more books and caught Bellatrix actually sleeping, looking younger and more vulnerable in repose. She tried to leave quietly, but Bellatrix stirred.
"Stay," she mumbled, still half-asleep, then seemed to catch herself. "I mean, since you're already here, you might as well make yourself useful and read to me. My eyes are tired from all these healing potions."
Hermione bit back a smile and settled into the chair, opening the book to where Bellatrix had marked her place.
The third day dawned with Bellatrix in a particularly tetchy mood, snapping at the Healers and refusing her morning potions until Hermione arrived. Something in her seemed to settle at the alpha's presence, though she covered it with extra vitriol.
"Back again? Don't you have anything better to do than plague me with your insufferable presence?"
"Apparently not," Hermione replied mildly, arranging fresh flowers and setting out more books.
As the day wore on, something shifted in the air between them. Bellatrix grew increasingly restless, her scent sweetening noticeably.
When the evening Healer finished changing her bandages, leaving them alone, the tension in the room became almost unbearable
Bellatrix felt an unexpected heat building low in her belly. Her eyes locked onto Hermione.
"Granger," she gasped, reaching for Hermione's wrist as soon as they were alone. "I need..."
Hermione's nostrils flared, pupils dilating as she caught the sweet scent. "Bella, we're in the hospital," she whispered urgently.
"I don't care," Bellatrix growled, surging up to capture Hermione's lips in a desperate kiss, fingers tangling in her hair. The curtains around her bed offered little privacy, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care about anything beyond the alpha before her.
Clothes were shed with frantic urgency, hands roaming newly exposed skin. Hermione pulled back, panting, to take in the sight of Bellatrix sprawled beneath her. The omega's pale skin was flushed pink, her dark nipples pebbled with arousal. A glistening trail of slick coated her inner thighs.
"Beautiful," Hermione murmured, leaning down to capture a nipple between her lips. She sucked hard, relishing Bellatrix's sharp gasp of pleasure.
"Don't tease," Bellatrix snarled, arching into Hermione's touch. "I need you inside me. Now."
Hermione growled, alpha instincts surging to the forefront. She could feel her cock manifesting, hard and throbbing with need. But instead of immediately plunging in as she had during their first coupling, she took her time.
Her fingers traced patterns on Bellatrix's skin, mapping every dip and curve. She kissed a trail down Bellatrix's throat, pausing to suck a mark just above her collarbone. "Mine," she rumbled.
"Yours," Bellatrix whimpered, the admission torn from her lips before she could stop it.
Hermione's hand slid between Bellatrix's thighs, fingers gliding through slick folds. She circled Bellatrix's clit with agonizing slowness, drinking in every gasp and moan.
"Please," Bellatrix begged, pride forgotten in the haze of lust. "Alpha, please..."
The plea sent a jolt of arousal straight to Hermione's core. She positioned herself at Bellatrix's entrance, the head of her cock nudging against slick heat. "Look at me," she commanded.
Mercury eyes met amber as Hermione pushed inside, both women groaning at the exquisite sensation. Bellatrix was hot and tight, her inner walls clenching around Hermione's length.
"So good for me," Hermione praised, setting a steady rhythm. "Taking me so well, Bella."
The tender words seemed to break something in Bellatrix. She clung to Hermione, nails raking down her back as she met each thrust. "Harder," she demanded. "Make me feel it."
Hermione obliged, driving into Bellatrix with increased force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by their breathless moans. Hermione's knot began to swell, catching on Bellatrix's rim with each thrust.
"Gonna knot you," Hermione growled. "Fill you up, make you mine."
"Do it," Bellatrix hissed, wrapping her legs around Hermione's waist. "Knot me, breed me, I don't care, just don't stop!"
With a final, powerful thrust, Hermione's knot popped past Bellatrix's entrance, locking them together. Bellatrix came with a hoarse cry, her body convulsing in ecstasy. The rhythmic clenching of her walls triggered Hermione's own orgasm, and she emptied herself deep inside her omega with a roar of completion.
They lay tangled together, panting and sweat-soaked, as aftershocks rippled through them. Hermione peppered Bellatrix's face with soft kisses, murmuring words of praise and affection.
As the haze of lust began to clear, Bellatrix stiffened. The gentleness, the tender words - it was too much, too real. She needed to reassert control.
"Is that all you've got?" she taunted, voice rough. "I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Fuck me like you mean it, Mudblood."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, recognizing the challenge for what it was. "Careful what you wish for, little omega," she warned.
As soon as her knot subsided enough to slip free, Hermione flipped Bellatrix onto her hands and knees. She grabbed a fistful of dark curls, yanking Bellatrix's head back. "This what you want?" she growled, sliding back inside with one hard thrust. "To be used like the naughty little slut you are?"
Bellatrix keened, pushing back to meet each brutal thrust. "Yes! Merlin, yes!"
Hermione pounded into her relentlessly, one hand gripping Bellatrix's hip hard enough to bruise. The other snaked around to rub tight circles on Bellatrix's clit. "Come for me," she commanded. "Now."
Bellatrix shattered, screaming her release as Hermione continued to fuck her through it. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her until she collapsed, boneless, held up only by Hermione's strong arms.
Still catching her breath, Hermione suddenly tensed, her heightened alpha senses picking up approaching footsteps. "Someone's coming," she hissed.
Bellatrix, still flushed and glowing, let out a delighted giggle as she lazily reached for her hospital gown. "Better hurry, Granger," she drawled, making no effort to move quickly herself as she watched Hermione scramble for her scattered clothes.
"Where's my- Bella, have you seen my-" Hermione whispered frantically, hopping on one foot as she pulled up her skirt.
"Tick tock," Bellatrix sang softly, now properly covered but thoroughly enjoying the show as Hermione's hands flew between buttons and zips.
"This isn't funny!" Hermione hissed, trying to smooth down her hopelessly tangled hair. Her tie was nowhere to be found, her shirt was buttoned wrong, and there was a distinct purple mark blooming on her neck that she had no way to hide.
"Oh, I beg to differ," Bellatrix purred, arranging herself artfully against the pillows. "It's absolutely hilarious. Do you always look like you've been dragged backward through a hedge after a good fuck?"
"Bella!" Hermione's scandalized whisper only made Bellatrix laugh harder.
The footsteps grew closer. Hermione dove for her robe, which had somehow ended up draped over a potted plant in the corner. In her haste, she knocked the plant over, barely catching it before it crashed to the floor.
"Smooth," Bellatrix commented dryly, watching as Hermione tried to right the plant while simultaneously shrugging into her robe. "Oh look, your wand rolled under the bed. Better fetch that quickly."
Hermione dropped to her hands and knees, reaching desperately. "I swear you're enjoying this far too much- aha!" She emerged triumphant with her wand, only to realize with horror that her underwear was still very much visible, having been kicked further under the bed during their activities.
The door handle turned just as Hermione managed to throw herself into the visitor's chair, hair wild and robes distinctly rumpled. Her eyes widened in horror as she spotted the telltale scrap of lace.
"Good evening," the Healer said briskly, consulting her charts. "Just checking on the wound healing... Miss Granger, are you quite alright? You look rather... flushed."
"Fine! Perfectly fine," Hermione squeaked, trying to subtly slide her foot over to hook the incriminating garment. "Just... ran up the stairs. Exercise, you know."
"In the Floo wing?" the Healer raised an eyebrow.
"I... took the long way round. For the exercise," Hermione stammered, while Bellatrix made a suspicious coughing sound that poorly disguised her laughter.
The Healer turned to check Bellatrix's bandages, giving Hermione a chance to finally snag her underwear with her toe. Unfortunately, it caught on something under the bed, refusing to budge.
"And how are you feeling, Miss Black?" the Healer asked, waving her wand in diagnostic patterns.
"Oh, much better," Bellatrix practically purred, shooting Hermione a wicked glance. "Amazing what a bit of... physical therapy can do."
Hermione choked on air, face flaming as she continued to struggle with her stuck underwear.
"Your heart rate seems a bit elevated," the Healer noted, frowning at her readings.
"Must be all the excitement of having visitors," Bellatrix replied innocently. "Granger here is very... stimulating company."
The Healer continued her examination, asking various questions while Hermione died a thousand deaths in her chair, especially when the Healer dropped her quill and bent to retrieve it - coming dangerously close to spotting the hidden garment.
After what felt like an eternity, the Healer left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Bellatrix dissolved into peals of laughter.
"Oh, this is precious," she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "The great Hermione Granger can't even remember where she left her knickers. What would McGonagall say?"
"Shut up," Hermione muttered, face burning as she finally managed to retrieve her underwear. "You could have helped, you know."
"And miss this entertainment? Never." Bellatrix's dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I must say, your 'I took the stairs for exercise' excuse was inspired. Really, Granger, for someone so clever, you're absolutely rubbish at lying."
"Well, I didn't exactly hear you coming up with anything better," Hermione grumbled, trying to discretely stuff the underwear into her pocket.
"I didn't need to. I was the perfect patient," Bellatrix smirked. "Though I do hope you realize your shirt is still buttoned wrong. And that lovely mark on your neck... well, I doubt any amount of exercise explains that."
Hermione's hands flew to her neck as she rushed to the small mirror on the wall. "Bella! You promised no visible marks!"
"Did I? I don't recall making any such promise. Besides," Bellatrix stretched languorously, "you weren't exactly complaining at the time. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were begging for-"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Hermione warned, finally managing to right her buttons. "And wipe that smug look off your face."
"Make me," Bellatrix challenged, eyes dancing with mischief and lingering desire.
"You're impossible," Hermione sighed, but couldn't quite hide her fond smile. "And insatiable."
"You love it," Bellatrix replied with a knowing smirk. "Now, about that tie of yours... I believe I saw it fly out the window when you were throwing your clothes about like a wild thing. Have fun explaining that to your Head of House."
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands while Bellatrix's delighted laughter echoed through the room.
Chapter Text
Bellatrix's eyes snapped open in the darkness, her chest heaving with uneven breaths.
It had been a week had passed since Bellatrix's discharge from St. Mungo's. Sleep eluded her, as it often did these days.
The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across the room, and she found herself restless, trapped within the confines of the flat she shared with Hermione Granger.
With a frustrated growl, she threw off the covers and padded silently across the cold floor. Her fingers twitched, longing for the familiar weight of her wand. Even after all this time, she felt naked without it. Vulnerable. She hated feeling vulnerable.
As she prowled through the darkened living room, a faint glow caught her eye. Hermione's desk, usually meticulously organized, had a drawer slightly ajar. Curiosity piqued, Bellatrix approached, her heart racing with the thrill of potential forbidden knowledge.
She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring she was truly alone, before easing the drawer open further. Inside, she found several leather-bound journals, their spines cracked from frequent use. Bellatrix's breath caught in her throat as she realized what she'd stumbled upon - Hermione's personal writings.
With trembling hands, she extracted the topmost journal and flipped it open to a random page. Hermione's neat script filled the parchment, and Bellatrix began to read:
"I don't know how to reach her. Every time I think we've made progress, Bellatrix retreats behind her walls. I see glimpses of the woman she could be - brilliant, passionate, even vulnerable - but then the mask slams back into place. Am I fooling myself to think there could ever be more between us than this arranged farce?"
Bellatrix's grip tightened on the journal, her knuckles turning white. She flipped to another entry, dated more recently:
"Today, when Bellatrix saved me from that curse, I felt... I don't even know how to describe it. Terror, yes, at seeing her hurt. But also this overwhelming surge of protectiveness. I wanted to tear apart anyone who dared harm her. These feelings - they're becoming harder to ignore. What am I supposed to do with them? How can I feel this way about someone who still sees me as the enemy?"
A maelstrom of emotions churned within Bellatrix as she devoured page after page. Confusion, anger, and something dangerously close to hope warred for dominance. Her magic responded to her turmoil, crackling along her skin like static electricity.
"No," she whispered fiercely, slamming the journal shut. "No, no, no!"
She couldn't bear to read any more. Couldn't face the genuine concern and growing affection laid bare in Hermione's private thoughts. It was easier when she could pretend this was all part of some elaborate scheme, that Hermione's kindness was just another form of control.
But faced with the raw honesty of those words, Bellatrix felt her carefully constructed defenses begin to crumble. And that terrified her more than anything Voldemort had ever done.
With a strangled cry, she hurled the journal across the room. It struck a vase, sending it crashing to the floor in a spray of water and wilting flowers. The sound of breaking glass was oddly satisfying, and Bellatrix found herself reaching for anything else she could destroy.
Picture frames shattered against walls. Books were torn from shelves and ripped apart, their pages fluttering to the ground like wounded birds. All the while, Bellatrix's magic swirled around her in a dark tempest, responding to her pain and confusion.
She raised her hands, calling forth every ounce of dark magic she possessed. If she couldn't escape this flat physically, perhaps she could drown it in shadows. Black tendrils of power oozed from her fingertips, spreading across the floor and climbing the walls like sentient vines.
But the wards held firm, containing her magical outburst within the flat. As the dark energy hit the invisible barriers, it rebounded, filling the space with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere. The air grew thick and charged, making it difficult to breathe.
Bellatrix laughed manically as she continued to pour out her power. Let it build. Let it consume everything. Maybe then she could finally be free of these wretched, unwanted feelings.
Bellatrix lost all sense of time, aware only of the storm raging within and without. She was so caught up in her frenzy that she didn't hear the front door open, didn't notice Hermione's shocked gasp as she took in the scene before her.
"Bellatrix!" Hermione's voice cut through the magical static. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"
Bellatrix whirled to face her, eyes wild and hair crackling with unspent energy. "What does it look like, Mudblood?" she snarled. "I'm redecorating!"
Hermione took a cautious step forward, her wand raised defensively. "You need to calm down," she said firmly. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Bellatrix shrieked, hurling a blast of raw magic at Hermione.
But instead of deflecting it or retaliating, Hermione did something unexpected. With a subtle flick of her wand, she cast a mild defense spell around herself. The dark witch's magic collided with the invisible barrier, dissipating harmlessly with a soft shimmer.
"What is this?" Bellatrix demanded, her eyes narrowing as her spell failed to reach its target. "Why isn't it working?"
Hermione merely raised an eyebrow, settling comfortably into a conjured armchair. "It's a simple defense charm. Feel free to continue your assault without actually harming me or our furniture."
Bellatrix's lip curled in a sneer. "You dare shield yourself from me?"
"I dare prevent you from reducing our flat to rubble," Hermione replied dryly, flipping open a book. "By all means, continue your dramatics. I'll just catch up on some reading."
Infuriated by Hermione's casual dismissal, Bellatrix redoubled her efforts to break through. She hurled wandless spell after spell at the invisible barrier, each one fizzling out harmlessly. She screamed obscenities, threats, and even tried seduction - anything to crack Hermione's composure.
But the young witch remained unruffled, occasionally turning a page while keeping her wand at the ready. As the hours wore on, Bellatrix's magic began to wane. Her movements grew sluggish, her voice hoarse from shouting. Still, Hermione maintained her shield, looking almost bored despite her own visible fatigue.
Finally, utterly spent, Bellatrix collapsed to her knees. The last vestiges of her power sputtered and died, leaving her feeling hollow and drained. Only then did Hermione lower her wand, the defense charm dissipating like a gentle breeze.
"Finished?" Hermione asked mildly, marking her place in the book.
Bellatrix wanted to snarl a retort, to lash out one final time. But exhaustion claimed her, and she toppled sideways, unconscious before she hit the floor.
Hermione was at her side in an instant, carefully lifting Bellatrix's limp form. As she carried her to the bedroom, she couldn't help but marvel at how small and fragile the feared Death Eater looked in that moment.
She gently laid Bellatrix on the bed, smoothing back sweat-dampened curls from her forehead. "Oh, Bella," she whispered. "What am I going to do with you?"
With a weary sigh, Hermione summoned parchment and a quill. She had research to do - documenting this unprecedented magical outburst could prove invaluable. And so she settled in for a long night of observation, her eyes never straying far from Bellatrix's sleeping form.
As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, Bellatrix began to stir. Her brow furrowed, and she tossed restlessly, caught in the grip of fevered dreams. Hermione leaned closer, concern etched on her features as she watched the other witch struggle against unseen terrors.
Through their bond, hazy images and fragments of emotion began to seep into Hermione's consciousness. She gasped as Bellatrix's dreams unfolded before her like a tapestry of pain and fear.
A young Bellatrix, no more than seven or eight, cowering before a towering figure. "Love is weakness," a cold voice intoned. "And weakness will not be tolerated in this family."
Flashes of brutal training sessions, curses flying as Bellatrix desperately tried to meet impossible standards set by parents who'd once praised her brilliance.
The bitter sting of failure mixed with memories of earlier triumphs - her invention of new spells, her victories on the Quidditch pitch, her academic excellence that even McGonagall had grudgingly acknowledged.
"You bring shame to this house," her father's voice echoed through another memory. "All that talent, wasted on an omega."
Narcissa stood in the doorway of the training room, trembling as she watched Voldemort's cruel demonstrations. Though nearly finished with her own career, she seemed to shrink before his presence.
"Please, my Lord," she whispered, "she's learned enough for today."
Voldemort's laughter cut through the air as he sent another curse toward Bellatrix. "Your sister's weakness must be burned away," he said, ignoring Narcissa's pleas. "She has potential far beyond what your parents would waste on domestic breeding."
The memories shifted, fragmenting like broken glass: The day she'd presented as an omega, watching her parents' faces fall.
The whispers that followed her through Hogwarts' halls. The fury that built with each achievement dismissed, each victory diminished by her designation.
Voldemort's voice, seductive with promise: "They fear your power. Show them why they should."
And through it all, a persistent feeling of loneliness.
Of abandonment.
The certainty that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be good enough.
Never be worthy of love. Her madness became her armor, her cruelty a declaration of defiance against a world determined to cage her.
Tears streamed down Hermione's cheeks as she witnessed the broken fragments of Bellatrix's past. She reached out, hesitating for just a moment before gently taking Bellatrix's hand in her own.
"I'm here," she whispered fiercely. "I'm not going anywhere."
As if hearing her words, Bellatrix's restless movements began to calm. Her fingers tightened around Hermione's, clinging to her like a lifeline. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, confusion evident in their dark depths as she took in her surroundings.
"What... what happened?" Bellatrix croaked, her voice raw from hours of screaming.
Hermione conjured a glass of water, helping Bellatrix sit up to drink. "You had quite the magical outburst," she explained gently. "Do you remember?"
Flashes of the previous night came back to Bellatrix - the journals, the destruction, the containment sphere. She groaned, pressing a hand to her throbbing head. "Unfortunately."
She glanced around the room, noticing the parchments covered in Hermione's neat script. "What's all this, then? Taking notes on the mad witch's latest episode?"
Hermione flushed slightly but didn't deny it. "The amount of wandless magic you produced was unprecedented," she said. "Studying it could lead to breakthroughs in magical theory. And..." she hesitated before adding softly, "maybe help us understand your condition better."
Bellatrix snorted, but it lacked her usual venom. "My condition? Is that what we're calling it now?"
"I just want to help you, Bellatrix," Hermione said, frustration creeping into her voice. "Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
For a long moment, Bellatrix was silent, staring down at their still-joined hands. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Because no one just helps without wanting something in return. What's your angle, Granger? What do you really want from me?"
Hermione's heart ached at the genuine bewilderment in Bellatrix's tone. She squeezed her hand gently, choosing her words carefully. "Right now? I want you to rest and recover. We can talk about the rest later."
Bellatrix opened her mouth as if to argue, but a wave of exhaustion washed over her. "Fine," she muttered, sinking back against the pillows. "But don't think this changes anything between us."
"Of course not," Hermione agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. She stood, stretching out the kinks in her back from a night spent in the chair. "I'll get you something to eat. Try not to destroy anything else while I'm gone?"
Bellatrix's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "No promises, Muddy."
As Hermione left the room, Bellatrix found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She couldn't shake the lingering unease from her dreams, or the warmth that had bloomed in her chest at Hermione's gentle touch.
What is happening to me? she wondered, a hint of panic creeping in. And more importantly... how do I make it stop?
Chapter Text
Days passed in a haze of uneasy peace following Bellatrix's magical outburst. Hermione treaded carefully, giving the dark witch space while still maintaining a watchful eye. For her part, Bellatrix seemed subdued, spending long hours curled up with books or staring out the window with a distant expression.
But beneath the surface, tension simmered. Bellatrix felt off-balance, her usual defenses shaken by the vulnerability she'd unwittingly displayed. The memory of Hermione's steady presence during her fever dreams haunted her, along with the echoes of concern she'd read in those damned journals.
It all came to a head one sweltering afternoon. Bellatrix paced the flat restlessly, her skin feeling too tight, her magic crackling just beneath the surface. She recognized the symptoms with a mixture of dread and anticipation - another heat cycle was beginning.
In the past, she might have fought it, might have snarled and clawed and made Hermione work for every scrap of compliance. But today... today she was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending she didn't crave the alpha's touch.
When Hermione returned from an Order meeting, she found Bellatrix waiting for her in the bedroom. The dark witch lounged on the bed, having shed her usual corseted gowns in favor of a silky black negligee that left little to the imagination.
Hermione froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as they raked over Bellatrix's form. "Bella?" she questioned cautiously. "What's going on?"
Bellatrix stretched languidly, reveling in the way Hermione's gaze followed the movement. "Isn't it obvious, pet?" she purred. "I'm in heat. And I think it's time we did something about it, don't you?"
She rose from the bed with feline grace, stalking towards Hermione with predatory intent. But as she reached for the younger witch, Hermione caught her wrists gently but firmly.
"Wait," Hermione said, her voice low and steady. "Are you sure this is what you want, Bellatrix? You're not just trying to... I don't know, manipulate me somehow?"
Bellatrix's lip curled in a sneer. "Don't flatter yourself, Muddy. I'm horny, you're convenient. It's as simple as that."
But Hermione didn't release her grip. Instead, she studied Bellatrix's face intently, as if searching for something hidden beneath the bravado. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her, because she nodded once before pulling Bellatrix flush against her.
"Alright," Hermione murmured, her breath hot against Bellatrix's ear. "But we're doing this my way."
Before Bellatrix could protest, Hermione captured her lips in a searing kiss. It was nothing like their previous encounters - this was slow, deliberate, Hermione taking her time to map every curve and crevice of Bellatrix's mouth.
Bellatrix moaned despite herself, her hands coming up to tangle in Hermione's wild curls. She tried to deepen the kiss, to inject some of her usual aggression, but Hermione wouldn't allow it. The alpha maintained perfect control, setting a maddeningly leisurely pace.
When they finally broke apart, both panting for air, Hermione's eyes had darkened with desire. "On the bed," she commanded softly. "Hands above your head."
For a moment, Bellatrix considered disobeying - it was ingrained in her very nature to push back against orders. But the ache between her thighs and the memory of Hermione's unwavering patience during her outburst made her reconsider.
With only the slightest hesitation, she complied, arranging herself on the silk sheets with her arms stretched above her. Hermione followed, hovering over her with an expression of mingled lust and wonder.
"Good girl," Hermione breathed, and Bellatrix shivered at the praise. "You're being so good for me, Bella."
She leaned down, trailing feather-light kisses along Bellatrix's jawline and down her neck. When she reached the sensitive spot just behind Bellatrix's ear, she lingered, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks.
Bellatrix squirmed beneath her, desperate for more contact. "Granger," she growled. "Stop teasing and fuck me already!"
But Hermione just chuckled, the sound vibrating against Bellatrix's skin. "Patience, kitten," she murmured. "We have all night, and I intend to take my time with you."
Kitten? Bellatrix's mind reeled at the pet name, even as her body responded with a fresh gush of arousal. This was... new. Different. And far more intoxicating than she wanted to admit.
Hermione's hands skimmed down Bellatrix's sides, pushing the flimsy negligee up to bunch around her waist. Cool air hit overheated skin, making Bellatrix gasp. She arched into Hermione's touch, silently begging for more.
"So beautiful," Hermione breathed, reverence clear in her tone. "Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are like this, Bella? Spread out for me, wanting me?"
Bellatrix flushed, unused to such open admiration. She opened her mouth to snap back with something cutting, but Hermione chose that moment to lower her head and take one straining nipple between her lips.
All coherent thought fled as Hermione lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between gentle suction and teasing flicks of her tongue. Bellatrix's hips rolled restlessly, seeking friction that Hermione steadfastly denied her.
"Please," Bellatrix whimpered, shocking herself with the naked need in her voice. "Hermione, please..."
Hermione lifted her head, her eyes dark with desire. "Please what, kitten?" she asked. "Tell me what you need."
Bellatrix bit her lip, warring with her pride. But the ache between her thighs was becoming unbearable, and Hermione seemed content to wait her out.
"Touch me," she finally ground out. "I need... I need you to touch me. To fuck me. Please, alpha!"
A low growl rumbled in Hermione's chest at the word 'alpha.' She surged forward, claiming Bellatrix's mouth in a bruising kiss as her hand finally, finally slipped between trembling thighs.
"Fuck," Hermione groaned, feeling how wet Bellatrix was for her. "You're soaked, kitten. All this for me?"
Bellatrix could only nod frantically, beyond words as Hermione's clever fingers explored her folds. When she brushed against Bellatrix's clit, the dark witch cried out, her hips bucking wildly.
"That's it," Hermione encouraged, beginning to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Let me hear you, Bella. Don't hold back."
She built Bellatrix up slowly, alternating between teasing touches and firm pressure. Just when Bellatrix thought she might combust from the torturous pleasure, Hermione slid two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Bellatrix chanted, her hands fisting in the sheets above her head. She was so close, teetering on the edge of release...
And then Hermione stopped.
Bellatrix's eyes flew open in disbelief. "Wha... why did you stop?" she demanded, voice ragged with need.
Hermione smiled, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Because I want to hear you beg for it," she said simply. "I want you to admit how much you want this - want me."
Bellatrix snarled, torn between arousal and indignation. "You conniving little... fine! I want you, alright? I want your fingers inside me, your mouth on me. I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"It's a start," Hermione purred. She lowered her head, placing open-mouthed kisses along Bellatrix's inner thighs. "But I think you can do better than that, kitten. Tell me who you belong to."
The words hovered on the tip of Bellatrix's tongue, held back only by the last vestiges of her pride. But then Hermione's tongue flicked out, barely grazing her clit, and all resistance crumbled.
"You!" Bellatrix cried out. "I belong to you, Hermione. Only you. Please, alpha, I need you so badly. Make me come, please!"
With a satisfied growl, Hermione finally gave Bellatrix what she craved. She devoured her with single-minded focus, her tongue tracing intricate patterns over Bellatrix's clit while her fingers pumped steadily in and out.
Bellatrix thrashed beneath her, nonsensical pleas falling from her lips as she chased her release. When Hermione curled her fingers just right and sucked hard on her clit, Bellatrix shattered with a keening wail.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. Hermione worked her through it gently, only pulling away when Bellatrix weakly pushed at her head, oversensitive.
As Bellatrix came down from her high, she became aware of a telltale hardness pressing against her thigh. She cracked open one eye to see Hermione kneeling between her legs, totally nude now, her impressive alpha cock standing proud and erect.
"Ready for round two, kitten?" Hermione asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Bellatrix surprised them both by spreading her legs wider in invitation. "Always," she purred.
Hermione wasted no time, lining herself up and sinking into Bellatrix's welcoming heat with a low groan. They both stilled for a moment, savoring the feeling of fullness, of connection.
Then Hermione began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had Bellatrix seeing stars. She angled her hips just right, hitting that spot inside that made Bellatrix cry out with every thrust.
"That's it," Hermione murmured, her voice rough with exertion. "Take it, Bella. Take all of me."
She picked up the pace, driving into Bellatrix with increasing force. The room filled with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by their mingled moans and gasps.
Bellatrix wrapped her legs around Hermione's waist, urging her deeper. "Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me harder, alpha!"
Hermione complied with a growl, pistoning her hips at a punishing pace. She reached between them to rub tight circles around Bellatrix's clit, determined to make her come again.
"That's it, kitten," she panted. "You're doing so well, taking my cock so perfectly. Are you going to come for me again? Squeeze that pretty pussy around my knot?"
Bellatrix whimpered at the filthy words, feeling herself rapidly approaching the edge once more. She could feel Hermione's knot beginning to swell, catching on her entrance with every thrust.
"Please," she begged, beyond shame now. "Please, alpha, knot me. Make me yours!"
With a roar of triumph, Hermione slammed home one final time. Her knot popped past Bellatrix's entrance, locking them together as she began to come. The feeling of being so thoroughly filled, of Hermione's release flooding her insides, sent Bellatrix tumbling over the edge as well.
They cried out in unison, clinging to each other as waves of pleasure washed over them. Hermione collapsed on top of Bellatrix, both of them sweaty and panting in the aftermath of their coupling.
As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Hermione carefully maneuvered them onto their sides, mindful of where they were still joined. She brushed damp curls from Bellatrix's forehead, placing a gentle kiss there.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Bellatrix wanted to scoff, to push Hermione away and retreat behind her walls of sarcasm and disdain. But she found herself powerless against the genuine concern in those warm brown eyes.
"M'fine," she mumbled instead, unconsciously snuggling closer. "Just... tired."
Hermione's arms tightened around her, and Bellatrix felt herself relaxing into the embrace despite her best efforts. As sleep began to claim her, she heard Hermione whisper something that made her heart stutter in her chest:
"I've got you, Bella. You're safe with me. Always."
Bellatrix's last coherent thought before drifting off was that she was in serious trouble. Because for the first time in longer than she could remember, she actually believed those words might be true.
Chapter Text
Bellatrix Black stood amidst a whirlwind of shredded parchment and torn book bindings. Her wild dark curls crackled with unrestrained magic, eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and something deeper - a primal ache that burned through her very core.
Hermione Granger leaned against the doorframe, silently observing the destruction. Her amber eyes tracked every movement of her wife's lithe form, nostrils flaring slightly to catch the intoxicating scent of Bella's lingering heat.
The alpha in her itched to stride forward, to pin Bella against the nearest surface and claim her thoroughly. But Hermione held back, sensing this outburst was about more than just physical need.
With a final shriek of rage, Bellatrix collapsed to her knees amidst the wreckage. Her chest heaved as she gulped for air, pale fingers trembling as they clutched at torn pages. Hermione approached slowly, her usual dominant pheromones deliberately subdued.
"Reparo," Hermione murmured, waving her wand in a gentle arc. The destroyed books and scrolls knitted themselves back together, floating neatly onto the shelves. Another flick conjured a steaming pot of tea and two delicate china cups.
Bellatrix's head snapped up at the sound of Hermione's voice, dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. But exhaustion seemed to win out over defiance as she allowed Hermione to help her to her feet and guide her to the plush armchair by the fire.
"What brought this on?" Hermione asked softly, pressing a warm cup into Bella's hands.
Bella's lip curled. "What, worried I've damaged your precious library? I'm sure you can just magic up some more propaganda about pureblood traditions to replace it."
Hermione didn't rise to the bait, simply sipping her own tea and regarding Bella thoughtfully. "Actually, I was hoping you might tell me more about some of those traditions. Particularly the ones surrounding marriage bonds."
Bella barked out a harsh laugh. "Why? Looking for loopholes to tighten my leash?"
"No," Hermione replied evenly. "I want to understand. Help me understand, Bella."
Something in Hermione's tone seemed to catch Bella off guard. The younger witch studied Hermione's face intently, searching for any hint of deception. Finding none, she gave a small nod and began to speak.
"The rituals go back centuries," Bella explained, her voice taking on a lecturing tone reminiscent of her school days. "It's not just about binding two people together - it's about binding bloodlines, magic, entire legacies."
As Bella spoke, her rigid posture gradually relaxed. Her hands gesticulated with increasing animation as she delved into the intricacies of ritual magic. Hermione listened raptly, asking thoughtful questions that spurred Bella to elaborate further.
"The fidelity charm we performed before the Ministry ceremony," Hermione mused. "That was part of it, wasn't it?"
Bella nodded. "A watered-down version. Traditionally, it would have been much more... intense." A faint blush colored her cheeks.
Hermione leaned forward, intrigued. "How so?"
Bella's gaze grew distant. "It used to involve blood magic. The couple would..." She trailed off, swallowing hard.
"Would what?" Hermione prompted gently.
Bella's eyes snapped back to Hermione's face, a familiar heat kindling in their depths. "They would mark each other. Permanently. So that any time another touched them with... intimate intent, it would burn."
Hermione's nostrils flared, catching the sudden spike in Bella's scent. She opened her mouth to respond, but a pained gasp from Bella made her freeze.
Bella doubled over, clutching her abdomen as a violent tremor wracked her body. "No," she whimpered. "Not again, not now..."
Hermione was at her side in an instant, one hand pressed to Bella's forehead. "You're burning up," she murmured. "The heat's returned."
Bella snarled, shoving weakly at Hermione's chest. "I don't need your help," she spat, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the needy whine that escaped her throat.
Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, tamping down on her instincts. This time would be different. She wouldn't let her alpha take control.
"Come on," she said softly, helping Bella to her feet. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable."
Bella stumbled, leaning heavily against Hermione as they made their way to the bedroom. Her skin felt feverish, magic crackling beneath the surface. By the time Hermione lowered her onto the bed, Bella was trembling violently.
"Please," Bella gasped, fingers clawing at her robes. "It hurts, make it stop."
Hermione caught Bella's hands gently but firmly. "Shhh," she soothed. "I've got you. Let me take care of you."
With careful movements, Hermione began to undress Bella. She took her time, fingers skimming reverently over each inch of pale skin revealed. Bella growled in frustration, arching into the touch.
"Hurry up," she demanded.
"Patience," Hermione chided softly.
Bella's eyes flashed dangerously. With a snarl, she surged upward, nails raking down Hermione's back as she sank her teeth into the alpha's shoulder.
Hermione hissed, alpha instincts roaring to the surface. But she pushed them down ruthlessly, refusing to give in to the urge to roughly dominate. Instead, she caught Bella's wrists in a firm grip, pinning them gently above her head.
"Be still," Hermione commanded, allowing just a hint of alpha timbre to color her voice.
Bella's eyes went wide, pupils blown with arousal and surprise. For a moment, they were frozen in tension
Hermione's amber eyes locked with Bella's dark, stormy gaze. Slowly, deliberately, Hermione lowered her head, never breaking eye contact as she brushed her lips against the sensitive spot just below Bella's ear.
"Let me take care of you," Hermione murmured, her voice low and husky. "Let me show you how precious you are."
Bella shivered, a small whimper escaping her lips. Her usual sharp retorts seemed to have deserted her, leaving her vulnerable and exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her state of undress.
Hermione trailed kisses down the elegant column of Bella's throat, savoring the rapid flutter of her pulse. She took her time, mapping every inch of pale skin with reverent touches. When she reached Bella's collarbone, she paused to suck gently, leaving a mark that was more claim than bruise.
Bella arched into the touch, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. "Please," she gasped, tugging at Hermione's hair. "I need... I need..."
"Shh," Hermione soothed, moving lower to lavish attention on Bella's breasts. "I know what you need. Trust me."
She swirled her tongue around one peaked nipple, then the other, alternating between gentle suction and feather-light flicks. Bella writhed beneath her, torn between pushing closer and trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensations.
Hermione's hands skimmed down Bella's sides, tracing the curve of her hips before gently parting her thighs. She could feel the heat radiating from Bella's core, smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal. But still, she took her time, pressing soft kisses to the inside of each trembling thigh.
"Hermione," Bella whined, frustration evident in her voice. "Stop teasing!"
Hermione chuckled, the sound vibrating against Bella's sensitive skin. "Patience, love. I want to savor every moment with you."
Finally, Hermione's mouth found Bella's center. She lapped slowly at first, broad strokes of her tongue gathering the omega's abundant wetness. Bella's hips bucked wildly, but Hermione held her steady, maintaining her leisurely pace.
"You taste divine," Hermione murmured against Bella's flesh. "Like the sweetest ambrosia."
She focused her attention on Bella's most sensitive spots, alternating between quick flicks and gentle suction. Bella's moans grew louder, more desperate, her fingers tangling in Hermione's curls as she sought more friction.
"Please," Bella begged, her voice cracking. "I need you inside me. Please, alpha!"
The sound of Bella using her designation sent a jolt of desire straight to Hermione's core. She felt her body respond, magic swirling as her anatomy shifted to accommodate her omega's needs.
Hermione slid back up Bella's body, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Bella moaned at the taste of herself on Hermione's tongue, hips canting upward in search of relief.
"Are you ready for me, my beautiful omega?" Hermione asked, positioning herself at Bella's entrance.
Bella nodded frantically, dark curls splayed across the pillow like a halo. "Yes, yes, please!"
Hermione pushed forward slowly, watching Bella's face intently for any sign of discomfort. But Bella's expression was one of pure bliss, her mouth falling open in a silent cry of pleasure as Hermione filled her completely.
"That's it," Hermione praised, peppering Bella's face with soft kisses. "You're taking me so well. You were made for me, weren't you?"
Bella whimpered in response, wrapping her legs around Hermione's waist to draw her even deeper. Hermione began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had Bella gasping with each thrust.
"You're so beautiful like this," Hermione murmured, maintaining eye contact. "So perfect. My Bella."
The use of the possessive pronoun seemed to ignite something in Bella. She surged upward, capturing Hermione's lips in a fierce kiss as she met each thrust with equal fervor.
Hermione could feel her knot beginning to swell, catching slightly at Bella's entrance with each movement. "I'm close," she panted. "Do you want my knot, love?"
"Yes!" Bella cried out, nails raking down Hermione's back. "Give it to me, alpha. Make me yours!"
With a final, powerful thrust, Hermione's knot slipped past Bella's entrance, locking them together. The sensation pushed them both over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing over them as their magic intertwined.
Hermione gathered Bella close, rolling them onto their sides to make the position more comfortable. She peppered Bella's face with soft kisses, murmuring words of praise and adoration as aftershocks rippled through them both.
As their breathing began to slow, Hermione brushed a stray curl from Bella's forehead. "Tell me about your childhood bedroom," she said softly.
Bella blinked, momentarily thrown by the non-sequitur. "What?"
"At Black Manor," Hermione clarified. "What was it like?"
Bella's brow furrowed. "Why do you want to know about that?"
Hermione shrugged, careful not to jostle their still-joined bodies. "I want to know everything about you. Every detail, every memory."
Bella was quiet for a long moment, her expression guarded. Then, to Hermione's surprise, she began to move her hips in small, suggestive circles.
"Wouldn't you rather focus on the present?" Bella purred, clenching deliberately around Hermione's knot.
Hermione bit back a moan, forcing herself to stay focused. "Nice try," she said, voice strained. "But I still want to know. Please, Bella. Share this with me."
Bella sighed, relenting. "It was... grand. Oppressively so. All dark wood and heavy velvet drapes. The kind of room that felt more like a mausoleum than a child's sanctuary."
Hermione listened intently, storing away every detail. "Did you have a favorite spot? Somewhere you felt safe?"
Bella's eyes grew distant, lost in memory. "There was... an alcove. Hidden behind a tapestry of Morgana le Fay. I used to sneak in there to practice spells my parents wouldn't be fond of."
"Dark magic?" Hermione asked, careful to keep her tone neutral.
Bella nodded. "I was fascinated by it. The power, the potential. I wanted to push every boundary, to see how far I could go."
Hermione's heart ached at the thought of a young Bella, driven by a thirst for knowledge and power that would ultimately lead her down such a dark path. She tightened her arms around Bella, as if she could somehow protect her from the past.
"Thank you for sharing that with me," Hermione said softly. She hesitated, then added, "I'd love to see it someday. If you'd be willing to show me."
Bella tensed slightly, then relaxed with a small nod. "Perhaps," she murmured. "Someday."
They lapsed into comfortable silence, Hermione's fingers tracing soothing patterns along Bella's spine. Gradually, Bella's eyes began to droop, the events of the day and the intensity of their coupling taking their toll.
As Bella drifted off to sleep, her face smoothed out, losing its usual sharp edges. In that unguarded moment, Hermione could see glimpses of the girl Bella had once been - and the woman she could still become, with the right guidance and care.
Hermione's mind raced, formulating plans. She would find more ways to access these vulnerable moments, to peel back the layers of hurt and anger that had shaped Bella into the formidable witch she was today. And in doing so, she hoped to forge a true partnership - one built on trust, understanding, and perhaps even love.
As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, Hermione placed a soft kiss on Bella's forehead. "Sleep well, my love," she whispered. "I'll be here when you wake."
Chapter Text
The soft grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting Hermione’s sleeping features in gentle strokes. Bellatrix lay still, held securely within the circle of her alpha’s arms, Hermione’s steady heartbeat a grounding rhythm against her back. The profound exhaustion following her heat and the emotional vulnerability of the previous night lingered, leaving her feeling strangely hollow yet… calm. Hermione’s murmured words – "Sleep well, my love. I'll be here when you wake."– echoed softly in the quiet room, a fragile promise that both terrified and soothed her.
She hadn’t slept deeply, existing in a twilight state between awareness and dreams, her mind replaying the unfamiliar tenderness of Hermione’s touch, the way she’d sought connection beyond the physical, asking about her childhood room. It felt like a dangerous precipice. Letting Hermione see, truly see the fractured pieces beneath the Black armor, felt like handing her a knife. Yet, a treacherous part of her, starved for so long, craved it.
Hermione stirred, her arms tightening instinctively around Bella. A soft sigh escaped her lips before her amber eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep. They focused on Bella’s profile, and a small, genuine smile touched her lips. She didn’t speak, simply pressed a feather-light kiss to the curve of Bella’s shoulder, her breath warm against the sensitive skin still bearing faint marks from the previous night’s claiming.
“Morning,” Hermione murmured, her voice sleep-rough and intimate.
Bellatrix tensed minutely, the habitual urge to snap, to push away the perceived weakness of this intimacy, rising like bile. But the memory of Hermione’s patient hands, her quiet insistence on her, not just the omega in heat, held her back. She remained still, staring fixedly at the shifting patterns of light on the opposite wall.
“Did you sleep?” Hermione asked softly, her fingers tracing idle, soothing patterns on Bella’s bare arm. The touch wasn’t demanding, simply present.
A noncommittal grunt was Bella’s only response. Vulnerability still felt like a raw nerve exposed to the air.
Hermione seemed to understand, shifting slightly to prop herself up on one elbow, looking down at Bella. Her gaze was warm, searching, but devoid of the pity Bella despised. “Last night… sharing that… it meant something,” Hermione said, her voice low. “Thank you.”
Bellatrix finally turned her head, meeting Hermione’s eyes. The earnestness there was almost painful. “It was just a room, Granger,” she deflected, her voice raspy. “Stone and tapestry. Nothing special.”
“It was special to you,” Hermione countered gently. “Your sanctuary. The place you felt safe enough to explore the magic that fascinated you, even the parts deemed… unseemly.” She paused, her thumb brushing over the pulse point in Bella’s wrist. “That spark of curiosity, that drive… I recognize it. It’s brilliant. It’s you.”
The words, the unexpected validation, struck Bella like a physical blow. Brilliant. Not ‘dangerous’, not ‘unstable’, not ‘wayward omega’. Brilliant. A word Cygnus Black had reserved for political maneuvering or particularly brutal curses, never for his daughter’s innate magical prowess, especially not once her designation became known. The contrast was dizzying, unsettling.
"Pathetic display, Bellatrix!" Cygnus Black's voice, cold and sharp as shattered ice, sliced through the fragile peace of the bedroom. Bella flinched, the memory materializing with visceral force. She was eight, trembling on the stone floor of the ritual chamber beneath Black Manor after a failed attempt at a complex shielding charm. Her small hands were scraped raw, magic fizzling weakly around her. Her father loomed over her, his disappointment a tangible weight. "An Omega's magic is meant for breeding and binding, not this… reckless experimentation. You waste your potential on frivolity. Focus on what you were born for, girl. Elegance. Obedience. Breeding stock. This flailing is beneath a Black." He turned to her mother, Druella, who stood observing with a face like carved marble. "See she practices her comportment. Two hours. No wand."
The humiliation, the crushing dismissal of her magic, her self, washed over Bella anew. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the image, but it clung like tar.
“Bella?” Hermione’s voice was laced with immediate concern. Her hand moved from Bella’s wrist to cup her cheek, her thumb brushing away a traitorous tear Bella hadn’t even felt escape. “Hey, look at me. What is it?”
Bellatrix shook her head mutely, turning her face away from Hermione’s touch, ashamed of the weakness, the visceral reaction to a decades-old memory. “Nothing. A ghost.”
“Not nothing,” Hermione insisted, her voice firm but gentle. She didn’t force Bella to look at her, but her presence remained unwavering, a solid warmth against Bella’s side. Her alpha scent, usually a command or a claiming, now emanated a steady, calming reassurance – cinnamon and old parchment and safety. “Tell me about the ghost.”
The simple request, the lack of judgment, cracked something open. The words tumbled out, harsh and raw. “He called it frivolity. Reckless. Said I was wasting my potential. That an Omega’s magic was for… for breeding stock.” She spat the words, the taste of them still vile. “My shielding charm failed. I was eight. Scraped hands. He forbade me my wand for two weeks. Made me practice… comportment.” The memory of standing rigidly for hours, a book balanced on her head, under Druella’s critical eye while her magic screamed to be used, was its own special torture.
Hermione’s breath hitched. Her arm tightened around Bella, pulling her closer, offering silent solidarity against the remembered cruelty. “He was wrong,” she stated, her voice vibrating with a quiet fury. “Dead wrong. Your magic… Bella, it’s breathtaking. Raw, powerful, intricate. That curiosity he dismissed? It’s what makes you extraordinary. Eight years old and attempting advanced shielding? That’s not frivolous. That’s phenomenal.”
Bellatrix remained rigid for a moment, the ingrained lessons – accept no comfort, show no weakness – warring with the desperate, starved part of her that craved Hermione’s words to be true. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she relaxed against Hermione, letting her head rest back against the alpha’s shoulder. The warmth, the solidity, the fierce defense… it was an anchor in the storm of memory.
“He never saw it,” Bella whispered, the admission feeling like a betrayal of the family doctrine. “None of them did. Only the designation mattered. The… the flaw.”
“The flaw was theirs,” Hermione murmured, pressing a kiss to Bella’s temple. “Their blindness. Their cruelty. Not yours.” She paused, then asked softly, “Your mother? Did she…?”
A bitter laugh escaped Bella. “Druella?” The memory shifted. Bella was twelve, trembling not from magic but from the unfamiliar, terrifying cramping in her belly, the first telltale stain on her nightgown. Panicked, she’d gone to her mother’s chambers. Druella had taken one look, her lip curling in distaste. "So it begins," she’d said, her voice devoid of warmth. "The curse of Eve. The burden of your nature. Clean yourself up, Bellatrix. Do not snivel. This is the price of being Omega. Weakness. Mess. Learn to manage it discreetly, or suffer the consequences. And for Merlin's sake, control your scent. It reeks of vulnerability."The shame had been all-consuming, the message clear: her very biology was a source of disgust, a liability to be hidden.
“She called it a curse,” Bella said flatly, the old shame coiling in her gut. “A burden. Weakness. Told me to control my scent, hide the ‘mess’. Discretion above all.” She remembered the expensive, subtly enchanted products delivered to her room later, and the crushing loneliness that no potion could dispel.
Hermione made a low sound of anger and sorrow deep in her throat. Her hand slid down to rest protectively over Bella’s lower abdomen. “It’s not a curse, Bella. It’s biology. A powerful, essential part of who you are. There’s no shame in it. None.” Her conviction was absolute. “And your scent… it’s beautiful. Complex. You. It’s not vulnerability; it’s truth.”
The words were a balm Bella hadn’t known she needed. To have the source of so much childhood shame reframed, defended… it was disorienting. She turned slightly in Hermione’s arms, searching her face. “You truly believe that? That it’s not… tainted? Weak?”
Hermione met her gaze squarely, her amber eyes fierce. “I know it. With everything I am. Your magic, your mind, your body… they are not separate from your designation. They are you. And you are…” She hesitated, then forged ahead, “You are remarkable, Bellatrix Black. Flawed, yes. Fierce, dangerous, brilliant, and yes, an Omega. All of it. And none of it diminishes the rest.”
The sincerity was overwhelming. Bella looked away, overwhelmed by a confusing rush of emotion – gratitude warring with residual shame, a flicker of hope battling deep-seated fear. She focused on the feel of Hermione’s hand, warm and grounding on her skin. “They… they used the designation as a weapon,” she confessed, the words dragged from some dark place within. “A reason to limit, to control. To break.”
“Show me,” Hermione said softly, her voice a gentle command. “If you can. Show me how they tried to break you.”
The request hung in the air. It felt like stepping off a cliff. But Hermione’s arms were around her, her scent a promise of safety, her eyes holding no judgment, only a fierce protectiveness. Slowly, hesitantly, Bella lowered her Occlumency shields, not to push memories at Hermione, but to allow her access to the ones clamoring to the surface. She braced herself.
The scene was the darkest corner of the Black family dungeons, rarely used but meticulously maintained. Bella was fourteen, tall for her age but still painfully young beneath a veneer of forced arrogance. Cygnus stood beside her, his hand heavy on her shoulder, not comforting, but imprisoning. Before them, bound and gagged, terrified out of their wits, were two Muggles – a man and a woman, snatched from a London street. Voldemort, then still known as Tom Riddle to the inner circle, stood nearby, observing with cold interest.
"Observe, Bellatrix," Cygnus commanded, his voice devoid of inflection. "These creatures are beneath us. Filth. Yet, they feel pain. They fear. See how weakness manifests." He nodded to Rodolphus Lestrange, then a young, eager Death Eater initiate standing ready.
Rodolphus raised his wand. "Crucio."
The screams were immediate, raw, and agonizing. The Muggle couple writhed on the cold stone, their bodies contorting in impossible ways. Bella flinched violently, a gasp escaping her lips. Instinctively, her magic surged, a protective flare wanting to shield, to stop the horror. Her father's grip tightened like a vise, his nails digging into her shoulder.
"Control yourself!" Cygnus hissed, his voice sharp as a lash. "Do not embarrass me with Omega sentimentality! This is necessary. You must learn to see them for what they are – animals. Their suffering is meaningless. Your weakness disgusts me. Look! LOOK AT THEM!"
He forced her head forward, refusing to let her look away. Tears blurred Bella's vision, but she fought them back, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. The screams tore at her soul. She felt Druella's presence behind her, a silent, approving observer. Her mother's voice slithered into her mind, cold and precise: "Compassion is the rot that weakens our kind, Bellatrix. Crush it. Let their pain fuel your strength. Let it harden you. Only the strong survive. Only the ruthless rule."
Bella locked her jaw, forcing her expression into a mask of disdain. She focused on the trembling of Rodolphus's wand hand – a flaw – rather than the victims. She dissected the spell's casting in her mind – the angle, the power modulation – anything to distance herself from the raw agony before her. She felt something vital inside her fracture and begin to ice over. When the screams finally subsided into whimpers, and Cygnus released her shoulder, she didn't flinch. Her eyes were dry, her face cold. She met her father's gaze, a hollow imitation of pride in her own.
"Better," Cygnus stated, a flicker of approval in his eyes that felt like a brand. "Remember this lesson. Mercy is for the weak. Empathy is a fatal flaw. Your magic is a weapon, Bellatrix. Wield it without remorse."
The memory faded, leaving Bella trembling violently in Hermione’s arms. She was gasping for breath, cold sweat slicking her skin, the phantom screams echoing in her ears. The icy detachment she’d learned that day, the brutal suppression of empathy, felt like a shroud she couldn’t shake. Shame, deep and corrosive, washed over her – shame for her initial weakness, shame for the coldness she’d adopted, shame for the part of her that still recoiled.
Hermione held her tightly, her own body rigid with suppressed rage and profound sorrow. She rocked Bella gently, murmuring soothing nonsense, her scent wrapping around them both like a protective ward. “Breathe, Bella, breathe. You’re here. You’re safe. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “Merlin, what they did to you… What they made you do…”
“I learned the lesson,” Bella choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears and self-loathing. “Cold. Hard. Without remorse. Like a proper Black weapon.” She pulled back slightly, needing to see Hermione’s reaction, bracing for the disgust she felt she deserved.
Hermione’s eyes, however, held no disgust. They blazed with fury, yes, but it was directed at the figures in the memory, not at Bella. And beneath the fury was an ocean of compassion and understanding. “You *survived*, Bella,” she said fiercely, cupping Bella’s face, forcing her to meet her gaze. “A child, forced to witness torture, forced to suppress her own humanity to earn a scrap of approval from monsters. That’s not weakness. That’s unimaginable strength. You built walls to protect yourself because they gave you no safe harbor.”
“The walls became a prison,” Bella whispered, the truth of it stark and terrifying. “And the weapon… it turned on everyone. On me.”
“But the walls are cracking,” Hermione insisted, her thumb stroking Bella’s cheekbone. “You let me in. Last night. Just now. You showed me the ghost, the pain. That takes more courage than any curse they ever taught you.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Bella’s. “You are not the weapon they forged. You are Bellatrix Black. Fierce, brilliant, damaged, yes, but capable of so much more than cruelty. I see it. I see you.”
The raw honesty, the unwavering belief, shattered something deep within Bellatrix. A sob tore from her throat, harsh and ugly. Then another. The carefully constructed dam holding back decades of suppressed terror, shame, and grief finally burst. She buried her face against Hermione’s neck, her body wracked with violent, uncontrollable tremors as the tears flowed – hot, desperate, and long overdue. She clung to Hermione as if she were the only solid thing in a world collapsing into darkness.
Hermione held her through it, murmuring soft words of comfort in English, in a fragment of an ancient binding charm she’d researched, nonsense words – anything to provide an anchor. She stroked Bella’s wild hair, rubbed soothing circles on her back, simply *held* her as the storm of emotion raged. Her own tears mingled with Bella’s dark curls, her heart aching with the sheer magnitude of pain being released.
Minutes bled into what felt like hours. Gradually, the violent sobs subsided into shuddering gasps, then into exhausted silence. Bella lay limp against Hermione, utterly drained, her face pressed into the crook of the alpha’s neck, breathing in her calming scent. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was a shared space of profound vulnerability and hard-won trust.
Hermione shifted slightly, reaching for the glass of water she’d conjured earlier, now refreshed with a flick of her wand. “Here,” she whispered, holding it to Bella’s lips. “Drink. Slowly.”
Bella obeyed, the cool water a relief to her raw throat. She drank slowly, her eyes closed, focusing on the simple act, on Hermione’s steady presence. When the glass was empty, Hermione set it aside and simply gathered Bella close again, letting the silence stretch.
After a long while, Bella spoke, her voice a wrecked whisper against Hermione’s skin. “I hate them.” It wasn’t the theatrical venom she usually wielded; it was a cold, bleak statement of fact. “I hate what they made me.”
“I hate them too,” Hermione replied, her voice low and fierce. “For what they stole from you. For the pain they inflicted.” She paused, then added, “But hating what they made you… that’s a burden you don’t need to carry alone. And it’s not all you are. Not anymore.”
Bella didn’t argue. The fight had bled out of her with the tears. She felt hollowed out, scraped raw, but also… lighter. As if a poison had been partially drained. The memories were still there, jagged and painful, but the crushing weight of isolation surrounding them had lessened. Someone knew. Someone saw. And hadn’t turned away in revulsion.
“What now?” she asked, the question barely audible. The future, once a bleak landscape of duty and resentment, now felt terrifyingly uncertain.
“Now,” Hermione said softly, brushing a stray tear from Bella’s cheek with her thumb, “we breathe. We exist. We heal. One moment at a time.” She pressed a gentle kiss to Bella’s forehead. “And we start by getting out of this bed. A shower. Breakfast. Something mundane. The world is still turning.”
The idea of mundane normality felt strangely appealing. Bella nodded slowly, pulling back slightly to look at Hermione properly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her face pale, but there was a clarity in her dark gaze that hadn’t been there before. A fragile openness. “A shower sounds… acceptable.”
Hermione smiled, a small, tender thing. “Good.” She moved to get up, but Bella’s hand shot out, catching her wrist.
“Hermione…” Bella hesitated, searching for words that felt alien on her tongue. “Thank you. For… not letting go.”
Hermione’s smile deepened, warmth flooding her eyes. She brought Bella’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Always, Bella. Always.”
They moved through the morning routine with a quiet understanding. The shower was a practical affair, but Hermione’s touches as she helped wash Bella’s hair were gentle, devoid of expectation, simply caring. Dressing felt less like armor and more like… clothing. In the kitchen, Hermione cooked while Bella sat at the table, sipping tea, watching her. The silence was comfortable, punctuated by the sizzle of eggs and the soft clink of utensils.
They were halfway through a simple breakfast of eggs and toast when the wards surrounding their flat pulsed with a sharp, urgent signal. Both witches froze, the fragile peace shattering like glass.
Hermione’s head snapped up, her expression instantly shifting from domestic calm to focused intensity. She stood, her wand appearing in her hand as if by instinct. “That’s the Order’s highest priority alert.”
Bellatrix felt the familiar cold dread coiling in her stomach, mingling with a residual exhaustion. The vulnerability of the morning felt like a distant dream. The war, her past, the monster who had sanctioned the torture that haunted her… it all came crashing back.
Hermione met Bella’s gaze across the table. The warmth was still there, but overlaid with grim determination. “It seems the world demands our attention,” she said, her voice tight. “We need to go. Now.”
Chapter Text
The comforting aroma of eggs and toast curdled into ash in Bellatrix’s mouth. The urgent pulse of the wards – a sharp, staccato vibration deep in her magical core – slammed her back into reality with the force of a Bludger to the chest. The fragile bubble of shared tears, whispered confessions, and Hermione’s grounding warmth shattered instantly. The war hadn’t paused for her breakdown.
Hermione was already moving, her plate forgotten, wand drawn with reflexes honed by constant vigilance. The tenderness in her eyes vanished, replaced by the hard glint of the Order’s strategist. "Highest priority alert," she repeated, her voice tight, scanning the room as if expecting Death Eaters to materialize from the walls. "Something major is happening. We need to mobilize immediately."
Bellatrix shoved her chair back, the scrape loud in the sudden silence. The hollowed-out feeling from her tears warred violently with the ingrained response to threat – the icy focus, the readiness to strike. At sixteen, the transition was jarring, leaving her momentarily off-balance. She instinctively reached for her hip, fingers closing on empty air where her wand should rest. A fresh wave of frustration, sharp and familiar, washed over her. Defenseless. Caged. The thought was a bitter counterpoint to the unexpected safety she’d just felt in Hermione’s arms.
"Where?" she demanded, her voice roughened by spent tears and rising adrenaline. She forced herself to stand straight, pushing down the lingering tremors, the raw vulnerability. The weapon Cygnus forged couldn’t afford weakness now.
"Grimmauld Place first," Hermione said, already striding towards the door leading to their small Apparition point – a heavily warded corner of the sitting room. "Kingsley will brief us. Move, Bella!" The command held the faintest edge of alpha urgency, not dominance, but a shared imperative for survival.
Bellatrix followed, her bare feet silent on the floorboards. The silken pajamas Hermione had conjured for her felt ludicrously inadequate for whatever chaos awaited. As they reached the designated spot, Hermione grabbed her hand, her grip firm and grounding. The familiar, stomach-churning compression of Side-Along Apparition seized them, and the cozy flat vanished.
They reappeared in the dim, tense atmosphere of the Order’s headquarters. The drawing room was already crowded, the air thick with fear, ozone, and the metallic tang of hastily prepared potions. Faces turned towards them – Harry, Ron, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley – their expressions ranging from grim determination to outright suspicion as they landed. All eyes lingered on Bellatrix, taking in her disheveled state, her red-rimmed eyes, her lack of proper attire. The silver monitoring bracelet on her wrist gleamed accusingly under the flickering candlelight.
Ron’s lip curled. "Brought the pet Death Eater to the war council, have you, Hermione? Hope she’s house-trained this time."
Before Hermione could respond, Bellatrix stepped slightly forward, her chin lifting. The sixteen-year-old’s defiance was raw, edged with the lingering pain she couldn’t fully mask. "At least I’m not hiding behind my mother’s apron strings, Weasel. Unlike some." Her voice, though young, carried the familiar Black venom, a reflex honed by years of deflecting pain with aggression.
Ron flushed crimson, his hand flying to his wand. "You bi—"
"ENOUGH!" Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice boomed, cutting through the rising tension. He stood at the head of the large table, a large, charred map of London spread before him. His gaze swept over Ron, then settled on Bellatrix and Hermione, lingering for a fraction of a second on Bellatrix’s state. "We don't have time for squabbles. They’re hitting Diagon Alley. Simultaneous strikes on Gringotts, Flourish and Blotts, and Ollivander’s. Casualties are already reported. Muggle-borns and known Order sympathizers are being targeted."
A cold dread, different from her personal pain, settled in Bellatrix’s stomach. Diagon Alley. The heart of the wizarding world. A place of bustling shops and bright colors, now a battlefield. Images flickered – not of tortured Muggles this time, but of young witches and wizards caught in the crossfire, shopkeepers she vaguely recognized. The sheer, brutal scale of it.
"They’re making a statement," Moody growled, his magical eye whirling frantically. "Showin' they can hit us anywhere, anytime. Pure terror tactic."
"They’re also after something," Hermione said, her analytical mind cutting through the horror. She moved closer to the map, her brow furrowed. "Gringotts, obviously. But Ollivander’s? Flourish and Blotts? That feels targeted beyond just terror." She glanced at Bellatrix, a silent question in her eyes.
Bellatrix felt the weight of their stares again. This was her world, her former master’s strategy. The icy detachment she’d cultivated in the dungeons threatened to resurface, a familiar shield against the messy reality of suffering. But Hermione’s presence beside her, the memory of her fierce defense – "You are not the weapon they forged"– acted as an anchor. She wasn’t that hollow weapon right now. She was Bellatrix Black, sixteen, bound, and… needed.
She forced her mind to work, pushing past the fog of exhaustion and residual grief. "Gringotts is obvious – gold, artifacts, possibly vaults holding things the Dark Lord covets," she stated, her voice gaining strength, falling back on cold logic. "Flourish and Blotts… rare texts. Restricted sections. He’s always sought forbidden knowledge, lost rituals." She paused, thinking of Ollivander. "Wands. Not just to destroy, but… to study? To understand something? Or perhaps," her eyes narrowed, "to capture Ollivander himself. The Dark Lord values mastery over magical instruments." The insight felt clinical, detached, yet vital. It was the intelligence they’d forced this marriage for.
Harry nodded grimly. "Makes sense. Moody, Tonks, take Gringotts. Kingsley, Arthur, handle Flourish and Blotts. Hermione, Ron, Harry – Ollivander’s. Neutralize threats, protect civilians, secure Ollivander if possible." He hesitated, his green eyes flicking to Bellatrix. "Granger… your… partner. What’s her role?"
Hermione didn’t hesitate. "She’s with me. She knows their tactics better than anyone here. And she doesn’t have a wand." The last part was a reminder, a challenge. Bellatrix felt a jolt – not just the practical truth, but the implicit trust. Hermione wasn’t leaving her behind, wasn’t locking her in the gilded cage while the world burned.
Ron spluttered. "You’re taking her? Into a battle? Hermione, have you lost your—"
"I need her insight," Hermione cut him off, her voice steely. "And the bond ensures proximity anyway. We move together. Now." The alpha tone was back, not dominating Bellatrix, but commanding the situation. Bellatrix found herself moving closer to Hermione’s side almost instinctively, the proximity charm humming faintly between them.
The teams Apparated out in rapid succession. The disorientation of Side-Along was instantly replaced by sensory overload as Bellatrix and Hermione landed just outside the smoking ruin that had been Ollivander’s wand shop. The air reeked of burnt wood, ozone, and something coppery – blood. Screams and the sharp cracks of spellfire echoed from further down the alley, mingling with the ominous roar of the Gringotts dragon, apparently freed and enraged.
Chaos reigned. Shards of glass littered the cobblestones. A witch sobbed over the body of her companion. Two Death Eaters in silver masks were systematically blasting apart the remnants of the shop’s display, seemingly searching for something amidst the wreckage. A third dueled Kingsley Shacklebolt near the entrance, jets of sickly green and brilliant red light clashing violently.
"Ollivander?" Hermione yelled over the din, her wand already raised, a shield charm deflecting a stray cutting curse that whizzed past them.
"Not here! Probably taken!" Kingsley roared back, deflecting a Cruciatus Curse with a grunt.
One of the Death Eaters searching the wreckage turned. His masked face scanned the newcomers, lingering on Bellatrix. Recognition, even through the mask, was instantaneous. "Black?" The voice was distorted, but the disbelief was palpable. "Traitorous bitch! The Dark Lord will flay you alive for this!" He raised his wand, not at Hermione, but directly at Bellatrix. "Avada Ke—"
Hermione moved like lightning. "Protego Maxima!" The shimmering shield erupted just as the Killing Curse lanced towards Bellatrix. The green light shattered against the barrier with a thunderous crack, the force knocking Bellatrix back a step. Before the Death Eater could react, Hermione snarled, "Expulso!" The blasting curse hit him square in the chest, throwing him backwards into the smoldering timbers with a sickening crunch.
Bellatrix stared, momentarily frozen. Not by the curse – she’d faced death before. But by the speed, the ferocity, of Hermione’s defense. The alpha hadn’t just shielded her; she’d reacted with lethal intent to protect her. The words "I'll be here when you wake"echoed with terrifying new weight.
"Bella, DOWN!" Hermione’s scream yanked her back. She dropped instinctively as a jet of purple flame – Dolohov’s signature curse – seared the air where her head had been. It struck the wall behind her, exploding stonework.
Hermione was already dueling Dolohov, her movements a blur of precision and power. "Stupefy! Incarcerous!" Her spells flew fast, forcing the experienced Death Eater on the defensive. But Dolohov was skilled, weaving shields and countering with brutal efficiency.
Bellatrix scrambled behind a partially collapsed stone pillar, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was weaponless, exposed. Panic, cold and sharp, threatened to rise. Weakness. Liability.Cygnus’s voice hissed in her mind. A burden.The shame of her helplessness warred with the terror of the curses flashing past.
Then she saw it. One of the Death Eaters Kingsley had been fighting lay unconscious nearby, his wand inches from his outstretched hand.
Take it. Fight. Be the weapon.
The instinct was primal, born of a lifetime of training. But another voice, quieter but insistent, cut through: Hermione’s voice, fierce and protective in the hospital, gentle in the dawn light. "You are not the weapon they forged."
Dolohov sent a curse that shattered Hermione’s shield. She staggered back, crying out as a glancing hex ripped through her sleeve, drawing blood. Dolohov pressed his advantage, a cruel smile visible beneath his mask as he raised his wand for a finishing blow.
NO.
The denial wasn't reasoned; it was pure, visceral instinct. Not the cold survival instinct of the dungeon, but a fierce, protective surge that burned through the shame and fear. Bellatrix lunged.
She rolled from behind the pillar, snatching the fallen Death Eater’s wand as she moved. It felt alien, clumsy in her hand after weeks without, but the magic within it resonated, hungry and familiar. She didn't think, didn't plan a complex curse. She poured raw power, fueled by terror and that new, blazing need to protect, into the simplest, most brutal spell she knew.
"CONFRINGO!"
The blasting curse erupted from the wand with volcanic force, not aimed at Dolohov, but at the unstable pile of massive stone blocks beside him – rubble from the shop's collapsed upper floor. The explosion was deafening. Tons of stone cascaded down, engulfing Dolohov in a cloud of dust and debris before he could finish his curse. A choked cry was cut off abruptly.
Silence fell for a stunned second in their immediate vicinity, broken only by the distant sounds of battle and Kingsley dispatching his final opponent. Hermione stared, wide-eyed, blood dripping from her arm, at the pile of rubble where Dolohov had stood, then at Bellatrix, who stood trembling, the stolen wand smoking in her hand.
Bellatrix met Hermione’s gaze. There was no triumph in her eyes, only shock, a dawning horror at the lethal power she’d just unleashed, and beneath it, a fierce, undeniable truth: she had acted to save Hermione. Not out of bond-enforced obligation, but because the thought of Hermione falling was unbearable.
Before either could speak, a wave of pure, malevolent magic washed over Diagon Alley like a tidal wave of ice. It was a presence so vast, so utterly devoid of warmth or mercy, that it stole the breath from Bellatrix’s lungs. Every hair on her body stood on end. The ambient sounds of battle seemed to hush in terrified deference.
Rodolphus Lestrange emerged from the chaos, his silver mask discarded, his handsome features twisted in fury. Unlike the other Death Eaters, he wasn’t here for Gringotts or Ollivander. He was here for her.
"Bellatrix." His voice was a venomous whisper, carrying across the ruined street. "So this is where you stand now? With the blood traitors who sold you like livestock?"
Bellatrix’s fingers tightened around the stolen wand. She had expected rage from Voldemort’s loyalists—but Rodolphus’s fury was personal. He wasn’t just a Death Eater. He was the man she had once been promised to, before her family traded her to the Order.
Hermione stepped forward, her own wand raised despite her injury. "She’s not yours to claim, Lestrange."
Rodolphus’s lip curled. "She was never yours to take, Mudblood." His gaze flicked back to Bellatrix, disgust and something darker—betrayal—burning in his eyes. "Your father groveled to Dumbledore. Your sister begged for her life. And you? You let them chain you to this filth."
Bellatrix flinched. The words struck deeper than any curse. Because they were true.
Her family had betrayed the Dark Lord.
Her parents had handed her over.
And she had let them.
Rodolphus saw her hesitation and pressed his advantage. "You think they’ll protect you? The Order? Your precious Mudblood?" He laughed, cold and mocking. "The moment you’re no longer useful, they’ll throw you to the dementors. Just like your traitorous parents deserve."
Hermione’s grip on her wand tightened. "Enough."
But Rodolphus wasn’t finished. "Or maybe," he mused, tilting his head, "you actually believe she cares for you. That this farce of a marriage means something." His smile turned cruel. "Tell me, Bella—does she fuck you like she owns you? Or do you still whimper for the Dark Lord in your dreams?"
Bellatrix’s breath hitched. The stolen wand trembled in her hand.
Hermione’s voice cut through the tension like steel. "You’re wasting your breath, Lestrange. She’s not going back."
Rodolphus’s expression darkened. "We’ll see."
He raised his wand—
"CONFRINGO!"
The explosion came from behind him. Kingsley Shacklebolt, having finally broken free from his duel, had blasted a chunk of the ruined storefront onto Rodolphus. The Death Eater barely managed a shield in time, but the force sent him stumbling back.
"GO!" Kingsley roared.
Hermione didn’t hesitate. She seized Bellatrix’s arm and yanked her into the crushing void of Apparition.
The last thing Bellatrix saw before the world twisted away was Rodolphus’s face—not just rage, but something worse.
Promise.
He wasn’t done with her.
Chapter Text
The suffocating compression of Side-Along Apparition vanished, replaced by the damp chill and oppressive silence of Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. Bellatrix stumbled as they landed, her bare feet slipping slightly on the worn stone floor. Hermione released her arm immediately, staggering a step herself and bracing a hand against the heavy wooden table. Her face was pale beneath the grime and soot, her injured arm held stiffly at her side, dark blood soaking through the torn sleeve of her robes and dripping onto the flagstones. The stolen wand felt heavy and alien in Bellatrix’s grip, still humming faintly with the residual power of the Blasting Curse.
Silence stretched, thick and charged, broken only by their ragged breathing and the relentless drip… drip… drip of Hermione’s blood. The cozy breakfast nook of hours ago felt like a lifetime away, a cruel parody of the intimacy they’d shared. Bellatrix couldn’t look at Hermione. She stared fixedly at the blood pooling on the floor, Rodolphus’s venomous words echoing in her skull: "Traitorous bitch... sold you like livestock... let them chain you... whimper for the Dark Lord..." Each syllable was a lash, reopening the wounds Hermione had only just begun to soothe.
He saw the weakness. He saw it all.
Hermione broke the silence, her voice strained but pragmatic. "Kreacher!"
The ancient house-elf appeared with a sharp crack, his usual disdain momentarily replaced by wide-eyed shock as he took in their disheveled state and Hermione’s injury. "Mistress Granger! The blood! Filthy, nasty blood—"
"A medical kit, please. And dittany – our strongest." Hermione requested, urgency cutting through the tremor in her voice as she sank into a chair, wincing as she moved her arm. "Bandages too, as quickly as possible."
Kreacher vanished with another crack, muttering about "blood traitors" and "defiling the noble house."
Bellatrix remained rooted to the spot, the stolen wand a cold weight in her hand. The silence pressed in again, heavier this time. The protective fury that had propelled her action against Dolohov had evaporated, leaving behind a hollow ache and a rising tide of shame. She’d used Confringo. She’d buried a man alive. Not in cold, calculated cruelty like before, but in a blind, desperate panic. To save Hermione. The thought was terrifying.
Hermione’s gaze finally landed on her, intense despite the pain. "Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice softer now, laced with genuine concern that felt like salt in Bellatrix’s raw wounds.
The question shattered Bellatrix’s fragile composure. "Hurt?" she echoed, her voice cracking on a hysterical edge. She spun to face Hermione, the wand trembling in her hand. "Does it look like I’m hurt, Granger? While you’re dripping all over your precious Order’s floor?" The sarcasm was a shield, brittle and sharp. "No. Not a scratch. Isn’t that convenient for the weapon?"
Hermione flinched, not from the words, but from the raw pain radiating off Bellatrix. "Bella—"
"Don’t!" Bellatrix snarled, taking a step back, raising the stolen wand slightly, not threateningly, but as a barrier. "Don’t ‘Bella’ me. Not after that. Not after him." Rodolphus’s sneering face filled her mind. "He saw it, Hermione. He saw everything. He saw me flinch. He saw the... the pathetic omega clinging to her Mudblood keeper!" The last words were spat with self-loathing.
"It was a tactic, Bella," Hermione said firmly, though her voice was tight with pain and exhaustion. "He was trying to get inside your head. To break you."
"He succeeded!" Bellatrix shouted, the sound raw and desperate in the quiet kitchen. Tears, hot and humiliating, pricked her eyes, blurring Hermione’s pale face. "He reminded me exactly what I am. What my family did. What I allowed them to do! And then..." Her gaze dropped to the wand in her hand, the instrument of her impulsive, lethal defense. "...then I proved him right, didn’t I? Still the Black weapon. Just pointed in a different direction now." The horror of what she’d done – the crushing stone, the choked cry – washed over her, making her feel sick.
"You saved my life," Hermione stated, her voice low and fierce. She pushed herself up slightly in the chair, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that crossed her features. "Dolohov would have killed me. You stopped him. That wasn’t being a weapon for them, Bella. That was you. Making a choice."
"A choice fueled by panic!" Bellatrix retorted, wiping angrily at her eyes. "Because I couldn’t stand the thought of..." She choked on the words, unable to voice the terrifying vulnerability – the thought of Hermione dead. It felt like admitting a fatal weakness. "...of being left alone with them again," she finished lamely, gesturing vaguely with the wand towards the door, implying the Order, the world, her past.
Kreacher reappeared with a loud pop, clutching a large, battered medical kit and a vial of shimmering dittany. He eyed Bellatrix’s wand suspiciously but said nothing, bustling over to Hermione. "Kreacher will tend the filthy wound," he grumbled, pulling out bandages and salves.
Hermione held out a hand to stop him for a moment, her eyes still locked on Bellatrix. "Give me the wand, Bella," she said, her voice calm but leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t an alpha command, but the simple, practical authority of someone securing a volatile object.
Bellatrix stared at the wand. It represented power. Autonomy. The ability to defend herself against Rodolphus, against the world, against the terrifying intimacy Hermione offered. It also represented the violence she’d just committed, the part of herself she both hated and relied on. Relinquishing it felt like surrendering her last defense.
Rodolphus’s promise echoed: "We’ll see." He would come. He would tell the Dark Lord. She needed this.
Hermione’s gaze softened infinitesimally. "Please," she added, her voice dropping. "Just for now. While we deal with this." She gestured weakly at her arm.
The "please," the shared reality of Hermione’s injury, the bone-deep exhaustion, and the terrifying vulnerability warring within her finally tipped the scales. With a sound that was half-snarl, half-sob, Bellatrix thrust the wand towards Hermione, handle first. She couldn’t bring herself to place it in her hand, merely held it out, her own hand shaking violently.
Hermione carefully took it, her fingers brushing Bellatrix’s for a fleeting second. The contact sent a jolt through Bellatrix, a confusing mix of revulsion and unwanted solace. Hermione placed the wand carefully on the table, well out of immediate reach, before turning her attention back to Kreacher. "Clean the wound first, Kreacher. Then the dittany."
As Kreacher began his ministrations with surprising efficiency, hissing about "nasty curses" as he examined the deep gash, Bellatrix wrapped her arms tightly around herself, the torn and grimy fabric of her dress clinging uncomfortably to her skin. She leaned back against the cold stone wall, sliding down until she sat on the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest. She felt exposed, raw, and utterly spent. The adrenaline crash was brutal, leaving her trembling and hollow. She rested her forehead on her knees, trying to block out the sounds of Kreacher working, the scent of blood and dittany, and the image of Rodolphus’s hate-filled eyes promising retribution.
She had saved Hermione. Hermione had saved her. They were bound, hunted, and wounded – physically and emotionally. The gilded cage felt less like a prison and more like a precarious life raft in a storm-tossed sea. And Bellatrix Black had absolutely no idea how to navigate any of it. The only certainty was Rodolphus’s promise, hanging heavy in the silence of the old Black kitchen. He wasn’t done. And neither, she realized with a chilling dread mixed with a strange, defiant spark, was she.
The sharp, herbaceous sting of dittany cut through the metallic tang of blood in the air. Kreacher worked with surprising deftness, his gnarled fingers cleaning the deep gash on Hermione’s forearm with a cloth soaked in pungent antiseptic. Hermione’s jaw was clenched, her breath hissing through her teeth with each pass of the cloth, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed not on the wound, but on Bellatrix curled against the wall.
Bellatrix felt the weight of that gaze like a physical pressure. Shame warred with a desperate, exhausted defiance. She kept her face hidden against her knees, the heavy, now-grimed velvet of her robes scraping against her skin and absorbing the traitorous dampness at the corners of her eyes. The tremors running through her body weren’t just from adrenaline crash; they were the aftershocks of Rodolphus’s verbal lashing, the visceral horror of crushing Dolohov, and the terrifying realization of why she’d done it. Because I couldn't lose you. The thought, unbidden and raw, sent a fresh wave of panic through her.
The soft pop of Kreacher finishing the dittany application was followed by the rustle of bandages. "The nasty wound is sealed, Mistress Granger," Kreacher muttered, tying off the bandage with a sharp tug that made Hermione wince. "Kreacher suggests rest. And less consorting with traitorous blood." He shot a venomous glance at Bellatrix before disappearing with another loud crack.
Silence descended again, thicker now without the elf’s grumbling. The drip of blood had stopped. Hermione flexed her bandaged arm experimentally, a grimace flickering across her face. She pushed herself up from the chair, the movement stiff. Bellatrix tensed, bracing for… she didn’t know what. Recrimination? Pity? Another attempt at comfort she couldn’t bear?
Hermione didn’t approach her. Instead, she walked slowly to the sink, filling a chipped mug with water. She drank deeply, leaning against the counter, her back partially turned to Bellatrix. The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable.
"He was wrong, you know," Hermione finally said, her voice quiet but clear in the stillness. She didn’t turn around. "Rodolphus."
Bellatrix didn’t lift her head. "Which part?" she mumbled into her knees, the sarcasm brittle. "The bit about my family being traitors? Or the part where he implied you only tolerate me for strategic advantage? Because both seem rather accurate."
"The part where he said you let them chain you," Hermione stated, turning now. Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion and pain, but held a fierce clarity. "You were sixteen, Bella. Are sixteen. Your parents made a deal to save their own skins, sacrificing you. You had no wand, no leverage, no viable escape. Survival isn’t consent. It’s not weakness. It’s biology." She took a step closer, stopping a few feet away. "And what you did back there… choosing to fight, choosing to protect… that wasn’t the weapon they forged reacting. That was you choosing a side. Your side."
Bellatrix lifted her head, meeting Hermione’s gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale and smudged with soot and dried tears. "My side?" she echoed, her voice raspy. "What side is that, Granger? The side of the Order that looks at me like a rabid kneazle? The side of the wife I never wanted?" She gestured vaguely at Hermione’s bandaged arm. "The side that gets me and my… protector… nearly killed?"
"The side that isn’t Voldemort’s," Hermione said simply. "The side that isn’t pureblood supremacy. The side that recognizes cruelty for what it is." She took another step, closing the distance slightly. "You saw Diagon Alley. You saw what they do. You felt Rodolphus’s malice. Does that feel like a side worth defending? Does that feel like power, or just… pointless destruction?"
Bellatrix looked away, unable to hold Hermione’s intense gaze. The images flooded back – the screaming witch, the shattered shopfronts, Dolohov’s cruel sneer before she buried him. The cold efficiency of the Death Eaters, devoid of any purpose but inflicting terror. It was different from the calculated, ritualistic dark arts she’d been taught to revere. This was… brutal. Chaotic. Ugly. Rodolphus’s words, meant to shame her back into the fold, had instead highlighted the rot at its core.
"I don’t know what I’m defending," Bellatrix whispered, the admission scraping her throat raw. "I don’t know who I am outside of that… that legacy." She hugged her knees tighter. "The wand… the power… it’s all I knew how to be."
Hermione knelt slowly, carefully, wincing as her injured arm protested. She didn’t touch Bellatrix, but she was close enough now that Bellatrix could smell the blood, the dittany, and beneath it, Hermione’s own unique scent – parchment, ozone, and something warm, like cinnamon. It was strangely grounding.
"You’re learning," Hermione said softly. "And it’s terrifying. I know it is. But you’re not alone in this." She paused, then added, her voice barely above a whisper, "What you did… saving me… it meant something, Bella. To me."
Bellatrix flinched, a fresh wave of heat rising to her cheeks. She didn’t want gratitude. It felt like another chain. "I told you. Panic. Instinct."
"Instinct to protect," Hermione countered gently. "That’s not nothing. That’s a foundation. Maybe… maybe we can build on that?" She offered the words tentatively, a fragile bridge extended over the chasm of their forced union and bloodied past.
Before Bellatrix could formulate a response – a scathing retort or a hesitant acceptance – the kitchen door creaked open. Ginny Weasley stood silhouetted in the doorway, her face pale, her fiery hair escaping its ponytail. She took in the scene – Hermione kneeling on the floor, bandaged and weary, Bellatrix huddled against the wall in silk pajamas, looking impossibly young and shattered amidst the grim surroundings.
"Merlin’s pants," Ginny breathed, her eyes wide. "The reports were bad, but… are you two alright? Harry and Ron just got back. Gringotts was a bloodbath, but they stopped them accessing the high-security vaults. Ollivander’s gone. They took him." Her gaze darted between Hermione’s arm and Bellatrix’s disheveled state. "What happened here?"
Hermione pushed herself stiffly to her feet. "Ambush at Ollivander’s. Dolohov. He’s… dealt with." She didn’t elaborate. "Rodolphus Lestrange was there too. He targeted Bella."
Ginny’s eyes narrowed, sharp intelligence replacing shock as she looked at Bellatrix. "Lestrange? Blimey. He’s not one to let grudges go." She stepped fully into the kitchen, her demeanor shifting from concerned friend to pragmatic Order member. "Kingsley wants a debrief. Now. Everyone who was on the ground. He needs to understand their objectives beyond just destruction." Her gaze lingered on Bellatrix. "Your insight could be crucial."
Bellatrix felt a flicker of the old defiance. "Why? So the noble Order can dissect the tactics of the monsters? I’ve given my insights already."
"Because Rodolphus saw you," Ginny said bluntly, crossing her arms. "He knows you fought against them. He knows you’re with us. That makes you a target, Black. A high-value one. Understanding what he might do next isn't just tactical; it's about your survival. And Hermione's," she added, nodding towards the bandaged arm. "He seemed pretty keen on finishing Dolohov's work."
The blunt assessment cut through Bellatrix’s defensiveness. Ginny wasn’t coddling her or demanding trust; she was stating cold facts. Rodolphus would come for her. He would see her actions as the ultimate betrayal. And he wouldn’t come alone. He would tell the Dark Lord. Her family’s fate, already precarious, would be sealed. Narcissa… The thought of her sister sent a fresh jolt of fear through her, sharper even than her own peril.
Hermione placed a hand – carefully, deliberately – on Ginny’s shoulder. "Give us five minutes, Gin. We’ll be there."
Ginny looked between them again, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she nodded curtly. "Five minutes. Kitchen’s clear. Use it." She turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.
The brief interruption had shattered the fragile intimacy of the moment, replacing it with the grim reality of their situation. Bellatrix slowly uncurled herself from the floor, her limbs stiff. She avoided Hermione’s eyes, focusing instead on brushing ineffectually at the grime coating her robes, a futile attempt at regaining some semblance of composure.
Hermione watched her, her expression weary but resolute. "Ginny’s right," she said quietly. "About the debrief. And about the target on your back." She picked up the stolen wand from the table, weighing it in her hand for a moment before holding it out, handle first, towards Bellatrix. "Here."
Bellatrix stared at the offered wand as if it were a venomous snake. Then her dark, bloodshot eyes snapped up to Hermione’s face. That insufferable, implicit trust. Again. After Rodolphus’s accusations still ringing in her ears, after the raw, humiliating display of her own weakness, after the sickening crunch of Dolohov's skull beneath her boot. "Merlin’s saggy bollocks, Granger," she rasped, her voice like gravel scraped over stone. "Does that insufferable hero complex of yours ever switch off? Or is offering wands to rabid Death Eaters just your idea of a thrilling Tuesday?" She barked out a harsh, humorless laugh, the sound grating in the tense silence.
"Probably," Hermione admitted, the ghost of her tired smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a familiar flash of irritation. "But I meant what I said. We face this together. And you need to be able to defend yourself." She pushed the wand slightly closer, her jaw tightening. "Rodolphus won’t stop. We need to be ready. Are you?"
"Ready?" Bellatrix snarled, the word laced with venom. "Ready for what? More of your Order’s sanctimonious interrogations? More of Weasley brat’s glares? Or perhaps ready to watch you bleed out next time because you were too busy playing the noble martyr to save your own skin?" Her gaze flickered wildly from the wand to Hermione’s bandaged arm, a stark, accusing reminder. She saw Rodolphus’s hate-filled promise, felt the phantom chill of the Dark Lord’s inevitable wrath, saw Narcissa’s terrified face trapped in the crossfire. The gilded cage was gone, shattered, leaving her exposed on a battlefield she no longer recognized. Panic, raw and primal, clawed at her throat, demanding she lash out, push this infuriating, trusting girl away before that trust got them both killed. "Don't pretend this is about me, Mudbl—" The hated slur died on her lips, choked by the memory of Hermione’s arm raised to shield her, by the sheer, stupid weight of the offered wand. The hypocrisy tasted like ash.
For a heartbeat, the air crackled with Bellatrix’s unspent fury and Hermione’s rigid defiance. Then, with a sudden, almost violent motion, Bellatrix snatched the wand from Hermione’s hand, her fingers closing around it like talons. The familiar, dangerous hum of magic against her palm was less a comfort and more like grabbing a live wire – a jolt of power that was terrifyingly hers and yet felt utterly alien. Not her walnut wand, not an extension of her will as Cygnus’s weapon or the Dark Lord’s instrument. Just power. To defend? To survive? To protect this? The sheer absurdity of it threatened to unleash another torrent of bitter laughter, or perhaps screams.
She met Hermione’s gaze, the stolen wand gripped so tightly her knuckles turned white. The cold, sharp fear was still there, a constant companion. But beneath the roiling anger and terror, fanned by Hermione’s infuriating, obstinate trust and the desperate, clawing need to survive Rodolphus’s promised vengeance, a spark of something hotter and more dangerous than mere defiance ignited – a feral will to fight back, consequences be damned.
Bellatrix straightened her shoulders, forcing a semblance of her old hauteur, though it felt brittle and false over the raw mess beneath. "Oh, don’t worry, Granger," she sneered, the familiar mask slipping back into place, a desperate defense against the vulnerability and fear. "I’ll give your precious Order exactly what they want. A front-row seat to the Black family disgrace and a detailed description of the monster snapping at their heels." She gestured towards the door with mocking flourish. "After you,keeper. Let’s go feed the vultures."
Chapter Text
The heavy oak door to the Grimmauld Place drawing room groaned shut behind them, sealing Bellatrix and Hermione in a tomb of hostile silence. The air crackled with unspoken accusations and the lingering stench of Floo powder and blood. The Order members – Kingsley, Moody, Tonks, Harry, Ron, and a pale-faced Ginny – were arrayed around the battered table, their faces etched with exhaustion, grief, and suspicion. All eyes fixed on Bellatrix, the unwelcome ghost of their enemy in their midst.
Bellatrix felt it like a physical blow. The weight of their judgment, their barely concealed revulsion, pressed in on her. The raw vulnerability she’d shown Hermione in the kitchen was a gaping wound she couldn't bear to expose here. Instinct, honed by years of survival in the viper pit of pureblood politics and Death Eater ranks, slammed down like an iron portcullis. She drew herself up, the torn silk of her dress suddenly feeling less like a vulnerability and more like defiant plumage. A sneer, sharp and practiced, curled her lips.
"Charming," she drawled, her voice dripping with icy disdain, cutting through the heavy silence. She swept into the room, not waiting for an invitation, and leaned insolently against the mantelpiece, deliberately positioning herself apart. "Do you always hold your post-battle soirees in such... dank surroundings? Or is the décor a deliberate choice to match the general mood of sanctimonious despair?"
Ron flushed crimson, his hand twitching towards his wand. "You’ve got a nerve—"
"Oh, do pipe down, Weasel King," Bellatrix interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. Her gaze raked over him with theatrical pity. "Did the nasty Death Eaters scare you? Run along to Mummy, perhaps she has a spare comfort blanket." She turned her attention to the map on the table, ignoring the collective intake of breath. "Diagon Alley, how predictable. Though hitting *Flourish and Blotts*? Really? Did the Dark Lord suddenly develop a passion for children's tales about friendly dragons?" Her laugh was a harsh, brittle sound. "Or was it just the closest place stocked with Weasley-quality second-hand robes?"
"Black," Kingsley's voice was a low rumble, a warning. "Your insights. Now. Spare us the theatrics."
"Theatrics?" Bellatrix placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. "Minister, I assure you, my observations are purely strategic. Ollivander? Obvious. The man knows more about wand cores than you lot know about basic defensive charms. Gringotts? Gold, power, dark artifacts gathering dust in vaults belonging to families too cowardly to fight." Her eyes flickered towards Hermione, who had silently taken a seat, her bandaged arm resting on the table. "Though why bother vaults when you can just *marry* into a disgraced pureblood fortune, hmm?"
Hermione’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the map. Bellatrix felt a perverse stab of satisfaction at getting a reaction, however small. It was safer than acknowledging the protective fury simmering beneath her own ribs when she looked at the bandage.
"Get to the point, witch," Moody snarled, his magical eye whirling furiously, fixed on her. "Black. Rodolphus. He was there for you. Why?"
Bellatrix met his gaze, the cold mask firmly in place. "Why, Mad-Eye," she purred, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper laced with venom. "Jealous? Did you want a special invitation to my downfall? Rodolphus has always been... possessive. He considered me his property, long before dear Lucius decided to trade me like a prized kneazle at auction." Her lip curled. "Seeing his discarded toy playing for the other side? It offended his delicate pureblood sensibilities. Simple as that. He wanted to punish the traitor. Probably hoped to drag me back to his master for a public flaying. Such a romantic." She straightened up, her voice regaining its cutting edge. "Hardly requires a strategic genius, does it? Even you lot should be able to grasp the concept of wounded male pride."
"He targeted Granger," Harry stated flatly, his green eyes boring into hers. "After you intervened."
Bellatrix laughed again, the sound sharp and mocking. "Oh, yes, Saint Potter, ever the perceptive one! Of course he targeted the Mudblood holding his leash! Eliminate the handler, recapture the beast. Elementary tactics." She spread her hands. "Honestly, the sheer lack of imagination in this room is staggering. It’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long." Her gaze swept over them all, radiating contempt. "Is that all? Or shall I draw you pretty diagrams?"
Moody slammed his fist on the table, making the map jump. "Enough of your lip, Black! You know more. What's their next move? Where will they strike? Where's Ollivander being held?"
Bellatrix tilted her head, feigning deep thought. "Hmm... let me consult the Dark Lord's personal appointment book he so kindly leaves lying around." She tapped her temple. "Oh, wait. I seem to have misplaced my invitation to his inner circle war councils ever since my indiscretion. Shocking, I know." Her voice hardened, the sarcasm giving way to genuine, biting anger. "You dragged me here for intelligence? What intelligence? I saw what you saw: chaos, brutality, and Rodolphus Lestrange throwing a tantrum because his favourite toy got stolen. That's it. That's the grand strategic insight. Unless," her eyes narrowed, glinting dangerously, "you want me to speculate? Shall I spin pretty lies to make you feel better? Would that suit?"
She pushed off the mantelpiece, pacing a few steps, her movements tight with suppressed energy. "You want to know what I know? I know Rodolphus won't stop. I know he'll tell the Dark Lord I fought against them. I know my sister, Narcissa, and her wretched family are now dangling over a pit because of your brilliant political maneuvering!" Her voice rose, sharp with accusation directed at Kingsley and the others. "I know that every minute I spend in this room, listening to your inane questions, is a minute they could be dying because you forced me into this gilded cage!"
The room was utterly silent. Even Moody seemed momentarily taken aback by the raw fury beneath the vitriol. Bellatrix stopped pacing, breathing slightly harder, her chest heaving. The mask had slipped, revealing the terror for Narcissa, the white-hot rage at her helplessness, the suffocating fear that was her constant companion. She quickly smoothed her features back into icy disdain, but the crack had been visible.
"That's all the intelligence you're getting," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Unless you plan to finally break out the Veritaserum and Legilimency you've all been itching to use? Go on. Prove Rodolphus right. Prove you're no better." She looked directly at Hermione, the challenge burning in her dark eyes. "Well, keeper? Does the Order want its pound of flesh now, or shall we wait for dessert?"
Hermione stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly. Her face was pale but set. "We're done here," she announced, her voice cutting through the tension. "Bella’s given you the operational facts she observed. Speculation under duress is worthless. Kingsley, we need to focus on securing Ollivander's known contacts and potential holding locations based on previous patterns, not... this." She gestured vaguely at the charged atmosphere. "Bella, come." It wasn't a request, but a command laced with exhaustion and a thread of protective finality.
Bellatrix held Hermione’s gaze for a long, defiant moment. The urge to spit another insult, to shatter the fragile intervention, warred with the bone-deep weariness and the terrifying knowledge that Hermione was, once again, standing between her and the wolves. With a final, scathing look that swept the silent Order members, she turned on her heel.
"Charmed as always," she tossed over her shoulder, the sarcasm a thin veneer over the tremor she couldn't quite hide. She strode towards the door Hermione held open, not looking back, the weight of their hatred and her own chaotic terror a crushing burden on her shoulders.
Chapter Text
A dizzying apparition knocked them to the floor of the apartment's living room. The wards hummed softly in recognition—a jarringly normal sound after the chaos of Grimmauld Place. Hermione stumbled, landing with a sharp hiss as pain shot through her injured arm. She leaned heavily against the cool stone of the fireplace, her face pale and etched with pain beneath the grime.
Bellatrix didn't wait. She stalked past Hermione, the raw energy of terror, fury, and the bone-deep chill of Rodolphus’s promise propelling her forward. She needed space. She needed to escape the scent of blood, ash, and Hermione’s exhausted presence that felt like a physical weight pressing on her fractured composure.
She pushed open the door to their shared bedroom – her room, she insisted mentally, though the shared space mocked the thought. The familiar scene struck her with the force of a physical blow.
There it lay. The silken robe she’d discarded carelessly that morning, a cascade of dark fabric draped over the back of the plush armchair near the window. Sunlight, weak and grey now with the advancing evening, slanted across it. The sight was a brutal, silent reproach. What happened a few hours ago seems like a long time ago. That morning brought... what? Peace? There had never been true peace between them. But it was a fragile and uneasy calm. As they ate breakfast together, they even opened up to each other, without the threat of violence erupting at any moment.
Now, the robe looked like a relic from a different world. A world before she’d seen Hermione bleed for her. Before Rodolphus had looked at her with pure, unadulterated hate and promised retribution that would extend to Narcissa.
The contrast was dizzying. It wasn't just the chaos of Diagon Alley versus this ordered room. It was the chaos inside her. The carefully constructed walls of hatred and disdain, meticulously rebuilt after her vulnerable dawn with Hermione, felt like they were crumbling under the weight of… something else. Something terrifyingly unfamiliar that had flared when Dolohov raised his wand at Hermione. Something that had nothing to do with the bond, or survival, or strategy.
What is this? The silent scream echoed in her skull. What am I supposed to do with this?
She heard Hermione enter the room behind her, her footsteps slow and heavy. Bellatrix didn't turn. She kept her back rigid, staring fixedly at the robe, as if it held answers. The silence stretched, thick and charged with everything unsaid – the battle, Rodolphus's threat, Hermione’s wound, and the bewildering tangle of feelings knotting Bellatrix's chest.
She felt Hermione move past her, catching a glimpse of her heading towards the ensuite bathroom. The scent of blood and ozone trailed faintly behind her. Bellatrix flinched. That scent – the blood Hermione shed protecting her – it was a physical manifestation of the impossible situation. It was the proof of Hermione’s actions, actions that contradicted every expectation Bellatrix had built around her "jailer," actions that made the simmering resentment feel hollow and inadequate.
Hermione despised the deal. She said so herself. Those words echoed endlessly in Bellatrix's mind. Terrifying. Short-sighted. Cruel. But Hermione ultimately accepted the deal, so Bellatrix hated her. Yet... when she stood before the Killing Curse to protect her, when she clashed with members of the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione was also protecting her. She returned here with scars and exhaustion, rather than leaving Bellatrix to face the consequences alone.
It made no sense. It defied the neat categories of captor and captive, enemy and ally. It scraped raw against the ingrained lessons of a lifetime: trust no one, love is weakness, vulnerability is death.
The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Hermione was cleaning her wound. The practical, necessary act felt like another intrusion into Bellatrix’s turmoil. What was she supposed to do? Offer help? That felt like surrender, like acknowledging a connection she couldn't possibly name or accept. Ignore her? Pretend the woman who just bled for her didn’t exist mere feet away? That felt like the height of cowardice, a betrayal of… of what? Not the bond. Something else.
Bellatrix squeezed her eyes shut. She craved the clarity of pure hate.That was simple. Contempt was armor. Now? Rage boiled - at the Death Eaters, the Order, the whole damned war. Worse, a sickening urge to protect the Mudblood who'd caged her. And beneath it all, a terrifying flicker... of something else... for her jailer.It was madness. Weakness. Rodolphus would smell it like blood and tear her apart.
She heard the water stop. A soft rustle. Hermione would emerge soon, bandaged, weary, and impossibly present. Bellatrix closed her eyes, the image of the hermione imprinted on her lids. She didn't know how to face her. She didn't know how to face the storm inside her own chest. The gilded cage had become a labyrinth, and Bellatrix Black, master of curses and cruelty, was utterly, terrifyingly lost within it, with no map for the treacherous territory of her own unwanted, burgeoning emotions.
The soft click of the bathroom door opening shattered the fragile silence. Bellatrix remained rigid, her back still turned, but every nerve ending screamed awareness. She didn’t need to look to know Hermione stood there. The shift in the air, the faint scent of dittany and blood overlaid with soap, the quiet sound of her breathing – slightly labored – painted a vivid picture Bellatrix desperately wished to ignore.
She heard the soft pad of bare feet on the carpet. Hermione moved slowly, deliberately, past her periphery towards the bed. Bellatrix caught a glimpse: Hermione wore simple sleep pants and a thin camisole, the stark white bandage wrapped high around her bicep a glaring punctuation mark on her pale skin. Her damp curls clung to her neck and temples, emphasizing the exhaustion etched into her face. She looked diminished, vulnerable in a way that scraped against Bellatrix’s already raw nerves.
Weakness. Vulnerability.Cygnus’s voice hissed in her memory. Exploit it. Crush it.The old lessons were automatic, a reflex honed for survival. Yet, the sight of that bandage, the memory of Hermione throwing herself in front of Dolohov’s curse… it twisted the instinct into something sickening. It wasn’t weakness she saw aimed at her; it was a consequence of… protection. Her protection.
A wave of something hot and suffocating washed over Bellatrix – not magic, but pure, unadulterated fury mixed with a confusing pang that felt perilously close to… something else. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken words and the terrifying weight of whatever was churning inside her chest. Hatred? Yes, that was familiar, a comforting blanket she could wrap around herself. Contempt? Easily summoned. But beneath them, tangled like thorny vines, was that bewildering, treacherous thing that had made her act without thought, burying Dolohov to save Hermione. It felt like a violation of her own carefully constructed identity.
What is this? The silent scream echoed again, desperate and lost. Look at her? Acknowledge the wound? Offer… what? The thought was absurd, repulsive. It felt like surrendering territory she hadn't even known she was defending. Yet, turning away, pretending this injured woman who shared her cage didn't exist… that felt like a cowardice she couldn't name. A betrayal not of the bond, but of… something terrifyingly unnamed stirring within herself.
Hermione sank onto the edge of the bed with a barely audible sigh, the springs creaking softly. She didn’t look at Bellatrix. Her gaze was fixed on her own hands, resting in her lap, one lightly touching the edge of the bandage. The silence stretched, becoming a physical presence in the room, heavy with shared trauma and Bellatrix’s internal maelstrom.
Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice low and raspy, devoid of its usual sharpness, just weary. "Kettle’s charmed. Tea will be ready soon." It was a mundane statement, absurdly normal amidst the wreckage of their day and the tension choking the room. An offering. A fragile attempt to bridge the impossible gap, not with demands or explanations, but with the simple, shared ritual of tea. A thread of normalcy thrown into the abyss.
Bellatrix flinched as if struck. The mundane kindness was worse than accusation. It bypassed her defenses, slipping past the armor of hatred and contempt, and landed directly on the raw, exposed mess beneath. It implied a shared space, a shared recovery, a shared future that included sitting across from each other sipping tea after Hermione had nearly died shielding her.
She still didn’t turn. Her gaze remained fixed on the rain-streaked window, the city lights below smearing into indistinct blurs. The discarded robe on the chair seemed to mock her, a symbol of a simpler misery she suddenly craved. The confusing surge of feeling towards Hermione – part fury, part something terrifyingly unknown – was a live wire, sparking panic deep in her core. Rodolphus’s promise echoed, but it felt distant compared to the immediate, intimate threat in this room: her own unraveling composure.
The silence stretched again, thicker now after Hermione’s quiet words. Bellatrix felt Hermione’s presence like a physical weight against her back, waiting. For what? Anger? Acknowledgment? A shared cup of tea?
Bellatrix closed her eyes, the image of Hermione’s bandaged arm superimposed over the blurry lights outside. The gilded cage felt less like a prison and more like a crucible, trapping her with the one person who simultaneously infuriated her, endangered her, and… protected her. The conflicting currents within her – the ingrained instinct to lash out at vulnerability warring against the bewildering impulse to… something else entirely – threatened to pull her apart. She didn’t know how to navigate this. She didn’t know how to feel. She only knew the storm inside was raging, and Hermione Granger, sitting wounded and silent on the edge of the bed offering tea, was its bewildering eye.
The faint, insistent whistle of the kettle pierced the suffocating silence. Bellatrix remained rigid, her back a wall against the room, against Hermione, against the terrifying churn within her own chest. The sound was an intrusion, a grating demand for normalcy she couldn't possibly meet.
Then, it happened.
A subtle shift in the air. Not a scent she consciously registered at first, but a feeling. Warmth. Comfort. Safety. It emanated from the direction of the bed, a gentle, invisible wave that washed over Bellatrix’s heightened senses. It was rich and complex – aged parchment, grounding cinnamon, a hint of petrichor after a storm, and beneath it, a powerful, calming resonance that spoke of unwavering protection. Hermione’s Alpha pheromones, released instinctively, seeking to soothe the distressed Omega in her proximity.
The effect was immediate and profound. The jagged edges of Bellatrix’s panic, the icy tension, the white-hot rage – they didn't vanish, but they blunted.A deep, involuntary sigh escaped her lips, her rigid shoulders easing minutely. Her clenched fists loosened. It felt like sinking into a warm bath after hours in the freezing rain, a balm directly applied to her frayed nerves. A treacherous sense of rightness, of belonging, bloomed low in her belly, warm and seductive. Her Omega biology, battered and defiant, purred in visceral response to her Alpha’s silent call. Safe. Protected. Hers.
And that realization – the sheer, humiliating pleasure she took in Hermione Granger’s calming scent, the way her body welcomed it – ignited a furnace of pure, incandescent fury within her.
Weak! Pathetic! Cygnus’s voice roared in her head, louder than ever. Submitting to a Mudblood’s scent? Letting her pacify you like a frightened child? Disgusting!
The warmth curdled into acid shame. The sense of safety felt like a trap, a velvet-lined snare designed to lull her into submission. How dare she? How dare Hermione use this… this biological manipulation against her? After everything! After the deal, the cage, the near-death experience, the confusing, terrifying feelings churning inside her… now she dared to scent-mark her into compliance? To soothe her like a pet kneazle?
Bellatrix whirled around, the movement violent and abrupt. Her face, pale moments before, was now flushed with fury, her dark eyes blazing with betrayed outrage. The discarded robe on the chair seemed to mock her newfound vulnerability.
"Stop it!" The shriek ripped from her throat, raw and ragged. She took a furious step towards the bed, her finger jabbing accusingly at Hermione. "How dare you! Turn that off! Right now!"
Hermione looked up, startled, her weariness momentarily replaced by confusion. She hadn't moved, hadn't consciously intensified the pheromones; it was an instinctive Alpha response to a distressed mate. "Bella, I'm not—"
"Don't lie to me!" Bellatrix screamed, cutting her off. The comforting scent felt like a physical violation now, an invasion she couldn't escape. It was everywhere, wrapping around her, making her treacherous body relax even as her mind screamed rebellion. "I can smell it! Your pathetic Alpha compulsion! Trying to calm the rabid beast? Make her pliant? Is that it? Dose her with your scent so she forgets you got her into this mess? Forget you nearly got yourself killed playing the hero?" Her voice cracked on the last word, the image of Hermione blocking the curse flashing before her eyes, fueling the irrational rage.
She grabbed the first thing her hand found on the dresser – a heavy, cut-glass perfume bottle Hermione had received as a gift and never used. With a guttural cry of pure, unfiltered fury and shame, she hurled it across the room, not at Hermione, but towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, towards the source of the whistling sound.
The bottle sailed past Hermione's head and smashed against the doorframe with a spectacular crash. Shards of glass and expensive, cloying perfume exploded outwards, raining onto the floor and the wall. The sharp, synthetic floral scent momentarily clashed violently with Hermione's calming pheromones.
The impact against the doorframe sent a visible shudder through the wall.The shrill whistle of the kettle, undisturbed by the chaos in the bedroom, continued its piercing shriek into the sudden aftermath of breaking glass. It was a jarring, relentless sound, utterly indifferent to the storm of human emotion it accompanied.
Bellatrix stood amidst the wreckage she’d created, chest heaving, fists clenched again. The comforting Alpha scent still lingered beneath the assault of perfume, a taunting reminder of the weakness she’d just displayed, of the treacherous longing that had sparked this explosion. She’d proven Cygnus right. She was weak. She had craved the Mudblood’s comfort. And the humiliation of it burned hotter than any spell.
The cloying perfume hung thick in the air, a sickly counterpoint to the unrelenting shriek of the kettle. Bellatrix stood frozen in the wreckage of her own fury, chest heaving, her furious gaze locked onto Hermione’s.
Bellatrix braced for the retaliation. For the cold fury, the sharp words, the withdrawal she deserved after her explosive tantrum and the near-miss of the thrown bottle. It would be cleaner. It would give her rage a target, a reason to rebuild the shattered walls.
It didn’t come.
Instead, Hermione pushed herself up from the edge of the bed. Slowly, deliberately, ignoring the glass crunching faintly under her bare feet, she closed the distance between them. Her movements were stiff with pain and exhaustion, but her gaze never wavered from Bellatrix’s. There was no anger in her eyes. Only that deep, unbearable understanding, and a determination that took Bellatrix’s breath away.
Before Bellatrix could react, could snarl another warning or retreat, Hermione’s uninjured arm reached out. Not to strike, not to restrain, but to gather. She pulled Bellatrix into an embrace.
It was firm, encompassing. The warmth of Hermione’s body, the now unmistakable, calming wash of her Alpha scent – intensified by proximity – enveloped Bellatrix instantly. The physical contact was a shockwave. Her treacherous Omega core sang, a desperate, visceral relief flooding her system, urging her to melt, to bury her face in the crook of Hermione’s neck, to surrender to the safety offered.
"Get OFF!" Bellatrix shrieked, the sound raw and panicked. She exploded into motion, thrashing against the embrace with desperate, animalistic strength. She shoved against Hermione’s chest, twisted violently, trying to break free from the circle of arms that felt simultaneously like a prison and a sanctuary. "I said DON'T TOUCH ME! YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD! LET GO!"
Her elbow caught Hermione sharply on the bandaged arm as she writhed.
Hermione gasped, a sharp, pained sound that cut through Bellatrix’s fury like ice water. The embrace faltered, Hermione’s body stiffening. Bellatrix felt the wetness instantly – a fresh, warm seep of blood soaking through the white bandage, staining Hermione’s camisole sleeve crimson.
The sight stopped Bellatrix cold. Her thrashing ceased abruptly. She froze in Hermione’s loosened hold, staring in horrified shock at the rapidly spreading red stain. The rage vanished, replaced by a wave of icy dread and sickening guilt. She’d done that. She’d hurt her. Again.
Hermione didn't cry out again. She just tightened her jaw, a flicker of intense pain crossing her features before she schooled them back into that weary determination. Her uninjured arm remained around Bellatrix, holding her gently but firmly, even as her wounded arm hung limply at her side, dripping blood onto the carpet. The Alpha scent intensified, wrapping around Bellatrix like a physical embrace, warm cinnamon and parchment and unwavering safety, now tinged with the sharp copper tang of fresh blood.
"Shhh," Hermione murmured, her voice rough with pain but impossibly gentle. She pulled Bellatrix closer, ignoring the blood, ignoring the shattered glass, ignoring Bellatrix’s earlier vitriol. "It's alright. It's alright, Bella. Just... stop fighting. Please." Her breath was warm against Bellatrix’s temple.
Bellatrix stood rigid, trembling violently. Every instinct screamed to shove her away, to scream, to deny this comfort born of her own violence. The shame was suffocating. She’d craved the scent, then raged against it, then hurt the source of it. She was a whirlwind of contradictions, a danger to herself and to Hermione. Yet... the scent enveloped her, that primal, biological sense of safety seeping into her bones despite her mind’s frantic protests. The warmth of Hermione’s body against hers, even with the horrifying evidence of her own actions staining them both, felt... grounding. Real.
A choked sob escaped Bellatrix’s lips, torn from her against her will. She tried to stifle it, clenching her teeth, but another followed, harsher, more desperate. The fight drained out of her, leaving her weak and shaking. The terror, the confusion, the bone-deep exhaustion, and the overwhelming, humiliating need for the comfort being offered finally broke through the dam.
She didn't lean in. Not fully. But her rigid posture collapsed incrementally. Her head bowed, her forehead coming to rest against Hermione’s uninjured shoulder. Her body trembled, wracked by silent, shuddering sobs she could no longer contain. The scent of Hermione – blood, dittany, and that profoundly calming Alpha essence – filled her senses. It wasn't surrender; it was exhaustion. It was the terrifying, undeniable pull of biology and something deeper, more confusing, winning out over her fractured pride and ingrained hatred.
Hermione held her, a solid anchor in the storm. One hand gently cradled the back of Bellatrix’s head, fingers tangling slightly in the wild, dark curls. The other arm, the wounded one, remained carefully away, but her presence was complete. She murmured soft, wordless sounds, the Alpha timble a low, soothing vibration against Bellatrix’s ear.
Bellatrix cried. She cried for the terror of Diagon Alley, for the crushing weight of Rodolphus’s promise, for the confusing maelstrom inside her, for the wound she’d just reopened, and for the sheer, humiliating relief of finally, finally stopping the fight. She cried against the shoulder of the woman she was supposed to hate, the woman whose blood now stained her own torn dress, the woman whose scent felt like the only solid thing in her collapsing world.
Chapter Text
The silence after the kettle clicked off was profound, broken only by Bellatrix’s ragged breaths and the frantic drumming of her own heart against Hermione’s shoulder. The scent of Hermione’s blood was sharp and metallic, a brutal counterpoint to the cinnamon-parchment warmth of her Alpha pheromones, which still wrapped around Bellatrix like a physical balm, soothing the jagged edges of her panic even as shame curdled in her stomach.
She had hurt her. Again. The fresh crimson stain blooming on the white bandage was undeniable proof. Yet, Hermione held her. Not with anger, not with restraint born of duty, but with a terrifying, unwavering gentleness that felt like a chasm opening beneath Bellatrix’s feet. Her thrashing had ceased, replaced by a violent trembling that seemed to originate deep within her bones. The fight had bled out of her, leaving only exhaustion, confusion, and that maddening, treacherous pull towards the very source of her turmoil.
"I... I didn't mean..." Bellatrix choked out, the words thick with unshed tears and self-loathing. Her fingers, still clenched into fists moments ago, uncurled slightly, hovering near the bloodstained fabric of Hermione’s camisole, afraid to touch, yet drawn to the evidence of her violence. "The blood... your arm..."
"It’s alright," Hermione murmured, her voice a low, soothing vibration against Bellatrix’s temple. Her good hand slid from the back of Bellatrix’s head to cradle her cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear track with infinite tenderness. The touch was electric, sending a fresh wave of conflicting sensations through Bellatrix – shame, a desperate craving for more,"Hush now. Just breathe with me."
Hermione’s other arm, the wounded one, remained carefully held away, but her body pressed closer, eliminating any remaining space between them. The warmth radiating from her was undeniable, a solid anchor in Bellatrix’s swirling chaos. The Alpha scent intensified, but as an offering of safety, a promise of stability amidst the storm. Bellatrix felt her treacherous body respond instinctively, leaning infinitesimally into the touch, a small, broken sound escaping her lips.
Bellatrix’s breath hitched. Hermione’s gaze held hers, deep amber pools reflecting the flickering lamplight and the turmoil within Bellatrix. There was no judgment there, only understanding, patience, and a heat that mirrored the confusing embers smoldering in Bellatrix’s own core. The proximity, the shared breath, the intoxicating blend of blood, pain, and Hermione’s uniquely calming yet potent scent – it was overwhelming.
A spark ignited deep within Bellatrix, hotter and brighter than her rage had ever been.
A desperate, wounded sound escaped her. Before she could think, before she could stop herself, she surged forward, not to attack, but to crush her lips against Hermione’s.
It wasn't a kiss of tenderness. It was a collision. A claiming. A desperate attempt to silence the voices, to obliterate the fear and shame in a conflagration of pure, raw feeling. Teeth clashed. Lips bruised. Bellatrix poured every ounce of her confusion, her fury, her terrifying, burgeoning need into the brutal contact. Her hands, moments ago pushing away, now fisted in the thin fabric of Hermione’s camisole, dragging her impossibly closer, heedless of the injured arm.
Hermione met her with equal ferocity. A low growl rumbled in her chest. Bellatrix moaned into Hermione’s mouth, the sound swallowed by the fierce kiss. Her struggles ceased entirely. She arched against Hermione, no longer fighting the embrace but seeking more contact, more friction, more of the searing heat that burned away thought and fear. The hand that had injured Hermione now tangled frantically in her damp curls, pulling her closer, demanding more.
Hermione broke the kiss for a gasping breath, her eyes flashing golden with desire. "Mine," she growled softly. Before Bellatrix could respond, Hermione’s lips crashed down again, trailing hot, biting kisses down her jaw, her throat. She found the pulse point at the base of Bellatrix’s neck and bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but with enough possessive pressure to draw a sharp cry that quickly dissolved into a ragged moan from Bellatrix.
Hermione’s hand slid down Bellatrix’s back, over the curve of her hip, gripping her thigh and hiking it up around her own waist. The movement pressed them together intimately, the thin barriers of their clothing suddenly agonizing. Bellatrix gasped, her head falling back, baring her throat in instinctive submission even as her hips ground against Hermione’s.
"Bed," Hermione growled against her skin, the command leaving no room for argument. "Now."
She didn’t wait. Still holding Bellatrix’s thigh, Hermione half-carried, half-dragged her the few steps to the bed. Bellatrix went willingly, her earlier defiance replaced by a desperate, consuming hunger. The back of her knees hit the mattress, and she fell backwards, pulling Hermione down on top of her.
There was no more hesitation, no more careful exploration. This was a claiming born of conflict, forged in blood and fury. Hermione’s hands were everywhere, tearing at the ruined silk of Bellatrix’s dress, her own camisole discarded with a rough tug. Skin met fevered skin. Hermione’s mouth was relentless, mapping Bellatrix’s collarbones, her breasts, her stomach with searing kisses and possessive bites that drew gasps and whimpers. Her injured arm was momentarily forgotten, a dull throb beneath the overwhelming tide of sensation and need.
Bellatrix writhed beneath her, lost in the storm. Her fingers raked down Hermione’s back, leaving red trails, her own moans a constant counterpoint to Hermione’s guttural growls. The Alpha’s dominance was absolute, overwhelming her senses, silencing the cacophony in her mind with a relentless focus on pleasure, on possession. When Hermione’s hand finally slid between her legs, finding her slick and desperate, Bellatrix cried out, arching off the bed.
"Hermione!" It was half-scream, half-sob, a surrender and a demand.
Hermione’s eyes locked onto hers, burning with dark triumph and insatiable hunger. "Say it," she commanded, her fingers circling, pressing, demanding.
Bellatrix’s world narrowed to the touch, to the fierce gaze pinning her. The walls were gone. Only need remained. "Yours!" she gasped, the word ripped from her soul. "Alpha! Please!"
The plea unleashed Hermione. Her fingers plunged deep, curling, finding that perfect spot with unerring precision. At the same time, she lowered her head, capturing Bellatrix’s nipple in her mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The dual assault shattered Bellatrix. Her climax hit like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming, tearing a raw, ragged scream from her throat as she convulsed, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around Hermione’s fingers.
Hermione rode her through it, her own breath coming in harsh gasps, watching Bella’s ecstasy with possessive awe. As the tremors began to subside, she withdrew her fingers, eliciting a whimper of loss. Before Bellatrix could recover, Hermione shifted, her strong thighs pressing Bella’s apart. The hard length of her cock, fully manifested by her Alpha need, pressed insistently against Bella’s slick entrance.
"Look at me," Hermione ordered, her voice thick with desire.
Bellatrix’s eyes, glazed with pleasure, fluttered open. She met Hermione’s burning gaze.
"Mine," Hermione repeated, the word a promise. And then she thrust home.
Bellatrix cried out again, this time at the exquisite stretch, the overwhelming fullness. There was no gentleness, only a fierce, possessive claiming that mirrored the fury of their earlier conflict. Hermione set a relentless, pounding rhythm, each deep thrust driving the breath from Bellatrix’s lungs, each withdrawal a sweet torment. The bed creaked in protest. Bellatrix wrapped her legs tightly around Hermione’s waist, meeting every thrust, her nails digging into Hermione’s shoulders, urging her deeper, harder.
"Harder," Bellatrix gasped, her voice wrecked. "Alpha… please…"
Hermione growled, a feral sound of pure satisfaction. Her pace became brutal, driving into Bella with primal force. She captured Bella’s lips again in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans. The magic sparked and crackled around them, a visible corona of their combined power and passion. Hermione’s knot began to swell, catching tantalizingly on Bella’s entrance with each powerful stroke.
Bellatrix felt it, "Knot me," she begged, arching desperately. "Fill me… breed me… yours…"
The words, the utter surrender, snapped Hermione’s control. With a final, powerful thrust, she buried herself to the hilt as her knot expanded, locking them together irrevocably. The sensation triggered Bellatrix’s second, even more intense climax. She screamed, her body bowing off the bed, inner walls milking Hermione’s cock as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her.
Hermione roared her release, her teeth sinking into the claiming mark on Bella’s shoulder as her own orgasm ripped through her.
They collapsed, locked together, slick with sweat and blood and come, breathing in ragged unison. Hermione’s weight pressed Bellatrix into the mattress, a comforting, possessive anchor. Her uninjured arm wrapped tightly around Bella, holding her close as aftershocks trembled through them both. The air hung thick with the scent of sex, blood, and their deeply entwined magic.
Hermione nuzzled the bite mark on Bella’s shoulder, her lips brushing the sensitive skin. "Mine," she murmured again, the word a satisfied rumble against Bella’s skin.
Bellatrix didn’t argue. Exhausted, and utterly spent, she turned her head slightly, her lips brushing Hermione’s sweat-damp temple in a silent, shattered acknowledgment. The conflict had burned itself out, leaving only ashes, the coppery tang of blood on the sheets, and the searing, undeniable heat of what remained. The war outside still raged, Rodolphus still plotted, but in this moment, tangled together in the wreckage of their own making, there was only this: a brutal, binding passion forged in fury and sealed in blood.
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