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The darkness blinds Hermione as her captors’ rough hands yank her down the stone steps into the basement of Malfoy Manor.
“No! Let me go!” Hermione screams as she kicks at them to no avail.
The brute on her left just pulls her harder as they step down to the bottom landing. Hermione loses her footing and falls, scraping her jeans on the pavement. The floor is grimy from dirt and dust and ground-up blood, the air full of stale urine and decomposing excrement. A short burst of pain hisses past her throat at the contact as well as the full knowledge to what she was being exposed. Her stomach recoils on the smells.
“Shite, missy. Don’ you do that,” the other one cusses. Together they haul her back to her feet and continue moving down the row of cells, past those filled with dejected prisoners -- some crying, some quiet, a few brave ones shouting and pleading at them for release.
Their plight is lost on Hermione since she is fixated on her own troubles. The Death Eaters stop before an empty cell and open its iron gate. “You rotten fiends!” she yells, but they ignore her. Losing her balance as they throw her inside, she stumbles and falls onto the back wall. “Hmpf.”
They close and lock her in, the clanks resounding in the small space. “No! You can’t leave me here!”
“Oi, ‘tis easy, missy,” one mocks.
“Yeah,” says the bigger one, “We’s can do what we like.”
Hermione rushes back to the door and yanks on it, trying to get free. She grunts and shouts to help her in her struggles, but the door remains shut.
“No help for ye’ now. Have fun!” They laugh as they saunter away.
Hermione’s eyes flash with anger as she watches them leave. She wonders how long she’ll be down here, but in the meantime she starts looking for a means of escape.
--
A house-elf pops in and drops a battered old plate of stale bread and a cup of tepid water onto the floor at her feet.
“Vile Mudblood,” it growls and pops out again.
Her fingers, cracked and bloodied by countless hours of searching the confines of her cell, tremble as they close on the meager piece of food. The house-elves refuse to give her any other sustenance no matter how many times she yells at them. Her voice has gone hoarse from her demands.
Prisoners come and go. The new ones come in kicking and screaming as she did; the older ones usually arrive back in a dead heap, tossed without ceremony into their cells. The guards come for at least one victim a day to torture, their screams of agony wafting down the stone steps to send chills down her spine, but they have yet to come for her.
Hermione can feel herself getting weaker by the day, and her brain is starting to wonder if the house-elves’ insults might be true. She hasn’t given up hope yet, but she knows most of the cause of Light is lost.
Will she ever see sunlight again?
--
It feels like she’s been down here forever. The cold has seeped all the way to her bones, and she cannot conjure enough heat to keep from shivering. Her mind has gone fuzzy with no one to talk to and only blank walls surrounding her. No one has been ordered to fetch her since she got here weeks ago. She is sure she has been forgotten.
Her mind swims with thoughts of all she has lost in the war. Ron, with his dimpled smile and freckled cheeks. Harry, with his emotion-filled green eyes. Most of the Order and a good many of her class-mates are dead. And there are her parents, who at least will survive, but whom she will never see again.
Locked away, Hermione clings to survival, wishing for freedom.
--
Footsteps pound on the dungeon stairs. Through her bars she sees Bellatrix Lestrange, wand at the ready, striding up to her cell.
“Stand back, Mudblood, or I will curse you,” Bellatrix snarls.
Hermione presses back into a far corner, apprehension surging through her. Of all the people to come fetch her, this was the last one she’d want.
Bellatrix flicks her wand with small jerky impatience, and the door clangs open.
The cruel witch storms into the room with nary a glance around, instead going straight up to the captive and grabbing Hermione’s upper arm, shooting needle-sharp pricks of pain up to her shoulder. “No!” she struggles, until the business end of the other’s wand jams into the girl’s throat.
“Come,” Bellatrix cackles. “My Lord has granted me a boon, and guess who gets to pay the price? Why, you!” she mocks, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. Her dark eyes are intent and joyful.
“No, please!” fights Hermione. Her whole being trembles at the thought of being anywhere with this woman.
Bellatrix digs her fingers further into the bicep and forces Hermione out of the cell.
Hermione hears the other inmates groaning, but the terror of her own predicament takes precedence. Her blood rushes in her ears, and fear catches her breath. She wants to flee, even without a wand, but Bella kicks Hermione to keep her off-balance and pushes her forward up the stairs.
An unknown fate awaits her.
--
The sunlight pierces Hermione’s eyes, the pain lancing through her skull. She has become too accustomed to the dark. With her eyes squinted and Bellatrix yanking her up the next flight of stairs, she only gains a quick impression of the grandeur of Malfoy Manor -- the marble floors, the little prisms of light from the crystal chandelier, the rich velvet tapestries, the decorative gilding, the soft sound of chimes wafting in from the outside.
Hermione is led to an upstairs bedroom. The room is just as opulent as the hallway -- rich silks and satins, textured wall paneling, an antique writing table and chairs, moving artwork, an ancient four-poster bed -- but her possible enjoyment of the surroundings is dimmed considerably by her circumstances. Everything was done up in white, and the brightness was giving her a headache. The absence of horrid smells is almost as upsetting to her stomach as the smells themselves had been when she’d first been brought to the dungeons. There is an odd alcove off to one side hidden by a grey sheet.
“Yes, here we are. Such a pristine room for such a filthy Mudblood, eh? Of course, there’s only the best for me, and I want to see if you can be included in that, which I doubt given your parentage, but, anyway . . . up on the bed with you. Spit spot!” Bellatrix giggles.
Alarmed, Hermione hesitates but doesn’t have the strength to contest this woman. She knows Bellatrix is dangerous; she has, in fact, tasted first-hand her cruelty. And it’s not as if fighting is going to help her. Escape seems impossible, after all, what with the wards and Bellatrix’s power and her own physical weakness, so Hermione complies, not at all sure into what she’s getting.
“Impediamenta,” Bellatrix casts, and within seconds Hermione is tied spread-eagle to the bed posts.
She gasps at the scratchy bindings at her wrists and ankles. “What do you want with me?” she asks, half despairing already.
“It was a gamble beseeching my Lord for your tainted blood,” Bellatrix explains. “You see, He only wishes you dead,” one finger touches the middle of Hermione’s forehead, “but I convinced Him you had other uses. We ladies have not had good . . . attendants for some time.” She dusts her finger over the younger witch’s temple, down the side of her face, and back up the jaw, causing dread to wash through Hermione. “Can you pass the test, I wonder?”
The words send shivers of horror racing through Hermione’s mind. “What test?”
Leaning over her, Bellatrix utters quietly, “Oh. Poor little magic-stealer. No knowledge of our fine customs. We pure witches are in need of sexual stimulation on a regular basis, and over these last many years, we have missed the pleasure that slaves bring.” Her puffs of speech hit Hermione’s cheeks, making the younger witch shrink back in revulsion.
This conjures horrors in Hermione’s mind -- of her on her knees licking the sadistic bitch, of her lying much like this now but with Bellatrix’s cunt blocking off her airways until she laps at it, of herself being taken by this evil woman and who knows how many henchmen! Hermione shakes her head to stop the images and whispers, “No.”
Bellatrix runs one thin hand through Hermione’s knotted locks in a parody of a loving caress. “It would be a great honour for you, a chance to prove that Mudbloods can be useful to Wizarding society.”
Hermione highly doubts that. “As what, sexual slaves?”
“Of course,” she crones, “What else is your dirty blood for? We will show you. Cissy!”
Narcissa Malfoy strides in escorting a grimy, haggard Andromeda Tonks. The beaten witch resists, but Narcissa’s grip and wand-tip are firmly in place. “Come, Andromeda. It is time to earn your new position.”
Bellatrix performs more jerky wand movements and a porcelain tea set transforms into shackles hanging off the bottom posters of the bed where Hermione has a clear view. Andromeda struggles, almost wrenching out of Narcissa’s hold, but she looks as weak as Hermione feels, and within moments she is secured in the cuffs.
She and Hermione exchange glances. There is pain and sadness in Andromeda’s eyes but also a fierceness against her captors, these two whom she once called sisters.
Sauntering up, Bellatrix coos, “Andromeda, luv, the Dark Lord is bestowing upon you a gift, a chance to make recompense for your Muggle-loving ways. You will again be granted a place in the Black family, as well as the opportunity to serve us, your sisters, in something resembling luxury.”
Andromeda’s eyes and nostrils flare. “I’d much rather eat a flobberworm than take any offer from you.”
“Holding on to ideals?” Bellatrix mocks. “Trying to set a good example for your Muggle family?” Her gaze darkens with glee. “Well, I’m happy to inform you that you don’t need to worry about that, since all your family is dead now anyway -- Ted, Nymphadora, her despicable werewolf husband, and . . . .” She stretches out that last and leaves the rest hanging in mid air.
Andromeda knows instantly to whom Bellatrix is referring. Her eyes panic in horror and she pales. “No. Please, no. Not Teddy!”
“Of course, little Teddy!” Bellatrix shouts. “How dare you soil the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black by allowing that despicable creature to breed into it and not expect me to correct your mistake?”
Something changes in Andromeda. Her eyes dull, and she lowers her head in resignation. Within seconds she is crying over the death of her grandson, her last remaining family member. Hermione observes the hope die in her. Andromeda no longer cares what happens to herself.
“There, there,” pets Narcissa, kindly wiping away the tears as they run down Andromeda’s face, smearing the dirt around. “It will be better soon. We are giving you a chance for a new life. The old one is dead along with everyone you knew. Will you take this opportunity to purge all those things from the past and start over?”
Andromeda half-raises her eyes to her sister, a mixture of emotions swirling within. Her body still sobs a little, but she manages to croak out, “What do you mean?”
“Do you remember the games we used to play as girls? The lessons we partook of on our mother’s bed?” Narcissa asks, her sparkling eyes urging the other to remember and understand.
Eyebrows knitting together in some confusion, Andromeda solicits, “You mean the sexual ones, where Mother would use magic to touch us for hours?”
Hermione’s eyes widen at this image of familial incest as Narcissa confirms, “And we had to resist coming, yes. It taught us strength and control.”
The bound sister shutters in memory. “What about those?” Her eyes dart around the room trying to grasp the situation, taking in Hermione’s equally-bound form and both witches’ lustful energy.
Bellatrix speaks up, “Why, Cissy is going to demonstrate on you for this vermin here, to show this Mudblood how it is done.” Bellatrix smiles.
Dread shivers through Hermione.
“If you can resist coming, if you have not forgotten how,” Narcissa lectures Andromeda, “then you will be given a place by my side and in my bed, your name reinstated into the family -- new robes to wear, food to eat, even a career should you choose to work. If not, we will send you back to the dungeons to die. What say you?”
Andromeda’s lower lip shakes as she weighs her decision. Truly, there is not much else for her now. It dawns on Hermione that, as a Slytherin, Andromeda will choose the more beneficial option, however humiliating and low that might be. She is proven right a second later when Andromeda nods her head in agreement.
The two Black sisters begin assaulting the third, using hands and lips and tongues and teeth to stimulate and arouse, following invisible trails all over her body. Hermione watches with shock and something like fascination as Andromeda slowly alters from sobs of despair to soft cries of need. Moans echo out of her at key points in their attentions, especially at ear lobes and neck, elbows and fingertips. Her body quivers in need as it fills the air with the smell of sex. Teeth bite down on pert nipples causing her eyelids to flutter and her breath to hitch. Narcissa’s elegant hand finds its way below and strokes, causing Andromeda to emit a low groan.
Hermione watches her fight it. Andromeda’s eyes are focused in the distance, and her breathing is controlled, although heavy. The young witch blushes at the intimacies, humiliated for Andromeda’s sake and embarrassed by her own curiosity.
Bellatrix allows Narcissa to continue alone and returns her attention to Hermione. “You see, there is an art to giving and receiving pleasure. An uncouth little Mudblood such as you probably won’t last thirty minutes.” Bellatrix smiles again, an evil smile, filled with malice. “Of course, this is your chance to prove me wrong and win yourself a place out of the dungeons.”
Bellatrix pounces on Hermione’s lips.
Hermione is shocked. Not only has she never been with a woman -- or a man for that matter, although Lavender and Parvati had talked about both enough -- but this is Bellatrix Lestrange! Torturess of the Longbottoms. Murderess of Sirius Black. No, it can’t be! Hermione doesn’t want this woman touching her, even to get out of the dungeons. She turns her head, thus breaking the kiss. “I will never serve you,” she spits at the older woman.
“That awaits to be seen,” Bellatrix whispers into her ear, dipping her tongue in for a quick taste.
Electricity flashes through Hermione, and she cries out at the wet intrusion.
“Such uncontrolled passion,” Bellatrix taunts. “No finesse.” She glides her fingernail to one unguarded nipple and flicks it, making Hermione squirm at the pinprick sensation.
“No! Stop,” she pleads.
“You still don’t want this?” Bellatrix puzzles, searching her captive’s eyes in confusion.
Hermione shakes her head but with great fear at Bellatrix’s calm demeanor. What will this woman do if she refuses? Will she rape her?
Bellatrix’s eyes sharpen in determination. “Then you need greater incentive.” With that, she hauls herself off the bed and over to the grey curtain in front of that strange alcove. “Poor little ugly things, hidden away,” she sing-songs as she draws the fabric aside to reveal . . . .
“Aaaahh! Nooo!” Hermione screams. She lashes out in her bindings trying with everything in her to break free, for there in the corner, stiff under the effects of Petrificus Totalus, stand her parents.
“Silence!” Bellatrix hisses.
Hermione forces herself quiet, afraid of what this nasty woman will do, but tears are already forming in her eyes.
“Better. Now, I had a bit of fun tracking down your parents. Very clever of you to Obliviate them, but it won’t help in the slightest.” Taking her wand, she performs a complex spell over Hermione’s family.
“Stop it, please, whatever you are doing,” Hermione begs.
Bellatrix ignores her in concentration. As the spell takes affect, Hermione stares in horror as her parents transform into house-elves -- humiliating tea towels and all.
“No,” Hermione sobs, her tears leaking out the sides of her eyes.
The cruel witch turns back to her with an air of hurt incredulity. “Do you not like my handiwork? This is a social step up for them; I thought you would be pleased.”
“No, please. Let them go.” Despair washes over Hermione. She has longed to see her parents, but not like this.
Bellatrix steps back to the bed. “Here’s the deal. Submit to me or they stay like this forever. And if you can endure my touch for an hour, I’ll even return them to Australia.”
Hermione hyperventilates as her eyes flick back and forth between Bellatrix’s evil gaze and her parents’ shocked looks. In her mind, she finds herself caught. She doesn’t want Bellatrix touching her, making her into a sex slave, but she also can’t subject her parents to the same fate.
“I ask you again: do you want me to touch you?”
Hermione gulps at the intensity of Bellatrix’s focus. She takes one more silent look at her parents and a mewling cry escapes her as she answers, “Yes.”
Bellatrix grins and moves onto the four-poster. Aligning her mouth with Hermione’s, she says in her high voice, “Then kiss me.”
Hermione freezes at the request. This is more than she bargained for, but looking into the other witch’s face, she senses that Bellatrix will only be happy if she fully participates in her own demise. With trepidation and resolve, she tentatively lifts her head to brush her lips upon her captor’s.
Bellatrix accepts this concession and begins a full onslaught to Hermione’s body. Soft kisses rain down on every inch of skin, beginning at the extremities. Hermione tries to still the jerk of her limbs at her base revulsion, knowing that Bellatrix will take that as a sign of defiance. She must suffer these advances for the sake of her parents.
Not used to the tingles along her skin, Hermione struggles in her bonds, the pain in her wrists and ankles grounding her away from the caress of fingers over her flesh. Supple lips glide across the plains of her abdomen, sending shockwaves down her spine. Bellatrix’s tongue darts into her navel, tickling her so that her lower muscle spasms, all while she flips her head back and forth in discovered heat.
The smell of musk assaults her. She looks around to see that Narcissa has started an incense burning. The intoxicating aroma clearly overtakes Andromeda as she mewls with soft little sounds. “Please. Oh, please.” Narcissa continues administering touches to her sister, inciting passion, pushing towards climax.
Hermione realizes this is but another onslaught to her own plight, the sights and sounds of another inmate’s pleasure driving her psyche into carnal delights. Her focus returns to her own body as Bellatrix licks the underside of her breast forcing languid heat to pour through her. “Oh,” she whines, horrified at her body’s reaction, then she gasps as Bellatrix latches onto the nipple and sucks, her body arching into the pull.
Just as she is about to protest this action, her head flops to the side and Hermione’s gaze falls on her still-transfigured parents. Shame slides through her as they are forced to watch. Any protest dies in her throat as she swallows a sob of hopelessness, knowing that she must endure.
Sensing this, Bellatrix grabs her chin and smashes their lips together in a dominating kiss.
Fire burns inside Hermione. The incense is making it hard to concentrate as her mind grows fuzzy, and the soft lines of touch from Bellatrix are breaking down her defenses in a way that harsh curses and hexes never would have. Sex fills all of her senses. She finds herself slowly succumbing to its allure.
“You feel locked in a world of heat,” Bellatrix begins to recite. “Every touch forms pinpricks. Every slide of tongue draws fire.” Her actions reflect each of her words, reinforcing the seduction. “The air becomes stifling, and it becomes harder to breathe.”
Hermione finds that it is so.
“You like the feel of my palms on your skin. The thrill of danger rushes through you. My lips follow your jaw and alight on your sensitive throat, so close to your tainted blood. I could nip it. I could hurt you,” Bellatrix whispers against the very spot in question.
Hermione’s pulse speeds up as her mind plays out the scene. This is her one true weakness, her imagination, since it is a trap she herself creates, even more than her love for her family. The fearful picture of pain and violence works in contrast to the gentle nuzzles to engulf her whole being, and that unnerves her more than the fear alone.
Moans and pleas reach her ears as Narcissa laps at Andromeda’s cunt. Hermione blushes again in both shame and lust as she witnesses the Black sisters partake of forbidden pleasures, Andromeda’s face flushed to a brilliant red, her eyes dilated to a full black, her mouth open trying to take in as much air as possible. Hermione’s own need escalates.
She cries out and jumps in shock as Bellatrix runs two fingers along her aching labia.
“Such a pretty whore you are,” Bellatrix teases.
“I’m not a whore,” Hermione answers.
“But I think you are. You’ve given yourself to me after all.”
She chuckles as she slides a finger into her captive. Hermione gasps and arches as bolts of electricity surge through her. “So wet already. Tsk. Tsk. You are a filthy Mudblood; I have said so all along. You cannot even control yourself.” Bellatrix places another bruising kiss on Hermione’s mouth while thrusting two fingers deep inside her. Hermione squirms in both protest and desire, her mind rocking between the horrors of her own decision and the exquisite sensations being wrought upon her.
Bellatrix’s Azkaban-roughened thumb brushes against her clitoris. Hermione lurches up as blinding fireworks explode within her. “Yes, yes,” she hears herself shout, her body fully given over to lust.
“Do not come yet, dirty whore. You wouldn’t want to fail your parents now, would you?” Bellatrix asks in her sickly sweet high tones.
The full impact of the game hits her. If she comes now, her parents will be forfeit. If she can hold out, her parents will be freed, but she will become Bellatrix’s sex slave. Tears of frustration and helplessness leak out as Hermione realises that she is doubly doomed.
“Yes, you understand now,” Bellatrix breathes. Her own face is flushed with joy, delighting in her captive’s predicament.
Hermione sobs as the flames increase to a fevered pitch. She fights to hold on to her dignity, but her body is losing the battle as Bellatrix sucks on her pulse-point, which sends wave after wave of pure heat to her groin. She humps the fingers inside her like an itch needing to be scratched, yearning for release.
She can’t breathe. She can’t get enough air.
Bellatrix’s other hand comes up and slowly circles one breast, starting on the far outside, then spiraling inward, building the strain within Hermione. She dreads the coming touch but finds that she longs to feel it. “Oh . . . oh . . . oh please,” Hermione chants as she shivers in anticipation.
When the fingernails reach the nipple, they pinch, twist and pull all at the same time. Hermione cries out as lightening slices through her. She looses all reason and soon is begging for more, the tension inside her mounting ever higher. “Please . . . oh gods . . . more, please.” Bellatrix continues thrusting inside while massaging the source of Hermione’s pleasure. The back of her mind screams at her not to come -- her parents’ lives are at stake -- but she is not sure she can prevent it.
Her captor treats the other nipple in the same way, and this time when Bellatrix pinches, Hermione cries out and comes, the sensations all too much for her inexperienced body. Copious amounts of fluid gush from her cunt as she pulses through her orgasm, more tears spilling out at the rapture.
With a final, harsh kiss, Bellatrix withdraws from the sated girl. “Such a pity.” She pulls her wand out and runs the tip over Hermione’s still-quivering body. “It is as I expected. You have proven your impurity; therefore, we have no need of you.”
Narcissa stops her ministrations upon Andromeda and turns to witness this resolution.
Hermione glances at Andromeda, whose eyes have gone wide in shock. Hermione is sure her own look the same. Her gaze returns to Bellatrix as the older witch levels her wand at Hermione’s chest and releases the binding spell.
A feral look is in her eyes as she grabs Hermione by the hair and pulls. “Cissy, Andromeda has completed the test. Make her your slave. This dirty Mudblood . . . well. Back to the dungeons with you.”
“No, you can’t! Please!”
“Shut up!” screeches Bellatrix as she yanks Hermione across the floor.
“What about my parents?” Hermione pleads.
Bellatrix pauses at the threshold and looks back at the two Muggle house-elves. “I was going to kill them, but I’m still rather excited. Perhaps I will take the female one to warm my bed.”
Hermione screams in anguish all the way back to her cell from which she will never return, assured in the knowledge that she has sentenced her parents to a fate worse than death.
--