Chapter Text
Pansy Parkinson is having a terrible day, and it’s only 7am.
Working for one of the most powerful women in Britain is supposed to be great for her reputation, a huge step in her career, but she’s beginning to question if it’s all worth it. Bellatrix Black could make or break her entire life at any given moment, and staying in her good graces is like walking a tightrope over fire juggling chainsaws.
The car in front of her stops at the yellow light and Pansy slams on her breaks, laying on her horn. Bellatrix always arrives at her office at precisely 7:30 on the dot, leaving her with ten minutes at the coffee shop if she makes every light on the way there. The light turns green, and when the car doesn’t immediately move, she honks at them yet again. The middle finger out the window she receives is nothing compared to the wrath she will endure if she’s late. Bellatrix has fired many assistants for far less.
She thanks god under her breath when she reaches Amortentia and sees that there’s only one person in front of her, even if he is indecisive of if he really wants a panini to go along with his cappuccino. She scans the faces of the baristas, her stomach rolling when she doesn’t find the person she’s looking for.
“Hello, Parkinson,” Ginny greets her cooly, “Looking for someone?”
The customer before her steps off to the side to wait for his drink and Pansy approaches the register with her arms crossed and a scowl in place.
“You know she’s the only one here who makes it right every time and I do not have time for mistakes today, Weasley.”
Ginny stares at her, considering.
“Please tell me she’s here,” Pansy actually pleads, her nails biting into the palm of her hand in frustration and anxiety.
Ginny rolls her eyes and hollers, “Hermione! We’re in need of your expertise!”
Hermione Granger comes bustling out of the back room a moment later, hands behind her head as she attempts to wrangle her hair into a knot. Pansy sighs in relief and rocks back on her heels. Maybe she wouldn’t be losing her job today after all.
“Thank god,” Pansy mutters.
“You know I’m not going to work here forever, right?” Hermione asks, snatching a 16 oz cup up as she passes the registers and two other barista’s now just waiting for more customers, “What are you going to do without me?”
“Hopefully she’ll have promoted me by then and it’ll be someone else’s problem,” Pansy says distractedly, glancing at her watch.
“She give you that one, or did you have to pay full price?” Ginny asks, nodding at her watch.
“Bellatrix Black doesn’t do handouts,” Pansy raises her voice an octave and imitates the haughty tone of her boss, “Nothing is free in this world, especially not something so well made.”
Ginny tsks disapprovingly as she rings her up, “Doesn’t seem worth it.”
Pansy narrows her eyes as she hands her the company platinum card, “Oh yeah? What are they paying you here? Swimming in career advancement opportunities, are you?”
“Andy pays us well enough to put up with clients like your boss. Besides, all of us are just here while we go to school, you prat.”
The insult rolls off Pany’s shoulders. Bellatrix's constant berating left her immune to any disparaging comments any average person could possibly dream up. At least that was one unintended benefit she had gotten out of all of this. She plucks her card out of Ginny’s hand and looks at Hermione, who’s furiously working on Bellatrix’s drink with a furrowed brow. Stray hairs are already escaping her hair tie at her scalp, flitting about as she works with complete focus.
“Don’t forget the-”
“Splenda, I know,” Hermione interrupts.
“And make sure the shot is-”
“Half decaf, I’ve got it, Pansy.”
Hermione slides the completed drink across the counter and Pansy hesitates before taking it.
“Yes, I remembered the extra foam and nonfat milk. Have I ever gotten it wrong?” Hermione asks, hands on her hips.
Pansy takes the drink wordlessly, noting the scrawled “Black” next to a cartoonish drawing of a diamond with a roll of her eyes, and turns to retreat back through the full glass doors again.
“You’re welcome!” Hermione calls after her.
Pansy won’t admit it, but it’s thanks to Granger’s quick work that she makes it to the office on time. She barrels through the glass front doors and hurries to the elevator, careful not to spill the drink or crease the folder tucked under her arm holding the contracts Bellatrix asked for. She takes the elevator to the top floor, and rushes forward the second the doors part.
She barrels into something- someone, and her stomach drops as her drink goes flying.
The person hisses, and Pansy’s heart seizes in her chest when she meets the furious gaze of Bellatrix fucking Black.
Hermione Granger has always been a morning person. When she was a child she loved to wake up and sit at the kitchen counter, watching her mom make breakfast and a cup of coffee. It was easier to talk to her without her dad around, and her dad always slept until well past noon. Mornings are safe, quiet, and peaceful.
When she was accepted to Cambridge, she knew she only had herself to rely on. Even with her scholarships and financial aid, she needed a part time job, and becoming a barista seemed like a natural step. She’s never been a big believer in fate, but she couldn’t help but feel a tug in her gut when she rode past the little coffee shop the first time she went exploring off campus.
Amortentia.
Hermione thinks back to the first time she saw the pink neon sign glowing faintly in the pale morning light. Stuck in the middle of the row of other shops, most of which still had the lights off, it really seemed to stand out to her. She already had her resume tucked away in her messenger back, using her first day on campus to bike around looking for convenient, nearby work. The smell of coffee hit her as soon as she entered, and she felt the tension bleed out of her body. The shop was beautiful, morning light poured through huge windows, exposed brick and a reclaimed wood countertop gave it an old, classic feeling. The walls were lined with bookshelves and cozy seating, and the tables were spaced out enough to make it easy to wind her way to the counter.
"What can I do for you?” The barista asked.
Luna had been working that day, and when Hermione asked if they were accepting applications, she’d given her a spacy grin and fetched the owner.
Hermione vividly remembers how struck she was by Andromeda Tonks’s beauty the first time she saw her. Long, wavy brown hair flowed as she brushed past the curtain leading to the back room. She wore a light blue button up and high waisted jeans, brown rimmed, brow line glasses and a friendly smile to offset her analytical gaze.
Hermione straightened her posture and held out a hand to introduce herself, and the rest is history.
“Morning, Hermione,” Andromeda says, as the student arrives for her opening shift.
“Morning, Andy,” Hermione responds with a sleepy smile.
She’s worked at Amortentia for a year now, which is about how long it took her to stop being so intimidated by her boss. Andromeda is an incredible leader, and everyone that works under her feels lucky to be there. She’s never had an authority figure in her life be so equal parts strong, inspirational and kind. In the year she’s worked there she’s earned three raises, making well above minimum wage. Andy did whatever she could to make her shop a healthy work environment, including keeping the schedule as flexible as possible and even going so far as to banish the most disrespectful customers from returning. The place is successful enough that they can afford to demand respect.
Hermione had only worked there for just over a month before Ginny, her current roommate and longtime best friend quit her job at the university bookstore to work there as well. Hermione still isn't sure if that was the best decision; she loves her friend deeply, but living, working, and attending the same school as her is starting to result in bigger arguments than the pair had ever had to deal with before.
Hermione won’t even carpool with her because Ginny always manages to get to work late, even though she has a car and Hermione only has her bike. They’d tried it out for the first week, but the fights they got in over the pace of Ginny’s morning routine wasn’t worth the effort.
Ginny arrives ten minutes later than her, which isn’t surprising. Hermione is still a bit peeved, though, because it meant opening the shop on her own when they’re supposed to share the opening tasks.
There’s always a stream of customers the moment the doors unlock at six, mostly quiet businessmen and women who are on their way to work. They fall into their comfortable routine of Ginny at the register and Hermione making drinks at an expert speed. There are certain people whose orders she starts making the moment she sees them join the line. These regulars are Hermione’s favorites. Easy, predictable, and never any surprises.
The trickle of customers slows enough for Hermione to lean back and rest against the countertop. She drags the back of her hand across her forehead, wiping away the sheen of sweat that built up over the last hour stood over a steaming hot espresso machine. She fills up two plastic cups with ice water and slides one to Ginny, who smiles gratefully.
The bell on the door signals another customer, and Hermione smooths her hair back, tidying the loose bun on the back of her neck and straightening her apron. She grabs a rag and begins wiping down the counter in preparation, listening for Ginny to get the person’s order.
“What can I-”
“Nonfat Cappuccino with a split shot, extra foam, one packet of splenda and heated to 195 degrees,” A voice drawls.
Hermione recognizes the order immediately, but not the voice. She joins Ginny in gaping at the woman, her brain short circuiting the second she lays her eyes on her.
She’s dressed in an expensive looking dark green blazer with black lapels and matching, high waisted slacks and an open necked, silk black top. Long, curly black hair cascades around her shoulders and frames her porcelain face, with high, noble cheekbones. She’s wearing black, circular sunglasses, but still manages to look superior in a way that puts the two baristas on guard.
“For Bellatrix?” Hermione asks.
It’s the name she’s written a thousand times. Pansy had been ordering that exact drink here since the day Hermione started, always the same, and always for Bellatrix. A few months back, Hermione had started adding little drawings next to the scrawled name. Most of the time she just drew a star or a diamond, since Bellatrix is quite a famous star in their galaxy, but on days where she felt particularly happy she would draw a sun, and on days she felt brave, a heart.
“That’s correct,” the woman quips.
There’s a million questions Hermione wants to ask, but the flat expression on the woman’s face as she pulls out her phone to check it stops her. She simply grabs a 16oz cup, knowing that’s the size she wants despite her lack of specification, and gets to work.
It’s uncharacteristically empty for 7am on a Friday, and Hermione feels sweat dripping down her temple as she squirms with the sensation of being watched. She glances up from what she’s doing to see that the woman has removed her sunglasses and is watching her with shockingly dark eyes.
Hermione clears her throat. She has a suspicion that this woman could be Bellatrix, but she finds it difficult to imagine that the powerful, terrifying force of nature she’s heard so much about from Pansy would ever lower herself enough to get her own coffee. She wants to know, though, if it’s her. Her curiosity gets the best of her, like always, and she tries to find a tactful way to ask.
“So...did she get a new assistant?”
The woman raises an eyebrow and smirks, amused. The expression makes Hermione’s stomach do a somersault.
“Do I look like an assistant to you?”
Hermione swallows. She really doesn't, and the question has her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She doesn’t answer right away, instead choosing to focus on what she’s doing before she burns her hands or fumbles. She tries to think of a way to save face, hating the idea of making a bad first impression with the woman who’s coffee she’s put hard work into perfecting.
“You’d be the best dressed assistant in the world, if you were,” Hermione offers up.
The woman- Bellatrix, only studies her with an unreadable expression. Hermione has to stop herself from saying something else absurd, like “ you’re too beautiful to be an assistant,” because that’s offensive to assistants, and also sounds like something a sleazy old man would say. Yet she can’t fight the urge to say something, wanting for some unidentifiable reason to worm into this woman’s good graces in the two more minutes that it’ll take for her to finish making her drink.
“The best looking, too,” Hermione says, and oh my god, did I just say that?
The smirk is back, and Hermione blushes so hard her ears turn red. It’s not what she meant to say, or rather, it didn’t sound the way she intended...unless it did, but she’s not quite prepared to confront that reality. Bellatrix steps closer to the counter, and Hermione focuses on stirring in the packet of splenda with perhaps what is greater care than anyone ever has before.
“Are you saying I’m pretty for an assistant? ”
“No!” Hermione’s eyes fly up to meet Bellatrix’s deeply amused expression, “You’re just..well, you’re…"
The student trails off. Pretty doesn’t suit her, no. She would describe her as stunning, striking, terrifyingly gorgeous, but she can’t say any of those things. She gives up on finishing her sentence and glances at Bellatrix, who appears to be thoroughly enjoying herself. The drink is done, and Hermione hopes the woman doesn't notice the tremor in her hand when she slides the cup across the counter. The woman’s fingertips brush against hers as she takes her drink and goosebumps flare up Hermione’s arm.
Bellatrix spins the cup around until she finds her name that Hermione scrawled. Her red lips slip into a childish pout.
“No heart today?”
Shock flits across Hermione’s face as she experiences a myriad of emotions too hectic to begin to decipher.
“Would you like one?” Hermione manages.
“Well, how else am I supposed to know I’m special?” Bellatrix smiles at her and holds her gaze as Hermione tries to figure out if she’s fucking with her.
She decides it doesn’t matter, and plucks the pen out from behind her ear to etch a small heart punctuating Bellatrix’s name. She tucks the pen back behind her ear and watches as Bellatrix, appearing satisfied, pops a lid onto her cup and puckers her lips to blow into the hole. Hermione’s eyes track the movement.
Bellatrix leans across the counter suddenly, reaching for Hermione’s face. She’s shocked enough that her feet are rooted to the spot and she freezes like a deer in headlights. Bellatrix takes the pen back out from behind her ear and grabs a napkin from the dispenser. She scribbles something and leans over the counter again to tuck it into the breast pocket of Hermione’s apron.
“Lovely to finally meet you, Hermione,” Bellatrix says, turning to saunter out of the shop with an intentional sway to her hips.
Hermione is left standing, mouth agape, ears burning, staring at the closed door. How on earth did she know her name?
“Holy fucking shit,” Ginny says.
Hermione spends the rest of her shift working with Bellatrix fucking Black’s phone number burning a hole in her apron. They don’t get so much as a moment alone to discuss what happened, but Ginny’s periodic wide eyed glances suggest that they’ll be talking about it the moment they’re able.
They gather their stuff in silence from the break room after their shift ends, still not daring to speak a word with Andromeda working at her computer in her office within earshot, the door propped open. The moment they’re outside, Ginny grasps Hermione’s arm.
“Oh my god, Hermione. Put your bike in my car right fucking now.”
Hermione wants to laugh but she’s still reeling with shock and drowning in a sea of confusing emotions. Once her bike is loaded into Ginny’s hatchback and Hermione is in the passenger seat, Ginny starts yelling.
“Tell me she didn't give you her phone number.”
“She did,” Hermione breathes out, pulling the carefully folded napkin from her pocket and letting it sit in her lap, “Why would she do that?”
“Because you were totally flirting with her!”
Hermione gasps, “I wasn't! Gin, I’m dating your brother!”
“Blimey, Hermione, you could’ve fooled me back there.”
“I wasn’t. At least, I didn't mean to,” Hermione runs through it in her head for the millionth time, She hadn’t meant to, the words had just come tumbling out against her will. The woman must be some kind of witch.
“Do you know who she is? I cannot believe she came into our dinky little coffee shop.”
“It’s not dinky,” Hermione says, frowning, “And yes, she’s Bellatrix Black, some rich asshole who’s mean to her assistants.”
Ginny barks out a laugh, “Some rich asshole is only the tip of the iceberg. She’s the CEO of Orion Fine Jewelry and the woman’s criminal. She’s so successful because her family has always put their company before common human decency. She’s probably the most controversial woman in Britain.”
“What’s controversial about her if she’s so terrible?”
“I dunno, some people think she’s some kind of feminist icon and choose to ignore the shitty way she treats her employees.She pays them as low as she can get away with and fires them over any perceived slight or misstep. Plus she’s, you know, famously gay and people go batshit for that nowadays. Cambridge Daily News did a whole thing about her last year. How do you not remember that?”
Hermione is stuck on the words famously gay. So she was actually hitting on her, Or she just thought Hermione was hitting on her. Which she wasn’t, of course.
“I had a huge workload last year, remember? I practically lived in the library. At no point did I read the school paper.”
“Right, right. Anyways, back to what’s important. What do you think you’re doing hitting on powerful, corrupt businesswomen when you’re dating my brother?”
Hermione gasps, “I was not-”
Ginny’s laugh cuts her off, “I know, I’m just messing with you. It just makes it funnier. Trust me, Ron’ll think it’s hilarious.”
Ginny knows her brother well. Ron laughs his ass off when she tells him about it that night. Ron and Harry came over to her and Ginny’s place for their weekly dinner and game night, which Hermione looks forward to more now that classes are out. Although, she finds herself now wanting to crawl under the coffee table instead of continuing to listen to her friends ridicule her.
“What’s this woman look like?” Ron demands, face redder than his hair from how hard he’s been laughing, “I want to see my competition.”
Ginny has a photo of Bellatrix pulled up on her phone in seconds. Ron takes a massive bite of pizza and leans in to look. He appears to sober for a moment, but Hermione can actually see him shake off a flare of insecurity as quickly as he swallows his food.
“Well, I’m lucky you’re not into girls or I’d be old news, huh, ‘Mione?”
Hermione forces herself to laugh. Harry leans into Ginny and whistles, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.
“Watch it, Potter,” Ginny grumbles, putting her phone away.
“Come on, you know she’s not my type. She’s too…” Harry struggles to find the words, “Well, scary.”
Ginny hums in agreement, “She’s intimidating, that’s for sure. Can’t blame Hermione for being so caught off guard. I’d be flustered too with that woman’s full attention on me.”
“That so?” Harry clutches his chest, feigning hurt, “Should I be worried?”
Hermione rolls her eyes, “Enough of this. I threw the napkin away, it’s over.”
“You better let her down easy,” Ron says, slinging an arm around her and settling back on the couch, “I don’t need a face like that hunting me down so she can have you to herself.”
Hermione shifts, too hot with Ron’s arm around her. Ginny’s watching her, lips pulled into a frown.
“Come on guys, she said drop it.”
Hermione smiles gratefully at Ginny, who smiles back at her and turns up the volume on the TV. Hermione forces herself to settle back against Ron, to settle back into that safe and comfortable feeling and expel images of dark eyes from her mind.
It’s only when she’s alone in her room that night that she pulls her apron out of her closet and fishes around in the pockets until she finds it. The phone number, scrawled in slanted penmanship too extravagant for the modern age. Hermione traces the numbers with her fingertips and tries to muddle through the emotions swirling in her stomach.
She crawls into bed, shoves the napkin in her nightstand drawer and pulls out her phone. She feels ridiculous typing the name Bellatrix Black into the search bar, but that feeling is quickly overshadowed when the photos pop up.
Hermione scrolls through the magazine covers she’s been on, dressed in suits or extravagant dresses, smirking confidently at the camera or gazing out at the world like she’s planning it’s conquest. She swipes over to the web results and clicks on her wikipedia.
She sees a photo of a young, scowling Bellatrix standing next to two younger girls, one blonde and one brunette, backed by two very serious and well dressed adults. Parents: Cygnus Black III and Druella Rosier, with sisters Narcissa and Andromeda Black, the caption reads.
Hermione freezes.
Andromeda?
Hermione shows up to work fifteen minutes early and barges into Andromeda’s office. Andromeda looks up at her, a dazed, tired look on her face and a steaming mug of coffee halfway to her mouth.
How had she not noticed it immediately? Now that she knows of course it makes sense, they look so similar, but Hermione hadn't thought to connect the image of one of the most influential women in Britain to her boss.
“Uh, Good morning, Hermione,” She says, voice gravelly as if these are the first words she’s spoken today.
Hermione remembers herself in that moment, and all her thoughts go flying out the window. She takes a step back, bumping into the doorframe. She tries for a moment to regain her momentum.
“Um,” She tries, “I...I met your sister, yesterday.”
Andromeda’s forehead creases, “Narcissa was here?”
“No...the other one.”
Andromeda slowly sets her mug down, and looks her up and down, the wheels turning, “I see.”
Hermione stares at her with wide eyes, waiting to see if she would say anything else. When she doesn’t, she blows out a sigh.
“She, uh,” God this is awkward , “She gave me her number. Also, she’s incredibly rich and powerful. How have you never told us about her?”
Andromeda’s stares blankly at her, not reacting in the slightest to what her employee has just told her, “I don’t make a habit out of discussing my personal life at work.”
Hermione jerks her head in a nod, suddenly feeling ridiculous for bringing it up at all. She wants to take it back, and she turns to leave Andromeda’s office.
“Wait,” her boss says, “About the phone number...that was incredibly inappropriate of her but unfortunately not surprising.”
Hermione turns back around to see Andromeda looking almost as embarrassed as she is. She gestures at the seat in front of her desk and Hermione sinks slowly into it. Andromeda stands and turns to the counter behind her to pour Hermione a cup of coffee. She ads milk and cream without asking, knowing already how Hermione likes it. She slides the mug in front of her and sits back down. The smell wafts up to Hermione’s nose and she relaxes back into the chair, feeling more at ease.
“She wasn’t exactly inappropriate. I may have...accidentally said some things that could be interpreted as flirtatious without necessarily meaning to.”
Andromeda laughs and Hermione raises her mug to her lips to hide her blush.
“That explains it but it doesn't make my forty year old sister hitting on my twenty year old employee any less ridiculous.”
Hermione’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised at the woman’s age. She looked mid-thirties at the latest, so much so that she hadn’t bothered doing the math on her birthday when she did her research.
“I’ll tell her not to come around anymore. Just ring the bell if she comes in today and if not, I'll call her after work-”
“No!” Hermione interrupts, “That's really not necessary. Please, I...that's not why I told you.”
Andromeda blinks at her, leaning back in her chair, “Why are you then?”
She hasn’t really thought about it, she just knows the thought of not seeing Bellatrix again was not a wanted one.
“I’m not sure,” Hermione says after a moment, “I just...I just think she’s interesting, I suppose. I’m telling you because...I wanted to know more.”
When she looks back at her boss, her eyebrows are raised and she’s smirking in an expression that's identical to the one her sister wore the day before.
“Not like that!” Hermione says, “I’m interested in her the same way I’m interested in, you know, a paper I’d do for school. She’s fascinating, you can’t deny that. She took a leading roll in her-your father’s company at eighteen. She separated the company from Tom Riddle and showed everyone that she could stand on her own. She made it her own, and now it’s Riddle and Co.’s biggest competition. It’s admirable, if you ignore her well known shady business methods.”
Andromeda just stares at her for a long moment.
“What?”
“Just...be careful, Hermione. My sister...she gets fixated on these...conquests. Our father never let her be herself when we were growing up. He tried to force her into a marriage, tried to suppress her, change her in any way he could. Since she took over the company and got out from under his influence she’s been, well, I guess you could say she’s been making up for lost time. She sets her mind on what she wants and she just...gets it. It would be impressive if it wasn't so disturbing.”
Something burns low in Hermione’s gut at the idea of being wanted by someone like her.
“I’m not some conquest. I’m not going to engage with her like that, and once she sees that she’ll lose interest. It’ll be alright, Andy.”
Andromeda softens at the shortened use of her name. They hear the click and jingle of the front door unlocking, and Andromeda sighs.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if she makes you uncomfortable, Hermione. I’ll get rid of her in an instant. It doesn’t matter if she’s rich and powerful, this is my domain and she will not step out of line here.”
“I promise,” Hermione says, and Neville pokes his head around the door.
“Oh, there you are, Hermione!” He says, “I thought it’d be odd if I beat you here. You ready?”
Hermione nods and gets up to leave with him, but Andromeda’s voice stops her.
“Hermione,” she says lowly, “Don’t let your guard down around her. I will not have her do to you what she’s done to the ones before you.”
Every time the door opens, Hermione looks up. She’s on the register today, and Neville is making drinks. Most of the other workers didn’t let Neville touch the drinks, but Hermione always encouraged him to, telling him that if he didn’t practice he’d never improve. Hermione and Luna are the only ones he felt comfortable working on making drinks with, with everyone else he didn’t bother.
She’s hardly affected by the sound of Neville’s hisses every time he burns his hands anymore. She tunes him out, completely distracted by watching the door. It’s Saturday, so her hopes aren’t high. Pansy never came in on the weekend, so it’s unlikely that she’ll see her again. And yet, she just has a feeling.
The feeling becomes harder to hold onto the later it gets. Pansy never came in long after 7, so by the time 8 rolls around she no longer looks up every time the door opens. She tries to ignore the sting of disappointment, and tries not to think about what that could mean.
There’s a lull after the initial rush, and Hermione busies herself with wiping down the register. The bell rings, and Neville greets the customer so she doesn’t bother. A throat clears, and Hermione looks up.
“What can I...oh.”
Bellatrix is glaring at her from across the counter, two feet from her face. All of the breath rushes out of her, and her eyes flick up and down her body, drinking in the sight of her. She’s wearing a silk white button up tucked into tight black slacks, her hair loosely held behind her head, strands of wild black curls escaping to frame her face. For a moment, Hermione can only hear her heartbeat thundering. She see’s Bellatrix’s full lips move, forming words that she can’t hear. She clears her throat, forcing herself back to reality, and meets Bellatrix’s increasingly annoyed gaze.
“Sorry?” Hermione asks, her voice an octave higher than normal.
“I said, try not to look too excited,” Bellatriix drawls, sarcastically, irritably.
Hermione struggles with how she responds, and when she comes up blank she’s left with nothing but honesty, “I am. I was wondering if I’d see you again. I thought you’d have replacement assistants lined up.”
Bellatrix raises an eyebrow, a challenging smirk spreading across her face, “Who says I haven’t already gotten another assistant?”
The barista’s brows furrow, then realization dawns on her. “Because you...oh. You have one but you...come anyway...for…?”
Hermione stares, not quite able to finish her sentence because it lacks any kind of logic. It makes absolutely no sense that Bellatrix would want her, after one meeting. She felt like the most unexceptional person on the planet, with exceedingly mediocre looks. How could Bellatrix, who is easily the most beautiful, powerful and accomplished person she’s ever met, want her?
Bellatrix watches the emotions cross Hermione’s face with rapt attention.
“I have a boyfriend. I’m...I think you’re incredibly fascinating. I think you’re beautiful. But I’m just...I’m not into women like that. I’m sorry.”
Bellatrix stares blankly at her, dumbfounded, for what feels like an eternity. Hermioine waits for the anger, the embarrassment, the disappointment, but none of it comes. That damn smile tugs at her lips, instead, and Hermione feels a simultaneous rush of relief and irritation. She snatches the money out of Bellatrix’s hand and rings her up without looking at her.
“God, you’re cute,” Bellatrix says with a soft, disbelieving chuckle.
Hermione’s mouth falls open, “Did you hear me? I said-”
“I heard you. Now, are you going to make my drink or are we going to make that little boy remake it over and over until you have to take over?”
Hermione laughed at her use of “little boy” to describe Neville, who towered over her at 6 feet. Neville has been watching their entire interaction with a rag in his hand and wide eyes. Hermione shoos him away and Bellatrix gleefully follows her over to watch her make the drink. She watches her in silence until Hermioine remembers something she’s meant to ask.
“How do you know my name? I never told you, and we don’t wear name tags.”
Bellatrix shrugs and doesn’t meet her eyes, looking over Hermione’s shoulder at the contemporary artwork on the walls. “I just knew. Parkinson told me you were the only one who could make it without any fuss. I knew whether it would be good or not without asking, just from the handwriting on the cup.”
Hermione hums, wondering if seeing her handwriting made Bellatrix happy. She imagines her waiting for Pansy, getting her drink and spinning it around until she found her name scrawled in her handwriting. She wonders how she reacted when it wasn’t hers.
Bellatrix interrupts her train of thoughts, “So, a boyfriend, hmm? He must be a real hottie to have locked you down.”
Hermione glares suspiciously, “He’s cute.”
She hopes Bellatrix will drop it. She feels a need to protect Ron from her, like if she knows too much she’ll pick him apart.
“Been together long?’ Bellatrix asks, examining her perfectly manicured nails.
The barista sighs, “Yes. He’s my highschool sweetheart. We’ve been together for three and a half years.”
Bellatrix whistles. The door opens, and Hermione’s eyes flit over to see another regular stroll in.
“Good morning, Hermione!” The man greets her with an enthusiastic wave.
Hermione waves back and Bellatrix turns around to glare at the man, who’s smile falls away. Hermione rolls her eyes.
“Andromeda’s here, you know. Do you want to say hi? And your niece, Nymphadora, is the manager. She’ll be here in about a half an hour.”
Bellatrix pales, but otherwise gives no indication of what she’s thinking.
“We’re not particularly close.”
Hermione slides Bellatrix her completed drink across the pick up counter. Before she can pull her hand away, Bellatrix’s long, cool fingers wrap around her wrist. Sparks flare up her arm at the contact, and she hates that her stomach does a backflip.
“Are you going to use my number or not?”
Has she not heard a word I’ve said? Hermione shakes her head and Bellatrix releases her.
“I won’t wait by the phone, then.”
Bellatrix leaves, and Hermioine watches her go, rubbing her wrist and trying to get that damn tingling feeling to go away.