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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.

Chapter Text

Days off are best spent reading in the park, in Hermioine’s humble opinion. She can’t think of a better way to get a certain infamous millionaire out of her head than spending a few hours lying in sunlight in her favorite park, with her favorite book. She doesn’t make a habit of dozing off in public, but she’s had a long week and hasn't been sleeping well lately, and she’s just so warm. It's so easy to tilt her head back against the tree, the back of her eyelids burning orange, and slip away into darkness. 

She jerks awake to her phone buzzing in her pocket, and when she takes it out to answer she sees that she’s been asleep for an hour. Ginny’s name is on the screen, much to Hermione’s confusion. Ginny is at work. 

“Hello?” She answers sleepily. 

“Hermione? Dear god, you need to get to Amortentia right now,” Hermione hears a clatter and the sound of Neville cursing in the background, followed by a woman cackling. 

“What...Gin, no way, it’s my day off,” Hermione rubs her eyes, trying to expel the heaviness weighing them down. 

“I know. We just need you for like, two minutes-” 

“Is that her?” a female voice says. Bellatrix? 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

“Let me talk to her,” She hears Ginny protest, then a scuffle. Then, Bellatrix’s low, threatening, ridiculously attractive voice. 

“Get your ass down here right now before I call my sister. I’m exhausted and none of these buffoons know how to conjure foam out of nonfat milk and I will not drink whole milk or a drab foamless coffee Hermione, I will not-”

Hermione hears Ginny’s enraged voice yell something and the line disconnects. 

Hermione stares at her phone with her mouth open for several seconds in disbelief. She doesn't know what to make of the fact that she wants to go, that she’s excited to see her. She chalks it up to it being the first shred of excitement she’s experienced since she started university, leaving her childhood shenanigans with Harry and Ron behind. 

She tells herself that even as her heart races on the bike ride over. She tells herself that even when she notices the tremor in her hand as she reaches for the door handle. She tells herself that even when she meets Bellatrix’s eyes for the third day in a row. 

“Finally,” Bellatrix signs, her face settling into a relieved grin. She grabs Hermione’s shoulders and Hermione stares up at her, too enamored by the flawless glow of her skin and the utter blackness of her eyes to protest, “What took you so long? Did you walk?”

“I biked,” Hermione mutters, continuing to drink in Bellatrix’s face. All of the perfectly posed photos on Google didn’t even come close to doing the real thing justice. 

“I see,” Bellatrix says, her smile faltering as her eyes flit over Hermione’s face, “You’re sunburnt. So sunburnt. What do you do on your days off?”

Hermione can’t meet her eyes, so she lets them trail down her body. The black button down, unbuttoned just enough to make heat rise to Hermione’s cheeks, slim fitting grey slacks today, and black heels giving her a height advantage. 

“I fell asleep in the sun,” Hermione admits quietly, blaming her blush on the embarrassing admission. 

“Silly girl,” Bellatrix admonishes, “Good thing I interrupted your nap.” 

She smacks her on the shoulder and Hermione rolls her eyes, rounding the counter to do what she came there for. 

“I’m so sorry Hermione,” Ginny whispers, “I wouldn’t have called but she threatened to call Andy and I didn’t want-” 

“It’s fine, Gin,” Hermione smiles, “It’ll only take me five minutes. Is Neville okay?” 

Ginny shrugs, “I think he was going to cry, so I told him to take a break in the back. I swear I nailed her drink on my second try, but she claimed I didn’t split her shot. It’s bullshit, she just wanted to see you.” 

Hermione looks at the woman in question, sitting at a nearby table with her legs crossed, typing away on her phone. She seems to feel her eyes on her, because she looks up and grins at her, wiggling her fingers. 

“Make yourself something, will you? I’ll buy it for your trouble.” 

Hermione rolls her eyes again and doesn't bother telling her that she can have whatever drink she wants for free. She whips up Bellatrix’s drink in three minutes, a personal best, and makes herself a simple iced mocha. She carries the drinks over to where the woman is sitting and sets them down. Bellatrix sets her phone down on the table and gives Hermione her full attention. 

“Hello,” Bellatrix says, her smile dazzling. 

“Hi,” Hermione says, a smile spreading across her face against her will, “I’m only sitting down to cool off before I ride home.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Bellatrix says, reaching across the table to grab her wrist, “Let me drive you.” 

Butterflies erupt in Hermione’s stomach with so much force it shocks her. What is this woman doing to her? She forces a laugh. 

“I don’t know what kind of car you drive but I have a sneaking suspicion that you don't have room for a bike in the back.” 

Bellatrix releases her and sits back in her chair, eying Hermione up and down with that infuriating smirk. It’s different from her earlier smile. Hermione can practically hear the absolutely filthy thoughts going through the woman’s head. She shifts in her seat and forces herself to take deep breaths to stave off another blush. 

“I’ll just have to drive you back in the morning, then,” Bellatrix says finally, and the blush Hermione has been holding back flares uncontrollably. Her mind is going wild with the implications of that statement, and the glimmer in Bellatrix’s eyes suggests that is exactly her intention. 

“Bellatrix,” Hermione says, voice fragile and trembling, “No.”

Bellatrix sighs and rests her chin on her hand, watching her. Hermione feels like she’s going to collapse from the heat burning through her body. She’s in utter disbelief that she can feel so much just from the force of someone’s stare. She feels completely trapped in Bellatrix’s dark eyes, like it’s impossible to tear herself away. She can’t look away, even though the pressure in her chest is  building so much she feels like it’ll explode if she doesn’t. 

Bellatrix leans in closer, and her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for her again. “I like the way you say my name,” she says quietly, so no one but her would hear. 

Fuck, Hermione thinks, and she feels a searing, unmistakable burn between her legs. There is no explaining that one away. She grinds her teeth to prevent what would be an absolutely humiliating whimper from escaping. 

“Bellatrix,” she says again, the tremor in her voice betraying her. She could swear the woman’s eyes darkened even further. “I have a boyfriend.” 

“You’re too young to settle down,” Bellatrix protests, and annoyed wrinkle appearing between her brows at the reminder, “You don’t even know what you like yet.” 

The statement is offensive enough to relieve some of the heat between her legs. She narrows her eyes and Bellatrix’s smile turns playful, raising up her hands as if to say I mean no harm. 

“I know what I like,” Hermione lies. She and Ron have not exactly...thrived in the bedroom thus far. 

“Trust me, you have no idea what else is out there,” Bellatrix says, and looks her over again appreciatively. 

“God, you’re forward,” Hermione says, tearing her eyes away and busying herself with taking a sip of her drink. She feels the iced liquid going all the way down as she drinks it, the cold a welcome relief. 

“I can be, when I really want something.” 

Hermione wishes she could eject her soul from the burning inferno that her body has turned into. 

“Would you like me to stop?” Bellatrix asks, regarding her with that smirk that suggests she already knows the answer. 

Just say yes, Hermione pleads with herself, This is your chance to put an end to this madness. 

The word gets stuck in her throat. She just stares helplessly at Bellatrix, taking in her blood red smirk, her endless eyes, her shock of wild hair that she would envy if she wasnt so busy wondering what it would feel like sliding through her fingers. She wishes she could go back to the time when she didn’t know she existed, or the time when she was just a name on a coffee cup. 

Bellatrix clears her throat and breaks their eye contact, flicking her gaze to the counter. The pressure in Hermione’s chest eases without the woman’s eyes boring into her and she sighs in relief at being let off the hook. 

“It’s alright, Granger. I’ll ease up,” Bellatrix says, but her voice is still thick with desire, “Your friends are staring at us, anyway.” 

Hermione looks at the counter, and Neville and Ginny jump and pretend to be busy. She looks back at the woman in front of her. 

“Hold on, how do you know my last name now?” 

Bellatrix shrugs and takes a sip. “Your full name is in Ginny’s phone. I saw it when I took it to talk to you.” 

Hermione lets out a strangled laugh when she remembers the absurdity that occurred to get her here, “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Mmm, that’s not the first time I’ve been told that.” 

Hermione’s eyes widen, “You just said you’d ease up.” 

Bellatrix laughs, and god, it’s so light and genuine and sweet that it hurts, “I know, it’s just so hard to resist with you.” 

Hermione knows the feeling.  

The barista sighs and downs the rest of her drink. Bellatrix pouts when she stands and Hermione sighs at her. 

“I’m leaving,” she tells her, and Bellatrix’s pout deepens, “Please try not to harass my coworkers in my absence.” 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Bellatrix asks, before tilting her head back to finish off her drink. Hermione’s eyes trail down her throat, watching it work as she swallows. She licks her lips and Bellatrix sets her drink down, smiling when she catches Hermione staring. 

“You will if you need coffee.” 

Bellatrix stands and looks down at her, inches away. Hermione smells her perfume; cedar wood, bergamot, and vetiver, she theorizes. That hot, heavy feeling returns to her stomach immediately. 

“Thank you for coming, Hermione,” Bellatrix whispers, her breath ghosting across Hermione’s face, “My day wouldn't be complete without you. Your coffee, I mean.” 

Hermione smiles, “You never used to get coffee here on the weekends. What’s changed?” 

She knows the answer, of course, but she wants to hear it. Bellatrix doesn’t disappoint. She steps closer until she’s all Hermione can see, all she can smell, all she can think of. She doesn’t care if Ginny and Neville are watching them. Nothing mattered except the tiny reflections of the recessed lighting in the cafe glimmering in Bellatrix’s eyes, creating twin galaxies that Hermioine never wants to leave. 

“A lot changed when I found out who was making my coffee. If I knew what you looked like, I would’ve started getting my own coffee a long time ago,” she says quietly, so quiet Hermione needs to lean in closer to catch every word. 

Bellatrix squeezes her elbow and pushes her lightly away. Hermione gulps in the air that isn't heavy with Bellatrix’s perfume and feels her senses returning to her. She glances around her, praying that no one saw how close she let Bellatrix get to her. Thankfully a line had formed and Ginny and Neville were too busy to be paying them any attention. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Hermione breathes, stepping further away. She bumps into a chair and it screeches across the floor loud enough to turn a few heads. 

“Bright and early.” Bellatrix calls after her, and Ginny shoots her a look at that. 

Hermione turns around to be sure she doesn't literally let the door hit her on her way out. 

Hermione doesn’t even attempt to sleep that night. Her mind is swimming with dark hair, dark eyes, smooth, flawless skin, a sultry, lyrical voice. She can’t stop thinking about her, she can’t even try. She’s completely absorbed, and she can’t begin to wrap her mind around the fact that she isn’t so sure about her sexuality anymore. 

And it’s unacceptable. 

She’s with Ron. Ron is family. Ron’s family is her family. They’re the loving and supportive family she’s always craved, and they’ve always treated her like she belongs. How is she ever supposed to let that go? How is she supposed to untangle herself from that, and why should she? This is just a crush, it shouldn’t matter that it’s on a woman. It shouldn't matter that Bellatrix’s eyes make her feel more than Ron ever has. 

She can't get her words out of her head. You have no idea what else is out there. And the way she looked at her when she said it. It conjures images of just what else is out there, of pale hands sliding over her skin, giving her that electric feeling everywhere. She thinks about that red, plump mouth sliding over her neck, sucking on it, whispering filthy things in her ear. She knows Bellatrix would say the filthiest things to her.  

She can’t stop wondering what it would be like to be with someone that experienced. Ron was her first and she was his, and he seemed to think that once he finished there wasn’t anything to be done, like he’s never heard of any other way to pleasure a woman other than with the thing that gave him pleasure. Bellatrix would be different. God, she can tell how different she’d be just by looking at her. Bellatrix looks at her like she wants to devour her. 

Hermione’s hand sneaks under the waistband of her shorts, fingers sliding against her slit and she gasps at how wet she is. “You’re so wet for me, Hermione,” she can practically feel Bellatrix’s breath on her skin as she imagines the words. 

She thinks about those long fingers wrapping around her wrist and pushes inside herself. Hermione whines, twisting her head to stifle the sound against her pillow. She thinks about how those long fingers would fill her up, reach her in places that her own fingers couldn’t. She pumps her fingers and pants against the pillow. 

Bellatrix would make her say her name. 

“Bellatrix,” Hermione whispers, and feels a flood of wetness at the breathy way her name comes out. She immediately feels dirtier at the verbal acknowledgement at what she’s doing. She shoves her shirt up and uses her free hand to palm needily at her breast. 

“You’re such a slut for me,” she hears Bellatrix say, and she feels herself fluttering around her fingers. 

“Bellatrix, please,” Hermoine whispers, moving her fingers faster, bucking her hips so her clit rubs against her palm. She’s never been this wet before, and her two fingers are sliding in and out of herself with ease. She pushes in a third finger, and bites the pillow to muffle a moan. She imagines the way Bellatrix would watch her with that fixated look in her eyes that makes her feel like the only thing in the world that matters, thinks about the low tone she used to say her name today, and she comes so hard she swears she sees the Orion constellation. 

The guilt is so overwhelming the next morning that Hermione can’t even bear to look at herself in the mirror while she gets ready. She didn’t sleep for long after she fucked herself to sleep, rolling out of bed at four to attempt to wash her sin away and get ready without having to look at Ginny. Ginny’s known her long enough to be able to identify her emotions with one look, so she needs the time to herself to try to get back to normal before she faces her friends. 

She gets to work an hour early, before Andromeda even. She gets the store ready for opening and makes herself something strong to get through the day, before perching at one of the comfier arm chairs and getting a book from the shelf to read while she sipped. 

She hears a key slide into the lock and looks up to see Andromeda arriving. She stops in her tracks when she sees Hermione, looking startled. 

“What are you doing here so early?” Andromeda asks, recovering from her surprise enough to set her stuff down on the counter. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hermione says. She has a hard time even looking at Andromeda, but she’s not sure if it’s because of her resemblance to her sister or the simple fact that she is her sister, “I made you your coffee. I figured you’d be here soon.” 

Andromeda is so happy to have coffee ready that she forgets to be concerned about Hermione not sleeping. She thanks her and takes the coffee along with her messenger bag into her office and Hermione gets another 15 minutes to herself before Ginny gets there. 

“So sorry I’m late again, ‘Mione,” she says, bustling straight past her and into the back room. 

Hermione blows out a sigh and gets up to tie her apron and put her book away. Ginny reamerges a moment later and they unlock the doors. 

“So,” Ginny says while Hermione makes a drink for the first customer, “Yesterday was pretty intense, right?” 

“It was,” Hermione says, hoping Ginny would drop it if she kept the conversation uninteresting enough. 

“It’s kind of sad, don't you think?” the redhead presses, “That she’s so obsessed with you when she doesn’t have a chance.” 

Hermione chews on her lip, choosing her next words wisely, “I just think she’s used to getting what she wants. I’m sure she’s just more interested in me because she sees me as a challenge.” 

Ginny laughs, even though Hermione wasn’t joking. She does not like that Ginny is laughing at Bellatrix, but she doesn’t feel like she’s in any place to defend her. After that, Hermione does her best to shut down any attempts on Ginny’s part to start a conversation. She wishes she could talk to Bellatrix without Ginny’s judgmental gaze on them. 

“I might take my break early today, if that’s alright. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning and I’m starving.” 

Hermione eyes the clock. Bellatrix is due to be in any minute. Just her luck. 

“Yeah, go for it,” she responds, forcing her tone to be casual.

“Kay, just ring for me if it gets to be too busy.” 

Hermione nods and Ginny leaves her alone. She finishes up the drink she was working on and the customer leaves with it. She paces back and forth behind the counter, hands folded and fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm on her arm. It’s been five minutes, which leaves her with ten more before Ginny’s back from her break.

Everything seems to be going her way, because at precisely that moment the door opens, and Bellatrix’s elegant figure comes striding into the store, more confidence in her step than what should be allowed this early in the morning. 

“Good morning, Bellatrix,” she greets her, voice softer than usual. 

Bellatrix meets her eyes, lips quirking up automatically, “Good morning, Hermione.” 

Hermione's center throbs unexpectedly and memories from the night before play in her mind. She averts her eyes, staring hard at the register. She rings Bellatrix up without looking at her, terrified the woman would take one look at her and just know. 

“How's the sunburn?” Bellatrix asks, the softness in her voice mirroring Hermione’s. She sounds close , and Hermione allows herself a quick glance. Bellatrix has one hand on the counter and she’s leaning in as close as she can, staring, and Hermione feels the gravitational pull of her gaze immediately. She forces her eyes back to the register. 

She reads Bellatrix her total even though she knows Bellatrix knows it by now. She slides her a bill and Hermione counts out her change. She spares her a quick glance when she hands it to her, forcing a polite smile. 

“I’ll have that ready for you in a minute,” she says, and the professional tone in her voice just sounds wrong. She can’t resist looking at Bellatrix again, who looks like she’s been doused in cold water. 

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” 

The concern in her voice makes Hermione melt. She’s dying to look at her, to let herself be pulled back under the black current of her gaze, but she knows if she looks at her she’ll start thinking about last night again. So, she doesn’t answer, busying herself with making her order. Putting all her focus into it has her finishing in record time again. She looks up to give it to Bellatrix, but sees her sitting in an armchair across the room, arms folded, eyebrows and chin raised in challenge. Hermione sighs, knowing she has no choice but to carry it over to her. Which, she assumes, is exactly Bellatrix’s intention. 

She walks over and sets the cup down next to her. Bellatrix stands up and Hermioine stumbles back a step, unprepared for her sudden proximity. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” Bellatrix asks, ducking her head to try to catch her eyes. Hermione stares resolutely at her feet. 

Bellatrix nudges a finger under her chin and tilts her chin up until she has to meet her eyes. Hermione’s heart rate picks up immediately, and this time she feels it between her legs, too. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Tell me,” Bellatrix says, leaving no room for argument. 

Hermione presses her lips together, completely unable to think of any excuse. She’s finding it hard to feel anything at all except Bellatrix’s finger beneath her chin. 

Hermione shakes her head, and Bellatrix trails the finger under her chin down her neck, ghosting over her collarbone and down her arm until she stops touching her, leaving a trail of fire in her wake. Hermoine releases a shuddering breath, every neuron in her body blazing from the simple touch. 

“You had a sex dream about me, didn’t you?” 

Hermione gulps and her cheeks redden. She wishes she could laugh it off, but the truth is even more embarrassing than what Bellatrix is suggesting. Before she can decide on how to answer, the door opens. 

“Oh, hello, Hermione!” It’s the same regular that interrupted them last time. 

Hermione laughs, relieved to see him, “Morning, Jack.” 

She gives Bellatrix’s infuriated face an apologetic smile and returns to the counter. 

Nymphadora comes in at ten, and the first thing she does is grab Hermione's arm and pull her away from the register and into the back room. She shuts the door behind them and looks at her with wide eyes. Hermione knows what it’s about before she even opens her mouth. 

“Why didn’t you tell me my aunt wants to shag you?” 

Hermione gasps, “She does not!” 

Nymphadora looks at her like she’s stupid, “Oh, my mistake. My aunt is famous for taking women out to tea-” 

Hermione smacks her arm and attempts to leave but the manager slaps her hand against the door to keep her from opening it. 

“Uh uh. You left me out of the loop all week! We are talking about this now.” 

Hermione heaves a sigh, “What is there to know, Dora? It sounds like you know everything already.”

“Not everything,” Dora lowers her voice and steps closer, “Ginny told me you’re totally not into girls but she’s suspicious at how much you humor her advances. And I can’t say I blame you. Ginny’s your boyfriends sister, so if you don’t want to tell her the truth, I’m just saying you can tell me anything—”

“That is the truth! Ron is like family. I would never do anything to jeopardize-”

“I'm not talking about doing, I’m talking about feeling!”

Hermione forgets her hair is tied up and tries to run a hand through it, her fingers snagging and yanking some of the strands loose. She wants to run far away from this conversation, but maybe she doesn’t deserve to. It feels like she cheated. She’s never even fucked herself thinking about Ron before, and she got more pleasure out of imagining Bellatrix than she did from actually being with Ron. It completely messed up her mind. The woman has been in her life for less than a week and she already has her questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. 

“Dora,” Andromeda says, frowning at them from the doorway to her office, “Leave her be.” 

Nymphadora opens her mouth to protest but Andy silences her with a look. The poorly veiled anger on her face makes the resemblance to Bellatrix undeniable in that moment, and Hermione squirms. 

“I’m just saying,” Dora says, shoving off the door, “I’m married to a forty year old recovering drug addict. I’m the last person who will judge you.” 

She leaves her with that, and Hermione slumps back against the door and looks at Andromeda, who’s giving her a withering look. 

“Hermione, what did I just tell you two days ago?” 

Hermione groans and leaves the back room, nudging Ginny off the register and telling her to go take a break. She lets her thoughts slip away and she focuses only on work. It’s busy enough to keep her mind from straying, and she manages to find that rhythm with her coworkers that only comes on days where they’re all sharing the same level of focus. Dora always makes it easier; the woman can make the most complicated drinks with her eyes closed. She’s been working in her mom’s shop since she was 16, so she is more than worthy of the manager mantle. Besides, she shares her mother’s sentiments about wanting to keep the schedule flexible and the employees happy. 

The rest of her day flies by, as they tend to after Bellatrix’s visits. She no longer has to have the excruciating emotional rollercoaster of emotions that flooded her every time the door opens. She can just focus on her job, and relax knowing that Bellatrix never comes twice in one day. 

“Hey there, ‘Mione!” Ron’s voice jerks Hermione out of her professional zone. She looks up to see her boyfriend weaving excitedly through the tables full of their evening regulars, absorbed in their laptops, and prays he doesn't bump into anyone. Miraculously, he doesn’t, and when he reaches her he leans across the counter to kiss her cheek. 

“What’re you doing here?” Hermione asks, coming around the counter to speak to him properly, “I didn't forget about any plans, did I?” 

“Nope,” he informs her with a grin, “Gin texted saying she thought you could use a ride home. Besides, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you lately.” 

The simple statement paired with the innocent puppy dog look on his face brings a fresh flood of guilt. Along with it comes irritation at Ginny for feeling like she needed to intervene in her relationship. She shoots the other Weasley a look, but she’s too busy pretending to flick dirt off the register to meet her eyes. 

“It’ll be nice to have a ride home tonight.” Hermioine acquiesced, “It looks like it might rain.” 

She rubs his shoulder, noting that the strict workout routine he and Harry have been on seems to be paying off. When they told her they wanted to go into law enforcement she didn’t think either of them had it in them, but she’s been impressed at the dedication they’ve both shown so far. 

“I’m getting pretty fit, right?” Ron asks, grinning at her and flexing the muscle underneath her hand. Hermionie can't control the laugh that bubbles up, and she remembers why she loves Ron so much in that moment. He’s always been able to make her laugh and put her at ease no matter what kind of mood she’s in. 

“Very impressive, Ronald.” 

“I don’t even have to drive you home, I could totally carry you the whole way,” He flexes both his arms, earning some amused looks, and Hermioine smacks him to get him to stop. 

“What? We’ll save on petrol that way!”

Hermione ignores him, “You want me to make you a hot chocolate before we go?” 

“Oh, yes, that’d be perfect,” Ron says. He really is on his best behavior tonight. Hermionie appreciates it. The natural affection that flows between them is helping her feel less confused about certain other matters. 

“Oh, what’s up, Tonks?” Ron exclaims, heading over to talk to her while Hermione makes his hot chocolate. After handing it off to him, she heads to the back to clock out. Andromeda’s gone for the day long before her day ends, so at least she doesn’t have to worry about getting trapped in another conversation about Bellatrix before she leaves. She gathers her stuff and comes out to find Ron chatting with Nymphadora at a nearby table. Hermione pulls up a chair and slumps into it, exhausted after the busy day. 

She listens to Ron and Dora chat, enjoying their company but too tired to join in on the conversation. Ron slings an arm over the back of her chair and she smells the cologne she got him for their last anniversary. He tilts his head to smile at her, then Hermione hears a bell and Ron’s eyes drift over her shoulder, the smile falling off his face. 

Hermione has a sinking feeling of dread before she even turns around. She looks at Dora’s face for confirmation, and the wide eyed look of shock she’s wearing is confirmation enough. 

Hermoine twists around to see for herself and sure enough, she’s there. Bellatrix is dressed in the same black suit she was wearing that morning, her features even paler in the low light of the evening. Her gaze is black and angry, and fully focused on Hermione and the arm wrapped around her. She fights the urge to fly out of her seat and go over to her immediately, forcing herself to stay rooted to the spot. 

Nymphadora jumps out of her seat, squeezing her shoulder and leaning down to whisper, “I should go talk to her. Stay here.” 

Dora walks over to her aunt, and Bellatrix’s eyes don’t leave Hermione’s until Dora forces her to look away by standing in front of her. Hermioine relaxes slightly, the intoxicating spell that is Bellatrix’s gaze broken. 

“Bloody hell, that her?” Ron asks, several shades paler than he was moments before. 

Hermione nods, watching Dora shake her head at something Bellatrix is saying. Bellatrix lifts her gaze over her niece's shoulder and meets Hermioine’s eyes again. Hermione bites her lip and Bellatrix’s eyes track the movement. There isn’t a hint of the smile Hermione has come to expect from Bellatrix, no, she’s all dark intensity this evening. 

Ron’s arm curls possessively around her and she feels an immediate urge to shrug it off, followed by a surge of guilt. Bellatrix’s expression darkens and Hermione feels it in her gut. Her skin crawls where Ron’s touching her, and she despises the pleasure she gets from the obvious jealousy Bellatrix is displaying. 

Dora looks over her shoulder at Hermione and then back at Bellatrix, shaking her head again, more aggressively this time. Bellatrix looks back at her niece only to roll her eyes. 

“We should just ignore her,” Ron says, in a way that sounds more like an order than a suggestion. 

“It’s fine, Ron.”

Bellatrix’s eyes find hers again, her lips curving slowly into a troublesome smile. Hermione waits with bated breath as Bellatrix slowly lifts a hand to crook her finger. Hermione’s heart rate triples, adrenaline shooting through her veins and going straight to her head.

“Is she serious?” Ron grumbles in her ear. 

Hermione, still unable to look away, returns her smile despite her best efforts. Bellatrix’s full attention had a way of making her do things she wouldn't normally do, and she can’t quite decide if she likes or fears the side of her the older woman brings out. 

“I should go say hi,” Hermioine says, slipping out from under Ron’s arm before he can protest. She hears him sputtering behind her, but she winds across the room towards the woman beckoning her without a second thought. 

By the time she reaches the pair, she’s already giddy and intoxicated by Bellatrix’s presence. Bellatrix’s smile had only grown the closer Hermione got to her, breaking out into a full on grin when the barista reached her. 

“Give us a minute, will you?” Bellatrix says to Dora without looking away. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Tonks says, but obeys her nonetheless. 

Once Dora’s out of earshot, Hermione says, “Hello again.”

“Fancy meeting you here,” Bellatrix says, giving her a cheesy, exaggerated wink that still manages to make Hermione hot under her collar. Encouraged by her reaction, Bellatrix continues, “Do you come here often?” 

Hermione huffs out a laugh, “Stop that.” 

Bellatrix gives a low hum, stepping closer. Hermione breathes her in with earnest, welcoming her intoxicating scent. “But you’re cute when you’re flustered.” 

“Don’t call me cute,” Hermione says in a way that makes it obvious she doesn’t mean it. 

Bellatrix sighs, looking above Hermione’s head and taking a deep breath as if to collect herself.

“What are you doing here so late?” Hermione asks. 

When Bellatrix meets her eyes again, her contagious joy has given way to a more serious expression. Still she can’t resist continuing to try to get a rise out of her “What, I can’t see you twice in one day?” 

The barista stares at her seriously, prompting a sigh and a genuine answer. 

“I came here to tell you I’m going out of town. Something came up with work and I'll have to go handle it myself. I won’t be back for a week.” 

The fluttering in Hermione’s stomach migrates up her ribcage, and she swears she can feel her heart clench at the sentiment. All of Bellatrix’s flirting is one thing, explained away by her desire to win Hermione over, to conquer her like she famously has many before her. This is different, sweet, thoughtful, the kind of simple gesture that has her knees turning to jello. 

There’s so much Hermione wants to say, and she’s sure Bellatrix can see the unspoken words shining in her eyes when she says,  “You came to tell your barista about your business trip?” 

The raven haired woman narrows her eyes, “Would you have rather I stop coming and leave you wondering?” 

“No,” Hermionie admits. 

A hand at Hermione’s back nearly makes her jump out of her skin. Her stomach plummets through the floorboards when she realizes who’s touching her. She doesn’t even need to look; Bellatrix’s murderous expression is indication enough. 

“Hello,” Ron says, shoving his free hand out in the suddenly too narrow space between them and Bellatrix, “You must be the famous Bellatrix I’ve been hearing about from my girlfriend.” 

Hermione cringes at Ron’s emphasis on the word “girlfriend”.  An uncomfortable silence stretches between them as his hand hovers. Bellatrrix only glowers at him, clearly having no intention of shaking his hand. Hermione is shocked at how utterly different Bellatrix has become around someone who isn’t her. 

Ron drops his hand when he realizes she isn’t going to take it.

“Have you heard a lot about me? I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you,” Bellatrix drawls. 

Hermione’s eyes widen. She forces herself to smile politely as she grasps at Ron's arm and begins pulling him away. 

“So glad the two of you could meet but we really should be going. Lovely to see you, Bellatrix. Have a good trip!” 

Hermione has to shove Ron through the front door as he struggles half heartedly against her. 

“Rude bitch,” he grumbles. 

Going to work and knowing Bellatrix wouldn’t be coming in is torture. Hermione despises the monotony of her day in the woman’s absence, and it’s made even worse by her inability to pretend not to be bothered. She knows everyone can tell. She can feel it in Ginny’s frustrated looks, in Andromeda’s sympathetic shoulder pats, she can see it in the growing desperation in Ron’s eyes. 

She hopes that a week will be enough to cleanse her body of it’s addiction to Bellatrix, but three days in and she feels strung out. Ron has insisted on coming over after work, and he’s handsier with her than normal. Either that or she’s just never minded quite as much as she does now. She can tell he’s in the mood for sex, and she can’t blame him. They haven’t been together intimately in a month. 

It’s been impossible to force herself to be in the mood for sex. Sex with Ron, specifically, if the other night is any indication. She would feel guiltier about it if it weren’t for his incessant attempts at instigating it. 

“Ron, please, I’m just not in the mood tonight,” Hermione says, repeating herself for the third time that night. She just wants to focus on her book, and Ron had only come over because he promised he just wanted to be in the same room as her. 

“Yeah, well, you’re never in the mood anymore, ‘Mione,” he grumbles, and she feels herself becoming even more turned off by his petulant attitude. 

‘“If you don’t want to respect my boundaries, Ronald, then you should leave and take a cold shower,” Hermione answers cooly, long past her threshold for caring about his feelings. 

He leaves with a huff, slamming her bedroom door behind him. A few seconds later, she hears the front door slam, too, and she lets out a relieved breath. Crookshanks jumps on her bed, out of hiding now that Ron is gone. Crooks, despite being a male cat, has never been fond of men. 

She tries to continue reading but she’s unable to focus on the words in front of her. There’s only one thing she wants to think about, and as hard as she’s tried the last few days to force her thoughts elsewhere, the impulses persist. Chewing on her lip, she leans over the side of her bed to pull the napkin out of her nightstand. 

She aches for the way Bellatrix makes her feel, she’s frustrated with Ron’s caveman possessiveness, and she’s tired of fighting herself. In that moment, she lets her impulses take over and punches Bellatrix's number into her phone.

She saves her name under a shooting star emoji, anticipating the fight that would ensue if her boyfriend ever saw the name Bellatrix pop up on her phone. 

She gnaws on her lip until it’s raw as she types out and backspaces several different messages. Just the thought of talking to her has her blood pumping, her head swimming with relief as she feeds her addiction. What is someone supposed to text someone like Bellatrix? How is the diamond industry lately? What are you wearing? Do you miss me? 

Are you thinking about me as much as I am about you? 

Hermione sighs. She types out her next message, and this time she doesn’t let herself delete it. She hits send.

>12:08am

You up?

Chapter Text

>12:08am

You up? 

12:10am<

That depends. Does this happen to be a certain barista finally making use of the gift I so generously bestowed upon her? 

Hermione rests her phone against her chest and stares at the ceiling, running through the implications of Bellatrix’s response in her mind. If Bellatrix knows it’s her reaching out, that means she isn’t giving out her number to any other women currently, something Hermione has been afraid of. 

>12:12am

Perhaps. 

12:12am<

How do I know this isn’t one of my many other suitors? Send proof.

Hermione gasps both at the assumption that she’s a suitor and the implication that she has many others. She frowns as she types her response. 

>12:13am

You have a ridiculously complicated coffee order that I’m pretty sure you only get to inconvenience coffee shop employees. 

12:14am<

By proof I was actually thinking a picture.

Hermione tugs her bottom lip into her mouth and considers. Her stomach is in knots imagining Bellatrix, off in another city, laying in bed and looking at a picture of her. She likes the idea of her having a picture of her, of her wanting to see her, but at the same time she’s afraid of what she’d say. Insecurity creeps in, and then the three dots indicating Bellatrix typing make her forget.  

12:16am<

I want to see you, Hermione.

Heat spreads through her body at the words, and she opens the front facing camera. She winces at her bedraggled appearance and sits up to pat her hair down, before laying back down and taking a few. She scrolls through, noting the flush on her cheeks and her blown out pupils, before selecting one and hitting send. 

She stares at the screen, and after several long moments the three dots appear. Then, they stop. Hermione bites her lip again, and at this point it’s sore from the abuse she’s been giving it tonight. 

>12:18am

 I want to see you, too. 

Bellatrix responds almost immediately, and breath rushes out of Hermione as she stares, wide-eyed at what’s in front of her. The photo is from the neck down, and she’s on her back, wearing only a black lace bra, all curves and flawless skin. Hermione goes from embarrassed to devouring the photo very quickly, taking in the generous curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the gentle protrusion of her hip bones where the photo cuts off. She must feel so smooth, so soft, and her breasts would fill her hands, much more fully than her own do. If she looks closely, she can see the outline of her hardened peaks and Hermione is so hot she needs to kick her blankets off, put her phone down and take several deep, steadying breaths. 

She can’t stop herself from thinking of Ron, of how unfair this is to him, and the doubt and guilt is beginning to creep in when her phone vibrates. 

12:22am<

Fuck, I want to imagine you touching yourself to that. Do you want to touch yourself for me, Hermione?

Hermione’s face burns and she throbs. Her lips part and her breath hitches, as if Bellatrix has physically touched her with her words. Any thought of Ron flies out the window, any thought of anything at all leaves her completely until she’s a mess of heat and want. She doesn’t know how to respond, instead just reading the words over and over and fighting the urge to slip her hand into her underwear and relieve some of the pressure.

12:25am<

Your read receipts are on, Hermione, I know you’re seeing this. Are your hands too occupied to respond?

Hermione groans quietly. She’s so turned on it actually hurts, and she can't stop herself from shoving her shorts down, pushing her underwear aside and rubbing mindlessly at her clit. She sighs in immediate relief, watching hungrily as the three dots appear on her screen. 

12:26am<

Are you touching yourself like a good girl?

12:26am<

Push two fingers inside and feel how wet you are for me.

Hermione obeys without a second thought and gasps. It’s never felt quite like this, and it feels so good that it’s easy to shove the thoughts about how wrong it is to the side and pump her fingers with earnest. It’s not wrong if she doesn’t respond, right? 

12:27am<

I bet we can make short work of this but don’t cum until I tell you to. Do you understand me? Don’t bother responding, say it out loud.

“Yes, Bellatrix,” Hermione hisses. She can already feel herself tightening around her fingers, and true to her word, she slows her pace and waits for Bellatrix’s next command. 

12:27am<

Are you thinking about how much you want me? How you wish your fingers were my own? When you rub your thumb across your clit thinking it’s my tongue? 

Fuck. Hermione has never been this hot in her life. She nearly comes apart completely at the thought of Bellatrix’s head between her legs, tongue swiping across her. There’s a coiling low in her stomach and her breaths are coming out in hot, fast pants. She’s not thinking at all anymore, she’s only waiting for what Bellatrix will say next. 

12:28am<

You can start again, but make it slow. I want to draw it out for you. Tease you until you’re  begging for me. Will you beg for me, Hermione? 

Hermione wants to beg. She wants to be on her knees in front of Bellatrix like she’s at an altar, submitting to her in a way she never has with anyone. She starts moving her fingers again, and she burns even hotter at the wet sound of her sliding in and out of herself. It’s a struggle to keep her eyes from falling closed now, but she can’t bear to miss a word of what Bellatrix has to say.

12:29am<

Dig your nails into your thigh for me. Did you just do it for the feeling or did you do it hard enough to leave marks? Mmm I bet your thighs would mark beautifully if I were to just bite down and slip a third finger in. 

12:29am<

How much do you want me, Hermione? Say it out loud. Pinch your nipples and moan for me. 

She obeys every command as she reads them. She claws at her thigh and drags her fingers down, hard enough to leave angry red marks, wanting nothing more than to please her. She pushes a third finger inside of herself and gasps loudly at the sensation. She’s fucking herself without restraint, and she’s burning, edging closer and closer to the edge. She shoves a hand up her shirt and pinches herself like Bellatrix told her to and cries out, a string of curses following.

“I need you Bellatrix,” Hermione says, her eyes slamming shut. She can imagine her so clearly, black eyes boring into her, black hair cascading over her shoulders and shielding her from the world. Her phone buzzes and she has to focus on keeping her hand steady enough to be able to read the words. 

12:31am<

Just how wet are you? Why don’t you look at your fingers? 

Hermione forces herself to pull her fingers out, nearly crying at how empty she feels. She holds her fingers in front of her face and gasps at how much slick fluid she sees. She spreads her fingers and stares in horrified fascination at the way the cum stretches between them. Her eyes flick to her phone to read the next message. 

12:31am<

That wet, huh? How does it taste? Suck on your fingers like they’re mine.

Before she can think better of it, she does it. She’s hit with a taste so incredibly different than anything she’s ever experienced. It’s thick, heady, and somewhere between slightly salty and sweet. She imagines she’s licking herself off of Bellatrix’s fingers, sucking them clean, before trailing her hand back down her body. She wiggles out of her underwear and brings her fingers back to her center, stroking herself and easily dipping back inside while she watches her phone with heavy lidded eyes. 

12:32am<

God, I bet you taste so sweet. I would love to tie your hands to the headboard so you can’t stop me while I taste you and make you cum in my mouth again and again and again. 

12:32am<

I wonder if he’s ever made you cum more than once, Hermione. 

The twinge of guilt is nothing in comparison to the sea of desire she’s lost in. She ruts against her fingers, completely lost in how perfect it feels. She thinks only of Bellatrix’s devastating beauty, her expert fingers showing her exactly what she’s been missing. She can feel herself nearing the edge again, hurriedly scrolling up to the photo Bellatrix sent and thinking about taking her nipple in her mouth and sucking while Bellatrix fucks her. The next message automatically takes her back down to the bottom, and the words swim in front of her.

12:33am<

Have you ever had someone that can really give you what you want? Someone who can fuck you senseless till you can’t move? Till you can feel it still the next morning? Someone who the mere sight of them walking through the door makes you wet? 

Hermione whimpers Bellatrix’s name, begs for her to let her cum even though she can’t hear her. 

12:33am<

I wonder how wet you’ll be when I see you next.  

So wet, so fucking wet, Hermione thinks. 

12:33am<

Stop, Hermione. Be a good girl and stop for me.

Hermione almost sobs, a few tears actually leaking from the corners of her eyes. She obeys despite every cell in her body screaming in protest. She leaves her fingers inside herself, biting her lip so hard the pain distracts her from how fucking close she is. 

12:34am<

Come to me in person and I’ll let you cum. I’ll make you cum so many times you’ll forget all about this, okay, baby?

What an evil, evil woman. She could just do it anyways, but something inside her screams to obey Bellatrix above all else. She pulls out of herself and bites her hand to keep herself from screaming in frustration. Once the blinding fury ends, she runs her eyes over the words again and feels her chest contract at the pet name. Fuck, she wants to hear Bellatrix call her baby. She’s so angry and infatuated and drunk on pleasure that she’s a complete mess. She starts to type out fuck you, before she thinks better of it. She throws her phone to the edge of the bed and curls up on her side, trying desperately to force her body back to normal. 

She hears her phone buzz again but she makes herself ignore it, glaring at her wall and trying to pretend not to feel the persistent throbbing between her legs. When it doesn't go away, she gets out of bed, leaving her phone on the mattress to creep into the bathroom for a cold shower. 

She doesn’t check her phone again until she’s back in bed with the lights off and slightly less furious. The message lights up the room. 

12:35am<

Goodnight, Hermione.

The next morning, Hermione texts Ron to ask to meet up. She pulls on a jumper and jeans and takes a long look at herself in the mirror before she leaves the house. Any doubt about what she needs to do left her mind last night. She’s sure. She’s completely sure. 

“Hey, ‘Mioine,” Ron answers the door with a sheepish smile, “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I’m just-” 

Hermione puts a hand on his chest to stop him from continuing. He steps back to let her into the two bedroom apartment he shares with Harry. She shuffles past him, stomach in knots. He leads her over to their old futon and sits down. She remains standing, shifting her weight between her feet and folding her arms in front of her stomach. 

“Ron, I love you so much…” she hesitates, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“I love you too, Hermione,” Ron says, a touch of uncertainty in his smile. She can see the worry creep into his eyes and she steels herself for what she has to say next. 

“But I’m not in love with you anymore,” She’s not entirely sure she ever has been, if she’s being honest. She watches the smile fall from his face and tries to keep her emotions in check so she can say what he needs to hear. “You’re an incredible person, Ron. You’re my best friend, and this relationship has meant everything to me. We’re just not...it’s just not meant to be.” 

Ron shakes his head, all of the color draining from his face, “We’re just going through a rough patch. Everyone has them. We just have to push through it and we’ll be okay, Hermione, please…” 

Hermione blinks away the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She loves him so much, but there’s no coming back from what she did last night. Clearly there’s a part of herself that she has to explore, whether she wants to or not. It kills her that it means losing the family she always wanted, but it’s what she has to do now. 

“Don’t you want to be with someone who wants to be with you? I promise you, Ron, someday  someone will make you so much happier than you ever have been with me.” 

“I don’t want someone else,” Ron argues, his voice thick, “I want you to want to be with me.” 

Hermione’s never actually seen him cry before. She sits on the couch next to him and grabs his hand. 

“I’m so sorry,  Ron. i hope you can forgive me someday, but I know you know we can’t do this anymore.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

He watches her closely for a reaction and she’s careful not to give him one. It’s not because of Bellatrix, not really. She may have sped things along, made it impossible for her to continue her relationship with him, but by no means is she breaking up with him to be with her. She hasn’t been happy with Ron for a long time, and besides that, she’s not stupid. She knows exactly what Bellatrix wants from her, and she knows she can’t give it to her. Hermione has never and will never be one for casual sexual relationships, no matter how ridiculously fucking attracted she is to her, she will never give herself to someone who would discard her after they’re done. 

She shakes her head, “This has nothing to do with anyone but us. I promise, Ron.” 

Ron gives her a short nod. “I trust you, Hermione. I think...well, you’re like family to me. I know someday we can be in each other’s lives but right now I need space. Like, loads of it.” 

Relief and affection crash over her at once. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was  holding and throws her arms around him. He doesn’t hug her back but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

“No offense, but do you think you could get out of my flat, now?” 

The rest of the week drags by excruciatingly slowly, but she doesn’t dare text Bellatrix again. Bellatrix doesn’t text her either, though Hermione routinely opens their messages to skim through whenever she gets the urge to reach out. She hovers between being mortified at how completely she’d fallen apart at Bellatrix’s words and being furious at her for leaving her on the edge. 

She knows it’s all a manipulation. Bellatrix is just trying to push her buttons, trying to get her into bed like she does with everyone else. Hermione will not fall for it, no matter how badly she wants to. Not being with Ron anymore changes nothing. Bellatrix is still Bellatrix, with the same reputation, and Hermione will not let her break her heart. 

She expected Ginny to be angry at her, but when she got home the morning she broke up with Ron, Ginny only rubbed her back while she cried. She’d asked the same thing, “is it because of her?” and much like her brother, she’d softened when Hermione said it wasn't. 

By the time it’s monday and she’s pretty sure Bellatrix is back in town, she almost feels like herself again; the person she was before Bellatrix walked into Amortentia and she lost herself to an ever present cloud of desire. She has her friends, she’s focused on her job, and she can see things clearly again.

Everything makes sense, until the door opens and Bellatrix walks right back into her life like she never left. 

“Hello, Bellatrix!” Luna greets her with an excited little wave while Hermione watches silently from her side of the counter, “The usual, I presume?” 

Bellatrix gives Luna a curt nod and a credit card before turning her full attention on Hermione. Hermione takes in her appearance shamelessly, all her hard regained sense gone the moment she laid eyes on her again. Her hair is loose today, and she’s wearing a grey sweater over a white button up, hands tucked into the pockets of black slacks. Bellatrix drags her eyes over Hermione’s body with equal amounts of undisguised desire, before meeting her eyes so she can see exactly how clouded and heavy her gaze is. 

I wonder how wet you’ll be when I see you next. 

Hermione feels her panties dampen at the memory and fuck, she wants to ask Bellatrix if she would come home with her right now. Her eyes fall to Bellatrix’s mouth and she licks her lips, all of the things Bellatrix said to her running on repeat in her mind. 

“Don’t you have something you should be doing?” Bellatrix asks, looking like she wants to climb over the counter and devour here then and there. 

Fuck yes I do, Hermione thinks, wishing she could round the counter to get on her knees in front of the buisnesswoman, drag her pants down and drag her tongue up her-

“Hermione?” Luna’s voice interrupts her train of thought and Hermione jolts, suddenly remembering where she is. 

Right, her job. 

Hermione clears her throat and grabs a cup, getting to work on what she gets paid to do. Bellatrix is wearing an amused smile and Hermione refuses to look at her until she’s finished making her drink. She hands it to her and Bellatrix just stands there for a minute, searching Hermione’s eyes. The barista doesn’t want her to leave yet, but she’s so lost in thought about how bad she wants to be fucked by her that she can't form a single casual sentence. 

“Text me tonight,” Bellatrix says, finally, leaving no room for argument. 

Hermione’s jaw slackens, but she can’t manage to get a single protest out as Bellatrix turns around and leaves. Luna walks over to watch Bellatrix leave with her, and when she’s gone she turns to Hermione. 

“I think she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Luna says plainly. 

“Yeah,” Hermione agrees. 

Hermione doesn’t even open her phone until she’s curled up in bed that night with Crooks. Her cheeks redden just with the last few texts from Bellatrix visible, as she tries to think about what to say. She eventually decides that anything she comes up with will sound ridiculous and stops overthinking it.

>8:14pm

You wanted to talk to me? 

8:14pm<

I always want to talk to you

Hermione sighs and rests her phone against her chest. She really shouldn't be surprised at this point, but Bellatrix’s forwardness always manages to catch her off guard. She just can’t seem to accept that someone like Bellatrix actually wants her as bad as she seems to. 

>8:15pm

How was your trip?

8:15pm<

It was fine. Couldn’t seem to find halfway decent coffee anywhere. No one makes it quite the way you can, babe ;).

Hermione laughs. As far as Bellatrix knows, she still has a boyfriend, yet still she’s undeterred from simply deciding it’s okay to use pet names with her. 

>8:18pm

You’re ridiculous. Aren’t you rich enough to hire someone just to make coffee for you? 

8:18pm<

Then I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you every day. Unless you’re ready to start seeing me outside of Amortentia.

Nerves bubble up inside of her. The woman talked her to the brink of orgasm and yet the thought of seeing her outside of work still manages to make her anxious. Still, she craves to see Bellatrix in a more casual setting, to talk to her in private where there’s nothing to distract them from one another. 

8:20pm<

That’s what I thought. Whenever you’re ready, Hermione.

Hermione’s heart warms, before she reminds herself that Bellatrix only wants to see her outside of work so she can have sex with her. And god knows Hermione wants that too, but she’s starting to want so much more. She’s certain that if she crosses that line with Bellatrix, she’ll never be satisfied. She’ll want more than what the woman wants to give her. She’s not so sure she can handle Bellatrix breaking her heart, so better not to give it to her in the first place. 

>8:25pm

I have to get ready for bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bellatrix

Bellatrix doesn’t respond, and Hermione lays awake for hours. 

“Umm, hi, yes, good morning. Could I get a Cappuccino with a split shot, extra foam...and heated to 195 degrees. Oh! With nonfat milk, please.” 

Neville and Hermione stare at the stranger who just stammered out Bellatrix Black’s order. She’s dressed professionally, in a button up and skirt, with hair almost as full and wavy as Hermione’s, with a sweet, somewhat vacant look of joy on her face. Hermione doesn’t like her one bit. Neville reads her the total and she pays with a credit card, all while Hermione glares at her from over the espresso machine. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Hermione asks bluntly. 

The girl looks at her blankly.

“A  packet of splenda, perhaps?” Hermione prompts with a glare. 

The girl smiles brightly, “Oh! You must be Hermione. Ms. Black did say to make sure you made it. She also said to tell you she says hello.” 

Hermione’s face twists into a look of  shocked offense. She says hello? Who the hell is this?

“And who might you be?” Hermione asks, beginning the process of making Bellatrix’s drink. 

“My name’s Lavender. I’ve been Ms. Black’s assistant for about two weeks now.”

“Why are you getting her coffee today? She normally gets it herself,” Hermione says, bitterness creeping into her voice.

“She’s swamped today. Trying to keep a deal from falling through. I’m sure she’ll salvage it, people seem to have a hard time saying no to her.” 

Hermione raises her eyebrows. 

Lavender continues, “She was pissed she didn’t have time for coffee. I really had to insist to get her to let me pick it up for her.” 

Hermione can’t seem to stop the words from tumblinig out of her mouth, “Yes, well, she probably wanted to see me. In fact, why don’t I just take it to her?” 

Lavender doesn’t respond and the barista looks up from what she’s doing to see the deeply worried look on her face. 

“Um...I...this is the first time she’s letting me get her coffee and I really don’t want to mess it up.”

Hermione presses her lips together and tries to contain her growing irritation. 

“Well, why don’t you give her a call then? I guarantee you she won’t mind.”

Lavender looks pale, taking several seconds to look between the barista and her phone, trying to decide on what to do. When she looks like she’s about to argue more, Hermione interrupts her. 

“Or I can just call her myself,” She reaches in her back pocket to pull out her phone. 

“No!” Lavender says, “It’s fine, I’ll do it.” 

Hermione smiles to herself, putting her phone away and putting the finishing touches on Bellatrix’s coffee. She puts a hand on her hip and watches Lavender lift her phone to her ear. 

“Um, hello Ms. Black...yes, I’m sorry to bother you, but the barista is demanding-yes, it’s Hermione. Yeah, she’s demanding she take you the coffee herself. She-yeah, she...oh! Well, alright. Yes, ma’am. Alright, bye now.”

Lavender slowly lowers her phone and Hermione raises her brows expectantly.

“Uh, she instructed me to give you a ride to the office. She said it’s too far for you to bike.” 

“No, it’s quite alright. It’s just on the other side of town, isn’t it?” 

“Please, it’s really so unnecessary. I’m going there anyway-” 

Hermione ignores her, going inito the back room to drop off her apron and grab the key to her bike chain. She checks with Dora while she’s back there, making sure it’s alright for her to take a very early lunch. The manager rolls her eyes when Hermione tells her why, but waves her off nonetheless.

She breezes past Lavender, grabbing Bellatrix’s drink, popping in a stopper and putting it in a travel caddy. Lavender follows her out to her bike and continues to try to convince her to let her drive her. Hermione continues to pretend she doesn’t exist while she unlocks the chain, setting the caddy down in her basket and mouting the bike. 

Lavender throws up her hands and storms off. Hermione punches the directions to the business offices of Orion Fine Jewels into her phone and sees that it’ll be quite the significant trek, but not undoable. She double checks that the drink is secure and pushes off from the curb. 

Fortunately, it’s still cool and overcast this early on in the morning, so that along with the heavy wind keeps her from getting too sweaty. She has to stop a few times to double check the directions, but she makes it in one piece. The building is L shaped, glass, ten stories, and overall not as dramatic as Hermione was imagining. It looks quite normal, not at all like the extravagant skyscraper that she would’ve expected. 

She dismounts her bike and picks up the caddy, using her free hand to tug the heavy glass doors open. A security guard donned in a black suit and sunglasses with an earpiece waves her in, seeming to have been expecting her. She feels an onslaught of nerves, hoping she isn’t overstepping her boundaries by visiting her like this. She’s suddenly very aware of how underdressed she is, in her jean shorts and short sleeved, white button up. 

She approaches the receptionist, who hangs up her phone call to smile politely at her. 

“Hi, yes,” Hermione clears her throat, “I’m here to see Bellatrix Black.” 

“Ah, yes, I was told to expect you! Elevator’s are to your right and she’s on the top floor. Follow the hall and you’ll see her office ahead. It’s the one with the big windows.” 

Hermione thanks her and walks quickly to the elevator, following the receptionist’s directions. By the time she steps out on the top floor, her heart is thundering and she’s considering the consequences of turning around and running away. 

All thoughts of fleeing vanish when she sees Bellatrix ahead, through the windows of her office. She has to walk through a bustling open floorplan of Bellatrix’s employees, some of which cast her curious glances. Bellatrix is right there, looking very serous at her desk, typing away with her phone held to her ear with her shoulder. Hermione’s stomach is doing sommersaults. Once she reaches the closed door she hesitates, trying to decide if she should knock or not. Eventually she decides to air on the side of caution, and give three quick knocks. She rocks back on her heels and waits, and eventually hears a muffled, “Come in”.

Hermione knows she made the right decision when Bellatrix’s face lights up at the sight of her. She rattles off a quick goodbye and hangs up her call, flying out of her chair to greet Hermione in the center of the room.

Bellatrix presses a thoughtless kiss to Hermione’s cheek and plucks her coffee out of her hand. Heat rises to Hermione’s face at the gesture, butterflies filling her body from her stomach to her throat. 

“I cannot believe you,” Bellatrix says, ushering Hermione across the room and to the comfortable leather couch in the corner by the window, “My god, you should’ve seen Lavender’s face. The girl thought I was goinig to fire her for letting you come here. Little did she know it’s absolutely made my day.”

While Bellatrix talks, she rounds the room and closes the blinds to give them some privacy. Hermione watches her quietly, shyly, toying with the fraying edges to her jeans. She comes back around and sits next to her on the couch, her body twisted towards her with her knees pressed against Hermione’s thigh. She reaches for Hermione’s wrist, her fingers sliding over the bare skin and holding onto her like she’s afraid she’ll run away. Hermione takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes to meet Bellatrix’s, who’s looking at her with so much intensity that for a second Hermione thinks she just might lean in and kiss her. 

“This doesn’t happen to be you taking me up on my offer, does it?” Bellatrix asks. Hermione frowns, not knowing what she means. Then Bellatrix continues, “Because my office door locks. It’s not exactly the place I would’ve picked for our first time, but-”

Hermione gasps, “Bellatrix, no! That is not what this is. I just...I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to go back to handing off your coffee to an assistant.” 

A sweet smile tugs at the corners of Bellatrix’s mouth. A hand creeps around the back of Hermione’s head and she feels the soft brush of Bellatrix’s fingers at the base of her neck. Hermione sighs, her eyelids fluttering at the gentle touch. First time. She said first time, like there would be more than one. 

Bellatrix leans in closer, her fingers delving into Hermione’s hair and scratching gently at her scalp, “The other night, Hermione...I need to know, did you do everything I told you to?” 

Hermione shuts her eyes, “Everything, ” she whispers. 

She’s rewarded with the faintest gasp from Bellatrix. 

“Fuck,” the older woman whispers, “I bet you were so fucking beautiful, spread open, knuckle deep inside yourself…”

Hermione feels the faintest brush of Bellatrix’s lips against her jaw and she groans directly into the woman’s ear. Bellatrix’s hand slides from Hermione’s wrist to her thigh, and she has to bite back another moan at the feeling of the woman’s hand sliding along her bare skin. 

The door whips open and the two women jump apart. Lavender comes bustling in, stopping in her tracks at the death glare Bellatrix is giving her. 

“What the fuck have I told you about knocking, Lavender?” Bellatrix growls. Hermione notices the slightest tinge of pink to her cheeks. Did I cause that? She wonders in awe. 

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Black. I just...I know you’re having a stressful day, and I was in a rush to bring you those files you asked about…” Lavender stutters. 

Bellatrix sighs and holds out her hand, snapping her fingers impatiently. Hermione tracks the movement, noting once again the length of her fingers appreciatively. Despite Lavender’s intrusion, there’s still an insistent heat between her legs from the feeling of finally having Bellatrix’s hands on her. She wants her to herself again, wants to demand Lavender leave them be so she can climb into her lap and sink her teeth possessively into her skin. 

Lavender crosses the room to hand her boss the files, and Bellatrix snatches them out of her hands. Lavender shoots Hermione a smile that’s tight with annoyance. 

“Please, let me know if I can do anything else to help ease your stress today, Ms. Black. Anything at all,” Lavender says meaningfully, and Hermione’s jaw drops. Is this bitch fucking serious?

“That’ll be all,” Bellatrix says, waving her off. 

Lavender has the audacity to look disappointed, lingering for a moment before finally leaving them again. 

“Unbeliveable,” Hermione mutters while Bellatrix fips through the files. 

“Mmm, I know. She’s not the sharpest tool in the shed but she gets the job done,” Bellatrix murmurs distractedly. 

“She was flirting with you, Bellatrix,” Hermione huffs. 

Bellatrix huffs out a laugh and snaps the folder shut, tossing them aside to give her full attention back to Hermione, “Was she now? I suppose I don’t really notice unless someone’s really obvious about it. Like how you were the first time we met.” 

Hermione gapes at her, “I wasn’t-that wasn’t even intentional! What just happened, that was intentional!” 

Bellatrix laughs, apparently charmed by Hermione’s outrage, “Well then, I guess I just noticed with you because you’re so fucking cute. The moment I saw you I wanted to know what you would look like with my fingers inside you.” 

Just like that, Bellatrix sends heat flowing through her body again. Hermione tugs her lip into her mouth and drops her eyes to Bellatrix’s mouth. 

“Bellatrix…” 

The woman in question sighs, “I know, I know. Boyfriend.” 

Hermione’s eyes jump back up to meet hers again. Hermione blinks. Oh, right. 

“No, actually. I ended it with him after...after…”

Bellatrix’s eyes widen, the slightest expression of shock flickering on her face before it returns to normal, “I see.” 

It’s Bellatrix’s turn to stare at her mouth now, apparently, and the barista wrestles with the urge to climb into her lap, or pull her on top of her, or slide onto the floor and crawl between her legs. Shit, is she getting closer? 

Hermione jumps to her feet, putting space between them before she looses all sense to Bellatrix’s proximity. 

“Hold on. Just because I broke it off with Ron doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into bed with you. Basically everyone in my life has warned me about you and your...reputation. I don’t want to be just another face in your long line of meaningless hook ups, or, or a way to get back at your dad for not letting you be yourself. I’m not that kind of girl, Bellatrix.” 

Bellatrix’s lips are parted slightly, and her eyes are glistening with some new emotion...Hermione thinks she might see a flash of hurt, but it’s gone before she can be sure. 

“Is that what you think this is?” Bellatrix says quietly. 

Hermione hesitates, suddenly unsure, “Well, isn’t it?” 

Bellatrix rises slowly to her feet and advances on her. Hermione stumbles back a step and jumps when her ass bumps against the side of Bellatrix’s desk. The woman continues to approach until she’s flush against her, her hands coming to rest on her desk on either side of Hermione, ensuring she can’t escape. The breath rushes out of her and Hermione loses herself in Bellatrix’s eyes, in the heat of the body pressed against her.

“Do you really think I need to go through this much effort just for a good lay?” Bellatrix asks, the words ghosting against Hermione’s lips. She leans back slightly, her eyes traveling all over Hermione’s face, her expression shifting too rapidly for Hermione to keep track of. It settles eventually into something soft, and Hermione finds her hands sneaking up to bury themselves in Bellatrix’s lapels. 

“Hermione…” Bellatrix continues, “I really love that you brought me coffee. I love having you here, all to myself. What do you think about doing it more often?”

Hermione blinks at the change of subject, “I...I like it too, but it’s not exactly practical with the bike. I’m pretty sure your coffee is ice cold by now, and all the foam must be gone so...it’s not really worth the price, is it?” 

Bellatrix seems to be considering something. Her eyes begin to twinkle and her lips curve into a smile Hermione doesn’t trust one bit. Then she schools her expression back to normal. “That makes perfect sense, Hermione.” 

Hermione squints suspiciously at her. “Right, well...speaking of which, I really should be getting back, now.” 

The CEO’s face falls and she steps away, releasing Hermione from the confines of her embrace. She misses her warmth immediately, but she really doesn’t want to get fired. 

“I’ll...we’ll text more tonight, yeah?” Hermione says.

Bellatrix gives her a small smile, “Yeah.” 

Before she can think better of it, Hermione tilts forward and kisses Bellatrix on the cheek. 

“Bye, Bellatrix.” 

“Goodbye, Hermione,” Bellatrix says, cheeks pink. 

10:04am<

Make it back okay? The coffee was disgusting, by the way, but it was absolutely worth it. Also, I fired Lavender.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Hermione opens her front door to go to take care of some errands only to find a small, gift wrapped box with a black bow sitting on the welcome mat. She frowns and scans the front of the complex for anything out of the ordinary, but there’s no one to be found. Thinking it could be a present to Ginny from Harry, she picks it up and carries it inside. 

“What’s that?” Ginny asks, watching TV with a mug of coffee and her feet up on the coffee table. 

“Dunno,” Hermione sits down next to her, “Could it be from Harry?”

“Not unless I’m forgetting an anniversary or my birthday,” Ginny mutters. 

“Oh, there’s a tag,” Hermione slips her finger under the bow to nudge it out. 

For the sake of practicality. -Bella

Her eyes widen. She feels the press of Ginny against her side as she reads over her shoulder. She reaches over to pause the TV. 

“What the hell? Is she serious?” 

Hermione can’t find the words to answer her as she slowly unties the bow. She takes the time to undo the wrapping without tearing it, while Ginny shifts around anxiously watching her. 

“I wonder if it’s diamonds,” Ginny says.

Hermione doubts it. She has a sneaking feeling on what it is but she hopes to god she’s wrong. There’s a black velvet jewelry box beneath the paper, and she holds her breath as she pops open the lid. Her stomach sinks and she braces for Ginny’s reaction. 

“No way. No fucking way, Hermione. What is this?” 

Hermione dangles the car keys in front of them, slowly shaking her head. 

“It’s...it’s...I can’t believe it,” Hermione stutters, stunned. 

“You barely know her. Jesus, does she seriously want to get in your pants that bad?” Ginny’s face is bright red, “Unless she already has.” 

Hermione jumps off the couch to stare at her friend in disbelief. Ginny’s lips are set in a thin line and she looks angrier than Hermione has ever seen her. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense. The woman bought you a car , days after you dump my brother and I’m supposed to think the two are unrelated? It’s completely fucked, Hermione. My parents and I saved for years just to be able to afford my decade old Toyota because Ron got the last working hand me down from Percy. And you get one for free because you’re some rich woman’s whore?” 

The insult feels like a slap, and tears jump to Hermione’s eyes. Ginny has never said anything that cruel to her, even during their worst fights. No one’s ever spoken to her like that, ever. She thinks she sees a flicker of remorse on Ginny’s face, but she sets her jaw and looks away in disgust. 

“I can’t...I can’t be friends with someone who thinks of me like that,” Hermione says. She feels like she’s going to be sick. Ginny works her jaw, staring at the wall behind Hermione and refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Good. I can't be around someone who would toss my brother out like trash for a vile woman she’s known for a week.” 

Closer to three weeks, actually. Hermione thinks, but now doesn’t seem like the time to make that kind of correction, “Gin, I didn’t throw him out. We’re taking space now so that we’ll have a chance at becoming friends again in the future. We haven’t been happy for a while now, do you honestly think I did it for Bellatrix?” 

Ginny heaves a sigh, blinking as she tries to organize her feelings into words,“You flirted with her in front of me, Hermione. Multiple times. You flirted with her in front of Ron. I could’ve written it off as confusion or intimidation, god knows I tried. But this...can you even tell me that you don’t have feelings with her? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t crossed any lines while you were still with my brother?” 

Flashes of everything she’s done play in Hermione’s mind. Her eyebrows draw together as she stops shoving the thoughts aside and really allows herself to imagine what it must’ve felt like from Ron’s perspective. Her stomach burns with acidic shame. 

Ginny speaks again, her voice softer this time, “Can you promise me I won’t have to watch you date her? To never bring her over? Can you be professional with her at work? If you can’t, I don’t know how I’m supposed to support you when I had to hold my crying brother and remind him why he’s good enough.” 

Hermione chews on her lip, unwanted understanding edging into her mind. If she understands Ginny, how is she supposed to sit with this on her conscience? That she’s not just a cheater, but someone who would parade the woman she has feelings for in front of the boy who let her into his family, who loved her for most of his life. 

“By your own logic…” Ginny continues, “Maybe we need some space, too. I want to be in your life, I really do, but...it’s just, if things had fizzled out with Ron, it’d be different, you know?” 

Hermione nods glumly, understanding settling in her chest like tar. 

“Maybe I should move out. Me and Harry have been talking about moving in together, anyway-” 

“Gin, no,” Hermione cuts her off, “I caused this. I don’t need you feeling the need to move out added to the list of things I screwed up. I can figure something out. You pay a bigger part of rent, anyways.” 

Ginny bites her cheek, staring at her lap. She looks like she wants to argue, but she has the red tint to her cheeks that Hermione knows means she’s trying not to cry. She knows Ginny’s throat closes up when she’s really upset. 

She steps backwards, towards the door. 

“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll come back after you go to work to, you know, get my things…” 

Ginny looks at her then, and shit, this might hurt more than her break up with Ron. “Hermione, you don't have to...be out, right this minute.” 

“I think I really do,” Hermione argues, her own voice thick with the threat of tears. She hadn’t wanted Ginny at work, school and home but now that she felt on the precipice of losing every bit of her friendship, she feels like she’s going to hurl at the idea. 

“I just...I miss my friend, you know. So, come back when you have this sorted, yeah? When you get back to yourself.” 

This is me. I’m more myself now than I ever have been. Hermione wants to say. Instead, she just leaves. 

She just stands on the doorstep, at a loss of what to do. She sighs and clicks the lock button on the keys, turning her head towards the beep to her right. She follows the pathway to the street and clicks the lock again. The lights flash on a black mini coop with a subtle gold stripe accenting the bottom of the doors. Hermione’s eyebrows raise as she approaches. The car isn’t something she’d have picked for herself, but the more she looks at it the more it just feels  like hers. The interior is black as well, completely spotless and full of that new car smell. She slides into the driver's seat, feeling like she’s in a dream, and starts the engine. 

She taps her fingers on the leather steering wheel as she tries to decide what to do next. Sighing, she pulls out her phone and selects Bellatrix’s name. She’d changed it from the star emoji to her actual name the previous night. 

“Do you like it?” Bellatrix asks in lieu of a hello. Hermione can hear the bustling of her office in the background. Right, it’s only Wednesday. 

“Bellatrix...you have to know that I can’t accept this,” Hermione’s throat is still tight from her confrontation with Ginny. She feels too exhausted to fight with Bellatrix over this after everything. 

“Sorry, love, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Car’s already paid for and in your name.” 

Hermione is too shocked to linger on Bellatrix's use of the word love. 

“How? ” 

“I’m a very powerful woman, Hermione. I have my ways. See for yourself, paperwork’s in the glove compartment and the registration and plates will come in the post in a few weeks,” 

“Bellatrix, I-” 

Bellatrix cuts her off, “Now you have no excuse not to visit me whenever you’d like. Besides, it’s safer than biking. I’ll tip you extra if you bring me coffee on days when I don’t have time to come.” 

Hermione stares out the window, trying to gather her thoughts. She thinks about Ginny. “There are people who need this more than I do. Who deserve it more than me.” 

Bellatrix hums and she hears the background noise quiet, like she closed her door, “Do you work today? Why don’t you come round and we’ll talk about it more?” 

Hermione’s eyes tear up as she remembers what Ginny said to her, and that she’s going to have to find a new place to live. Her parents live too far from the shop and from school for that to be an option, and she’d rather be on the streets than sharing a house with her father ever again, anyway. Who does that leave her with? 

“Hermione?” Bellatrix asks, concern coloring her voice. 

“Sorry, I just...something came up today that I need to deal with straight away. I would love to see you,” she admits, “but I can’t.”

“How can I help?” Bellatrix asks, the earnestness in her voice making Hermione smile despite everything. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, the car actually helps a lot. So, you’ve already helped. Thank you, Bellatrix.” 

She hums again, and sounds closer suddenly, “your voice is such a nice pick me up. You should call me in the middle of the day more often.” 

Something tugs in Hermione’s chest. “Rough day?” 

“If I say yes, will you let me take you out to dinner tonight?” 

Hermione’s stomach flips at the thought of being seen with her in public. She recalls the paparazzi photos she’d seen of Bellatrix when she googled her. She tries to remember if the CEO had ever been photographed with any women before, but nothing is coming to mind. 

“I don’t know...will there be a fuss if we’re seen together? Do you really want that, if we’re not even…” Hermione trails off. What are they doing, exactly? 

“I understand if you don’t want to be seen with me, but I certainly don’t mind. I’m not exactly afraid of making the front page of a tabloid with a headline that could be nothing other than ‘Bellatrix Black spotted with a beautiful young woman’.” 

Hermione wonders if she’ll ever stop dissolving into a hot puddle of butterflies every time Bellatrix compliments her. 

“If you don’t mind it, then why haven’t you achieved such a headline before?” Hermione questions. 

Bellatrix falls silent for a long moment and Hermione smiles at having rendered the usually unflappable woman speechless. Bellatrix sighs, “I have somebody else on the line. Am I seeing you today or not?” 

“Maybe if I can get this sorted out today. I’ll text you, yeah?” 

“Call instead,” Bellatrix orders, “I prefer the sound of your voice.” 

Hermione agrees with a blush and they end the call. Her spirits are considerably lifted, and she’s glad she called. Bellatrix makes her problems feel easily conquered as long as she has her around. Hermione  blows out a breath, releasing some of her tension and makes another call. 

“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you with this but I don’t know who else to call. Are you at Amortentia? Can I come in to talk to you about this in person? Okay, see you soon.” 

The drive to work is shockingly short in a car. It easily shaves several minutes off her commute and makes her seriously consider keeping it. It drives incredibly smooth, and it looks like there’s enough room in the back for her to be able to load most of her stuff into with relative ease. 

She gives Luna and Tonks a brief hello as she breezes past them into the back, where she finds Andromeda in her office. She stops typing to look up at her over the rim of her glasses. Hermione shuts the door behind her. 

“Tell me what happened,” Andromeda says, able to read the anxiety on her face. 

“Bellatrix bought me a car,” Hermione blurts, and Andy’s eyes bulge, “And Ginny and I had a fight and I can't live there anymore. Or rather, she doesn’t want to live with me anymore. I don’t know what to do...there’s no one I can ask, except maybe Bellatrix, but it’s so early and I have no idea what’s going on with us and-” 

“Woah, slow down, Hermione. Back up. She got you a car? ” 

Hermione nods. Andromeda stares at her, brow furrowed as she tries to work something out in her head. She mutters something that sounds like maybe I misjudged…

“Hmm?” Hermione asks, leaning forward to catch the words. 

Andy waves her off, “Nothing, nothing. One crisis at a time. Look, Hermione just stay with me. Our house has felt way too big since Dora moved out.” 

“What? No, Andy, I can’t put you out like that. I was just going to ask if I could crash on the couch here until I find something…” 

Andy laughs, “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. You’ll stay with me, end of discussion. Get out of here before Ginny gets in, get your things and bring them over. I have a spare, so you wouldn’t even need to stay in Dora’s old room. I’ll call Ted when you leave and tell him to expect you and Crookshanks.” 

Tears prick at Hermione’s eyes. No one has ever done anything so kind for her. Except maybe Bellatrix buying her a car, but the fact that she knows Andromeda isn’t doing this to have sex with her makes it feel a lot sweeter. 

“I don’t know how to thank you…” Hermione says, staring at her lap and trying not to cry. 

“You don’t need to. I’d like to keep a closer eye on you if you’re going to be seeing my sister, anyways.” 

Hermione looks back up at her, “I’m not...well, I’m not really sure what we’re doing. I don’t know what she wants from me.” 

Andromeda’s eyebrow quirks, “Well, I can tell you she’s never bought someone a car before. I heard about you taking her coffee at work from Dora. If she let you come into her office like that then something is definitely different. That doesn’t mean you don’t need to be careful, though. Quite the opposite, in fact.” 

Hermione nods, processing the information her boss has just dropped on her. Is it actually possible that Bellatrix wants more than sex with her? 

“Alright, Ginny’s due any minute now. Get out of here, Granger,” Andromeda says, a note of affection in her voice. 

Andromeda’s house is an absolutely adorable, two story, white, cottage style house. It’s overflowing with foliage, vines growing up the sides and a weeping willow obscuring half of the house from view. Hermione grabs Crook’s carrier out of the back and makes her way up the cobblestone path. 

She knocks on the green wooden door and Ted answers moments later. He has dirty blonde hair and a friendly scruffy face, and he’s wearing a knitted sweater and a friendly smile. Hermione peers up at him nervously, noting how tall he is. Certainly a couple inches over 6 feet. 

“Come in, come in! I’ve heard so much about you from Andy. You’re her favorite employee, you know. It’s not even a competition,” Ted ushers her in and down a narrow hallway, into the kitchen. It smells like roasting garlic and onion, and Hermione’s stomach rumbles. “The guest bedroom is just up the stairs and to the left. I’ll show you.” 

The room is modest, but there will be plenty of room for what Hermione needs. There’s a twin sized bed with a white comforter set, a light brown wooden desk by the window, flowing white curtains, and a modestly sized closet. The dresser is a light brown to match the desk as well as the small nightstand. 

She lets Crooks out of his carrier and he immediately gets to work sniffing around the room. Her phone buzzes, and she smiles automatically when she sees it’s from Bellatrix. 

5:15pm<

Still busy?

Before she can respond, another text comes in. From Ginny. 

5:15pm<

If you can't find anywhere to stay, let me know, alright? And for gods sake, Hermione, please don’t stay with your sugar momma, you barely know her and she could be a serial killer. 

Hermione doesn’t know how to respond to Ginny, but it makes her feel better that she wouldn’t let her sleep on the street. She hopes that she’s not completely misguided about Bellatrix, that Ginny will come around someday. She shuts the door and calls Bellatrix, rather than responding. Even now it still makes her hands shake, listening to the line ring and waiting for her voice to come through. 

“Hello, Hermione,” Bellatrix purrs. Hermione sinks down onto the mattress and enjoys the pinpricks that erupt all over at the sound of the woman’s voice, “Are you finally going to let me take you out tonight?” 

Hermione groans quietly, “I can’t, Bellatrix. Believe me, after the day I’ve had I want nothing more than to see you so you can make me forget. But I think I ought to stick around and have dinner with Ted and Andy.” 

Bellatrix is silent for so long that she checks to make sure the line didn’t disconnect. 

“Ginny and I had a bit of a falling out. I moved out,” Hermione explains when the other woman remains silent, “Andy’s letting me stay with her.” 

“I...I see,” Bellatrix says, her tone a lot cooler than it was moments before, “You could’ve asked me, you know.” 

Hermione laughs without meaning to, “Aren’t you like, famous for your commitment issues? I don’t want to screw up this...whatever this is before it’s even begun.” 

Bellatrix sighs, “I don’t like this. I want to see you, Hermione.” 

Hermione warms, her eyes slipping shut, “I want to see you too. So bad. I want…” she trails off, not wanting to get ahead of herself. She feels a flare of insecurity, at the same time as she feels desire coiling low in her gut, craving Bellatrix’s hands on her again. 

“What do you want?” Bellatrix asks, voice thickening with desire. 

“I want you. I want your hands on me, your mouth. I want to kiss you...I want to know what you taste like, what you sound like…” 

Bellatrix’s breath hitches and Hermione only gets more turned on by her reaction, “Hermione...fuck. I have to go.” 

Hermione’s eyes fly open, “Wait what?” 

“I’ll see you soon,” Bellatrix says. 

“Wait-” the line disconnects. 

Did she say the wrong thing? What did she mean by see you soon? As in tomorrow...or…? 

When she comes back downstairs, she finds Ted, wearing an apron and leaning over the stove with a wooden spoon, a look of intense concentration on his face. Nervous about interrupting him, Hermione perches on one of the iron stools at the kitchen island. 

He moves a pot off the burner and turns around to shoot her a quick smile. Hermione feels the urge to compliment his apron but bites it back, feeling it would come out sounding like she was making fun of him. She opts instead to watch him quietly until he breaks the silence. 

“So, Andy’ll be home soon. Also, Dora and Remus heard about your situation and they’re wanting to come by with Teddy and have a sort of family dinner tonight to make you feel welcome here. I told them I’d check with you. I don’t want you to feel like there’s any pressure at all.” 

Hermione’s chest warms at the gesture. She’s been feeling especially cold and alone, after she gave up the family she had found in Ron and then was further pushed away when Ginny ended their friendship. Now, she feels like maybe she’s managed to stumble onto a new family. 

“That sounds lovely, Mr. Tonks.” 

“Oh, please call me Ted.” 

Hermione helps him finish getting dinner ready until they hear the front door open and close, signaling Andromeda’s arrival. She gives Hermione a smile and a squeeze to her shoulder before she creeps up behind her husband and wraps her arms around his waist. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck and Hermione smiles at the interaction. 

“So, Hermione, I have a few things to tell you,” Andromeda says, dipping her finger in the sauce Ted is making to taste it, “Firstly, I think you should take the week off of work. Ginny was in a foul mood all day and I think it’d be best for everyone if you have a little break, don’t you think? My sister will have to make her own damn coffee for a week.” 

Hermione nods in agreement. A break from her day to day responsibilities sounds like exactly what she needs. 

“Which brings me to the second point of business I need to discuss with you. My sister.” 

Hermione gulps and glances at Ted, who has taken an intense interest in stirring the sauce that is already done. She looks back at Andy, who’s peering down at her with one hand resting on the counter like she dreads the conversation as much as Hermione does. 

“I told you that Bellatrix fixates on women until she...well, until they sleep with her. I said to be careful. And you haven’t been, but the thing is...Bellatrix is different. What you’ve told me about her behavior is completely out of the ordinary for her. As I said before, she doesn’t buy people cars, she doesn’t let them visit her at her office... and tonight, about fifteen minutes ago, she called me and begged me to let her come to dinner tonight. My sister. Begged. To come to my house.” 

Hermione’s cheeks redden and she fidgets with the hem of her shirt. 

“Now, I don’t know what you’ve done to her but Bellatrix hasn’t asked to come to my house in years , not since Dora still lived here. Our relationship has been strained for a long time, and while she makes an effort, there’s something about her coming here that she’s always been resistant to. And yet, now that you’re here, she’s begging to be here. My sister! Begging!” Andy repeats, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“I assume it’s alright with you if she comes as well?” Andromeda asks, looking equally exasperated as she does excited. 

Hermione nods enthusiastically. 

“Great. Ted, I hope you made extra.” 

“Oh yes, I added more when I heard Dora and her family were all coming. We’ll have plenty for Bella, too.” 

Andromeda kisses him on the corner of his mouth, “You’re incredible, darling.” 

“I should finish taking my stuff in and shower before everyone gets here, is that alright?” Hermione asks. 

“Of course, dear. The upstairs bathroom should have everything you need. Do hurry though, I’m pretty sure Bella is driving here faster than what’s legal.” 

Hermione stands, and after a moment of hesitation throws her arms around Andy’s waist. 

“Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for me. It means everything.” 

Andromeda chuckles and rubs her back. Hermione could cry directly into Andromeda’s sweater if she let herself. She keeps it together, and after they part Hermione jogs outside to carry in her bag and Crook’s litter box and food before he gets any ideas. She showers quicker than she ever has using the toiletries Andromeda laid out for her. Hermione raises a brow at the expensive brand of shampoo her boss keeps around for guests to use. When she’s done, she towels off her hair and wraps a second giant white towel around her body, pads out of the shower and back into her room. 

She shuts the door behind her and turns around, smiling at Crookshanks sitting on the windowsill, flicking his tail as he watches the outside world. She scratches his back as she passes him, then grabs her suitcase and puts it on the desk to look for something to wear. 

The door opens behind her, and Hermione’s heart freezes in her chest when she turns around to see Bellatrix locking the door behind her with a nefarious smirk. 

“Bellatrix! What are you doing?” Hermione exclaims in a whisper. 

“Checking on you and my, my, what incredible timing I have,” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione gulps, staring with wide eyes, while Bellatrix slowly takes in her scantily clad appearance. Bellatrix is dressed in one of her favorite silk black button ups and a tight skirt that ends just above her knees, leaving her calves bare to Hermione’s gaze. The towel that felt giant moments before suddenly feels much too small under Bellatrix’s lecherous appraisal. She advances towards her, and Hermione can’t decide if she wants to dance away from her and preserve some dignity or throw her arms around her and do all of the things she's been dying to do to her. 

Before she can decide, Bellatrix’s fingers are sliding over her waist and she’s dragging her eyes up and down Hermione’s face, taking in every minute detail, and she melts into her. Her fingers delve into the hair she’s been dying to feel, and it curls around her fingers to trap her hands. Bellatrix swoops down and finally presses her lips against Hermione’s.

Her mouth is so much softer than Hermione knew to expect. She’s so soft, and gentle, starting out slow and chaste. She meets Hermione’s mouth again and again, until Hermione tightens her grip on Bellatrix’s hair and surges forward. Bellatrix’s arms wrap around her waist fully, crushing their bodies together. Hermione moans into her mouth at the feeling, her head spinning with the long awaited satisfaction of her touch. 

Bellatrix sneaks her tongue into Hermione’s mouth, and the hot, wet slide of her tongue makes Hermione’s knees buckle. Bellatrix uses her loss of footing to push forward and shove Hermione against the wall to steady her. Hermione’s hands slide from Bellatrix’s hair and start grasping at anything she can reach. They slide down her slender shoulders, feel the gentle press of her collarbones against her palms. She slides them lower, filling her hands with Bellatrix’s breasts. Her thumbs easily seek out her nipples, and she’s rewarded with the filthiest moan she’s ever heard come out of someone. 

Hermione resumes her exploration of Bellatrix’s body while the older woman’s tongue continues familiarizing itself with the inside of Hermione’s mouth. Hermione pulls the woman’s tucked in shirt out from the waistband of her skirt and shoves her hands up, whimpering at the smooth heat of Bellatrix’s skin before she digs in her nails and drags them down. 

Bellatrix groans and shoves her thigh up between Hermione’s legs. Hermione’s head falls back against the wall with a slight thump . The position has hiked up Bellatrix’s skirt so that there’s no barrier between her skin and the slick heat of Hermione’s center. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Bellatrix murmurs, attaching her mouth to Hermione’s neck, “You feel so much better than I ever imagined.” 

Fire bleeds from the point of contact between Bellatrix’s hot mouth and her neck. Her hands return to Bellatrix’s hair, needing more of that addictive feeling. Bellatrix sucks on her pulse point and Hermione’s hips buck against her thigh automatically. 

She moans, loudly , and Bellatrix pulls away to cover her mouth. 

“Can’t have anyone interrupting us,” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione’s senses are totally gone, and her only instinct that remains is pleasing Bellatrix. Having an idea of what she’ll like, the younger woman twists her head and parts her lips to take two of Bellatrix’s fingers into her mouth. When she looks back at Bellatrix her pupils are completely blown, and any shred of restraint or caution is gone. Hermione drags her tongue against Bellatrix’s fingers, her eyes hungry at the sensation of having her inside her in some way, and sucks. Bellatrix’s thumb digs into Hermione’s cheek and she twists her head away again to bite and lick a hot trail down her neck.

Hermione grinds against her thigh desperately. Moaning again around Bellatrix’s fingers, she can feel the growing wetness making each grind slicker. Her movements are quickly becoming faster and jerkier as her walls painfully ache around nothing. Bellatrix slides both her hands down Hermione’s body to grab her ass and guide her movements back to forceful regularity. 

“Bella, fuck, I’m going to-” 

Bellatrix shh’s her, licking and nuzzling lovingly against her neck, “It’s alright, love, you can-” 

Three raps at the door makes Bellatrix stop abruptly, her hand flying to Hermione’s mouth to stop her cry as she cums right then, Bellatrix watching her with slightly parted lips and wide eyes. Hermione tries to stop, she really does, but the orgasm is already tearing through her, and her hips continue to jerk against Bellatrix’s thigh against her will. She digs her nails into Bellatrix’s shoulders so hard she can feel the other woman trembling right along with her as she watches her come apart. 

“Dinner is ready, you two. Dora and Remus are downstairs waiting,” Ted’s friendly voice says. 

Hermione wimpers against Bellatrix’s hand as the woman continues to stare at her like she hasn't heard Ted at all, her eyes flicking rapidly over Hermione’s face like she can’t bear to miss a single detail of this moment. 

Bellatrix removes her hand from Hermione’s mouth and they both just stare into each other's eyes like neither can quite believe what they've just done.

“Girls? Everything alright in there?” Ted’s oblivious voice intrudes again. Hermione doesn’t know how she’ll ever look him in the eye again. 

When it becomes clear that Hermione’s ability to speak hasn’t yet returned, Bellatrix hollers, “Be down in a minute, Edward.” 

Once they hear his footsteps recede, Bellatrix collapses forward to lean her forehead against the wall and meld their bodies together. She rests her cheek against Hermione’s and it feels so achingly intimate that Hermione can’t stand to push her away. 

“That really got out of hand,” Bellatrix laughs, her breath tickling Hermione’s ear, “Next time, we’ll do it right. I promise.” 

Hermione, still coming down from the best orgasm of her life, wonders nervously what doing it right could possibly look like if this wasn’t it. 

“We have to get ready,” Hermione says, weakly pushing at Bellatrix’s shoulder. 

Bellatrix pulls away from her and Hermione grasps the towel to keep it from falling down. She is amazed that it managed to stay mostly in place for that entire ordeal. Bellatrix, now standing a few feet away from her, pins her with a smirk and a pointed look at the offending towel. 

Hermione can’t do anything but marvel at how beautiful she is at that moment. Shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned, hair disheveled, lipstick smeared, and pink cheeks, Hermione wants nothing more to surge forward and capture her lips again. 

“Well?” Bellatrix asks, “You heard the man. You’d better get dressed.” 

Hermione bites back a smile, “Turn around.”

Bellatrix looks at her incredulously, “Seriously?” 

Hermione schools her expression, staring the woman down until she turns around with a huff. “Fine, but hand me that towel when you’re done with it.” 

Hermione slips out of the towel and rummages through her bag until she finds a simple sundress, miraculously unwrinkled, and pulls it over her head. Bellatrix shuffles around, fixing her shirt and her hair. Hermioine grabs her brush, yanking it through her hair with one hand and handing the towel to Bellatrix with the other. She watches curiously while she wiggles into a pair of underwear, and blushes all over when she sees Bellatrix using the towel to wipe off her thigh. 

“Sorry,” Hermione says, mortified. 

Bellatrix whips her head around, giving her dress an appreciative once over before smiling, “For this? Never apologize for that.” 

Hermione smiles sheepishly and approaches her, lifting her thumb to wipe the smeared lipstick off the corner of her mouth. Bellatrix catches her hand and kisses the palm, and Hermione’s heartbeat flutters erratically. 

“You called me Bella,” Bellatrix says, her eyes warm and soft, her eyelids heavy. 

“Is that okay?” Hermione feels ridiculous even asking based on the way Bellatrix is looking at her, “It slipped out.”

“I loved it,” Bellatrix whispers, and something creeps into her eyes. She swallows and steps back from Hermione, her expression abruptly flattening, “We should get down there before Andromeda comes up to get us.” 

A seed of worry planted in Hermione’s head, she only nods in agreement. Bellatrix turns away from her and something unpleasant twists in Hermione’s stomach. Now that the fog of desire has lifted, she realizes how fast it’s all happened and the doubt is creeping in. She’s infatuated, there’s no denying it, but she doesn’t know her. The most information she’s gotten about her has been second hand. The fear that Bellatrix would leave the moment she got into her pants returns to the forefront of her mind. She’s not sure if what they did fully counted, but maybe it was enough for Bellatrix. She’s supposed to feel elated after taking that step with someone, but staring at the back of Bellatrix’s head as they descend the staircase, she only feels afraid.

Chapter Text

Bellatrix and Hermione split apart when they reach the bottom of the stairs. Bellatrix goes to talk to her sister and Hermione is swept into a hug by Dora. Hermione watches Bellatrix talk to her sister, trying to get a read on her emotions. She’d sensed a sudden change before they left the guest bedroom but the woman turned away from her before she could figure it out. Dora pulls away from their hug, gripping her shoulders and smiling sympathetically down at her. Now, she can tell the woman’s shutting down whatever emotions Hermione glimpsed earlier in the way she’s smiling tightly at Andy and avoiding Hermione’s eyes. 

“For what it’s worth, I think Ginny’s overreacting. She’ll apologize when she cools off,” Dora says. 

Hermione pulls her eyes away from Bellatrix to shake her head at Dora, “I don’t think so. It’s bad, Dora.” 

Nymphadora sighs and wraps an arm around Hermione’s shoulder to guide her towards the tall, lanky man chatting with Ted. Hermione can only assume the man is Dora’s husband, Remus, who somehow looks nothing like what she would’ve imagined. She never would’ve imagined Dora with her tough exterior to fall for someone who seemed so...reserved, well groomed and well dressed. The man is dressed like he’s a professor, with his sweater vest and  green tie. All she’d previously known about him was that he was much older than Dora and did narcotics in his youth. He’d been in recovery long before he met Dora, although he relapsed shortly before Teddy was born and it almost ended their relationship. 

If the way Dora wraps an arm around his waist and beams up at him is any indication, their relationship has made quite the recovery. 

“Hello, there. You must be Miss Hermione Granger,” He says, extending a hand. 

Hermione takes his outstretched hand and he shakes it enthusiastically. 

“Pleasure to meet you Mr. Lupin.” 

“Oh, please, just Remus is perfectly fine. I was so sorry to hear about your situation from Dora. How are you feeling?” 

Hermione makes pleasantries with every dinner guest while Bellatrix does an excellent job of orbiting her around the dining room, always maintaining the same distance between them. She doesn’t look at her once, which she knows because Hermione looks at her every chance she gets. As much as she tries to ignore it, the churning anxious feeling in her stomach grows with each passing minute.

When Ted ushers everyone to their seats, Hermione is quick to grab the one next to Bellatrix, although it doesn’t seem as though she has much competition on that front. Hermione tries to give her a friendly smile but the woman doesn’t see it, instead picking up her butter knife to twirl it expertly between her fingers. Hermione gives up trying to get her attention and refocuses on the other people around them. After Ted serves everyone their plates of spaghetti, he settles down next to his wife. Andy finishes securing baby Teddy to his high chair between her and Dora, where he babbles happily. 

“Thank you for having us so last minute, mum,” Dora says, as she fusses over her baby. Hermione smiles, never having seen her interact with her son before. 

“It’s always a pleasure to see the three of you,” Andy says, pouring herself a glass of red wine, “Would you like any, dear?” 

Tonks refuses, and Andy looks at Hermione with a playful lift of her brow and a smile. Surprised, Hermione sits up straighter, “Oh, um, normally I’d refuse but I think I’ll make an exception tonight.” 

Andy slides the bottle across the table for her to pour it herself. Once she’s done, Bellatrix grabs it from her before she can set it down. She pours herself a glass, downs it, then pours herself another. The black haired woman is tense, obviously so, and Hermione fights the urge to put a hand on her knee. She really doesn’t know her, has no clue what’s going on with her, and she doesn’t know what kind of reaction touching her would elicit. The relaxed smile is gone from Andromeda’s face, instead replaced with mild annoyance.

“Right then,” Ted says, “Hermione, how’re you settling in? Do you think the guest bedroom will suit your needs while you’re here?” 

“It’s great, really. Everything I could ask for,” Hermione says, as flashes of what happened so recently in that very room jump to her mind. She remembers Ted’s interruption, the way Bellatrix had looked at her. 

She’s looking at her now, finally. Hermione feels her gaze boring into the side of her head, and she can’t stop herself from turning to meet her eyes. Her face is blank but her eyes are so dark and so focused on her that she knows the same memories are running through  her head. 

Hermione releases a slow, shuddering breath as the conversation resumes around them. 

“Well, we actually had an ulterior motive for coming tonight outside of just seeing Hermione,” Dora says. Hermione can’t seem to pull herself away from Bellatrix’s gaze. 

“That so?” Ted asks. 

“Remus got that teaching position at Cambridge!” Dora says. Hermione whips her head back around to look at the couple, “Hermione, meet your new Sociology professor.” 

The table exclaims in joy, Ted reaching across the table to smack Remus on the back. Before Hermione can voice her reaction or question his credentials, she feels Bellatrix’s hand slide onto her knee, half over her dress and half on the exposed skin below the hem. She lets out a quiet gasp, but thanks to the exuberant reaction to Remus’s news nobody notices. Hermione glances back at her to find the smallest smirk gracing her lips. 

Hermione grabs her wine and takes a long drink. 

“It’s very possible I’ll have you as a professor, actually,” Hermione forces herself to say despite the rubbing of Bellatrix’s thumb doing its best to derail her thoughts, “I’m taking Sociology next year.” 

“Well that would be wonderful,” Remus says with a kind smile, “You seem like a wonderful student. Nymphadora tells me you’re a quick learner.” 

“She is,” Bellatrix interjects, and Hermione almost chokes on her wine. The whiplash this woman is putting her through is truly unlike anything she’s ever experienced. 

“She’s the best barista we’ve had since, well...me,” Dora says. Hermione sighs in relief when the conversation continues without acknowledgement of Bellatrix’s comment. 

Andromeda becomes absorbed with asking Remus about the new job while the rest of the table begins eating. Bellatrix’s hand rubs up her thigh, her thumb continuing to caress her absentmindedly while she manages to eat with her one free hand. Hermione itches to reach down and join their hands, but she’s still too afraid of scaring her again. She’s not sure what exactly she said or did wrong before to provoke Bellatrix’s shift in mood. Or, maybe she just imagined it. The way Bellatrix is touching her now certainly suggests all is well. 

“What are you majoring in, Hermione?” Andromeda asks,  pulling the young girl’s attention back. 

“Political Science,” Hermione answers. 

“Are you wanting to go into politics?” Remus asks, his green eyes bright and curious.

Hermione nods, “It does seem to be the most effective way to make a difference in today's world.” 

“One would hope,” Remus responds. They continue to discuss her major while Bellatrix draws patterns over her thigh. Hermione is beginning to relax under her touch. The dinner wasn’t turning out to be nearly as awkward as she feared, and Bellatrix’s touch serving as a reminder that she isn’t done with her keeps her anxiety at bay. 

She does notice, however, that Bellatrix finishes her second glass and moves onto a third during her conversation with Remus. 

“Oh! Did you ever get the wedding photos and videos in?” Ted asks Dora. 

“Oh yes, just recently,” Dora responds, brightening at the subject. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her leather jacket and pulls up the album, passing it along. 

“Is it normal for them to take so long to come in?” Ted asks. Andromeda gasps and praises the photos. 

“We did get married in spring, which is the busiest time to do it. The photographer had to squeeze us in, so I’m not surprised it took a bit,” Remus says, draping his arm over the back of his wife’s chair to rub her shoulder. 

Andromeda holds her arm across the table to show Hermione the photo of Remus and Dora wrapped around each other and beaming at the camera. Bellatrix snorts quietly and even Hermione can’t deny it’s a cheesy photo, but they look happy. 

“I wish you could’ve been there,” Dora tells her, wiping baby food off of Teddy’s face, “If we invited people outside the family we would’ve loved to have you. Although now that you’ll be living here you practically are.” 

Hermione gives her a small smile, not minding the idea. It’s strange to see her two bosses outside of work, but it feels like a natural progression. She knows them so well already, from their coffee preferences, to the time of day they feel most awake, to their pet peeves and hopes and dreams. Now she just gets to see them in their natural element, unburdened by the expectation of professionalism. 

“Oh, remember how beautiful our wedding was, Ted? It was even smaller than Dora’s but it was so perfect. Intimate! That’s the word I’m looking for.” 

Bellatrix’s hand stops moving on Hermione’s thigh. 

“Very intimate, dear,” Ted says, “I could’ve done with a few more people, though.” 

Andromeda looks meaningfully at her sister. Bellatrix only polishes off her glass yet again and shoves a meatball gracelessly in her mouth. 

“Probably could’ve done without a few, too,” Dora says, reading the tension, “Like your uncle. I’ve heard the story of his embarrassing toast so many times.” 

Hermione feigns polite interest, though it’s hard to ignore her concern over Bellatrix’s sudden stillness. She wants to grab her hand, lace their fingers together. She wants to ask, to learn more about the sister’s complicated past, but she can easily read the tension between them and assume Bellatrix’s absence. 

“How old were you when you married?” Hermione asks instead. 

“ Young,” Andromeda says, “We already had Dora, much too soon. When Ted didn’t go running for the hills it just seemed like the natural next step. At that point, my parents didn’t care what I did. Did they, Bella?” 

Bellatrix glares at her spaghetti and doesn't answer. 

“Do you want a big wedding or a small one?” Dora asks Hermione, again masterfully side stepping the tension. Hermione figures she’s probably had a lot of practice maneuvering tense family dinners. 

Hermione answers easily. Ever since she was a child she imagined her dream wedding, although she always thought she’d be marrying a handsome man. Now, the future is not so clear. “I’d want it to be very modest. I don’t want it to be a big fuss, I want myself and all my guests to feel relaxed. It’s a celebration, after all. I’d want all the money to go towards the honeymoon.” 

Bellatrix removes her hand completely. 

Dora laughs, “Well, don’t have a child out of wedlock and you’ll have the time and money for a fantastic honeymoon.” 

Andromeda nods in agreement and Ted laughs heartily. 

“More wine in the kitchen, I presume?” Bellatrix asks, standing abruptly. 

Hermione stares up at her, trying to get a read on her mood, but she’s completely shut down. Andromeda opens her mouth to answer but Bellatrix is done waiting. She leaves the table without another word, disappearing through a doorway leading to the kitchen. Hermione fights the urge to jump out of her seat and follow. Does she want to follow because she cares, because she has feelings beyond attraction? Or does she just want to know? Lately she’s been having a hard time telling the difference. She’s never wanted to know someone the way she wants to know Bellatrix, but she’s also the most interesting person she’s ever met. 

After an uncomfortable silence, Andromeda sighs and she stands to follow her sister. Ted clears his throat and casts a concerned glance at the doorway before returning to eating, prompting the rest of them to follow suit. Hermione takes another sip of wine, enjoying the way it warmed her muscles and relaxed her mind. She wonders if that’s why Bellatrix was drinking so much. 

They continue to eat quietly, the only sounds being Teddy’s occasional smacking of his fists against the plastic tray of his highchair and the scrape of utensils against ceramic. Then, the sounds of the sister’s voices begin to drift into the room. Hermione’s hand pauses in its task of twirling spaghetti around her fork as she squints, listening. She can only catch scraps. 

“...play with people, Bella!” 

Hermione gulps and looks nervously around the table. Just from those few words it’s obvious they’re talking about her. 

“-I don't know, Andy!” Bellatrix’s voice lowers just enough to where she can’t quite clearly hear what’s said next. 

“Why can't you be an adult about this? Jesus, I mean, how old are you now?” 

Dora sighs loudly, running a hand through her pink hair. She makes eye contact with Hermione and gives her a slightly embarrassed smile. “Don’t worry,” she says, “they do this pretty much every time they spend more than five minutes together. It has nothing to do with you.” 

“She’s an adult, Andy, I’m not responsible for her decisions!” 

Dora grimaces. Hermione drinks her wine. Seconds later, Bellatrix storms back into the room, and snatches her blazer off the back of her chair before heading towards the front door. She throws Hermione a look over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway, A moment later, she hears the front door slam. 

>10:52pm

Are you okay?

Bellatrx doesn’t respond. 

Hermione wakes up early the next morning and is relieved to see that there’s a high end Jaguar sitting in the driveway that must belong to Bellatrix. At least she didn’t drive herself home after all the wine she drank. Hermione only had two glasses and her head is pounding this morning, so she can’t imagine the older woman had been in any state to drive after drinking an entire bottle. 

She checks her phone for the third time that morning but Bellatrix still hasn't responded. Hermione is finding it harder and harder to quell her insecurities about the night before. Had she come on too strong? Or maybe her fears about Bellatrix running after sex were right afterall. Although Hermione isn’t sure what they did was even considered sex. Are the rules different with a woman? There’s so much more she wanted Bellatrix to do to her, and grinding against the wall like teenagers wasn’t at all what she had in mind for how it happened with her. Did Bellatrix really not want more, even if it was just more sex? Was she really that bad? How could she fuck up grinding on a thigh? 

Hermione runs through the night over and over as she gets dressed, trying to find something, anything, to explain Bellatrix’s shift. She comes up blank. The woman’s behavior is totally erratic, completely devoid of anything Hermione could make sense of. 

She pads down the stairs quietly, in case Ted isn't as early of a riser as she is. She assumes she’ll find Andromeda up, but when she approaches the kitchen the sound of her name makes her hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. Ted and Andromeda are up, talking softly in the kitchen. Hermione can just barely make out their voices from around the corner, but they wouldn’t be able to see her unless she came around the corner. 

“I’m just so angry at her,” Andy is saying, “I knew this would happen, and I didn’t do enough to stop it. I let myself be convinced that she might be changing. I didn’t try to stop her from seeing Hermione because I thought that something about her was inspiring Bellatrix to change. I feel like such an idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot, you’re just optimistic,” Ted says with a chuckle, “Besides, you don’t know that she’s going to do what she always does. Just earlier that evening she was begging to come over just to see her. That is different.” 

“It doesn’t take much to scare her off. If she was having feelings, Hermione so much as looking at her too long or too sweetly would’ve been enough to trigger this.”

Hermione grips the bannister so hard her knuckles turn white. So Bellatrix is abandoning her. Hermione isn’t even the one who was sweet! Bellatrix is the one who kissed her hand and told her she loved being called Bella. She squeezes her eyes shut at the onslaught of tears. She feels like such an idiot for thinking she was different from the other girls. She knew Bellatrix had issues with commitment and she still gave her what she wanted when she promised herself she wouldn’t. She wishes she had chosen to explore her sexuality with someone less flighty. 

Only she doesn’t, really, when she remembers the way Bellatrix looked at her. As badly as she wants to, it’s hard to regret it when it felt so damn good. It terrifies her to think that she might never see Bellatrix look at her that way again.

She decides to make her presence known, coming around the corner with a small smile. 

“Good morning,” she greets the couple. 

“Hello, dear,” Andromeda says, “I have a pot of coffee. Normally I wait until I get to the shop to have any but I figured you might want some.” 

Hermione sighs in relief, “That sounds lovely. Do you happen to have some aspirin, too? Apparently I’m a lightweight.” 

Andy smiles and Ted chrotles, reaching into the cabinet behind him to procure the medicine. Hermione takes the aspirin and the coffee with a grateful smile and Andy shows her to the backyard with the thought that she’d enjoy reading out there. 

“I have a few books on the shelves in the mudroom just inside. You’re welcome to them. Make yourself at home, Hermione.” Andromeda says. 

Hermione is in awe at the garden. The backyard may be small, but it’s packed to the brim with plants. It’s a bit overgrown, weeds popping up between the cracks of the path, but it’s beautiful. There’s rose bushes lining a garden path that leads to a small iron bench by a fountain, and Hermione could spend hours reading there. She picks out a book about gardening, wondering if it might be a good hobby to take up while she stays there. 

The hours slip by with ease, and once the sun is high in the sky she takes a walk around the neighborhood to familiarize herself. On her way out she notices that the jag is gone. 

Hermione spends the next few days like this. Relaxing in the garden, walking, then returning home to help Ted with dinner in time for Andy to arrive home. It only takes a few days for Hermione to feel so guilty about not working or contributing to the bills that she insists on going back to work.

“You’ll just be paying back the money I pay you with,” Andromeda says when Hermione tells her she wants to go back.

She supposes she had a point, but at least she would be paying her with money she earned from her. It beat feeling like a freeloader. Besides, lounging around all day did little to distract her from thinking about Bellatrix. They decide she’ll go back the day after tomorrow.

She wakes up on her last day off in a mood. After the initial shock and confusion at Bellatrix’s hot and cold behavior, her emotions give way to anger. How is it that a 40 year old woman has progressed this far in life and still hasn’t figured out how to have a relationship? It’s just ridiculous for a woman of her age to still be sleeping around, talking girls into sleeping with her and then abandoning them. After all, she’d lied to Hermione. When she visited her office, her exact words were, “ Do you really think I need to go through this much effort just for a good lay?” Why would she say that if she had no feelings at all? If Hermione has any self respect, she’d track her down and give her a piece of her mind. And if there’s anything she has in spades, it’s self respect. 

It’s after the third day of no contact that she makes good use of the mini cooper and drives to Amortentia. Luna looks at her like she’s crazy when she asks to be rung up for Bellatrix’s order before going behind the counter and squeezing into the space with Neville to make it. She leaves wordlessly and makes the drive to Bellatrix’s office, forcing her mind to be focused only on the task at hand. Her heart races anyways, but she doesn’t let her mind give in. 

The ride is short compared to her last visit, and she doesn’t give herself any time to gather her nerves in her car, getting out and striding straight in. The security guard stops her this time, but he doesn’t take long to remember her from before and wave her in. She tries to bypass the receptionist, but the woman waves her down. 

“Pardon me!” she calls, ‘Excuse me, miss!” 

Hermione sighs and abandons the path to the elevators to return to the front desk. 

“Oh, I remember you,” the receptionist says when Hermione approaches. 

Hermione molds her face into a friendly smile, “Good morning. I was hoping to surprise Ms. Black with a cup of coffee since she didn’t have time for it this morning.” 

A confused frown settles on the woman’s face, “Oh, I heard that she’s trying to give up caffeine.” 

Hermione stops herself from asking “Is she?” and instead says, “Yes, and that is why this is decaf. Helps with the transition.” 

The woman smiles in relief, believing her instantly, “Oh! That makes sense. I’ll need to give her a call as a heads up regardless, though. Sorry. We’re under strict orders of ‘no funny business’. The boss has been very....frustrated. With her lack of caffeine, I imagine.” 

Hermione curses internally. The receptionist dials Bellatrix’s extension and Hermione steels herself to be asked to leave. 

“Hello, sorry to bother. We have that very nice young lady from last week here with a special delivery of some decaf coffee for you, ma’am. Yes, I’m sure. Yes, she’s the same one from before! Bushy brown hair and all.” 

Hermione pats her hair self-consciously. 

“Okay then! Thank you, ma-” The receptionist stops in the middle of her sentence and blinks down at her phone, “She hung up on me. Anyways, she said you can come up. Good luck. She seems to still be in quite the mood today.” 

The barista sighs in relief and heads back towards the elevators. 

The moment the doors open to Bellatrix’s floor, she notices an eerie change in the office from the last time. It’s completely quiet. It’s just as full as it was before, but no one is speaking a word. There’s only the muted sounds of papers shuffling, desk chairs moving and people typing. Hermione scans the workers, who are all pale faced and serious. A few of them cast nervous glances as she makes her way to Bellatrix’s office, like they’re afraid of any disturbances. 

The nervousness she feels grows until she can no longer keep it in check. She stops outside Bellatrix’s office, frozen in fear. She feels nauseous and light headed all of the sudden. What if Bellatrix only had her sent up so she could tell her to fuck off to her face? She’s not sure she could bear the mortification. 

“Are you going to come in or just stand out there until I need to use the loo?” Bellatrix’s voice calls from inside the door. Hermione jumps and looks around, wondering if Belatrix could see her in the cracks between her blinds. She rolls her eyes at herself and pushes through the door. 

Bellatrix is perched at her computer chair, typing away. Hermione stares at her, her chest tightening with emotion as she takes her in. She looks tired, her eyes especially heavy lidded and shadowed by faint dark circles. Her hair is messier than normal, unbrushed and wild. She meets Hermione’s eyes and holds her gaze for a long moment, slowing the world to a halt. 

“Shut the door,” Bellatrix commands softly. 

Hermione does as she says, before approaching the CEO with trepidation. She comes around her desk and Bellatrix tilts her head up to maintain their eye contact with Hermione standing so close. The barista sets down the coffee next to the keyboard. Without breaking eye contact, Bellatrix grabs the phone from her desk and presses a button. 

“Olivia, hold all my calls and meetings for the next ten minutes. No exceptions.” 

The young woman gulps nervously. What exactly did Bellatrix have planned to say to her that would only take ten minutes? They continue to stare at each other until Hermione finds her voice. 

“It’s not decaf,” Hermione says, “I didn’t know you were trying to give it up.” 

Bellatrix swallows, “What are you doing here?” 

Hermione came to give her a piece of her mind but now, standing in front of her, she feels so weak. 

“I wanted to see you,” she admits quietly, “I haven’t heard from you. Did I do something wrong?” 

Bellatrix scoffs, “You? Whatever could you have done wrong?” 

Hermione blinks and takes a step back. Bellatrix’s eyes follow her closely, that hungry look Hermione fears and craves growing in them. She stands and steps towards her, forcing Hermione back a step, wanting to maintain distance along with her common sense. 

“What was I supposed to think? Everything was fine in my room. You were being so sweet. Then you switched for no reason. Am I wrong for seeking clarity?” 

Bellatrix seems to struggle momentarily with something, her jaw flexing, before steeling her gaze and advancing forward again, “I don’t see the problem. You got what you wanted from me, didn’t you?” 

“Not by a long shot,” Hermione says immediately, continuing to shuffle backwards but not letting herself look away from Bellatrix’s gaze. 

Bellatrix’s eyebrows twitch and a mean, patronizing smile plays at her lips, “No? Could’ve fooled me with how quickly you let me into your pants.” 

Hermione’s back bumps into the wall and she gasps when Bellatrix plants an arm above her head and gets right up in her space, trapping her there. 

“How can you say that?” Hermione asks, “You pushed me for weeks. You bought me a car. You came to your sister’s house for the first time in years just to see me. You-you-”

Bellatrix’s smile stretches until she looks like she’s struggling not to laugh at her. Tears sting Hermione’s eyes. 

“Tell me, pet,” Bellatrix drags a nail down the side of Hermione’s cheek, making her shudder, “Do you take tips from all your customers like you do with me? Crawl into bed with anyone that asks? Are you that desperate for approval?” 

Hermione doesn’t recognize the woman in front of her. Is this a lie, or is it who she’s been all along? 

“You know I don’t do that,” Hermione whispers, hot tears leaking out of her eyes and down her cheeks. A tear runs over Bellatrix’s fingertip and she pops the appendage into her mouth, literally tasting Hermione’s tears. 

“Do I? I’m a stranger to you and you came on my thigh in two minutes like a little slut.”

Hermione tries to slap her but Bellatrix is too fast, snatching her wrist in a vise grip before it can reach her cheek. She pins Hermione’s wrist to the wall above her head, pressing their bodies together. Hermione hates her body's reaction to Bellatrix’s. Fire pours through her and pools between her legs. If she parted them just slightly Bellatrix would be right where she was the other night, and her smirk says she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

“Fuck you,” Hermione says, her chest heaving. 

“You have already, little girl,” Bellatrix purrs, “Or are you here for a refresher? I’d be happy to oblige.”  

She leans forward, her breath ghosting over Hermione’s neck. Hermione trembles again and jerks away from her as best she can in her current position. Bellatrix, who at the very least isn’t one to force herself on someone, pulls back to sneer at her. 

“This isn’t you,” Hermione says, “This is the lie. When you kissed my palm and said you loved being called Bella, that was the truth. You’re trying to push me away because I scare you.” 

Bellatrix looks equal parts impressed and infuriated at the statement. 

“You’re a fool,” Bellatrix says, but her voice has a tremor that it didn’t have moments before, “That car barely cost me anything. I just wanted easier access to you. I don’t give a fuck if you return it or sell it or donate it to a bloody orphanage.”

Hermione jerks her wrist out of Bellatrix’s grasp and brings it to Bellatrix’s face, ghosting her fingertips across noble cheekbones. Bellatrix’s eyes widen and flick wildly between Hermione’s. She looks like a caged animal. 

“You don’t have anything to be afraid of, Bella,” Hermione says quietly. 

“Don’t,” Bellatrix snaps, “I never should’ve...it’s too intimate, that name.” 

“Okay,” Hermione whispers, forcing back the hurt, “Okay. Bellatrix it is then. Until you say otherwise.”  

Bellatrix stares at her, all of the malice drained from her face. Her behavior is finally starting to make a modicum of sense; she shut down first because she encouraged Hermione to take a step she wasn’t truly prepared for. Then, after she started to relax again, Hermione started talking about a future wedding. Everyone in Bellatrix’s family seems to be happily married and settled in their lives, and the CEO clearly has never been ready or wanting to have a life like theirs. She opens her mouth to say something else, but the phone rings. Bellatrix shoves away from Hermione and the wall, snatching the phone off the receiver. 

“What?” she snaps, “I said ten minutes.” 

Bellatrix pauses, jerking her arm in front of her face to check her watch, “Well, then give me another ten. I don’t care if they're waiting.” 

Hermione backs towards the door, prepared to excuse herself. Bellatrix hangs up the phone and pins her with a look that stops her in her tracks. 

“I might never say otherwise. Are you okay with that? With this never becoming anything more?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione bites her lip. Could she sleep with someone like Bellatrix without the promise of more? She looks up and down the woman’s body, taking in her skin tight slacks and grey button up that did nothing to hide the woman’s assets. No, Hermione decides, that is not a body I could have and share. 

“No,” Hermione says, and this time she catches the flicker of hurt on Bellatrix’s face, “But I don’t want to stop seeing you.” 

For her part, Bellatrix actually looks surprised. She shifts from foot to foot, looking like a child who hasn’t received the scolding she’d been expecting. 

“Can you be okay with that?” Hermione continues, “Continuing to see me and knowing I want more?” 

Bellatrix looks back at her, her eyes wide and child-like with a rare shred of vulnerability. “Yes,” she says. 

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” Hermione warns, “I’m not a casual sex kind of person. Obviously...I want to. However, I will not be doing it unless you decide you can give me more.” 

Bellatrix’s lip twitches and her eyes sparkle at the challenge, “We’ll see.” 

Hermione glares, “I mean it.” 

Bellatrix bobs her head in placating agreement, “Whatever you say. So we’re at an impasse then? Stuck never becoming anything more until one of us caves to the other’s desires?” 

She makes it sound like a game. Hermione would be lying if she said it didn’t make her stomach flutter with excitement. 

“I suppose so.” 

Bellatrix saunters over to her, cupping the side of her face with one hand and leaning in to whisper in Hermione’s ear, “It’ll be so fun to figure out the rules of this little game. Even more fun when you let me break them.” 

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, but Bellatrix wraps her lips around her earlobe and nibbles. Hermione’s legs go weak and she flushes from her chest to her ears. Bellatrix pushes her hand into Hermione’s hair and her head falls back against the touch. The older woman leans down and presses her mouth against the side of Hermione’s neck.

“Fuck, you’re just so bloody cute when you blush. I can’t keep my hands off you,” Bellatrix licks up Hermione’s neck, eliciting a gasp. “Now get out of here before I bend you over the desk and ruin our game before it’s begun.” 

How in god's name did I ever think I was straight? She wonders. The barista’s face is still bright red when she gets in her car. This should make for quite an interesting game indeed. 

After Hermione is gone, Bellatrix sinks back into her seat and stares at the coffee cup. She sighs in resignation and raises the cup to her lips. 

So much for giving up caffeine. 

Chapter Text

Hermione isn’t sure whether or not she should expect Bellatrix in the weekend she returns to work. For all she knows, she threw her coffee in the trash after she left. Still, it doesn’t stop her constant nervous energy that’s been a staple in her mornings at work since the first day Bellatrix came in. 

Andromeda has done her best to schedule Hermione and Ginny on opposite shifts, having Luna come in to open with her and pushing Ginny onto closing shifts. It works in Hermione’s favor, having someone who’s actually consistently on time to help her open shop. She’s never been particularly fond of Luna before, but she is growing to appreciate certain aspects of her personality. She seems to know when Hermione doesn’t want to be talked to, perfectly content entertaining herself with her imagination instead of trying to force small talk. She also has a way about her that's remarkably non-judgemental. She’s never pried about Hermione’s interest in Bellatrix, and the one time she witnessed Bellatrix interacting with Hermione, she didn’t have any comments to make or unwanted looks to give. 

It’s busy enough this Saturday morning that she manages to stop looking at the door every time it opens. She’s working the register, enjoying the break from making drinks. She’s the best barista behind Dora, but Luna is right behind her. She makes the drinks a bit on the sweeter side, but most customers didn’t seem to mind. Either that or it’s hard to complain when someone as sweet and innocent as Luna is handing them their drink with a unique compliment like “Your bracelet goes nicely with your hairstyle,” or “your tie makes you look like a really trustworthy person”. 

“I like your bird tattoo,” Luna says, bumping her shoulder against Hermione’s to compliment the woman who just walked up to the register. “Is it a sparrow?” 

The woman gives Luna a wry smile, “It’s a Great Tit, actually.” 

“Oh!” Luna says, and Hermione has to choke back a laugh, “It’s quite lovely.” 

Luna meanders back to her station and Hermione looks at the woman’s arms to appreciate the artistic ink lining them. She’s wearing a sleeveless button up so that they’re fully on display, shoulder length black hair framing a pale, grinning face. Hermione can pick out a few other tattoos, like a pinup style mermaid, a scrawling phrase in Italian, and a floral pattern climbing up her bicep. 

“See something you like?” The woman asks, and Hermione jerks her wide eyes to her face. 

“Sorry?” Hermione says. 

“The tattoos? You like any of them?” She asks smoothly, with a smile that suggests that hadn’t been what she was initially suggesting. 

Uh oh, Hermione thinks, What, am I giving off some sort of gay pheromone that I wasn’t before?

“Um,” she scrambles, “They’re very well done.” 

The woman’s smile stretches, and the door opens behind her. Hermione’s eyes flick to the door in time to see Bellatrix strolling in. Shit. The woman continues talking to her, placing a hand on the countertop and leaning in closer. Hermione frowns. She only likes it when Bellatrix does that. Bellatrix, who is now folding her hands and glaring at the back of the woman’s head. 

“You got any tattoos yourself?” she asks. 

“No, I don’t think I’m...uh, one for tattoos,” Hermione says. She can’t seem to keep her eyes on the person in front of her. They continually drift back to Bellatrix, who, on the contrary, is having no trouble at all staring at the woman talking to Hermione. 

“Oh, really? I could totally see you with a few.”

Bellatrix sneers and steps menacingly towards the oblivious customer. 

“What’s the name?” Hermione asks shrilly, the tone giving Bellatrix pause, “For the order?” 

“Victoria. I’ll get a Chai Latte.” 

“Anything else?” the barista asks, grabbing a cup to scribble the name. 

“Your name and number would be lovely, if you wouldn’t mind,” Victoria says with a smirk. 

“She minds,” Bellatrix says before she can answer for herself. Hermione’s jaw drops in horror as the woman turns to face Bellatrix. 

“Oh, does she? I didn’t hear any protests.” 

“She minds ,” Bellatrix repeats, stepping into the woman’s space. She only has an inch of height advantage thanks to her heels, but she glowers down at her nonetheless. Victoria looks between Hermione and Bellatrix in disbelief. 

“What are you, her girlfriend? Or her bodyguard?” 

“I’m her-” Bellatrix stops, at a loss on how to finish her sentence. Hermione watches her face with interest, tilting her head and fighting a smile at the adorably confused indignance on her face. Bellatrix’s nose wrinkles and her lips part but no words come out. If the situation weren’t so tense, she’d laugh at how uncharacteristically caught off guard she seems. 

Done waiting for a response, Victoria says, “Right, well, if you aren’t her girlfriend then would you mind letting her speak for herself?” 

She turns back to Hermione, pretending Bellatrix isn’t standing a foot away from her. “So-”

“No ,” Bellatrix growls, “It’s cute you think you have a chance with her, with your messy haircut and the sloppy children's drawings on your arms, but believe me when I say she’s taken.” 

Hermione has never been one to swoon at someone acting possessive over her, but with Bellatrix it’s just different . Her heart rate triples at her words, and she squirms when she feels her heartbeat between her legs. It’s all she can do to not climb over the counter and mount Bellatrix right there. 

“Unbelievable,” Victoria says, shoving away from the counter and storming out of the shop. 

Bellatrix finally turns her smouldering gaze to Hermione. Her throat suddenly dry, Hermione gulps. 

“Bellatrix...she had a point. You’re not my girlfriend. You’ve made that quite clear.” 

“I don’t care,” Bellatrix says, stepping as close as she can with the counter between them, “I agreed to see you. That means you see me and no one else.” 

It sounds like a threat. If Hermione wasn’t so turned on she might’ve been worried about that. She wants to cave, tell Bellatrix that she’s hers and only hers, but more than that she wants to push her buttons. She will not belong fully to Bellatrix until she gets over herself and attempts to create something more with her. 

“It doesn’t, actually. You agreed to see me, not to be exclusive with me. I haven’t asked that of you, have I?” 

Shock colors Bellatrix’s expression, in disbelief at her response. Hermione almost asks her if she is seeing anyone else, but she stops herself. She doesn’t know if she could handle the answer not being the one she wants, and besides, she doesn’t need Bellatrix knowing how much she cares. This entire relationship Bellatrix has held all of the power, and Hermione would like to take some of that back. 

“So you don’t care if I see other people?” Bellatrix asks petulantly. 

Hermione forces herself to remain neutral, “Well that’s not really my right to dictate, is it? You’re not my girlfriend.” 

“Fine,” Bellatrix snaps and whips out her credit card with as much anger as she could possibly cram into a simple gesture. 

Hermione picks up the cup to start making the drink but Luna’s voice stops her. 

“I’ve already finished it, Hermione.” 

Bellatrix and Hermione both turn to stare at Luna. 

“You...you did?” Hermione asks. 

Luna nods happily, reaching over the register to hand it to Bellatrix, “I had plenty of time while you two were arguing about the boundaries of your relationship.” 

Hermione blushes when she realizes that Luna witnessed that entire interaction. She’d been so wrapped up in the drama that she completely forgot they had an audience. Bellatrix hesitantly brings the coffee to her lips and takes a sip. 

“How is it?” Hermione asks. 

“It’s...it’s perfectly fine.” 

Luna beams. Hermione stares expectantly at Bellatrix, who sighs and says, “Thank you, Luna.”

Hermione gives Luna’s shoulder a friendly pat. The door opens, announcing the arrival of another customer. The barista gives Bellatrix a sad look, anticipating her exit. Despite Bellatrix’s knack for disrupting her life, she always misses her sorely when she needs to leave. 

“Luna,” Bellatrix says, “Would you be so kind as to help this gentleman while I have ten minutes with Hermione outside?” 

“Sure, Bellatrix,” Luna agrees happily. 

Working with Luna really is quite nice. Hermione rounds the counter and Bellatrix grabs her hand, moving to pull her outside with her. Hermione laces their fingers together and tugs her in a different direction. 

“The back would be better. No one else is here so it’ll be more private.” 

Bellatrix allows her to lead her through the door, past the break room and Andy’s office, into a narrow hallway that leads to the stockroom. As soon as Hermione turns to face her to ask what she wants to talk to her about, Bellatrix gently pushes her against the wall and kisses her. 

Hermione stiffens in surprise, her squeak muffled by Bellatrix’s soft lips. The CEO’s hands slide over her hips to grip her at the waist while Hermione grasps her elbows to remain upright. 

Bellatrix tilts her head, smoothly deepening the kiss. Hermione’s grip tightens on her, then slides up her arms and over her shoulders to cup her face. She takes Bellatrix’s lower lip between her teeth like it’s second nature, biting down softly and running her tongue over it. Bellatrix moans, and Hermione is so surprised at the sound that she doesn't notice Bellatrix untucking her shirt until her hands are sliding across the bare skin of her stomach. 

Bellatrix moves away to kiss along Hermione’s jaw while she gasps for breath. She wraps her arms around Bellatrix’s shoulders, trapping her against her body. 

“I could fuck you right here, I want you so bad,” Bellatrix says against her skin. 

Bellatrix peppers kisses down her neck and stops just above her shoulder and sucks hard. Hermione turns her head into the other woman’s shoulder to muffle her moan. “Bella...trix,” she groans, forcing the third syllable out. 

Bellatrix continues talking in between kisses, unbuttoning the top of Hermione’s shirt and moving to her collarbone. “If you’d let me, I’d have your leg around my waist and I’d fuck you with three fingers. I bet they’d slide in so easily. Are you dripping for me, Hermione?” 

She slides her hands up, groping Hermione’s breasts over her bra. 

Hermione gasps and jerks her hips into Bellatrix’s body, “F-fuck, Bellatrix, we-I-I can’t do this here.” 

“Then come to my place tonight,” Bellatrix says, before licking her way back up to Hermione’s ear. 

Hermione almost agrees without thinking about it, but she just barely manages to stop herself, “...your place?” 

“Yeah, in the city. Tonight. I’ll pick you up.” 

Hermione pushes weakly at her shoulders. Bellatrix pulls back to pout at her, and Hermione’s heart melts at the sight of her swollen lips and dark, unfocused eyes. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with every breath, and the young woman is comforted by the fact that she’s clearly just as affected by this. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix smirks, “Why? Scared you’ll lose our game?” 

“Yes,” Hermione admits easily.

Bellatrix purses her lips, considering something, “I’ll give you something you want in return.” 

“Is that so? And what might that be?” 

“I’ll take you to dinner. It’ll be a date. Isn’t that what people in relationships do? I’ll take you on an incredible date, give you some of what you want. Then, you’ll come back to mine and give me some of what I want.”  

Hermione laughs at the implication that she doesn’t want what Bellatrix is implying equally as much as she does. “Are you saying you don’t want to go on a date with me?” She asks. 

Bellatrix shrugs, smothering a smile, “I suppose it doesn’t sound terribly unpleasant.” 

She so obviously doesn’t mean it that it makes Hermione ache to lean forward and wrap her up in a hug. Still afraid of another setback, she only slithers out from between Bellatrix and the wall to put some space between them. 

“It better be a good date if you want to get me back to yours,” Hermione warns, fixing her shirt. 

“Oh, it will be. I’ll pick you up at 6 from Andy’s. Wear something nice,” Bellatrix says. She smirks at Hermione one last time as she passes her, leaving her alone in the empty hallway. 

As far as formalwear goes, Hermione only has a couple options. She has a few outfits on hand for interviews or university presentations, but none of them work for the look she wants to achieve. Bellatrix always makes her feel desired, but tonight she needs to take it to the next level. Whatever that looked like. 

The only dresses she has are one that she wore to her aunt’s wedding and one that Ginny forced her to buy for her birthday when she wanted to go out to a club last year. She supposes the one she wore to the club is the better choice, even if Ginny had teased her at how decidedly not-flashy it was.  

It’s a midnight blue sheath dress that fits her snugly all the way down to just above the knee where it ends. It showcases the parts of Hermione’s body that she feels most secure about; her arms and legs, while also complimenting her figure. She looks at herself in the floor length mirror, smoothing her hands down her body and imagining Bellatrix doing the same. 

Her hair is going to be a problem, though. It is a particularly drizzly and warm night, breeding humidity, which is the archenemy of her hair. It manages to look limp and frizzy at the same time, and she doesn’t know any updos that will look formal enough. 

She pads down the hall towards the guest bathroom at the same time Andromeda reaches the top of the stairs. 

“Oh! You look wonderful, Hermione. Did my sister finally pull her head out of her arse and ask you on a date?” 

Hermione fights the embarrassment she feels, staring down at her feet instead of Andy. “Something like that,” she mutters. 

“Well, I’ll have to let her know that if she hurts you I’ll need to kill her.” 

Hermione chuckles, “Shouldn’t I be the one you’re threatening? She’s your sister.” 

“Sure, but you’re the responsible one. I’m not worried about you hurting her.” 

Hermione chews on her lip, eyeing Andromeda’s flawless curls. “Can I ask you something?” Andy gives her a short nod. “Would you have any, um, hair products or tips that would help me with...this,” she gestures at her hair. 

Andromeda’s eyes light up and Hermione immediately gets nervous. She glides towards Hermione, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and steering her towards the master bedroom. She gets only a brief glimpse of the actual bedroom on their way to the master bathroom, where Andy ushers her inside and shuts the door. She opens a linen closet and pulls out a small step stool, unfolding it in front of the sink. 

“Have a seat,” Andy says with a grin. 

Hermione sits while Andromeda rustles around in the cabinets. She produces several bottles of hair product and a curling iron, then begins tugging her fingers through Hermione’s hair to get a feel for it. Her eyes shut, enjoying the gentle tugging of her fingers. 

“You know,” Andy says, spraying her hair down with something, “You’re not the only one with a date tonight.” 

Hermione opens her eyes and looks at Andy in the mirror, who has a little smile on her face. “Is that so? Who’s the lucky man?” She jokes.

Andy chuckles, “The only man I’ve ever been with. Our anniversary is Monday, so we’re celebrating now. A movie and dinner at the place we had our first date.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Hermione says sincerely, “I would love to have what you two have someday.” 

Andromeda throws her head back and laughs. It sounds a lot like Bellatrix’s laugh, only a bit softer around the edges. “Sorry,” she says, “I just imagined you and Bella fifteen years from now, Bella in a knitted sweater like Ted’s, cooking dinner for you. I couldn’t help but laugh.” 

Hermione smiles at the image. She hadn’t necessarily meant her statement to be about Bellatrix, but she’s surprised at the warmth spreading in her chest at the idea. “You don’t think it’s possible with her?” 

Andy begins using the curling iron towards the bottom of Hermione’s hair. She forces herself to be still and not flinch away from the sensation of the heat radiating on her skin. “It’s possible,” Andy responds, “If she’d just get over herself. She’s so much more sensitive than she lets on. Utterly ruled by her emotions. She’s perfectly capable of overcoming the things that have happened to her, but I think she’s just...scared. She takes everything to heart. If she gives it to someone again and they break it...well, lets just say it’s hell on earth for everyone when Bella is heartbroken.” 

Hermione listens quietly. She’d like to press for details, ask who in their right mind would’ve broken Bellatrix’s heart, but she knows it isn’t Andy’s place to tell her. 

After a lengthy silence, Hermione says, “Thank you for doing this.” 

Andy hums, “I don’t mind one bit. I used to do this for Bellatrix in secondary school. You’re a much better subject. Very...still. No screaming or cursing when I snag on a tangle.” 

Hermione grins at the image she’s painted, “I can’t believe she let you.” 

“Oh, she asked me to, but she would’ve killed me if I told anyone. Our hair is just so unruly. Narcissa is the only one who escaped whatever gene Bella and I have that makes our hair so difficult to control. I learned from our mother how to do it early on, but Bella took a lot longer to come around. Nowadays she’s figured out how to work with it, but back then she was resistant to it. She only asked when she had her first crush and didn’t want a bird flying out of the nest in her hair to scare her off.” 

She likes thinking about a younger Bellatrix, who hasn’t quite got a handle on her hair or her confidence yet. She also likes thinking about her close with her sisters and less alone in the world than she is now. 

“I wish I knew her then,” Hermione says, “Before whatever...happened to her happened. I would never hurt her. I just wish I got to her first. Maybe then things would be easier for both of us.” 

Andy smiles and softly strokes the back of her head, “That’s a nice thought, but who knows what other challenges you would’ve faced. Even though she’s been hurt and alone all this time, she’s also learned and grown. A younger Bellatrix almost certainly would’ve mucked it up with you. Besides, you would’ve had to deal with our father.” 

Hermione recalls the imposing, serious man from the photograph and decides Andy is probably right. 

“All right, all done. What do you think?” 

Andromeda only made subtle changes, like smoothing out the frizziness and adding gentle waves, but the difference is incredible. Hermione runs her hands through it and her fingers glide without catching on any tangles. 

“It’s wonderful, Andy. Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” she responds easily, “I’ll see you tomorrow. If I know my sister I can only assume you’ll be out long past when Ted and I are sleep.” 

A knock sounds at the door at precisely 6. Bellatrix being punctual is yet another line on an increasingly long list of things that make her attractive. Andromeda and Ted have just left for their night out, so Hermione is grateful that she won’t need to share Bellatrix long enough for them to make small talk. She’s even more grateful when she opens the door to see what Bellatrix is wearing. 

It’s a floor length, blood red dress, tied around the back of her neck. It’s snug around her torso with a slight flow to it below her waist. It’s the lowest cut outfit she’s seen Bellatrix in, and it has a slit going all the way up her thigh. Her hair is down and tumbling over one shoulder, and Hermione itches to grab it by the fistfull and drag her close. When she finally reaches her eyes, they’re dark and heavy lidded, regarding Hermione with equal reverence. 

“You look beautiful,” Bellatrix says, finally. 

Hermione laughs, disbelieving, “Please, did you look in the mirror before you left? You’re absolutely stunning. I don’t hold a candle-” 

“Stop that,” Bellatrix says, her voice low and thick with desire. She pulls her hand out from behind her back, producing a bouquet of sunflowers. Hermione’s thoughts stutter to a halt. 

“You probably think I didn’t notice seeing as we were awfully busy at the time, but I did catch a glimpse of the orange mass of fur hurtling off the windowcell when I barged into your room. So, since I don’t know what your favorite is, I chose these because they’re cat safe, and-” 

Hermione cuts her off, throwing her arms around her neck and kissing her. It’s completely different from their previous kisses; there’s no intent behind it, no chance it’ll lead to sex. They’re just kissing, Bellatrix’s free hand on Hermione’s back, the sunflowers tickling her ear as the older woman does her best to hold onto her and the bouquet. The best part is that she’s completely caught off guard, giving Hermione a chance to lead the kiss for the first time. 

Hermione nudges the tip of her nose against Bellatrix’s, opening her eyes to glimpse the fluttering of Bellatrix’s eyelashes before she shuts them again and brings their mouths back together. She kisses her once, twice, and a third time before stepping back, taking pleasure in Bellatrix’s small noise of displeasure. 

Hermione adds “thoughtful” to her mental list after “punctual”. 

“Thank you, Bellatrix,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix, looking mildly embarrassed, simply gives her a shrug and avoids her eyes. Hermione tugs her inside, taking the flowers and walking to the kitchen to put them in water. Crookshanks pads into the kitchen after them, sniffing Bellatrix’s ankles and batting at the bottom of her dress. 

“Bellatrix, meet Crookshanks,” Hermione says, filling a vase with water. 

“Just the man I wanted to see,” Bellatrix says, gravely serious. She bends down to pat him and he rubs up against her, “I promise to have her back before it gets too late. Well, unless she wants to give up her little charade in which case I’ll have her back bright and early.” 

Hermione rolls her eyes, but she can’t fight the smile at Crooks taking to Bellatrix immediately. He never let Ron pet him without swiping at him, and here he was purring loudly and leaning into Bellatrix’s hand. 

Once the flowers are in water, the pair leaves the house and Hermione gets a chance to see Bellatrix’s car up close. It’s a dark green XJ6 and she’d wager it’s from the 80s, from the little she knew about cars from Ron’s interest. Bellatrix opens the door for her, a smug smirk on her face at Hermione’s admiration, and Hermione slides inside. She’s hit with Bellatrix’s smell, and she shuts her eyes and tries to breathe out her nervous energy. 

Bellatrix slides easily into the driver’s seat, and the engine roars to life. 

“Where are we going?” Hermione asks. She bounces her leg, realizing this is the first time she’ll be spending an extended amount of time with Bellatrix, in public, with nothing to do but talk. 

Bellatrix, for her part, looks almost as nervous as she feels. She wonders when the last time she took someone on a date was. Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and she gives Hermione a short, anxious laugh, seeming in disbelief at their situation. 

“A small, nice little place on the edge of the city. It’s unlikely I’ll be recognized there,” she responds. 

“In that dress? You’re impossible not to notice,” Hermione says, her voice shaking. 

Bellatrix shoots her a wry look, smoothly switching gears as they merge onto the motorway. 

“You’re one to talk,” Bellatrix says. She seems to relax a little as they fall into their regular flirtatious bantering. 

“That's sweet but I’m not the rich and famous one.” 

Bellatrix chuckles again, and this time it sounds much less forced, “I’m not that famous. Many people may know my name but not many know my face. You didn’t, after all.” 

Hermione smiles at the memory. She’s not sure how it was so recent when it feels like a lifetime ago. 

A song comes on the radio that Hermione likes and she impulsively reaches to turn it up. She looks at Bellatrix after she does it to see if she minds, but she’s only smiling at the road. Hermione relaxes back into the seat and finally starts to feel more comfortable. 

Despite Bellatrix’s claim of this being a small place, they still have a valet service. Bellatrix shoves the keys into the young man’s hands with a threatening look, effectively terrifying him. Hermione follows Bellatrix’s confident stride past the extravagant fountain and foliage adorning the entrance, and into the dimly lit restaurant. A host greets Bellatrix by name and leads them through the restaurant. Bellatrix turns several heads on their way, and Hermione ignores the simultaneous sting of jealousy and insecurity. They’re led to a table that's tucked around a corner and shrouded by indoor plants and yet another fountain. The sounds of the restaurant are muffled, making it a much more private and intimate area than the regular tables. 

“It’s the most private area we have, ma’am,” he says, waiting for her approval. 

Bellatrix looks at Hermione, waiting for something. It takes her a moment to realize that Bellatrix is waiting for her approval. 

“Oh! Um, it’s perfect, really. Thank you,” Hermione says. 

The host looks at Bellatrix, who ficks her wrist in a dismissive gesture, “You heard the woman. It’ll do.” 

Once they’re alone, Bellatrix pulls out Hermione’s chair for her. The barista isn’t sure what she was expecting, but Bellatrix’s above and beyond romantic behavior wasn’t it. The older woman takes the chair next to her, scooching in close enough that if she moved her knee it would brush against hers. Bellatrix’s fingers slide over her knee and she props her elbow on the table, supporting her cheek with her hand, and stares at Hermione with that unnerving gaze. Hermione licks her lips and she takes in all of the details of Bellatrix’s face, illuminated by candlelight. If Bellatrix’s goal is to sweep her off her feet so completely that it makes her consider climbing into bed with her, she’s doing an incredible job. 

Hermione nudges her foot up against Bellatrix and tilts her head forward until they’re breathing the same air. She could so easily get lost in Bellatrix’s warm, seductive scent and magnetic gaze and just forget they’re in public. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermione whispers, reveling in the way Bellatrix’s eyes darken impossibly further, “I’ll never get tired of looking at you.” 

Bellatrix’s lashes shadow her cheeks as she drops her gaze for a moment, her usually unfaltering confidence wavering at the compliment. When she looks back at her, though, she’s all desire. 

“Don’t stop, then,” Bellatrix responds, “I like it when you look at me.” 

Hermione chokes back a whimper, instead hooking her foot around Bellatrix’s and dragging her leg closer so their calves brush together. 

“Hello, there, you two! My name is Jane, I’ll be your server this evening. Have you had a chance to look over the wine menu?” 

Hermione leans back abruptly, tearing her eyes from her date to look at the waitress. Bellatrix leans back slowly, jaw working as she smothers her anger and forces a tight smile. 

“I’ll have your finest bottle of Chardonnay.” 

The waitress nods and looks at Hermione. “Just water for me, thanks,” she says. 

She leaves them alone and Bellatrix immediately leans forward again, her hand inching further up Hermione’s thigh. “Scared to drink around me?” 

Hermione sighs, grabbing Bellatrix’s hand to stop it from journeying any further. Surprising her, Bellatrix turns her hand to lace their fingers together. Hermione’s stomach is doing aerobics. 

“I need every ounce of self control I can get if I’m to fend off your advances all evening.” 

Bellatrix grins, her teeth glinting in the candlelight, “You’ve got that right. The night’s still young, Hermione. You have no idea what lies ahead.” 

Hermione’s brows draw together in concern. What could she possibly mean by that?

The waitress returns with their drinks and takes their orders. Hermione hasn’t looked at the menu once, so she just orders salmon in the hopes that they have it. Thankfully they do, but Bellatrix’s eyes sparkle with mirth anyways, knowing full well she has no idea what was on the menu. Bellatrix doesn’t ever take her eyes off Hermione, even when addressing the waitress. Hermione does, though, which is how she notices the waitress looking at Bellatrix for much longer than what’s appropriate. Hermione glares at her, but she doesn’t notice. 

Trying to distract herself from her rising jealousy, she reminds herself that this is her opportunity to really get to know Bellatrix. 

“So,” she ventures, trying to come up with words that don’t have anything to do with how devastatingly attracted she is to her, “How did you manage to make your company so successful when you separated from Riddle?” 

Bellatrix blinks at her, the smirk falling from her face, “I didn’t realize this was an interview.” 

“I’m just trying to get to know you better,” Hermione says, squeezing the hand that’s still laced with hers. 

Bellatrix sighs, “All right. I didn’t do anything special. Our business models aren’t that different, I just invested in a better marketing team. We both use the cheapest possible labor, but Riddle’s more old fashioned than I am. My designs are better, and I know how to market them. So, even though he’s been around longer, it wasn’t hard to catch up.” 

Hermione frowns at the words cheapest possible labor. She’s always known, she supposes, that Bellatrix’s business model wasn’t exactly ethical, but hearing her admit it so plainly and lacking in remorse gives her pause. 

“Don’t you care about the ethics of where your products come from? I know you’re aware of the controversy that comes with mining diamonds from war zones in Africa. Doesn’t it bother you what your company is funding?” 

Bellatrix frowns, clearly not fond of the subject change, “I’ve only ever cared about being more successful than Tom to spite my father. When I cut ties with Tom to start Orion, my father insisted I'd fail. The man wanted to force me into a marriage with one of Tom’s highest ranking employees just to solidify their relationship, as if it’s the bloody 19th century. I couldn’t bare to prove him right by being anything less than wildly successful.” 

Hermione struggles with conflicting feelings of sympathy and frustration at Bellatrix’s lack of regard for common human decency. 

“You’re incredibly successful, but you’re right. This is the 21st century, and people care about this stuff now, Bellatrix. My generation actually gives a damn about the businesses they support, and we damn well don’t support that industry. Have you considered that you might actually become even more successful by switching to ethically sourced, conflict free diamonds? Hell, I mean, gemstone engagement rings are growing in popularity, you could branch out, leave Riddle in the dust and bring Orion into the new age-” 

“You’re so adorable when you’re passionate about something,” Bellatrix says, beaming at her. She slips her foot out of her heel and slides it up Hermione’s calf. 

“I mean it,” Hermione says, “I really think you should consider.” 

“I will,” Bellatrix says, “You have a point. I’ve considered it before, but with how cutthroat the market’s been I’ve put it off. Perhaps I need to clean house, hire more people with young, fresh, idealistic minds like yours.” 

Hermione doesn’t like the idea of Bellatrix cleaning house, but she’s placated by her promise to consider changing things. 

“Now,” Bellatrix says, “My turn to ask questions. What’s your favorite color?” 

Hermione nearly chokes on her water, “That’s the question you ask after that discussion?” 

Bellatrix jerks her chin in a nod, “Yes. I need to know these things if I’m going to continue wooing you with extravagant gifts.” 

“Right...about your gifts. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the car.” 

Bellatrix groans, “Not the bloody car again. Can’t you just thank me and move on?” 

Hermione shakes her head and Bellatrix drinks from her glass, rolling her eyes.

“No. Seriously, Bellatrix. It’s a nice gift, but I can't be indebted to you like that. It’s too much. It doesn’t feel right. Sure, you did a remarkable job picking something that I would’ve picked for myself, but I want it to actually be my choice. I don’t want to rely on you like that. Even if you were my girlfriend I wouldn’t let you have that power over me.” 

“What power? It’s under your name! It’s not as if I could take it away if you piss me off. It’s yours.” 

“It makes me feel even farther from being your equal than I already do. It’s a card to play. It’s something you have over on me, even though I know that isn’t your intention. Can you at least try to understand that? I can get my own car soon. I should be able to save enough over the summer for a down payment, and my credit is good so I’ll just take out a loan.” 

“Down payment? A loan ? Hermione, it’s so unnecessary. You’d rather be indebted to a bank than to me?” 

“Yes ,” she hisses, “That’s exactly my point. A bank is meant for exactly this purpose. You’re my...you’re...this relationship doesn’t need any further complicating.” 

The waitress interrupts them again to deliver their food. Bellatrix continues to ignore her, choosing instead to frown at Hermione. Hermione ignores her too, not exactly feeling the need to thank the woman who’s vying for her date’s attention. The waitress leaves them after a tense silence. 

“Fine,” Bellatrix says after she’s gone, “I’ll let the dealership know and you can bring it back any time you like.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione says, feeling a weight she didn't know was there lift off of her shoulders. 

With that out of the way, Hermione is actually able to enjoy her dinner. It’s easily the fanciest thing she’s eaten in a very long time, possibly ever. She shouldn’t be surprised considering the waitress actually asked her if she’d like it rare, medium or well done, which was a question she’s never been asked in relation to fish. Not knowing what to say, she simply requested it however the chef recommended, and she’s glad she did. It practically melts in her mouth, coming apart like butter, and she can’t stop the moan that slips out. 

Bellatrix devours her steak like a famished animal, with so much exuberance that Hermione feels herself fall for her the tiniest bit. If she wasn’t trying to restrain herself from doing the same to her salmon, she would’ve been perfectly content just watching her. 

Once they’re done and waiting for the check, Hermione excuses herself to the loo. By the time she comes back, she rounds the corner to their table to see that damn waitress, check in hand, with a hand on the back of Bellatrix’s chair and what Hermione is certain is an extra undone button on her shirt. Hermione stares at them, outraged, and waits to see how far it’ll go. 

Bellatrix is leaning as far away as she can manage without falling out of her chair, looking at the server with unrestrained disgust. Undeterred, the waitress braces herself against the table and leans down to reveal even more cleavage, scribbling what Hermione can only assume is her phone number on the back of the receipt. 

Having seen enough, Hermione storms over to the table. She slips a hand into Bellatrix’s hair, tilting her head, and leans over the back of her chair to capture her mouth. She distantly registers the waitresses surprised gasp, but Bellatrix is parting her lips and letting Hermione’s tongue slide into her mouth, and she just doesn’t give a fuck about anything else in the world. 

Bellatrix’s eyes are still shut when Hermione pulls away. She just looks at her for a minute, marveling at her parted lips, wet from Hermione’s kiss, her long lashes, the flush adorning her cheekbones. Then her eyes open and she’s just looking back at her. 

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione nods in enthusiastic agreement.

Chapter Text

When the elevator doors open to Bellatrix’s penthouse, Hermione’s eyes widen. Bellatrix watches her with that smug smirk of hers as they step out of the elevator. The flat is so Bellatrix, and Hermione feels almost as in awe of it as she did when she saw the woman herself for the first time. 

Hermione's heels click against black oak floors as she takes it in. The place is all grey and black, with forest green accents, massive windows showing off the city, and vaulted ceilings make the flat feel twice as large. 

“How rich are you?” Hermione asks, dragging a hand along the back of the velvet couch and staring out the windows at the twinkling lights.

Bellatrix creeps up behind her, somehow silent in her heels, and wraps her arms around Hermione’s waist, “After my money now, are you, Granger?” 

Hermione lets her head lull back as Bellatrix’s mouth latches onto her neck, “Clearly,” she says, and Bellatrix chuckles against her skin.

“You want to see the bedroom?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione wiggles away from her, turning back around to face her as she backs away, “I’m not caving, Bellatrix. Are you?” 

Bellatrix’s smirk turns downright predatory, “I never lose.”

Hermione’s stomach flutters with nerves as Bellatrix walks towards her. She backs away, not trusting the look in Bellatrix’s eyes one bit, until the back of her legs hit the front of an armchair. Bellatrix shoves her shoulder, forcing her to sit down. 

“I’m not giving in to you, Bellatrix,” Hermione reiterates, the tremor in her voice betraying her lack of certainty.

Bellatrix leans into her space and smooths the hair back from Hermione’s face, “But it’ll feel so good.” 

“It won’t be enough for me,” Hermione argues, “Can you really say it would be enough for you?”

The smirk falls away and the older woman seems at a loss at what to say. Hermione refuses to look away, hope sparking in her chest at the lack of immediate rejection. 

“Want anything to drink?” Bellatrix asks, straightening abruptly and moving towards the bar. 

“No,” Hermione watches as Bellatrix pours herself a glass of whiskey, “I can’t believe you have a bar in your flat.”

Bellatrix quirks an eyebrow, “Can’t you?” 

It does seem rather in character. 

“All right,” Hermione admits, “I suppose I can.”

She gets a whiff of the drink as Bellatrix comes back to her. Bellatrix notices her interest and hands it to her, “Try it. Just a sip won’t lower your inhibitions, but it’ll calm your nerves.” 

The young woman feels oddly comforted that Bellatrix isn’t pushing her to get drunk for her benefit. The more time they spend together, the safer Hermione feels, which only makes Bellatrix’s resistance to commitment more painful. Every time she starts to think she’s crazy for wanting more, she remembers the way Bellatrix looks at her and she knows it’s not one sided. 

Hermione accepts the drink, and she squeezes her eyes shut when it burns all the way down. Almost immediately though, she feels the muscles in her body warm and relax. When she lowers the drink, Bellatrix is sitting on the couch across from her and smiling at her. 

“Why do you come to Amortentia?” Hermione blurts. Bellatrix blinks in surprise. “I just mean...before you met me. You, or rather your assistants, would have to drive past your office to get to it from here, then all the way back. There must be hundreds of coffee shops between here and there,”

Bellatrix seems to consider whether or not she wants to give her a straight answer. Then she sighs, plucking her drink out of Hermione’s hand and bringing it to her lips. After she takes a long sip, she says, “Andromeda wouldn’t believe me if I told her this myself, but I’m proud of her for running her own business. I’ve always wanted to support her in that small way, even when we weren’t talking much. Especially when we weren’t talking much,” 

“Why don’t you think she would believe you?” Hermione asks, her chest warm at Bellatrix’s unexpectedly sweet response. 

“Because I have my own business that’s so much bigger. It’s just...different. I started mine out of spite and under extreme pressure. She could’ve done anything with her life, free of judgement, but this is what she chose. She’s so happy, and she’s successful, in her own way. In some ways much more than I am.” 

A crestfallen look crosses Bellatrix’s face at the end of her sentence. She easily downs the rest of her drink and pins Hermione with a look.

“Don’t tell her any of that,” Bellatrix warns. Hermione nods hurriedly. “Good. Now, I have a little surprise for you. Stay in that chair and don’t move a muscle.” 

Hermione nods again and Bellatrix stands, walks away, and disappears down a hallway. Once she’s alone, Hermione kicks off her heels and shifts around in the chair, her imagination running wild with what Bellatrix could be doing. What if she comes back naked? She tries to brace herself for the possibility, but the concept of rejecting a naked Bellatrix is utterly beyond her. She busies herself with looking out the window, watching planes pass overhead and marveling at the skyline. She reminds herself what she wants out of Bellatrix, of how much it would hurt to give herself to her fully and have her abandon her. Her feelings are growing too rapidly to let go of now. 

“Comfortable?” Bellatrix’s voice asks, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

Hermione opens her mouth to respond, but the words die in her throat when she looks at Bellatrix. 

She’s wearing a silk black robe, tied loosely around her waist and stopping just above her knees. Her knees, which are clad in black stockings that disappear up the hemline of the robe. Hermione’s eyes travel over her, from her still heeled feet up to her cleavage where a black lace bra peeks out from the dip in the robe. Bellatrix is smirking at her, one hand resting on the wall as she lets Hermione take her time looking at her. 

Once their eyes meet, Bellatrix clicks a small remote in her hand before tossing it aside, and slow, soft music filters in through the speakers on the walls. 

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Hermione forces out, as Bellatrix begins stalking towards her. 

Bellatrix doesn’t say anything, but when she stops in front of Hermione and moves her hands to the tie of her robes, Hermione takes it as confirmation. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

The robe slides open, revealing the black lace bra and panties that leave little to the imagination, along with a matching garter belt, and an endless expanse of pale skin. Hermione takes a deep, shuddering breath, and when Bellatrix begins swaying her hips to the music she deeply regrets not having her own glass of whiskey. 

Bellatrix slides her hands up her own body, digging her nails in ever so slightly and showing off how easily red marks follow in their wake. She squeezes her own breasts, and Hermione watches her eyes darken. Bellatrix is deadly serious now, and Hermione feels like a mouse caught in a tiger's paw. 

She’s using her body against me to try and win this damned game, Hermione thinks. She'd be impressed at Bellatrix’s dedication and resourcefulness if she wasn’t so pissed at her. 

“You’re playing dirty,” Hermione forces out, her voice much breathier than it was moments before. 

Bellatrix’s lips quirk up in amusement, then she turns around and slides the robe off her shoulders. Hermione has never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life, as she rakes her eyes up and down, over each and every curve, lingering on her ass. Fuck, she has never given Bellatrix’s ass the attention it deserves. She continues to move her hips along to the beat, and the younger woman curls her hands into fists to keep herself from reaching out. 

Bellatrix slowly turns back around. Hermione leans forward, her body aching for closeness, and Bellatrix reaches out and shoves her back. 

“Listen to me closely, pet,” Bellatrix says slowly, “Before you give up this game and give me everything I want, I want to draw it out and have some fun with you. You are to keep your hands on the arms of the chair and not touch me until I tell you to. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes,” Hermione whispers, uncurling her fists to grab ahold of the armrests. Her body reacts unexpectedly well to the new pet name. 

Bellatrix smiles, “Good girl,” and then she lifts a knee up, her skin sliding smoothly against Hermione’s, and straddles her. 

I’m so screwed, Hermione thinks, feeling an immediate blow to her resolve, She’ll have me begging to touch her in minutes. 

Bellatrix continues to move her hips to the music, grinding gently against Hermione. She’s barely brushing against her, smirking down at her as Hermione fights the urge to grab her hips and pull her closer. The way she moves is effortless, so much so that Hermione wonders if she’s done this before. She doesn’t like that thought at all.

Hermione raises her eyes above Bellatrix’s head, staring at the ceiling and counting in multiples of eight to distract herself. Bellatrix doesn’t like that one bit, and she leans forward to bite her neck. 

Hermione gasps, and when Bellatrix pulls away their eyes lock again. The smirk is gone, replaced by an intensity that makes her tremble. 

“Take your eyes off of me again and I’ll do worse,” she threatens. Then, she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra. 

She tosses it casually over her shoulder and Hermione holds her gaze, refusing to look where Bellatrix wants her to. The older woman only stills and waits for her resolve to inevitably break. 

And break it does. 

Bellatrix is so goddamn beautiful it hurts. Hermione clenches her jaw and still a soft whimper escapes. She aches to touch her, to feel the warm, soft, fullness of her, to take a perfect pink nipple into her mouth and suck until she knows what Bellatrix sounds like when she wants Hermione inside her. 

Hermione’s entire face is pink when she looks back at the woman on top of her. Her breath is coming in short, rapid pants through parted lips and she’s sucked into the private galaxies of Bellatrix’s eyes. 

“Please,” Hermione begs, not knowing what for, and Bellatrix takes pity on her. Painted black nails scrape lightly against flushed cheeks on their way to gripping the sides of Hermione’s head so she can pull her forward into a kiss. 

Bellatrix’s kiss is all teeth and tongue, hot and aggressive. She sucks Hermione’s lip into her mouth and bites it hard enough to make her whine, before swiping her tongue across it in silent apology. Hermione’s nails dig harder into the chair and Bellatrix pulls back long enough to hiss, “Hermione, touch me now.” 

Her hands tremble when they fly to Bellatrix’s hips, and this time when they rock forward they find purchase. Hermione gasps when she feels the damp patch of Bellatrix’s panties brush against her, but at this angle it’s just not enough. She wants to touch her there, rub her and feel her rock into her hand, but she knows if she does it she’s lost. 

“Hermione,” Bellatrix groans, rocking forward desperately. Hermione’s hands slide up her back and she digs her nails in, making Bellatrix moan against her mouth. “You're shaking.” 

Am I? Hermione wonders, only aware of the taste of Bellatrix’s mouth and the heat radiating from her center. 

A shrill ringing makes Hermione jolt. Bellatrix pauses, hands still cupping Hermione’s head. She leans in, brushing her lips against Hermione’s temple and whispers, “It’s just my phone. Ignore it.” 

Hermione takes a deep breath, and resumes sliding her hands over Bellatrix’s body slowly and committing her to memory. Bellatrix watches her face, tugging her lower lip into her mouth, before she leans forward again and places the softest kisses along the side of her face. 

A quiet sound escapes Hermione at the change of pace. Bellatrix’s gentle touch unravels her so much faster than anything else does. She’s dying to give in, lean forward and drop all resistances. Maybe Bellatrix won’t leave her if they have sex. Maybe Hermione can get it to work in her favor. 

“Bellatrix,” Hermione says. Bellatrix hums against her jaw. “Maybe…” 

The ringing cuts her off, and an angry hiss tears out of Bellatrix’s body. “Wait here.” 

The cold air makes Hermione shiver as Bellatrix climbs off of her. Hermione can't decide if seeing a completely topless Bellatrix wearing only the bottom half of her lingerie as she walks across her flat is the cutest or the sexiest thing she’s ever witnessed. Both, probably. 

She shrugs back into her robe as she picks up the phone, eliciting a disappointed grumble from Hermione. The corners of Bellatrix’s lips twitch at the sound. 

She answers the phone with an irritated, “Black.” 

After a moment, Bellatrix pales, “When did this happen?...Which hospital?” 

Hermione stands at the word hospital, the heat draining from her body. 

Bellatrix hangs up and grabs the car keys sitting on the shelf. Hermione rushes forward to grab her wrist, stopping her. 

“Wait! Hold on. You need to get dressed before going out like that. Bellatrix…?” Hermione trails off when Bellatrix turns her head in her direction but doesn’t meet her eyes. 

“It’s Andy,” Bellatrix mutters, her voice fragile, “they said...they said a drunk driver…” 

Hermione’s stomach sinks. Bellatrix brushes by her, disappearing back towards what must be the bedroom. Hermione is frozen in shock and dread, only snapping out of it when Bellatrix returns. She runs back to the chair to grab her heels. 

“I’m coming with you,” Hermione says, “I can drive.”

“No,” Bellatrix says, smashing her finger against the elevator button repeatedly, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

One look at the ashen, nauseous look on her face, and Hermione knows she’s lying. The elevator doors open and Hermione follows her in. Bellatrix watches the numbers go down, signaling the elevator's progress, and Hermione reaches for her hand to lace their fingers together. Bellatrix’s hand is clammy, and she grips onto her for dear life.

Andy is sitting up in bed when they arrive, eating Jello. Bellatrix wrenches the door open and stops in her tracks when she sees her sister, frozen with the spoon halfway to her mouth. 

“What the bloody hell is this?” Bellatrix hisses, “I thought you were-I-I thought this was serious.” 

“Oh dear,” Andy says, setting down her spoon, “No, not serious. Just a concussion and Ted’s arm is broken. I would’ve called myself but they have my phone-” 

“God damn it, Andy. I was…” Bellatrix trails off, seeming embarrassed to share her feelings much more. 

“You scared us,” Hermione says, stepping fully into the room beside Bellatrix, “A drunk driver could’ve been very serious.” 

“Oh, hello, Hermione. I didn’t interrupt your date, did I?” 

Hermione wills herself not to think about the precise moment the phone call caught them in and says, “It’s hardly your fault,” In fact, you saved me from making a regrettable decision. 

“This is just unbelievable. Of all the irresponsible, idiotic things-” Bellatrix’s worry has melted away and been replaced with anger, “Is the drunk driver here? If he’s not dead, I’ll kill him myself-” 

Hermione, paying no mind to Bellatrix’s ranting, perches on the edge of Andy’s bed and smiles sympathetically. Andy smiles back. 

“He’s not in this hospital, Bella. I don’t think. I believe he was unharmed-” 

“Unharmed?” Bellatrix screeches. Andy rolls her eyes and resumes eating her jello. “Unbelievable! He gets behind the wheel incapacitated, hits my sister and brother-in-law, and walks away? No, no, no, that won’t do. I’ll cover your medical bills, obviously, and contact my attorney immediately. He’s the best in the region, certainly, and I’ll be sure to put that reprehensible idiot behind bars-” 

Bellatrix has begun pacing, muttering mostly to herself at this point. 

“He’s already been arrested, Bella. You know, I think that's the first time you’ve ever referred to Ted as your brother-in-law,” Andy comments. 

Bellatrix stops pacing and looks at Andy as she backtracks through what she’s just said. When she remembers she averts her eyes, embarrassed at being perceived as slightly affectionate towards Ted. 

Before they can say anything else, a fourth person enters the room and stops at the doorway. This woman is slender, well dressed, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes regarding the room with a cool, barely composed sort of panic. She sees Andy eating her jello and the composed mask breaks. 

“Andromeda! I thought you were dying!” 

Andy grimaces, “Well, I don’t know what those nurses are telling people on the phone but I’m perfectly fine, just concussed. You all really didn’t need to drop your lives to run over as if they were pulling the plug on me.” 

Hermione looks at Bellatrix in an attempt to deduce who this new person could be, only to find her staring at her in a wide eyed, unnerving sort of way, like something terrible is about to happen to her. Hermione’s brow furrows, and she looks back to the blonde woman, who is also staring at her. Or rather, glaring would be more accurate. The family resemblance lies in that glare, and that’s when it clicks. 

“Who is this?” Narcissa asks. 

Neither Bellatrix or Andromeda are quite able to offer up a simple explanation for Hermione’s presence. So, Hermione just introduces herself. 

“Erm, I’m Hermione.” 

“Fascinating. And why are you sitting on my sister's hospital bed, Hermione?” 

A chill runs down Hermione’s spine. If Bellatrix is all fire, Narcissa is all ice. Andromeda is somewhere in the middle, operating with the intensity level of a normal person who doesn’t unnecessarily terrify the people around her. 

“She came with me,” Bellatrix says, finally, “Lay off, little sister. Hermione, as you’ve probably figured, this is my sister, Narcissa Malfoy.” 

Malfoy, Malfoy, Hermione thinks, Why does that sound so familiar? 

“Oh, is that right? What an honor it is to finally meet one of your playthings, Bella.” 

Hermione straightens and Bellatrix bristles, “She is not a plaything. Drop the cold bitch act, Cissy, it’s not necessary.” 

Andromeda interjects, “For once, I’m with Bella. Hermione is my employee and friend as well, so she has every right to be here. Please be civil.” 

Hermione smiles gratefully at Andromeda, before looking back to Bellatrix. Not a plaything, hmm? 

“Fine,” Narcissa says, her stiff posture seeming to relax a bit, “I apologize. I’ve just spent the last thirty minutes thinking my sister was in a much more serious condition and-” 

“It’s alright,” Hermione says, “It’s lovely to meet the third Black sister.” 

Narcissa gives her a tight nod, and the doctor chooses that moment to come in and update them on Andromeda’s condition. She is indeed simply concussed with some bruised ribs, though they’d like to keep her overnight for observation. Ted is cleared to go, since the extent of his injuries end with a broken arm. After the doctor leaves, Hermione moves to a chair on the far side of the room to feel less in the way while the sisters catch up with each other. Andromeda mentions that Dora is helping her father with his discharge papers, though he plans to sleep in the chair next to her bed. 

Narcissa only leaves with the promise that they’d all visit her for a family dinner soon, even extending a reluctant invitation to Hermione. Bellatrix, however, can’t be swayed as easily. 

“I’m not leaving,” she says, “If I leave, who is there to stop the nurses from moving you to a smaller room in the middle of the night?” 

Andy scoffs, “They won’t do that. I’ll be fine. Besides, you should take Hermione home. You can’t make her stay and she can’t still be comfortable in that outfit. You either,” she adds, and Bellatrix looks down at the tight skirt and stiff button up that didn’t match like she’s just noticing the clothes she hurriedly grabbed. 

“I can just call her a car...I’m fine,” Bellatrix says, but she doesn’t sound very convincing. 

“I can take your car,” Hermione offers, “Drive back to Andy’s, change, and bring you a change of clothes. If you’re staying, I want to stay too.” 

Bellatrix looks doubtful, “Can you drive manual?” 

Hermione has only done it once before...but it’s a short drive. “Yes,” she says with as much confidence as she can muster. 

Bellatrix still looks doubtful but Andy is nodding encouragingly at her, “I think that sounds like a great plan, Hermione. We’ll see you back soon.” 

Bellatrix hands her the keys, and when Hermione grabs them, she leans forward and whispers, “Be careful.” 

Hermione is glad she’s a quick learner, because the drive to and from Andy’s is relatively uneventful once she acquaints herself with the car’s touchy engine paired with the stick shift. She changes into sweatpants and a sweater, and grabs comfortable clothes for Bellatrix from her own drawers. 

When she gets back, Bellatrix comes with her to change in the hospital bathroom. The older woman looks even more adorable than Hermione imagined in her dark grey Cambridge hoodie and soft cotton pants. She pulls it on with an eye roll, but Hermione’s smile is too contagious for her to keep up the act. Before they go back into the hospital room after changing, Bellatrix stops her in the hall. 

“You really don’t have to stay,” she says, her hand warm on Hermione’s forearm, “You can sleep in your own bed tonight. It’s been a long day.” 

“I want to stay with you,” Hermione says softly, “For you as much as Andy and Ted. Is that alright?” 

Bellatrix’s throat works as she swallows, staring at the wall behind Hermione’s head. Hermione reaches down, joining their hands and tugging Bellatrix closer. Somewhat reluctantly, Bellatrix meets her eyes again and they’re shimmering with emotion.

“I suppose that will be fine,” Bellatrix says, the gentle tone of her voice softening her words. 

Once back in the room, Bellatrix forces Hermione to sleep in the extra bed while she claims the armchair. Ted is sleeping in the other chair, arm in a cast, feet propped up on Andy’s bed, head thrown back as he snores with an open mouth. Hermione wouldn’t have minded sharing with Bellatrix, but she supposes that spooning on a twin sized bed five feet from Bellatrix’s sister might not be the most comfortable situation. Especially considering how her body reacts to Bellatrix’s touch. 

She falls asleep to the soft sounds of Andromeda and Bellatrix talking. Two hours later, she shifts on the uncomfortable mattress and wakes up to the same sounds. She feels tired enough that drifting back off to sleep would be easy, but when she hears her name she forces herself awake. 

She lies there with her eyes closed and listens. 

“-bother lying to me, Bella,” Andy is saying, “You’ve never brought someone around family before.”

Bellatrix chuckles in a quiet way, like she doesn’t want to wake her, “I’m not the one who invited her into the family.”

“Well, you let her come tonight, didn’t you? That’s big for you. And you can’t lie about the way you look at her.” 

Bellatrix is quiet and Hermione is dying to open her eyes and see the look on her face. 

“The truth is,” Bellatrix says then, so quietly she has to strain to hear, “I’m so tired of the way I’ve been living. I see you and Ted, Dora and Remus and it hurts. I’ve spent so long thinking that if I ever settle down, I’d turn into Father and screw up my wife and children. So I’ve just isolated myself. And then I walk into your coffee shop one day and suddenly I’m doubting everything. I want to be better, but...she scares the hell out of me. The way I feel...when she looks at me, I…want to run from it, but I feel like a moth drawn to a flame that I know will burn me up.” 

Fire floods Hermione’s body at the words. 

“You could never be like Father, Bella, are you serious? If you want to change, change. Don’t let fear stop you. Especially not any kind of fear related to that man. He’s long gone, so don’t let him control you anymore. And Hermione isn’t going to burn you, Bellatrix. You just think she will because the last time you let yourself feel this way, she ran when you got too close. What Ali did was fucked up, and it was a reflection of the kind of person she was, not you. She was a coward. Hermione isn’t a runner and she’s brave , and smart, and she knows what she’s getting into. You know it, deep down.” 

“She’s at a completely different place in her life than I am. When I was her age I was lost. I didn’t even know who I was yet. What if she figures out who she is, finishes university, really starts her life and realizes that I don’t fit into it?” 

Andy snorts and Bellatrix shushes her. 

“If tonight taught me anything, it’s that life can be snuffed out at any moment because of someone else’s reckless decision. You’ve wasted enough time making excuses. Hermione couldn’t be more different than you were at 20,” Andy says, a smile creeping into her voice, “No offense, but she has herself figured out. Sure, maybe she was slower to figure out her sexuality than you were, but on every level otherwise she’s got you beat. And if things change in a few years and you don’t fit together anymore, then so what? You can’t let the fear of something ending stop you from ever beginning. Heartbreak isn’t the end of the world. You’ll both be alright.” 

“If and I mean if we got together, I would never let her go,” Bellatrix whispers, a childish stubbornness in her voice. Hermione can picture her; arms crossed, brows furrowed a pout on her beautiful face. 

“Maybe you’d never have to.” Andy says.  

A few days later, Hermione has her first shift with Ginny since the argument. 

She had just returned the car the day before, and of course the first morning she rides back to work on the bike is the first time Ginny’s ever been on time. She doesn’t say anything about it initially, but her raised eyebrows upon seeing the bike again told Hermione she’d hear about it eventually. 

They hardly speak a word to each other outside of pleasantries. They each fill the silence between customers with deep cleaning, and at one point Hermione sneaks away into the back to turn the music up, just to fill the silence. Thankfully Bellatrix has been too busy with Andromeda to come in for coffee, so Hermione doesn’t need to worry about that.

Bellatrix has been spending every morning before work at Andromeda’s house for the last week. She would come in the  early morning and spend a few hours there, leaving for work sometime after Hermione left for Amortentia. Andromeda and Ted really are mostly fine after the accident, but Bellatrix wouldn’t let her sister out of bed for anything except the bathroom. She’s been bustling in and out of her bedroom, bringing her cold compresses, changing the bandage on her head, bringing her food and water. She’s busy enough that Hermione hardly speaks to her, only getting to see her long enough for brief “good mornings”. 

Their relationship has been sitting in a strange limbo, leaving Hermione uncertain on how to act around her. Nothing really changed on the outside, except that the conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear changed everything for her. They don’t get an opportunity to talk about the night they had, about how close Hermione came to giving in. Now she wonders if there’s any point in continuing to resist knowing how Bellatrix feels, or if she just needs to resist a little bit longer to get her to give in. 

“So,” Ginny finally says an hour into the shift, “Is it super weird to be staying at Andromeda’s? How’s she doing, by the way?” 

Hermione clears her throat, busying herself with dusting the top of the espresso machine, “Not really weird, actually. Andy’s been great, and Ted is probably the sweetest man on earth. They weren’t seriously injured, and if it weren’t for Bellatrix fretting over her, Andy probably would’ve been back at work already.”  

“Well I’m glad,” Ginny says without looking at her, “I’ve been worried. I, uh, miss you, ‘Mione. We all do. Ron, Harry, and I, I mean.” 

Hermione looks at Ginny regret stirring in her chest, “I miss you too. They way I handled things...I should’ve done it differently.”

Ginny shakes her head, “You were going through something monumental, life changing, and I made it about me. I was jealous, of the car, of...Bellatrix.” 

Hermione’s eyes widen and Ginny’s follow when she realizes how that sounded. 

“Not like that! I just meant...since we moved in and I started here our friendship became so strained. I just wanted things to go back to normal, and I felt like all you cared about was that rich, self centered, cocky bit-, sorry, um cocky...woman.” 

“I always cared about you, Gin,” Hermione says. She feels so much relief at Ginny’s words, like a thorn in her side she hasn’t paid attention to has finally been removed. 

Ginny smiles, finally meeting her eyes, “You didn’t need to give up the car, but obviously I understand why you did. You could’ve just given it to me if you didn't want it, though.” 

Hermione laughs, the contagious kind of laugh where she throws her head back. Ginny follows suit, and they’re laughing so hard that they don’t even hear the door open until the customer is at the register and clearing their throat. 

Pansy Parkinson is staring at them from across the counter, and the rush of deja vu Hermione gets is dizzying. 

“Hello again, girls,” Pansy says, “I’ll have the usual, made by Granger, of course.” 

“Seriously? What even happened to you, Parkinson?” Ginny asks incredulously. 

“I may have...spilled coffee all over Bellatrix and gotten sacked. But hey, she’s turning over a new leaf and asked for me back. Says I’m the most competent assistant she’s had and that she was rash for firing me over one mistake,” Pansy says haughtily. Then, she looks at Hermione and the prideful look on her face gives away to something else, “I suppose I have you to thank for that.” 

Before Hermione can ask what she means, Pansy reaches into her purse for a magazine and hands it over the counter.

“Page thirteen,” Pansy says. 

Hermione flips to the page and Ginny comes over to read over her shoulder. 

On the left side of the page is a massive, full body photo of Bellatrix, dressed in an all black, closely tailored suit with her hair pinned up and a smirk on her face as she stares right at the camera. It’s a look Hermione has seen so many times, and to see it now staring back at her in a magazine is jarring.

The headline reads “Bellatrix Black, Founder and CEO of Orion, Steers Company Towards a Bright New Galaxy” 

Hermione pauses to roll her eyes at the cheesy beginning. 

“At the latest shareholder meeting, Bellatrix Black announced several changes that are already being put into effect at Orion Fine Jewelry. Many common complaints from competitors and critics have been Black’s low employee salary, high turnover rate, and her sourcing of diamonds. Black has addressed all three issues, announcing a huge increase in pay for her current employees, the rehiring of several past employees, and her third and biggest announcement being the switch to exclusively ethical, conflict free diamonds.” 

“Good for her,” Ginny comments, “Never would’ve thought she’d do it.”

“What would elicit such a dramatic and sudden change for someone who is already one of Britain’s most successful businesswomen? A source at a restaurant Black recently visited says that she was seen on a very romantic outing with a much younger mystery woman. Could this young woman be the inspiration behind Black’s change of heart?” 

“Oh my god,” Hermione says, closing the magazine and looking between Pansy’s smirk and Ginny’s slack jawed expression, “That waitress ratted on us.” 

“She took you to dinner?” Ginny asks, “Is this like, official?” 

Hermione shakes her head slowly, still processing everything she’s just read, “Not official by a long shot but yes, we went to dinner.”

“Oh, she’s smitten,” Pansy says, “The woman’s been in a completely different mood. She only hired me back a couple days ago, but the change is obvious. You know, she actually said thank you to me yesterday? I hardly recognize her anymore.” 

Hermione swallows the lump in her throat while she makes Bellatrix’s coffee. With everything Bellatrix has been doing lately, from dinner, to the way she cares so fiercely for her family, and now this , she’s having a harder and harder time denying the depth of her feelings. This is a woman she could love. This is the kind of woman she can see a life with.

She writes Bellatrix with three hearts next to it, this time. 

4:15pm<

I can’t stop thinking about you. Come to my place tonight. I’ll send a driver. 8pm, sharp. I have something to tell you.

Chapter Text

Bellatrix’s flat is no less impressive the second time Hermione sets foot in it. This time, it’s all lit up with music already playing and the smell of food cooking. Hermione sees Bellatrix in the kitchen, still wearing her Cambridge hoodie underneath an apron. She’s so absorbed in what she’s doing that she doesn’t notice Hermione’s arrival. 

Hermione walks across the apartment, silent in her flats. She makes it all the way to the kitchen, standing by the concrete island and tapping her fingers until Bellatrix turns around, pan and spatula in hand, and screams. 

“Bloody fucking hell, Hermione!” 

Hermione laughs, clutching her stomach, until her eyes burn with tears. Bellatrix grumbles, setting the pot down with a clatter and watching Hermione laugh with folded arms. Once the laughter subsides, Bellatrix asks, “Are you quite done?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just...you’re always so collected and hard to phase, so to see you so…” Hermione swallows more laughter, “I’m very sorry. But I was on time! What should I have done, holler from the elevator that I’ve arrived?” 

“You could’ve walked a little heavier, or, I don't know, knocked something over.” 

“You’re telling me that breaking a vase would’ve been less startling than just standing here and waiting for you to turn around?” 

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, “Shut up. Just shut up and come here.” 

Hermione approaches slowly, too slow for Bellatrix’s liking, who steps away from the counter to tug Hermione into a slow, soft kiss. 

Every thought in Hermione’s head melts away when Bellatrix kisses her. Every time it happens, she’s suspended in disbelief. Bellatrix is the most attractive person she’s ever met, the most interesting, the most magnetic, and here she is, sinking her fingers into the collar of Hermione’s jean jacket and sliding her tongue into her mouth, molding their bodies together with so much need in every touch. Bellatrix needs her, she can feel it in the heat radiating from her body, she can feel it in the way that what is supposed to be a kiss hello has turned into Hermione getting pressed against the countertop. 

The smell of  burning interrupts them, Bellatrix suddenly pulling away from her and frowning. She curses, striding briskly back to the stove and yanking the pan off. 

“I burned the brussel sprouts, damn it!” Bellatrix says, throwing the spatula in the sink with a loud clatter. 

Hermione wraps her arms around Bellatrix’s waist, brushing the hair away to kiss the back of her neck. She realizes then how close they actually are in height without Bellatrix in heels. 

She almost opens her mouth to comment on her height, but decides against it just in time. 

Bellatrix turns around in her arms, and Hermione leans back to look at her. She’s pouting at her. 

“It’s not fair. Normally someone else cooks for me, but I’m good at it, I just haven’t done it in so long. I just...wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Hermione kisses the corner of Bellatrix’s jaw, lingering there to say, “Your judgement was apt. I do love this so much more than someone else cooking for us. I love it much more than the car, in fact.” 

When she pulls back, Bellatrix looks slightly flushed but mystified, “You like this more than the car?” 

Bellatrix’s flush makes her feel daring, makes her want to see how deep she can darken it. Hermione’s hand’s wander to Bellatrix’s hips, and she slides her thumbs up under her sweatshirt to feel the soft, hot skin beneath. 

“I like it so much more. It has nothing to do with your money, or trying to get more access to me. It’s just you showing me you care about me,” Hermione says.  While she talks, she leans in close again, kissing the soft skin of Bellatrix’s neck appreciatively. It starts as a thank you, but Bellatrix makes a soft, appreciative noise, and suddenly Hermione is opening her mouth to taste her skin and sliding her hands farther up her shirt. 

“Well, if I had known you’d react like this, I would’ve changed tactics a long time ago,” Bellatrix says, but her voice is huskier than it was moments before, betraying how affected she is by this. 

“It’s very sexy,” Hermione comments, feeling drunk on Bellatrix’s heat and smell, “almost as sexy as seeing you in my clothes.” 

Bellatrix hums, and Hermione feels the vibration against her lips. “Yeah, I’m keeping it. We’ve grown very attached to one another.” 

Hermione snorts, pulling again back to look at her, “Are you cheating on me with my sweatshirt?” 

“Oh, so now it’s cheating, is it?” Bellatrix teases, “What happened to not caring if I see other people?” 

“First of all, that’s a sweatshirt, not a person. And second, I never said I wouldn’t care if you saw other people. I would care a lot.” 

Bellatrix tilts her chin up just so she can look down her nose at her, “Is that so?”  

Hermione lowers her gaze. She hoped that Bellatrix would offer reassurance, but she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. She’s overdue for a good shove away with how close she’s gotten, and she braces herself for it. Instead, she feels Bellatrix’s finger tilting her chin back up, and when she meets her gaze again it’s much softer. 

“I’m not, Hermione. It’s only you,” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione lets out a slow breath as emotion wells up inside her. That hot, fluttery feeling in her stomach she gets when Bellatrix looks at her like this is increasing tenfold, until she’s not sure how to bear it. The woman has a way of watching her like she’s trying to read her mind through microexpressions, making Hermione feel exposed, completely at her mercy. This is the most emotional intimacy she’s felt from her since that day in her room...right before she shut her out. 

Bellatrix gently pulls away. 

“We can talk more about this later. It’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. First, though, we have dinner to eat. I didn’t fuck up the salmon, and I’ll pick out the pieces of brussel sprouts I didnt burn. Go wait at the table and I’ll bring it over.” 

Hermione does as she’s told. Bellatrix’s dining table is a long slab of polished white marble with flecks of silver. It sits in front of the fireplace, and the heat from it is a nice contrast from the cool air drifting in from the open windows. 

Bellatrix joins her after a moment, placing a plate in front of her and taking the seat next to her. Hermione loves Bellatrix’s seemingly constant need to be close to her. She wants to drown in her presence, and she has a hard time thinking about anything other than her touch and her gaze when they’re together. It’s nice that Bellatrix doesn’t pretend she wants anything less than to be as close as possible to her. 

Bellatrix served her with a glass of water and herself with wine. 

“What if I wanted wine this time?” Hermione questions. 

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow, swirling her wine in it’s glass, “I assumed you’d be too worried about lowering your inhibitions around me.” 

“Maybe I’m not as worried about my inhibitions anymore,” Hermione says. 

She revels in the look of surprise that crosses Bellatrix’s face. Wordlessly, she gets up and reappears moments later with a second glass of wine. Hermione smiles gratefully, with sweet innocence that Bellatrix doesn’t buy. 

The salmon rivals that of the professional chef’s she’d had a few nights prior. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she tries it. 

“Bellatrix, this is incredible! Where did you learn to cook like this?” 

Bellatrix shrugs, stabbing at her salmon absentmindedly, “I worked hard at it for years. I don’t see the point in doing anything if I can’t be the best at it,” she looks up from her plate to smirk at Hermione, “and believe me, this isn’t the only thing I’ve mastered.” 

Hermione snorts, “That so? I seem to recall you burning the brussel sprouts.” 

Bellatrix scowls, resuming the murdering of her salmon with renewed vigor, “Would’ve been perfect if you didn’t distract me.” 

Once her salmon is sufficiently shredded, Bellatrix begins shoveling it into her mouth. Hermione smothers her laughter, watching her with fascination. 

“If you were a master, nothing could’ve distracted you,” Hermione says, unable to resist poking at her. 

Bellatrix looks at her in shock, her cheeks full of food. She swallows and glares at her. 

“You’re being awfully cheeky tonight, you know that?” Bellatrix says, watching her skeptically, “Something have you in a particularly cheery mood?” 

Hermione smiles, grabbing her wine glass and tilting it forward to bump it against Bellatrix’s. 

“I read an fascinating article today,” Hermione says, taking a sip, “Apparently a certain businesswoman I know has had a change of heart about the way she runs her business. It was quite interesting. The article theorizes that a certain mystery woman may be responsible for the change.” 

Bellatrix glowers at her, “Pansy showed you, didn’t she? I ought to fire her again for butting in.” 

“I love that you hired her back. The way you treat employees isn’t even something we talked about. What prompted that change?” 

Bellatrix takes a long, slow sip of wine, considering her answer. “It got me thinking. I don’t half ass anything. If I’m going to change strategies when it comes to sourcing, I’m going to change the whole game. You were right about ethical diamonds appealing to your generation, but that’s not the only thing that’ll appeal to them. Paying employees a living wage will be better for my reputation, and attract young, fresh minds to work with me. Besides, I can hike up the price of conflict free diamonds and people will be happy to pay it. Tom Riddle’s company will die clinging to the old ways of things, and my company is only just beginning.” 

Hermione takes a drink, running through the words in her mind. She supposes she can’t be too surprised that Bellatrix is only doing it because she thinks it’ll benefit her in the long run. Still, Bellatrix listened to her and enacted her suggestion, even built on it. Even if she has selfish motives, at least she’s thinking outside the box and doing something that’ll benefit the rest of the world. 

“You’re not satisfied with my answer?” Bellatrix asks, cutting through her thoughts. 

“I am...it’s just not what I was expecting, I suppose. It’s not bad, though. You’re just so...endlessly fascinating to me.” 

“I feel the same way about you,” Bellatrix says, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Hermione’s eyes flick over her face, wondering how much she really means that. 

“What is it you wanted to tell me, Bellatrix?” Hermione asks. The anticipation is killing her. 

Bellatrix sets down her drink and stands, extending a hand to Hermione. “I have a balcony, you know. It has quite the view. Would you like to see?” 

Hermione stares up at her, unamused at her dodging of the question. Bellatrix rolls her eyes and adds, “I’ll tell you out there, pet.” 

Hermione takes her hand, melting just a little at the pet name, and lets herself be led to the double doors leading out to a huge balcony. It’s a relatively calm and cool night, and uncharacteristically clear for London. The stars twinkle faintly above them, dimmed by the light of the city. Hermione walks to the railing that overlooks it all, and her stomach rolls at seeing just how high up they are. 

Bellatrx feels her tense and wraps her arms around her from behind. The warmth of her body steadies her, and the anxiety begins to drain from her body, “Scared of heights?” Bellatrix asks, her breath hot against her ear. 

“A little,” Hermione says, a little breathless. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Bellatrix promises, resting her chin on her shoulder. The words only make Hermione’s heart rate increase further, “Don’t look straight down. Just look up at the stars. Can you find Bellatrix?”  

Hermione looks up like she’s told, and searches for Orion. It’s easy enough to find, but she can’t quite remember which one is Bellatrix. 

“It’s there,” Bellatrix says, pointing, “At the shoulder. It’s not usually so hard to spot. I have a lakehouse, you know. I’ll take you there sometime and we’ll be able to see them all much better.”

Hermione’s heart skips a beat, but she chooses not to acknowledge that comment yet. She hums when she finds the star, “It’s beautiful. Not nearly as beautiful as you, though.” 

It’s so cliche that she expects Bellatrix to laugh at her. When she doesn’t, Hermione turns in her arms so her lower back is against the railing and Bellatrix’s body is pressed against hers. Bellatrix’s face is serious, and her eyes are shining. Hermione reaches up slowly, needing to touch her, be closer to her. Her fingers drift over her cheekbones and she remembers the last time she did this, when Bellatrix kissed her palm and told her she liked it when she called her Bella. 

Hermione swallows her nerves. Her heart is hammering in her ears as she feels words climbing up her throat. 

“Bellatrix, I want...I want to tell you how much I’ve grown to care about you. I just...you mean so much-” 

“Wait,” Bellatrix says, “Let me go first.” 

Hermione stills, the fear of rejection making her shake slightly. Bellatrix seems to notice, moving her hands to her hips and rubbing soothing circles with her thumbs over the fabric of her jeans. 

“I wanted to tell you...that I’m ending the game. It doesn’t feel right anymore, trying to get you to sleep with me when I...when…” 

Bellatrix is the one trembling now, panic creeping into her voice. Hermione’s hand drifts from her face to the back of her neck, rubbing at the soft hairs there. Bellatrix relaxes after a long moment, but Hermione’s heart is beating so hard that she has to lean in to hear her. 

“The way I’ve grown to feel about you has been so unexpected, so terrifying…” Bellatrix says, her voice quiet, “I don’t want anything to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. I hate being away from you, not knowing if you’re safe every second of the day. Especially after what happened with Andy. It feels...it feels like my heart is walking around outside of my body, completely vulnerable-” 

“Bellatrix-” Hermione says, tears building behind her eyes. 

“Bella,” Bellatrix says, “It’s okay. Bella is okay.” 

“Bella,” Hermione says, tugging on the back of her head until their lips meet. 

She can no longer keep the tears at bay, and they flow freely until their kiss tastes like saltwater. Her head is spinning with relief at Bellatrix’s admission, especially when she’d come here to tell Bellatrix the same thing-that she was forfeiting, that she didn’t want to resist her anymore. And now she doesn’t have to. 

Hermione breaks away from Bellatrix’s kiss to attach her mouth to her neck. She moans against her skin, loving the slightly salty taste of it beneath her tongue. She makes her way to Bellatrix's pulse point and sucks, unsteady at the feeling of Bellatrix’s heartbeat beneath her lips. 

“Pet,” Bella gives a throaty chuckle, “You need to slow down or I’m not going to be able to control myself much longer.” 

Hermione pulls back to look at her and Bellatrix stills at the desire she sees written all over her face. 

“Then don’t,” Hermione says. 

“Hermione…” Bellatrix’s eyes wander all over her face, darkening with her own desires, “You’re sure?” 

“What, not feeling up to it?” Hermione challenges. It has exactly the effect she thought it would. 

Bellatrix roughly grabs the back of her head and yanks her forward again, biting her bottom lip until Hermione moans. 

“The things I want to do to you...” Bellatrix says, “I won’t, at least not yet. You couldn't handle it.” 

Hermione believes her, but she doesn't like to be doubted, “You don’t know what I can handle.” 

Bellatrix smirks, tugging on her hair until her neck is exposed to her. Hermione shivers at the cold night air tickling her exposed skin, “I’ll find your limits soon enough.”

“You’ll break them, I’m sure,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix licks her neck, from her collar bone up to her jaw. Hermione’s breathing deepens, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. 

“Only if you ask me to,” Bellatrix says. 

Then, Bellatrix spins her back around to face the city. Her hands slide around her body and nimble fingers begin undoing the buttons on her shirt one by one, “Hands on the railing,” she hisses. Hermione does as she’s told, the cold metal biting into her hands. She pushes her ass back into the woman behind her, eliciting a hiss. “You’re lucky we’re so high up,” Bellatrix purrs, “Or people might be able to see you bent over like a bitch in heat for me.” 

With that she pulls Hermione’s shirt completely open, the last few buttons popping off. Hermione pants, waves of fire licking up her skin at Bellatrix’s words. She’s so wet she’s throbbing already. She’s so turned on she’s not even thinking about her fear of heights, unable to focus on anything except Bellatrix’s body and voice. 

Bellatrix unbuttons her pants next, and Hermione feels an unexpected flash of fear. Whether it’s at the speed they’re going, Bellatrix’s words, or the heights, Hermione suddenly feels a wave of nausea. Bellatrix seems to sense her hesitation, her fingers pausing at the waistline of her pants. 

“Hermione?” Bellatrix asks. When Hermione doesn’t answer right away, Bellatrix straightens and turns Hermione back around to face her. “What’s wrong?” 

She doesn’t know how to answer, all she knows is that her heart is racing and her head is spinning. Bellatrix pulls her into her arms and guides her back inside. Before she knows it, she’s sitting on the couch with a glass of water being pressed into her hands. Her eyes focus on Bellatrix kneeling in front of her, concern all over her face. 

“Sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me. I was fine, then all of the sudden I felt nauseous…” 

Bellatrix worries her bottom lip, “I pushed you too fast. I should’ve gone slower. You don’t deserve to be bent over the railing and talked to like...like-”

“Bella, no, it’s alright. I...I liked it. A lot. Maybe it scared me how much I liked it. I’ve never done anything even remotely like that before, though.” 

Bellatrix bobs her head, her brow furrowing as she tries to understand, “Drink your water and come to  bed with me. I just need to do something really quick. We’ll try something different...if you feel up to it.” 

Come to bed with me. Hermione gulps, liquid heat settling in her stomach at the words. Bellatrix leaves her alone, and she immediately feels better after she finishes the glass of water. Once it’s done, Bellatrix reappears and takes it from her, setting it on the coffee table and then taking her hand. 

She leads her down the hallway, and through a sliding door to the bedroom. Bellatrix’s bedspread is simple; tones of light grey with a dark green throw accenting the end of the bed. Hermione finds herself blinking back tears again when she sees that Bellatrix has covered the room in little tea light candles and dimmed the lights. 

“Bella...this is…” 

“A fire hazard?” Bellatrix jokes, a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“The sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Hermione finishes. She remembers her first time with Ron, so much clearer than she wants to. It was quick and quiet in her dorm during her first year at uni, late at night. He’d gone slow but it still hurt, and it didn’t feel good for her at any point. Despite how much she loved Ron, sometimes she still regrets it. 

“It’s been a really long time since I tried like this for someone,” Bellatrix explains, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at her hands, “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever tried this hard for someone. Is it stupid?”

“You’re perfect. This is perfect,” Hermione approaches her, pushing both her hands through Bellatrix’s hair. 

Bellatrix lifts her hands to the exposed skin on Hermione’s waist, pushing past her still open shirt. Hermione shudders at the feeling. Bellatrix leans forward, placing wet, open mouthed kisses on Hermione’s chest, just above her bra. Bellatrix doesn’t take her eyes off of her the entire time, and the sight of those dark eyes staring up at her as she sucks on the skin above her nipple is almost too much. Hermione’s head falls back and she fists the hands in Bellatrix’s hair. Bellatrix sucks hard , and pinpricks erupt from the spot she’s attached to all the way down to her fingertips. It hurts as much as it feels good, and she can’t stop the moan from slipping out. This one will definitely leave a mark. 

“Feel good?” Bellatrix asks. 

“You feel so good,” Hermione sighs. 

“Good,” Bellatrix says, “Lay down, Hermione.” 

Hermione crawls up the length of the bed and flops down on her back. Bellatrix’s bed is so comfortable she feels like she’s sinking back into a bed of clouds. 

Bellatrix crawls on top of her, her thighs resting on either side of Hermione’s hips. Her hair falls down over one shoulder, tickling Hermione’s arm. The woman smirks down at her, and Hermione smiles shyly back. 

“Comfortable?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione nods, “I’m okay now, Bella. You don’t need to be so careful.” 

Bellatrix kisses her again, slow and sweet, until Hermione is breathless. Hermione would rather kiss her than breathe, so when Bellatrix pulls away Hermione tangles a hand in her hair and drags her back. She’s almost convinced she can survive only from the shared breaths between them, even when her lungs begin to burn. 

She sucks in a huge breath of air when Bellatrix kisses down her neck, the sudden rush of oxygen making her dizzy. Bellatrix shoves mindlessly at Hermione’s shirt, until the younger woman laughs, forcing them both into a sitting position to shrug out of it. Bellatrix wastes no time running a hand up her back and unclipping her bra. Hermione gives the smallest jolt of surprise, and Bellatrix pulls away so she can watch it side off her shoulders. 

Hermione’s heartbeat flutters erratically as Bellatrix pulls the bra out of the way and just stares, with that hungry look in her eyes. She never wants her to stop looking at her that way. 

“Bella,” Hermione says, the two syllables rolling off her tongue like second nature. 

Bellatrix looks at her, and her eyes knock the fucking wind out of her. She forgets how to breathe when she looks at her, and Bellatrix moves forward and sends them falling back onto the mattress with the force of her kiss. 

“It’s no wonder I made you stop calling me that,” Bellatrix murmurs, trailing kisses down to Hermione’s chest, “You call me that and I feel myself coming apart at the seams.” 

“Don’t pull away again,” Hermione says, gasping when Bella takes a nipple into her mouth, tugging lightly with her teeth, “I need you to stay close to me.” 

Bellatrix nips a trail back up to her neck, where she buries herself in close. Hermione wraps her arms around her neck and breathes in the smell of her hair. 

“I don’t think I could, now, even if I wanted to.” 

Hermione notices that the words are far from a promise, but she’s too drunk on her mouth to care. 

When Bellatrix pulls back, this time she tugs the Cambridge hoodie over her head, sending her wild hair sticking out in every direction. Hermione would laugh, but Bellatrix moves her hands to Hermione’s waistband to tug her pants down her thighs and off, throwing them off the edge of the bed. She’s grateful she chose the one pair of black panties she owns when Bellatrix drags her eyes up her thighs, her naked torso, and settles on her face again. 

“You’re a fucking work of art, you know that?” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione bites her lip, not knowing how to respond beyond the smile spreading across her face. Bellatrix smiles back, running her hands slowly up her thighs. She hooks her fingers around Hermione’s underwear and slowly slides them off without breaking eye contact. 

The urge to close her legs is almost insurmountable, but when Bellatrix looks at her there she feels herself grow even wetter just under her gaze. No one has ever looked at her the way Bellatrix is now, like she wants to devour and worship her all at once. She can’t take it anymore, pulling at Bellatrix’s arm until she settles between her thighs.

She sighs in relief when she feels the weight of her pressing against her, lifting her hips until she brushes against her stomach. 

“Take your pants off,” Hermione says, her voice breathy. 

“So demanding-” 

“Bella.”

Without getting off of her, Bellatrix manages to unbutton her pants and wiggle out of them, kicking them off and shifting until she has a thigh between Hermione’s legs. Hermione reaches behind her back to try to undo her bra, but Bellatrix grabs her wrists and pins them above her head. 

“Uh uh, pet, I’m running the show here. Grab the headboard and don’t let go until I tell you to.” 

Hermione groans but feels completely unable to resist Bellatrix’s orders. She trusts her fully, maybe too much, and she can do nothing but give herself over entirely. She grabs onto the  wooden slats of the headboard and Bellatrix gives her a small peck in lieu of praise. She pins her with a look so fucking filthy, the devil in her eyes, as she slides her hand all the way up Hermione’s thigh and finally, finally touches her where she needs her. 

Hermione can feel how wet she is, Bellatrix doesn't even need to say it. She can see it in the way her eyebrows twitch, the way her lips part in surprise. Bellatrix finds her clit with ease, running the tips of her fingers over it lightly. Hermione’s head slams back against the mattress and she moans, and it’s the filthiest sound that’s ever come out of her. She aches to have her inside of her, like she’ll die if she doesn’t. 

“Please,” Hermione begs, “Please, please, I need you inside-” 

Bellatrix grabs her chin with her free hand forcing her to look at her. The hunger still burns there, but she also looks stern. 

“You are in no position to be making demands,” Bellatrix says. 

“Not demands-I’m asking...begging- ” Hermione hates how desperate she sounds, but how can she not, with Bellatrix’s fingers pressed against her clit and motionless. 

“You’ve made me wait so...fucking...long for this. You can bet I’m going to take my sweet time with you now that I have you,” Bellatrix says, licking Hermione’s lips, then leaning in to kiss her. 

Hermione’s mouth is sore from the sheer length of time they’ve spent kissing. She’s never been kissed the way Bellatrix kisses her, like she’s a welcome alternative to breathing. She itches to grab the back of her head to keep her from pulling away, but she feels physically incapable of disobeying her orders. Instead, she spreads her legs wider, prompting Bellatrix to smirk against her lips and finally start rubbing against her. 

Hermione pants against her mouth, and Bellatrix pulls away, just barely enough to let her breathe. She looks into her eyes while Hermione bucks her hips against her fingers, and she’s never felt so deeply connected to another person in her entire life. She’s so wet that Bellatrix’s fingers slide over clit in the messiest of ways, making it difficult to find a rhythm. 

It doesn’t matter. Bellatrix’s mouth finds her nipples again, licking and sucking in the most delicious of ways. Hermione is close, so close, it’ll just take a few more seconds and-

Bellatrix stops, moving her hand away to drag it up her body instead. 

“Fuck,” Hermione cries as her orgasm slips away from her. 

Bellatrix chuckles glancing up at her with a mischievous grin. 

“Didn’t I just say I’d be taking my time?” 

Hermione glares down at her through watery eyes. “You’re evil.” 

Bellatrix bites her nipple, softly, but she’s sensitive enough for it to send a stab of pain shooting up her body. 

“How’s it feel to be teased, Hermione? I had to deal with it from you for much longer than what I’m putting you through.” 

“I didn’t tease you,” Hermione says, “I just didn’t know what I wanted.” 

“Please, I don’t buy that. I know exactly how wet you got when I looked at you,” Bellatrix says, punctuating her sentence by bringing her hand back to Hermione’s slit and dipping her fingers inside. Hermione moans, but then Bellatrix is removing her fingers and bringing them up to wiggle them in front of Hermione’s face. 

“You could never deny this,” Bellatrix says, smearing Hermione’s wetness across the side of her cheek. Hermione hates that she burns with desire at the degrading action, and then Bellatrix is leaning forward to lick it off, and she’s screwing her eyes shut. 

“Fuck, Bella.” 

“Mmm, I knew you’d like to be treated like a filthy little slut. I knew it the second I laid eyes on you.” 

Hermione’s hands tighten on the headboard until it hurts, as Bellatrix moves her hand to her throat and pushes her thigh against her again. Hermione forces herself to be still, knowing Bellatrix will reward her if she’s good. 

“I could tell exactly how...obedient you’d be,” Bellatrix says, her hand tightening slightly on the sides of her throat. The pressure feels surprisingly good. The positioning of her hand makes it so she can still breathe, but the feeling of being pinned and at her mercy sends a flood of heat between her legs. “The entire time you made my drink I thought about bending you over my lap and slapping your perfect little ass until you begged me to fuck you.” 

Holy shit, Hermione thinks frantically, what is she doing to me? 

She remembers the way Bellatrix watched her that first time and god, she believes every word. 

“Sweet, innocent little Hermione,” Bellatrix croons, finally, finally pushing inside her, “I can’t wait to ruin you.” 

Bellatrix fucks her with an unforgiving rhythm, two fingers pushing in and out of her again and again. Hermione flushes hard at the wet sounds of Bellatrix fucking her. She’s beyond soaked, the wetness dripping down her thighs. Her mouth falls open and she hooks a leg around Bellatrix’s hip, the new angle allowing her deeper access. 

“You’re dripping, Hermione,” Bellatrix says, awestruck, “how long have you wanted this?” 

Hermione struggles to find the words, and Bellatrix isn’t helping, pumping her fingers with earnest.  

“I-I-” Hermione tries to say, her voice hitching with every one of Bellatrix’s thrusts, “So-long.” 

“When?” Bellatrix demands, adding a third finger and making her hiss at the sensation of being stretched. 

“The-the first time...when you looked at me-” 

Bellatrix likes this answer, picking up her pace until the bed is creaking with the movement of their bodies. 

“I-didn’t...realize right away, but…” Hermione tries to explain, sweat beading at her temples. Bellatrix kisses her, long and deep. When she pulls away, Hermione says, “Please don’t stop, Bella, I need-” 

Bellatrix shushes her, letting go of her throat to smooth back her hair. “I won’t,” she promises, “Let go of the headboard now, Hermione.”

Hermione’s hands immediately go to Bellatrix’s back, clawing madly at the clasp of Bellatrix’s bra. Bellatrix is managing to fuck her so good she can’t remember how to perform an action she’s done every day since secondary school . She whimpers in frustration, eliciting a throaty laugh from Bellatrix. 

“You’re so fucking cute, even now,” Bellatrix says, “Especially now.” 

Hermione finally manages to get it undone, with only slightly more grace than a virgin teenage boy, and Bellatrix shrugs it off without breaking her rhythm. Hermione has to stop herself from drooling at the sight, bringing her hands around to cup them and feel the peaks of her nipples hardening against her palms. 

“God, you’re perfect,” Hermione pants. Bellatrix kisses her, again and again and again.

“I could do this forever,” Bellatrix sighs against her mouth, curling her fingers and rubbing against that spongy spot inside of her. Hermione’s hands squeeze, and she tweaks Bellatrix’s nipples, mostly by accident, and they both let out the same strangled, uncontrolled moans into each other's mouths. 

Hermione slides her hands back around Bellatrix’s now bare back, digging her nails in and dragging them down. Bellatrix crushes their bodies together, attaching her mouth to Hermione’s neck again and sucking on her hard. The pain feels so fucking good, flowing through the rest of her body until her walls are tightening around Bellatrix’s fingers. 

“Fuck, Bella, don’t stop, you feel so good, so good,” Hermione chants mindlessly. Bellatrix is completely absorbed in sucking on her neck, only distantly registering Hermione’s words. Hermione cries out, louder than she ever has, lifting her hips off the bed and pulling Bellatrix in deeper. 

Bellatrix moans, sinking her teeth into Hermione’s neck. She can’t resist grinding her hips against Hermione’s thigh, the fabric of her underwear completely soaked through. It’s almost animalistic, the way Bellatrix’s eyes have gone completely vacant as she rocks her hips against Hermione’s trembling thigh, holding onto the skin between her teeth and forgetting about restraint. 

Hermione’s cries get louder, and she’s practically tearing at Bellatrix’s back, spurred on by the goddamn vampire bite Belatrix was currently inflicting on her throat. Hermione comes in the most violent fashion, shouting Bellatrix’s name and a string of curses until her throat is sore. 

Bellatrix’s fingers continue pushing in and out of her, slower now, as Hermione’s walls flutter and hold her in like she’s trying to stop her from pulling out. As she comes down, Bellatrix seems to return to her senses, releasing Hermione’s throat and pulling back enough to look at her with wide, wonder-stricken eyes. 

Hermione doesn’t know what she expects her to say after, but it certainly isn’t, “Did I hurt you?” In the incredibly soft, hesitant tone that Bellatrix uses. 

“Me? ” Hermione asks. She can only imagine what Bellatrix’s back looks like, “I didn’t break the skin, did I?” 

Bellatrix shifts her shoulder, wincing slightly at the burn, “I don’t know. I don't think so.” 

Hermione grimaces as Bellatrix slowly pulls her fingers out of her, “Sorry,” she says. 

“Don’t be,” Bellatrix says, “It was good. So fucking good, Hermione.” 

Hermione dispels the urge to ask if she’s sure, instead saying, “You were good.” 

Bellatrix’s lips quirk up, “No, you.” 

Hermione shoves lightly at her shoulder, laughing, “Stop that.”

Something occurs to her then, when she sees how dark Bellatrix’s eyes still are and feels the damp press of her core against her thigh. “Did you…?” 

Bellatrix appears to hold in a laugh for her benefit, “No, pet. And it’s alright. I’m quite far from being done with you.” 

Her eyes widen, “What? Bella, I don’t think I can take any-” 

“You can,” Bellatrix says, already moving down her body, “Trust me, you can.” 

Any further protests die on Hermione’s lips when Bellatrix drags the tip of her tongue across her folds. She leans back on her elbows, watching Bellatrix’s eyelashes flutter as she tastes her. The older woman moans and licks up, her tongue swirling around Hermione’s clit. 

“Fuck me,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix looks up at her and Hermione feels her smirk as she pushes her tongue inside. 

The wet, hot feeling of someone’s tongue inside her is almost enough to make her come again immediately. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, wanting to close her eyes but too enthralled by the sight of Bellatrix watching her as she fucks her with her tongue. 

Hermione lifts her hips, unable to resist fucking herself on Bellatrix’s tongue. Bella’s hands press into her hips, pinning them against the mattress. Her brow furrows, and she manages to pin Hermione with an intimidating look even with her tongue inside her. 

Hermione bites back a groan, her face contorting into a very Bellatrix-like expression of annoyance. She feels the quirk of Bellatrix’s lips again, and she tightens her thighs around Bellatrix’s head in a silent request for her to continue. Bellatrix chuckles and Hermione feels it more than she hears it, her head falling back. Bellatrix drags her tongue up to her sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking it into her mouth and sliding two fingers back inside. 

A sigh of relief pours out of her as Bellatrix sucks and fucks her at the perfect pace. Her hips push against the hands holding her down, and she whines when Bellatrix’s strength wins out. 

Bellatrix detaches her mouth with a soft pop and Hermione sits up to look down at her with frantic eyes. 

Bellatrix is glaring, “Stop whining and let me have you the way I want you.”

Hermione only has time to be mildly offended before Bellatrix resumes, dragging her teeth lightly against her clit and making her gasp. She hums as if to say that’s right, and Hermione whimpers at the vibration. 

Bellatrix is taking her time, and Hermione realizes that she doesn’t want her hips moving because she wants to draw it out as long as possible. She knows that she could ride Bellatrix’s face to completion in less than a minute, and Bellatrix seems far too content in lapping up every drop of cum to let that happen so fast.

Her hands leave her hips to pry her legs apart, as she remembers the fluid coating Hermione’s thighs. She pulls her mouth away from her clit to lick the inside of her thighs instead. Hermione swallows another whimper, and Bellatrix digs her nails into her in a wordless warning. 

She forces herself to lie still as Bellatrix cleans off her thighs. She glances down to see the look of relaxed focus on her face as she switches to her other thigh, cleaning that side as well. She feels Hermione’s eyes on her, looking up to meet them and giving her thigh a playful bite. 

Trying to goad Bellatrix into continuing to fuck her without breaking her rules, Hermione brings her hands to her own breasts and twists and pulls at her nipples. She sees the darkening of Bellatrix’s expression before her head lulls back again, moaning at her own touch. 

It works like a charm, and moments later Bellatrix’s soft lips return to Hermione’s hot, slick folds. 

She slides two fingers inside her again and sucks on her clit with purpose, fucking her with short, shallow thrusts. Hermione pants, and her hands leave her breasts in favor of Bellatrix’s hair. It’s not long before she’s mewling and fisting her hands in her hair. The burning hot slide of Bellatrix’s tongue is sending white hot sparks of pleasure all throughout her body, like she’s touching her everywhere, all at once. 

“I’m going to-” 

Bellatrix slides her fingers out and says, “Come in my mouth, Hermione.” 

Fuck, the command is all it takes. That, and Bellatrix sliding her tongue back inside in time for Hermione to come undone, gushing hot, sweet cum all over Bellatrix’s tongue. Bellatrix doesn't stop her from rutting against her face, now, moving her hands to cup her ass, lapping at her as waves and waves of pleasure wash over her. 

Bellatrix watches her the entire time, continuing to lick at her until she’s swallowed every single drop of cum, then crawling back up her body and shoving her tongue in Hermione’s mouth. 

Jesus, the taste of herself on Bellatrix’s tongue is intoxicating. She grabs Bellatrix’s face, and her fingers slip on her own cum that’s smeared across her jaw. Bellatrix can’t seem to stop herself from shoving three fingers roughly back inside of her again, nearly making Hermione scream. Her second orgasm isn’t even done when Bellatrix starts fucking her again. 

“Fuck Bella, fuck, I, I can’t-” 

Bellatrix nips her earlobe and whispers, “Say the word and I’ll stop, Hermione.” 

Hermione cries out in equal amounts of pleasure and pain as she feels herself hurtling towards the edge again. She feels a confusing rush of emotions hitting her like a truck, too goddamn much to process all at once, forcing her to process only one thought, one desire. 

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, Bella-” 

Bellatrix doesn’t, gasping along with Hermione like she’s feeling every thrust along with her, completely absorbed in what the younger woman is feeling. 

Hermione rakes her nails down Bellatrix’s back again, and if she didn't break the skin before she has now. Bellatrix curses, fisting a hand in Hermione’s hair and shoving her head back against the mattress. The pain forces out a rougher side of Bellatrix, Hermione learns, as she nips cruelly at her jaw hard enough to hurt. Hermione grips at Bellatrix’s forearm, forcing her to still as she arches her back and impales herself deeper on her fingers. She comes like that, her body rigid, Bellatrix leaning over her and  panting, watching her every move with rapt attention. 

Hermione’s body turns to jello all at once. Bellatrix immediately loosens her grip in her hair,  pulling out of her and wrapping her in an embrace. 

“You’re beautiful, you’re so beautiful, Hermione,” Bellatrix whispers reverently against the side of her head, “You’re so beautiful and you’re mine, only mine.” 

Hermione’s head is spinning, every single nerve ending absolutely fried with pleasure. She tangles her legs with Bella’s and runs her hands softly over the raised welts on her back. Mine, mine, mine. The words bounce around in her head as Bellatrix peppers soft, possessive kisses on her temple, her eyelids, her cheek, her neck. 

“Yours,” Hermione says.

Chapter Text

Hermione wakes up to flashes of memories of the night before and the feeling of Bellatrix’s arms around her. She thinks about Bella confessing how she feels, how sweet she was with her, how rough she was. A slow smile spreads across Hermione’s face and she stretches her legs out, sighing at the feeling of how sore she is between her legs. She’s already wet just thinking about how wonderful Bella was, the mere thought of the best fuck of her life getting her body ready for more. 

She opens her eyes to look at the woman in question, only to find watching her intently. The fingers resting on her stomach begin tracing gentle patterns, while Bellatrix continues to watch her wordlessly, seriously. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Hermione asks, her voice rough with sleep. Bellatrix’s expression darkens at the sound. 

Bellatrix’s fingers trail lower, “Maybe.” 

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to sleep over, I just…” Hermione says, the need to apologize overriding her logic. 

“You think I’d kick you out after that?” Bellatrix asks, a line forming between her brow. 

Hermione swallows, then reaches for Bellatrix’s face to smooth the furrowed brow with her thumb. Her fingers trail down her cheek and Bellatrix tilts her head to rub against her like a cat. 

“I don’t want to scare you off,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix drags her nails lightly over Hermione’s stomach. “I’m not scared,” she says, but it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than Hermione. 

Hermione twists to face her, running her hands through Bellatrix’s hair. She winces when Hermione’s fingers get caught in the tangled mess of her morning hair. Hermione trails her hands down her body instead, eliciting a shiver as her fingers brush over her breasts, then lower and lower. Hermione frowns when she touches Bellatrix’s underwear. 

“Bella,” Hermione says, realization dawning on her, “You never…”

Bellatrix shrugs, “Last night was about you.”

As always, the raven haired woman’s sweet, considerate side is what turns Hermione on the most. The space between them is suddenly too much, so Hermione hooks her leg over Bellatrix’s hip and climbs on top of her. The feeling of their skin sliding together is addictive, and when Bellatrix looks up at her with blown pupils and parted lips Hermione becomes a slave to her desires once again. 

Her head is swimming when their mouths meet again, Bellatrix wasting no time in setting a hungry, rough pace even from beneath her. Every time Hermione touches her she feels like she’s dreaming. It’s so hard for her to feel grounded in reality when someone as flawless as Bellatrix is looking at her like a starved animal, when she’s kissing her so deeply, with so much force and desire. She’s never felt so present in any moment than she does with Bellatrix, her mind obsessively mapping every movement and committing it to memory. 

She’s beyond caring that Bellatrix can feel her growing wetter as they kiss, with the press of her center on her stomach. Bellatrix’s hands wander over her, and every touch is so soft and sweet. 

“I love the way you feel,” Bellatrix whispers when Hermione pulls back. She tilts forward to rest her forehead against Bella’s and just stares into her eyes. Those black eyes that are clouded with want and affection, delirious from Hermione’s kiss. “I’ve never tasted someone as sweet as you. Never touched someone so beautiful.” 

“When will this stop feeling like a dream?” Hermione asks, her entire body warm.

Bellatrix’s hands drag over her hips and pull her snug against her, and Hermione groans when her slick center drags deliciously against her stomach. 

“I don’t ever want it to stop,” Bella says, her eyes shutting at the feeling of Hermione against her. A hand slips between their bodies and Bella’s fingers slide into her. Hermione groans, rocking her hips and finding a slow, easy rhythm. She anchors her hands in Bellatrix’s hair and breathes her in, growing drunk on her scent as she rocks against her. 

Bellatrix is inside me, Hermione thinks, feeling a thrill run down her spine at the thought. Knowing someone as powerful, influential and gorgeous as Bellatrix Black is beneath her, looking at her like that, wanting her, fucking her, is sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. 

She’s pretty sure she can come solely from the way Bella is looking at her. She feels that low, coiling heat and her movements become messier as she loses focus. Bellatrix moves, swiftly flipping them so Hermione is on her back and she is back on top. Bellatrix is fully awake now, her gaze flickering all over Hermione’s face as she picks up her pace with renewed vigor. 

Hermione tugs her closer and Bellatrix drops her head to her chest, kissing along the valley between her breasts. She licks, then sucks a nipple into her mouth, her eyelids slipping shut. Hermione’s less restrained now, less concerned about the noises falling from her mouth. They slide out willingly, encouraged by Bellatrix’s own soft, muffled moan against her breast. 

She feels herself approaching the edge and drags Bellatrix back up towards her mouth. She has only a moment to marvel at the flush of her cheeks in the morning light and the tumbling mess of her hair before her mouth is on her again, tasting every cry of pleasure as Hermione comes undone around her fingers. 

Hermione’s eyes stay shut as she comes down, sighing sadly at the loss of Bella’s fingers. She’s distantly bothered at how addicted she already feels to her, but right now she only cares about one thing. 

“We should get up,” Bellatrix says, “I need coffee within two hours of getting up or I’m a bitch the whole day. So, we’re on a time-”

Hermione’s eyes open and she pushes Bellatrix back on her back before she can get up. She takes only a second to appreciate the look of surprise on her face before she finally pulls her lace black underwear off and takes in the sight of her. 

Fuck, she’s glistening, soaking wet for her. She’s so pink and delicate and...neatly groomed, Hermione notes with a flush. She swallows, her mouth actually watering at the thought of what she’s about to do.

“Pet-” Bellatrix begins, but Hermione leans down between her legs and her words die with a gasp.

As soon as she tastes Bellatrix her eyes slam shut. The  heady, potent taste of her sends her head spinning, but more than just the wonderful way she tastes, the rush of power she feels at the fresh flood of fluid that greets her tongue is what has her immediately addicted. Any part of her that felt nervous or hesitant melts away and she just buries herself in between Bella’s legs.

Bellatrix moans loudly, and it’s so different from any sound that’s come out of her before. The moan is low, needy, colored with surprise. Hermione drags her tongue over Bella’s clit and feels fluid coating her chin. Bellatrix drags a hand through her hair, her nails scratching along her scalp, and presses Hermiones’s head more firmly against her. 

Hermione feels a low fluttering in her stomach that spreads up her ribcage at the way Bellatrix takes control, even from beneath her. Bellatrix begins moving her hips against Hermione’s tongue. She thinks back to what Bella taught her the night before, mirroring her actions. She flattens her tongue against her clit and she hears Bella’s breathing deepen at the action as she grinds more forcefully against her. 

“Use your fingers,” Bellatrix says, her voice commanding despite the infusion of desire. 

Hermione lets her control slip away, letting Bellatrix use her mouth, her hands, her mind however she wants. 

“Harder,” comes the next command.

She surrenders completely. She increases her pace, her force, no longer worrying about hurting the woman beneath her. She’s rewarded with gasps of pleasure and the jerking of Bella’s hips as she fucks her face. 

Bella’s thighs clamp around Hermione’s head, muffling the sounds around her. Hermione forces her eyes open to watch her and moans against her at the sight. Bellatrix, head thrown back in euphoria, hips grinding, her chest bare and flushed, as she comes against Hermione’s mouth. 

The hand in her hair loosens and replaces her fingers with her tongue, swallowing every drop of Bellatrix’s juices she can find. When she’s done she crawls up Bella’s body to kiss her neck. Bellatrix tangles their legs together and drapes her arms over Hermione’s shoulders. 

“You really are a fast learner,” Bellatrix says in her ear. 

Hermione hums appreciatively, smiling against her skin.

When Bellatrix speaks again, there’s a smirk in her voice, “You’re a really good fuck, Hermione.” There’s a note of curiosity in her tone, like she’s pressing a button just to see what will happen.

Hermione hums again, but this time it’s lower, closer to a moan. 

“Your pussy felt so good around my fingers,” Bellatrix says, lowering her voice to a whisper. 

This time, it’s definitely a moan. Hermione parts her lips and sucks the skin of Bellatrix’s neck into her mouth. A thigh pushes between her legs and Bellatrix chuckles when she feels how wet she is again already.

“I love how your tongue felt inside me. I love how you taste, how you smell, how quick you catch on. You’re so smart, Hermione. So beautiful…” 

Bellatrix’s voice is soft in her ear and fuck, what is happening to her? She’s so fucking turned on, grinding against Bellatrix’s thigh without an ounce of dignity. Every word drips  through her body like liquid fire, waves of pleasure shuddering between her legs. She parts them more and shifts the angle of her hips, spreading her  folds and  dripping all over the warm muscle beneath her. She  stops sucking on Bella’s neck so she can pant with every drag of her hips. 

“You’re fucking perfect. The best fuck I’ve ever had.” 

Hermione lets out a little cry of surprise at the searing, stabbing jolt of pleasure.

“Bella... fuck, I’m going to-to come again, ” Hermione pants delierously. 

“I know. You’re so bloody sexy when you come,” Bellatrix slips a hand between their bodies and her fingers find Hermione’s clit, “Will you come for me now, Hermione?”

Hermione does, her cries of pleasure bordering on sobs as she continues to rock desperately against her, dragging out the orgasm for as long as possible.

“What did you do to me?” Hermione asks when she comes down from her high. “You-you hardly touched me and I felt so…

Bellatrix strokes her hair, smiling up at her with as much delirious affection as Hermione feels, “You have a praise kink.” 

Hermione flushes, “What? I-I do not!” 

“You do,” Bellatrix sings.

“That's not-that wasn’t-”

“All I had to do was complement you a little and you were wrapped around my finger,” Bellatrix’s face grows thoughtful, “Or rather my thigh, this time.” 

Hermione rolls her eyes, and when she does so she glimpses the alarm clock next to Bella’s bed.

“It’s 7:30 already! Don’t you need to go to work?”

Bellatrix shrugs, unbothered, and continues gently petting Hermione’s head, “I don’t have to. I can shuffle some things around, find a way to stay with you...all...day.”

As she speaks she shifts her hips suggestively, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Hermione rolls away from her before she falls back under her spell and slides out of bed, putting some distance between them. Bellatrix pouts, rolling onto her stomach to make a grab for Hermione’s hand. Hermione tries not to laugh at her melodramatics. 

“Come on,” Hermione says, grabbing Bella’s hand to tug her out of bed, “I’m sore, Bella, I really need to give it a break before you have me walking funny.”

Bellatrix sighs, and stands up, coming right to Hermione’s eye level at full height. She smiles at the reminder of how close they actually are in height. That knowledge will certainly take some getting used to. The older woman wraps her arms around her waist, their naked bodies pressing against each other. Hermione thought that standing up would help clear her head, but the closeness of Bellatrix’s body and that damn look in her eyes reminds her that Bella could take her anywhere she wants, standing or not. 

“Come shower with me,” Bellatrix says, tucking a stray hair behind Hermione’s ear. 

Hermione nods. 

Bellatrix’s bathroom is somehow the most extravagant part of her flat. The floors and walls are all the same black marble with rivlets of white running through it like lightning. The shower has a rainfall shower head and a bench, and Hermione immediately thinks about how easy it would be to experience shower sex for the first time in there.

Bellatrix smirks at her as she guides her in, like she knows exactly what she’s thinking.

Hermione stands near the shower door as Bellatrix steps under the water and begins to wash off. It’s easy to take a moment to marvel in quiet awe, watching with an itch of irrational jealousy at the water sliding down Bellatrix’s body. She’s so far gone she’s jealous of water, because of the way it’s caressing the body she’s laid claim to. 

Bellatrix turns to face her, her eyes slipping shut to keep the water out. She moves her hand between her legs, her fingers languidly stroking herself, back and forth. Hermione frowns and steps forward, grabbing Bella’s wrist to still her movements.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asks, the spray of water making her hair cling to her forehead. 

“Washing off the mess you made,” Bellatrix says innocently, opening her eyes to peer at her.

“Looked to me like you were making more of a mess.” 

“So what if I was?” Bellatrix asks, “Are you going to stop me?” 

Hermione is aware she’s being goaded. Bellatrix isn’t exactly hiding her attempt at manipulation, if the mischievous glint in her eyes is any indication, but she walks into the trap anyways. She leans in, capturing Bella’s mouth, and kisses her until their hands begin to wander. 

They don’t get out until the water runs cold.

Bellatrix doesn’t go to work that day, after all. She makes a few calls with Hermione sucking constellations of bruises into her body, keeping her voice remarkably even the entire time. Hermione relishes in the dark way she watches her while she talks to her colleagues. She can practically hear her thoughts when their eyes are connected, when she looks at her like that.

The moment Bellatrix is done on the phone Hermione is pushing inside her with three fingers, using her other hand to pluck the phone out of Bella’s grasp to chuck it across the room. 

Bellatrix lets her crawl on top of her and Hermione is reeling with power again, watching the woman submit to her in this way. She gives Hermione a knowing look though her eyelashes.

“I wouldn’t allow this from anyone else, you know,” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione curls her fingers inside of Bellatrix and smiles at the way she gasps, the way her eyes widen slightly in surprise. Her forearm is beginning to burn with effort but it’s easy enough to ignore in favor of watching Bellatrix’s each and every move.

“Why not?” Hermione asks, swooping forward to pull one of Bellatrix’s nipples into her mouth

Bellatrix is quiet for a moment. Hermione looks up at her, sucking lightly, and Bellatrix is flushed and panting, pupils blown wide, hair a mess, and so, so beautiful.

“You know why,” she says, finally.

Hermione doesn’t, not really. She can’t really know unless Bellatrix tells her, but Bellatrix is clawing madly at Hermione’s arm in a silent plea for her to keep going, to keep going harder, and now isn’t really the time.

Once Hermione is spent, hours and hours later when the sun is low in the sky, she’s drifting in and out of sleep on Bella’s bare chest. She can hear the soft, even beat of her heart beneath her cheek as Bella tugs her fingers rhythmically through her hair, until it’s impossible to keep her eyes open. She is sore in the most pleasant of ways, in new ways that serve as a constant, throbbing reminder of all the ways Bellatrix had taken her and given to her.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asks. 

Bellatrix’s fingers pause against her scalp. After a long pause, she says, “How we need to get some food in you.” 

Hermione doesn’t need food. She feels amazing, better than she’s ever felt. She’s pretty sure she can live off of Bellatrix alone. Before she can protest, her stomach disagrees with her, rumbling audibly in the quiet bedroom. Bellatrix chuckles against her forehead.

“I’ll call room service.”

Hermione’s brow furrows. She didn’t know room service existed in an apartment building. Bellatrix shifts like she’s going to get up, but the younger woman tightens her grip around her waist, effectively trapping her. Bellatrix laughs. 

“No moving,” Hermione says, lacking the presence of mind that would normally have her mortified at how childish she sounds. 

“My phone’s across the room, remember? Where you threw it,” she says pointedly. 

Hermione responds by throwing her leg over Bellatrix’s to further lock her in place. 

“Mine’s on the nightstand. Use that,” Hermione says, rubbing her foot up and down Bella’s calf. She feels the older woman twist and stretch to reach her phone before settling back down with an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, this is Bellatrix Black. I’d like to order…” Bellatrix hesitates, “Well, two strawberry scones, a pitcher of ice water, and two coffees. One is the usual and the other an...iced mocha. Yes I’d like that immediately.”

“Turkey sandwich?” Hermione asks, gently biting Bella’s collarbone to make sure she heard her.

“And a turkey sandwich,” Bellatrix adds, amused, “Thank you.” 

Hermione sighs, snuggling impossibly closer. After their shower the warm, amber smell of Bellatrix clings to her skin and in the messy, fluffy hair tickling her nose, hanging around the both of them. It’s a smell that’s comforting and arousing at the same time, and each time she breathes in she can’t decide if she wants to sleep or spread her legs for Bellatrix again. 

“You have three missed calls from Andy,” Bellatrix notes with amusement, “And a text from Harry that just says, ‘Alright?’. Eloquent, that one.” 

“Mmm, can you text Andy?” Hermione asks, trailing her fingertip over a freckle on Bellatrix’s hip. 

Bellatrix shudders, then freezes. “She’s calling now.”

Before Hermione can protest, Bellatrix answers, “Hello, little sister. Yes, she’s fine...Well, she was busy! Lay off the motherly concern, Andy, she can take care of herself. No, she can’t talk, she’s sleeping.”

“Bella,” Hermione says, lifting her head from her shoulder to frown at her. Bellatrix rolls her eyes and passes her the phone. 

"Hi, Andy. Sorry I didn’t call-” 

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Andy says, sounding relieved, “I just wanted to hear it from you. Everything going alright? Is she being...well, she’s not being too much, is she?”

Hermione smiles down at Bellatrix, who has occupied herself with memorizing the details of Hermione’s face. 

“She’s being very respectful. Sweet, in fact,” Hermione says. Bellatrix wrinkles her nose. “You don’t have anything to worry about, but thank you for checking. Are you and Ted doing alright? I can stop by the store on my way home if you need anything.”

Bellatrix grabs her wrist and kisses the inside of her forearm while Andy tells her that they’re doing perfectly fine, thank you, and to call if she needs anything. Hermione hangs up and fires off a quick response to Harry before settling back down against Bellatrix’s warmth. 

“It’s nice that my sister worries about you. You have quite a way of worming your way into the heart’s of this family, don’t you?” Bellatrix asks.

Unable to read her tone, Hermione decides to tread lightly. “I suppose,” she says. 

“I don’t mind, it’s just…” Bellatrix trails off, unsure how to finish her sentence. 

“It’s just what?” Hermione prods, her eyebrows drawing together. 

“You never talk about your parents. Shouldn’t they be the ones worrying after you?”

The warmth bleeds out of Hermione’s body and she shifts away from the older woman. Bellatrix is looking at her with wide eyes, completely still, like she’s afraid she’ll scare her off. Hermione softens but maintains her distance, hugging her knees to her chest and reaching out to trace the lines of Bellatrix’s palm.

“My father isn’t really...in the picture anymore. Which is for the best because he wasn’t...um, a good father. My mother only stayed with him as long as she did for what she claimed was my benefit, which is just…” Hermione trails off, laughing in disbelief.

Bellatrix watches her quietly, absorbing every word. It isn’t often that anyone in Hermione’s life lets her talk uninterrupted, although there aren’t many that she’s opened up to about this particular chapter of her life. Harry, Ron, and Ginny only know because they were around for it, but other than that she doesn’t remember the last time she spoke about this.   

“She always said she’d leave him after I went away for uni. It ended up not mattering because he left before that. I don’t know where he is now. Probably leeching off a new family. Now I don’t really have the urge to speak to my mother after she put us through living with him for so long. It’s just a reminder. And I think I’m a reminder for her, too, because she doesn’t reach out anymore.” 

“I understand,” Bellatrix says. Her eyes are shining with every emotion Hermione is feeling, like a mirror reflecting her feelings back at her, “You know about my issues with my father. And to have a mother who does nothing to protect you...I understand. They don’t think they’re making a choice, but doing nothing is a choice. Doing nothing is siding against you. Although my mother did a bit more than nothing.” 

“Are your parents still...are you still in contact?” Hermione asks, trailing her fingers up Bella’s arm and back down with feather light caresses.

“Father is dead. Mother is...well, she may as well be. Cissy is the only one of us who still speaks with her.” 

“Why’s that?” Hermione asks, her curiosity getting the best of her. She’s always wanted to know more about Bellatrix and now seems like her chance. Bellatrix isn’t meeting her eyes anymore but she’s not pulling away, either.

“My parents destroyed their relationship with Andy because she got knocked up at sixteen. They wanted her to get an abortion but she moved in with Ted’s family instead. I’ve never seen them so angry. It terrified me. Andy wanted to get me out, too, but I was too afraid. I was to take over for my father when the time came and I knew he’d never let me go. I was afraid for her, and at eighteen I thought the best way to protect her was to push her away. And I’ve always had a talent for that. I knew just the right things to say...just the right buttons to press to make sure she stayed far away from our family.”

Hermione feels sick thinking about Bellatrix, isolated and scared, being forced into a life she didn’t choose. Her understanding for Andromeda deepens, too, in that moment. Andromeda took her in when she needed it because the same was done for her. Her fingers are motionless on Bellatrix’s wrist, feeling the gentle thrum of a racing heart. 

“I’m glad you found a way to make your life your own,” Hermione says. She watches Bella’s face closely, careful not to overstep, “You made something more out of what you were given. You outgrew them.” 

“Sometimes it feels like I haven’t escaped them...like I’ll always be that scared little girl, shoving people away to keep them safe from me.”

“You couldn’t push me away,” Hermione says, forcing herself to sound more confident than she is. “I won’t let you.” 

Bellatrix smiles but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes. 

“The second Orion was under my control, I severed ties with them. The blood I share with them is poison, and it’ll take me a lifetime to rid myself of it,” Bellatrix continues, “Narcissa was protected from the worst of it. I made sure of it. I don’t think she ever fully understood why it was so difficult for Andy and I. She was only a little older than Andy was when she got pregnant, but the difference was Lucius. He came from money, from what they deemed a respectable family, and they allowed them to get married. I let Lucius have a job under me, and that was that.” 

Hermione keeps her comments about the devastating lack of safe sex education they must’ve received in that family to herself and holds Bellatrix’s hand instead. She feels a sense of foreboding when she looks at her, a low twisting in her gut that warns her the worst is yet to come. 

Hermione despises the part of herself that feels a deeply inappropriate thrill at being driven to work by Bellatrix. After spending two nights straight with her and an entire day in between, being taken over and over and over, she feels a biological response to being brought out in public and escorted to the front door of her job by her. 

Bellatrix’s irresponsibly fast driving has them there a good fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, so Hermione has to unlock the doors to let herself in. When Bellatrix follows her, Hermione turns around to lift an eyebrow at her. 

“Excuse me, miss, but we’re not open yet,” Hermione says, using her best customer service voice. 

Bellatrix glowers at her, “I’d think that shagging the barista would give me special privileges.” 

Hermione glares back, folding her arms, and Bellatrix relents. “Fine, dating the barista.” 

Hermione knows she’s going to cave but she doesn't want Bella to know it yet. It doesn’t seem to matter, because Belaltrix evidently sees something in her eyes and a slow smile spreads across her face. Her fingers dance over Hermione’s waist, pulling her flush against her. 

“Aren’t I special to you, Hermione?” Bellatrix asks, her mouth a breath away from Hermione’s, “Or have the last two days meant nothing to you?” 

Hermione’s body responds to the shift in Bellatrix’s tone. She’s burning between her legs already, a blush creeping up her neck, adrenaline soaring from her chest to her fingertips. Her eyes darken, and Bellatrix closes the gap to bring their lips together. 

The barista moans, low and quiet and tortured, tugging Bellatrix the rest of the way inside to slam and lock the door behind her. Bellatrix kisses her rough and deep, dragging Hermione closer by the front of her jacket. Bloody hell, you’d think I would’ve had my fill of her by now, Hermione thinks wildly.

Bellatrix walks her backwards until her back hits the pick up counter. Bellatrix smirks against her mouth, running her hands up to grope Hermione’s breasts. 

“Do you know how often I’ve thought about bending you over this counter and having my way with you?” 

Hermione’s heart beats madly at the visual, but no one, not even Bellatrix Black, could get her to disrespect her place of work like that. Her hands find Bellatrix’s shoulders, stilling her. 

“Bella…” 

Bellatrix steps away from her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes so wild and clouded that Hermione almost reconsiders.

“I know, I know,” Bellatrix says. Hermione recognizes that tone, and she realizes it’s the tone she gets when she’s wet. 

With a shuddering breath, Hermione slips behind the counter and turns on the overhead lighting. Bellatrix moves to come behind the counter with her but Hermione holds up a finger in warning.

“Stay on that side, you deviant,” Hermione says.

Bellatrix laughs, “What, scared you won’t be able to control yourself?”

“Not at all,” Hermione lies, grabbing a cup to make Bellatrix her usual, “Customers simply aren’t allowed on this side.” 

Bellatrix has a shit eating grin on her face. She leans on the counter, bending forward so Hermione can glimpse one of the bruises she left on her. Bellatrix’s smile only grows when she notices. 

“Such a little rule follower, even when it’s just the two of us.”

“I am a rule follower,” Hermione agrees with a firm nod. 

Bellatrix is giving her a filthy look. Hermione can practically feel the depraved thoughts going through her head, and she’s finding it more and more difficult to keep her own thoughts at bay. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Hermione says after a long silence.

“Like what?” Bellatrix asks, the picture of innocence.

“Like you’re thinking about…” Hermione struggles to find the words out here, back in the real world, “About...whatever filthy thing you’re imagining doing to me.” 

“Would you like to know?” Bellatrix asks. Hermione opens her mouth to say no, but the word can’t seem to find it’s way out. Bellatrix continues in her silence, “I’m thinking about how good you look in my button up. I’m thinking about the bruises you’ve oh-so-skillfully covered up with makeup. I’m thinking about what I want to do to you the second I get you alone again...I’m thinking it’ll involve candle wax and a blindfold.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows shoot up at the visual. She looks at Bellatrix, and her eyes flicker to the black tie loosely knotted around her neck for a split second, but it’s enough for the older woman to know exactly where her mind has gone.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet?” 

Hermione doesn't say anything, but she’s pretty sure her underwear is already ruined and it’s not even 6 yet.

“Not feeling talkative? Maybe I’ll use it as a gag instead of a blindfold, teach you to be more vocal.”

Hermione’s lips twitch, “How is gagging me going to make me more vocal?”

Bellatrix shrugs, examining her nails, “I don’t know, maybe it’ll teach you to be more appreciative of being able to speak freely.”

Before she can respond, the click of the lock signals Andromeda’s arrival. Hermione jumps as if she’s doing something wrong, despite Bellatrix being safely on the opposite side of the counter. She straightens, popping the lid onto the completed drink and sliding it across the counter.

Andromeda strolls in, barely sparing them a glance on her way to the office. Hermione sighs in relief. Bellatrix sips her coffee and watches Hermione open the registers with a soft, contemplative look on her face, content to sit in silence with her. When Andromeda re-emerges from her office, she finally affords the two of them an exhausted glance.

“Good morning you two. Hermione, your cat misses you. Will you be home tonight or will I be enduring another night of orange hair in my face as Crooks tries to squeeze into the space between my head and Teds?”

Hermione winces apologetically, “I’ll be back after work.” 

Bellatrix scowls. Andromeda snorts at the expression, coming around the counter to start a pot of coffee.

“Would you like to accompany her, Bella?” Andromeda asks.

Bellatrix looks at Hermione, a flash of uncertainty passing over her expression as she stares expectantly at her. Hermione recognizes the look as the one she uses to silently ask her for approval, and it gives her the same rush of butterflies it has before. 

“I would love that,” Hermione says. Bellatrix returns instantly to her overconfident self, leaning a hip on the counter and shrugging casually at Andy. 

“I suppose,” she says. 

“Good,” Andy says, “It’ll give us a chance to discuss dinner at Narcissa’s.” 

“Sorry?” Bellatrix asks shrilly. 

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you spent the last 32 hours ignoring your phone calls. I’m sure if you check it you’ll see a voicemail inviting you and Hermione to dinner this Friday. It seems my little accident had quite the ripple effect.” 

Bellatrix shifts her weight from foot to foot, glancing anxiously at Hermione. 

“She-she invited me? ” Hermione asks. She feels a dizzying flutter of nerves, intensified by the equally on edge way that Bellatrix is looking at her. 

“I may have twisted her arm. I thought it might be easier for Bella with you there. Or at least it’ll be less...stuffy with Hermione around, don’t you think?” 

Bellatrix looks positively sick, “Andy...I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like a good idea.” 

“She misses us,” Andromeda says, “She misses her family. This will be good for us, for all of us. If you’re worried about Hermione, you know she’ll be alright with the both of us there.” 

“I don’t,” Bellatrix says stubbornly, “I don't know that.” 

Hermione thinks of the youngest Black’s cool gaze and feels a shiver run down her spine. Still, the opportunity to grow closer to Bellatrix, to learn even more about her is presenting itself on a silver platter, and Hermione’s curiosity gets the better of her like it always does. 

“I’ll go,” Hermione says, “It’ll be alright, Bella.” 

Andromeda raises a brow at the nickname and Bellatrix looks at her doubtfully. The alarm bells are going off in her head, but Hermione has never been one to put much stock in gut feelings. 

Everything will be alright.

Chapter Text

Narcissa Malfoy’s house is as extravagant as Bella’s flat on a much larger scale. Hermione wonders if they have more money than Bellatrix, or if the eldest sister just has different priorities. It would make sense, since there is no 24 hour room service in a house. 

Unless they have hired help, Hermione thinks with a shudder. God, she hopes not. 

Once they're past the iron gate, she slows to a stop to take it in, craning her neck. It stands three stories tall, with a tower pointing at the night sky hugging the left side. Topiary hedges and stone statues line the winding pathway to the front of the house, and Bellatrix is only a few steps ahead before she disappears from sight. 

Hermione picks up her pace, jogging after her. She finds her waiting just around the corner, looking back at her with a concerned frown. 

“Nervous?” She asks, holding out a hand for Hermione to take. 

Hermione laces their fingers together and lets Bella tug her forward. 

“Just...feeling a bit overwhelmed. I wasn’t expecting her to live in a bloody manor three times the size of your flat when you employ her husband.” 

Bellatrix chuckles, “With one daughter proving to be a massive disappointment and the other a defiant defect, who do you think my father left his inheritance to?” 

Hermione gapes, offended on Bellatrix’s behalf, “That's horrible! You made a company that’s grown more successful than the one he wanted to force you into and he doesn’t consider you worthy of his legacy?” 

“I appreciate you taking my side against my deceased father but I’m hardly struggling, pet. In the next decade my fortune will outgrow my fathers. I just don’t...I don’t need a house. It’s just me. Cissy and Lucius are flashy. I wouldn’t spend this kind of money on a house for myself alone.” 

Hermione bites her lip and studies Bellatrix’s profile. It’s impossible to keep her mind from going there; what a house with Bellatrix would look like. How big would it be? Hermione would want it to be modest, but she’s sure Bella would talk her into something bigger. Would it just be the two of them and Crooks? Would Bella want another cat, or maybe a very well mannered dog? Would she want…

“Hermione?” Bellatrix asks, gently pulling her from her thoughts, “Are you ready? I think we beat Andy and Ted, so it’ll just be us at first.” 

They’re standing in front of a great green door with a silver snake head as a door knocker. Hermione blinks, trying to clear her mind of thoughts of the future. The thoughts linger as she finds herself wondering how their tastes in interior design would blend, what kind of dog breed Bella would want, if she would prefer a son or a daughter. 

“We can still get out of here,” Bella says in a conspiratorial whisper, “We’ll hit the road, flee the country. They can’t make us come to a family dinner if they can’t find us. Just you, me, Crookshanks and the jag…” 

Hermione snorts. 

“It’s alright. I’m ready.” 

Bellatrix sighs, looking awfully disappointed that Hermione doesn’t want to run away with her. She raps the knocker against the door three times, and after a long moment, a woman dressed in an all black servers uniform answers the door. 

Bloody hell, Hermione thinks, schooling her features into a polite smile. 

“Mister and Mrs. Malfoy are waiting for you in the sitting room. May I take your coats?”

Bellatrix shrugs out of her long black coat in one fluid motion before she moves her hands to the collar of Hermione’s tan coat, gently tugging it down her shoulders and off of her arms. She has no right to make such a simple gesture so sexually charged, but here she is, smiling teasingly down at her in that way that tells her she’s exactly aware of the effect she’s having. 

She passes the coats to the woman who answered the door and Hermione thanks her before she disappears back inside the house. Hermione drags her eyes over Bellatrix’s outfit; the heels that put her an inch taller than Hermione, the green velvet tailored slacks, the matching blazer, and the silk grey shirt beneath it. Hermione feels underdressed, even in the simple red, knee length dress Bellatrix helped her pick out the day before. Bellatrix could be wearing a trash bag and still manage to make Hermione feel inferior, though, so she doesn't dwell on it.

Before they go inside Hermione stops her with a hand on her collarbone. Bellatrix looks at her quietly, letting her slip her fingers beneath the collar of her shirt, tugging it slightly aside. She looks at the bruise she left, having faded to a pale green over the last few days. 

Bellatrix raises a hand to cup the side of Hermione’s neck. She jumps at the contact, despite how gentle she is. She’s kept the bruise covered under some heavy duty makeup, but Bella had done a number on her. The older woman gives her a sheepish smile. 

“Still hurts?” 

Hermione hums her confirmation. Bellatrix moves in closer, dipping her head to kiss the spot apologetically. 

Hermione gets a flash of the way Bellatrix had rocked into her relentlessly, losing herself in the pleasure she got just from fucking her. The way she forgot to restrain herself and sunk her teeth in-

“It’s alright,” Hermione says tightly, “We shouldn't keep them waiting.” 

Bellatrix pulls back to pout at her, “Do we have to?” 

God, she’s like a child resisting the first day of school in her persistent petulance. Hermione loves it though, like she loves everything else about her. She’s learned so much about her just in the last week, and the speed that their relationship is moving at is so jarring when the only thing she has to compare it to is her relationship with Ron. The relationship that had moved so incredibly slowly by her own volition. She needed it to move slowly because every step forward was like pulling teeth. It felt so wrong, only it was Ron, her best friend, her family. Ron, who loved her, who looked at her like the sun shone out of her arse. How could she not push herself, force herself, hoping desperately that one day she’d understand the love songs, the movies, the novels, and understand the way Ginny talked about Harry.  

Now she understands. Bellatrix had infused her with unwilling understanding the moment she stepped foot in Amortentia and uttered those first words at her. That’s correct, and then, Do I look like an assistant to you? 

Hermione has found herself often replaying this moment in her head. The moment Bellatrix pinned her with that look and sent a flood of answers to unasked questions pouring over her. A few words and a look had all of the explanations she’d ever dreamed of breathing down her neck, and for too long she refused to turn around and face them. 

Now she’s here, standing next to her in her sister’s bloody mansion, and she doesn’t know how it happened. How Bellatrix had changed her life in such a short time, swept her off her feet and turned her world on its axis. 

“Yes,” Hermione says, finally, “Be brave.” 

“Bravery has never been my strong suit,” Bellatrix mutters, but follows behind Hermione nonetheless. 

Hermione wholeheartedly disagrees with that statement, but now really isn't the time to get into one of their debates. Narcissa and the man Hermione presumes is her husband are waiting for them, sitting on the burgundy loveseat by the fireplace. 

“There you are,” Narcissa says, rising to greet them. 

Hermione had hoped that her imagination was exaggerating the memory of the ice in Narcissa’s gaze, but the woman’s eyes have her blood freezing over and coming to a sluggish stop in her veins once again. 

“Thank you for having me,” Hermione says, hoping her smile feels polite and not like a grimace. 

“Yes,” Bellatrix slides up next to her, a hand on the small of her back. Her words drip with sarcasm, “I so greatly appreciate you allowing her to tag along, Cissy.” 

Narcissa turns her cold gaze to her sister, “I thought you would appreciate the gesture.” 

Bellatrix is about to say something vile, Hermione is sure of it, when Narcissa’s husband stands next to her and level’s Hermione with a gaze that’s equally as cold, but dripping with judgemental superiority. 

“You must be the little barista I’ve heard so much about. You’ve made quite an unexplainable impression on this family in such a short amount of time, Miss Granger.” 

Hermione finds herself mimicking Bellatrix’s words to Ron when she says, “Have you heard a lot about me? I can’t say the same about you.”

Bellatrix snorts, her hand slipping around her body to rest possessively on her hip. Hermione takes a moment to appreciate the shock flitting across the man’s face before she looks back at the youngest Black. Narcissa looks surprisingly amused, her eyes flitting between her sister and the barista with a newfound sense of understanding. Hermione is the most shocked of anyone in the room; if you’d told her two months ago that she’d be speaking to someone like that, she’d have laughed at the absurdity. But now she gets why Bellatrix speaks to people the way she does. It feels freeing, empowering, to not allow disrespect where it’s undeserved. She used to think that sparring with words was sinking to their level, previously opting to refuse to engage, but now she understands that it’s about self respect. When she tilts her head back to look at Bellatrix, she’s looking down at her with poorly concealed pride. 

“Hermione, this is my husband, Lucius. My son should be joining us shortly.” 

The doorbell punctuates the end of her sentence, and the four of them turn to the doorway to wait for Andy and Ted. Andy shoots Hermione and Bella a smile before she tugs Narcissa into a stiff embrace. Lucius observes them with a guarded air of disinterest, jerked out of it when Ted shoves his hand out for him to shake. 

“You regret coming along, yet?” Bellatrix murmurs in her ear. 

Hermione leans closer to whisper back, “Why would I? They’re exactly what I was expecting. Well, Lucius’s hair is a bit more than what I was visualizing.” 

Bellatrix chuckles, pulling Hermione closer until she’s snug against her side. Hermione breathes in the warm smell of cedarwood and amber, relaxing against her. 

Narcissa departs from the group and Bellatrix watches her go. Hermione reads her expression, gently elbowing her side to get her attention. 

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine.” 

“But-” 

Bellatrix is interrupted by Andromeda, who seemingly materialized at her side, “She’s alright. She has me, don’t you, Hermione?” 

“That’s right,” Hermione agrees with a nod, “Andromeda will keep Lucius from murdering me in your absence.” 

 Bellatrix glowers at the pair of them, unamused at their antics. 

“I’ll be right back,” Bellatrix promises, before walking after Narcissa down the same hall she left through. 

Andromeda lopes an arm through Hermione’s and pulls her over to join Ted and Lucius’s conversation. Ted is his friendly, personable self while Lucius deflects his attempts at familiarity with stiff, short answers. Hermione feigns interest, her mind with her lover, wondering what she was talking about with Narcissa. 

“Granger? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Hermione whips her head around to see Draco fucking Malfoy standing under the archway , and oh my god, how did she not realize it sooner? Her eyes bulge momentarily before she manages to reign in her surprise at seeing that little asshole she knows from school standing in front of her in the most unexpected of situations. She didn’t know him well by any means, but he was in three of her classes last term and had a knack for getting under her skin. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione greets cordially, “I was invited by your mother.”

Draco sneers, and Hermione figures that she didn’t make the connection because she’s been trying to put school out of her mind this summer and give her mind a much needed break. She’d been close to a mental breakdown at the end of the term from how hard she pushed herself. Originally she’d planned on taking summer courses, but Ginny talked her out of it. Thank god she had, or she wouldn’t have been working during the week and she’d have missed Bellatrix entirely. The thought sends a horrified shiver running down her spine. 

The family resemblance is uncanny, Hermione realizes, as Draco stalks towards her, looking ready to throw her out by her hair. 

“Why would my mother invite you ? She’s not keen on charity cases, and that’s the only explanation I can think of for inviting a piece of dressed up trailer trash over.” 

“Careful, little nephew” warns Bellatrix’s voice from behind her. Hermione feels her hands creeping around her waist as Bellatrix presses her front to Hermione’s back, resting her chin on her shoulder. Hermine takes great pleasure in the smug look on Draco’s face melting into horror, “Speak to her like that again and I’ll take your daddy’s Christmas bonus away.” 

Bellatrix chuckles at her own joke as Draco pales. Hermione forces her expression to remal neutral despite sharing Bellatrix's amusement. 

“Draco, be respectful of our guests,” Narcissa says. 

Hermione relaxes and Bellatrix presses a gentle kiss to her jaw. Draco is watching them with a mixture of confusion and disgust, which of course only provokes Bella to further action. 

“Sorry, pet,” Bellatrix murmurs in her ear, quiet enough for only her to hear, “I suppose I could’ve warned you that Draco goes to Cambridge, too. In my defense, my mind is far from my family when we’re together.” 

The conversation resumes around them, but Draco is still watching them with a scowl and the shift in Bellatrix’s tone sends a flood of heat between her legs. 

“It just never occurred to me,” Bellatrix continues in that low, tantalizing tone, her lips brushing against her ear, “All I think about when I’m with you is getting your clothes off, pushing my fingers inside you, feeling you gush around them…” 

Hermione grinds her teeth and clenches her thighs together against the pooling heat. She hates the way Bellatrix plays her body like a fiddle, eliciting a biological reaction without lifting a finger. 

Only she doesn’t hate it at all. She can’t deny her pleasure in the rising flush and the surge of power she feels when Draco’s scowl turns to fascination, then a pale blush as he averts his eyes. 

Being presented with dinner by a server at Narcissa’s dining table is enough to make Hermione’s remaining arousal vanish. Bellatrix is seated next to her, a glass of whisky in hand and a bored expression on her face as her sisters make polite small talk. Hermione is looking between Draco and his mother, still shocked that she hadn’t recognized the name Malfoy. She’s becoming increasingly concerned that her overpowering hormones in Bellatrix’s presence have begun to rot her brain. 

“Have you decided what courses you’ll be taking next term, darling?” Narcissa asks, turning her attention to her son. 

Hermione perks up to listen to his answer so she can be sure to avoid taking the same classes if she can. 

Draco gives a disinterested shrug, “Anything Granger isn’t in is fine by me.” 

“Funny, I was just thinking the same,” Hermione says, “Perhaps we ought to coordinate on that.” 

Draco actually huffs out a laugh at that, raising his glass in her direction, “Finally something we agree on.” 

“I didn’t realize the two of you were rivals,” Narcissa says, her eyes glimmering as she watches their interaction. 

Bellatrix scoffs, “Draco couldn’t rival Hermione even if he actually put in half the effort he claims he does.” 

“Bellatrix! That is your nephew you’re rooting against!” Narcissa chides. 

Bellatrix drapes an arm over the back of Hermione’s chair and smirks at her sister, “Not rooting against, simply stating a fact. Hermione’s sharp and driven. I doubt Draco is a blip on her radar.”

Draco glares at his aunt. Hermione flushes hotly at Bellatrix’s compliment, and she remembers what Bellatrix said about her having a praise kink. 

Do not think about that right now. 

Hermione chances a glance at the older woman, who’s smirking knowingly at her. 

Damn her. 

The doorbell rings, cutting through the pause in their conversation. Narcissa, giving a befuddled “excuse me”, rises and leaves the room to see who it is. 

A minute later, the sound of an unfamiliar woman’s voice drifts into the dining room. Hermione frowns, turning to look at the doorway. She’s distracted by the look on Bellatrix’s face; stark white and terrified. 

“Bella?” Hermione asks, reaching for her hand. 

Her skin is cold to the touch, and she jerks it away before Hermione can hold onto it. That sinking feeling of dread is back, and Hermoine is beginning to rethink her stance on the validity of gut feelings. 

“Draco, go to your room,” Lucius says abruptly. 

Draco straightens, annoyed, “What? I-” 

“Now,” Lucius says, leaving no room for argument.

Draco sighs loudly, rolling his eyes so hard his head lulls back. He shoves his chair back with a loud scrape across the floor and sulks out of the room. 

Bellatrix looks at Andy, her eyes helpless and frantic. She finds Andy, looking back at her with equal amounts of anxiety. Even Lucius and Ted look tense. 

Andy’s gaze flicks between Bellatrix, Hermione, and the door like there’s a car accident about to occur and she can’t work out how to prevent it. Hermione wipes her sweaty hands on her dress before balling them into fists, the nails biting into her palms. 

“Hermione,” Andy begins hesitantly, “Maybe we should-” 

Andromeda is halfway out of her seat when the door slams open, making the silverware rattle and the seated guests jerk in surprise. Andromeda freezes, slowly lowering herself back into her chair as she looks at the person who’s just entered the room. Hermione follows her gaze to see an older woman, dressed in an expensive silk dress, with greying brown hair piled on her head and sprayed solidly into place. She’s almost hawk-like in the way she surveys the room, eyes so dark that they look black from where Hermione’s sitting, but with Narcissa’s cold lack of emotion. 

Narcissa hurries back into the room a moment later, looking frantic and disheveled. She looks between her sisters before her gaze briefly connects with Hermione’s, and the fear and guilt on her face has the dread spreading throughout Hermione’s body. 

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa begins, licking her lips and smoothing her hair down, “I just mentioned it to her, I never would’ve…” 

“Invited me?” The woman asks, her voice sharp and unpleasant as a whip, “I know you wouldn't have, which is why I took the incentive and invited myself. It’s my money that paid for this house, isn’t it? My womb that you three ungrateful brats sprung from. I should have access to you whenever I damn well please.” 

Hermione’s stomach plummets through the floor, understanding hitting her like a train. She doesn’t know much about Druella Black, but if the childlike fear and submission mirrored on each sister’s face is any indication, her appearance is very bad news. Bellatrix is looking at her now, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. She looks so young at this moment, vulnerable and afraid. Hermione aches to wrap her in a hug and squeeze her fracturing pieces back together, but then Druella is speaking again. 

“It’s a shame that this is what I have to resort to just to see my own flesh and blood. Really, Bellatrix, how long has it been since I’ve seen you? Ten years? Even longer since I’ve seen you, Andromeda. I hear I’m a great grandmother now. Thank you kindly for the news,” she drawls cruelly, sarcastically. 

Bellatrix has sunken further into the chair, trying to make herself as small as possible. Andromeda is completely frozen, staring straight ahead of her like she’s disassociated from her body. 

“And you,” Druella says, turning her piercing gaze to Hermione, “Who are you?” 

Acidic bile churns in Hermione’s stomach as she wonders how to answer. She shouldn’t be afraid of this woman, she tells herself. The evil old bitch may terrify her daughters, but Hermione is not her daughter and her opinion of her doesn’t matter. 

“Someone who was invited,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix whips her head around to look at her with shock and Hermione feels a bout of uncertainty. 

A shadow passes over Druella’s face at the words, and she rounds the table so she’s standing behind Andromeda and facing Hermione dead on. She looks between her eldest daughter and Hermione, the gears turning.

“Hermione,” Bellatrix says quietly, her voice a strangled warning. 

“I see,” Druella says, finally, “I’ve heard stories of your conquests, Bella, and I remember quite a bit of them from the years before you cut me off. I wish I could say that it’s a pleasure to meet one of them, but I must say it’s rather disappointing to see how low your standards are.” 

Fire burns in Hermione’s gaze as she straightens in her seat. How dare this woman speak to her like this? 

“I am not a conquest,” Hermione says, her palms stinging as her nails press further in. 

Druella looks deeply amused by this, “No? Did she not single you out, make you feel like the most important person in the world, win you over until she became the most important person in your life? That's what she does, she makes herself feel important because she never felt like she mattered to her father and I. And then, after a few good fucks, when she’s good and bored, she flees. She wants to feel important, desired, needed, not loved. I know my daughter.” 

“You don’t know anything about her anymore,” Hermione says, even though bile is rising in her throat as her stomach turns over and over, “You said it yourself, you haven’t seen her in ten years.” 

“You think you know her better than I do?” Druella laughs, “I’d reckon you haven’t been in her life longer than a month.” 

“It’s been longer than that,” Hermione says, feeling ridiculous at having to justify her importance, “A month and a half.” 

Hermione wishes for the first time that someone would come to her defense. She looks at Bellatrix, expecting reassurance, anger, anything, but her arms are wrapped around herself and she’s staring resolutely at the half eaten plate in front of her. 

“My, my, you must’ve resisted her for longer than they normally do in that case. Honestly, Bella, this is the one you bring around family? This mediocre, young little scrap of a girl? I thought even you were capable of better.” 

Bellatrix is still silent, the only change in her expression the knitting of her brow. 

“Mother,” Andromeda says, her voice tense and clipped, “Hermione is my...friend. It is not appropriate for you to speak of her that way.” 

Druella peers down at Andromeda, her sneer returning as if she’s just noticed dog shit on her shoe, “Coming to her defense? She must be awfully important to you, too. Really, Andromeda, I never would’ve taken you as one to step out of your marriage for a naive little girl. She must be quite the lay to have enchanted the both of you so thoroughly. It shouldn’t surprise me that you’d betray your husband, since you betrayed your first family so readily.” 

Andromeda blushes for the first time that Hermione has ever seen. She takes a deep breath, doing her best not to empty her stomach on the table in front of her. 

“Just because I’m defending her doesn't mean...to even suggest that I would-she’s my employee, for god's sake-”

Druella cackles, a dead ringer for Bellatrix, “Your employee? That’s rich. Bellatrix has graduated from her assistant to her barista. At least this one isn’t a lawsuit waiting to happen.” 

Hermione’s mind spins at the revelation. Surely she doesn't mean Pansy. Bellatrix would’ve told her, or Pansy would’ve let on. Right? The statement is enough to finally snap Bellatrix out of her stupor as she whips her head around to look at Narcissa. 

“How much do you fucking tell her about me?” She hisses, furious. 

Narcissa is trembling, lingering at the doorway. Hermione has never seen three adult women so completely reduced to a childlike state, and she wonders what kind of trauma they must’ve endured at the hands of this woman for her to elicit such a reaction. 

“I-I-” Narcissa is at a loss for how to respond, flinching under Bellatrix’s incensed and betrayed expression. 

“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” Bellatrix spits, her face twisting in disgust. She slumps back in her seat, never once acknowledging her mother. 

“Don’t blame her,” Druella says, “She’s the only one of you who isn’t a total disappointment. The only one who hasn’t failed me. She’s not the one who goes around fucking barely legal girls to feel better about herself. Honestly, Bella, your lifestyle is such a disgrace. You’re such a stain on this family’s legacy that your fathers heart gave out to spare him the pain of continuing to hear about your disgusting activities. When you three were growing up I never would’ve imagined you’d fail us so completely.” 

Hermione wants to say something, but she can’t find the words. She can’t do anything but breathe through her nausea and force her mind away from thoughts of Bellatrix’s hands sliding over Pansy’s body, through her hair, between her legs-

“I wish it had been you who ran away instead of Andy,” Druella spits. Tears slide down Bellatrix’s cheeks and her mother smiles triumphantly, her eyes glittering as she further twists the knife, “We’d all be better off. Your father would still be here, this family wouldn’t have fallen apart.” 

“That’s quite enough,” Ted says, looking as deeply disgusted as Hermione feels, “Did you only come here to berate your daughters? If you want a place in our family, this is a shit way of showing it-” 

“Our family? The only reason you’re here is because you impregnated my daughter with that mistake and she was too soft to get it aborted.” 

The entire table seems to tense at the same time, but it’s Ted who rises from his chair and bellows, “Enough . You have no right to speak to anyone this way. The only disgrace to this family is you Druella. No one wants you here, no one asked you to be here. What kind of a sick woman speaks to her flesh and blood this way? You’re an embarrassment.” 

Druella looks stunned, as if Ted had reached over Andromeda’s chair and slapped her in the face. Hermione’s impressed that he manages to be intimidating despite his one casted arm and his dorky sweater vest. 

“How dare you speak to me this way? I’m the matriarch of this family, none of you would be sitting here if it weren’t for me. I’m entitled to an invite to dinner with the family I created.” 

“I don’t give a damn who you are. Look around at what you’ve done to everyone sitting here. I will not sit here and listen to you speak to my wife, Miss Granger, or my sister in law this way for another bloody second. You will leave immediately, or Lucius and I will physically remove you.” 

Lucius takes one look at his wife, who is rooted to her spot by the door and hugging her body while it’s wracked with silent sobs, and rises from his chair. 

“Unbelievable,” Druella says, sneering at Lucius, “After everything I’ve done for you. This house was paid for with my money, if you think I won’t go to court and contest the will-”

“This house was paid for with Cygnus’s money and my own, not yours,” Lucius says gently, “I feel that you and I have maintained a civil relationship but your behavior in my home this evening is not acceptable. Narcissa did not invite you, and perhaps you will be welcomed back when your other daughters are not present if you leave now.” 

“You think you have a right to threaten me? In defense of who, your sensitive little sister in law? Or is it for Bellatrix, who would disrespect your home by bringing her defiant little whore-”

Bellatrix snaps into motion, standing and hurling her glass across the room so it shatters against the wall. 

“Leave,” Bellatrix screams. 

Hermione flinches and a tremor wracks her body as it courses with adrenaline. Bellatrix is panting, her shoulders shaking with rage as she stares her mother down. Druella falters, looking almost afraid, before she smooths her skirt and turns towards the door. She leaves without a word, casting one final look at Narcissa on her way out. 

Everyone stays frozen in place once Druella has finally left. No one moves a muscle until they hear the sound of the front door opening and shutting, signaling her departure. 

Hermione’s shoulders ache with the tension she’d been holding in them throughout the entire interaction. She relaxes back in her chair, staring down at her lap as she reels from what’s just transpired. Selfishly, she’s stuck on the thought of Bellatrix with her assistant and whether or not it’s the same assistant she’s just hired back. What if it was still going on? It’s only you, Bellatrix had promised. But Druella was right, she hasn’t known Bella long. How does she know how honest she really is? 

She envies Draco. She wishes that she could’ve been sent away before all hell broke loose. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Ted asks, placing a hand on Andromeda’s shoulder. 

Andromeda is quietly staring at her hands. After a moment she looks up and gives him a weak smile, “Not really, but I will be. Bella?”

Bellatrix hasn’t moved. She’s still standing, her hands trembling at her sides, chest heaving as she stares at the spot where her glass shattered. She doesn’t react at all to Andromeda’s words, and her gaze is very far away. 

“Bella,” Narcissa says, her voice high and fragile, “I didn’t know she’d come, I promise. I mentioned the dinner in passing, I haven’t even seen her in months-” 

Narcissa stops when Bellatrix turns and leaves wordlessly. She goes a different direction than the door, Hermione thinks with a small measure of relief. At least she isn’t abandoning her here. 

“I believe you, Cissy,” Andy says. Hermione distantly registers a deepening admiration for Andromeda at the way she’s providing comfort even in her state of exhaustion. “I’ll go after her.” 

Hermione rises out of her seat, more out of instinct than any real certainty that she wants to follow. She hasn’t settled on a feeling regarding Bellatrix quite yet. She wants to go after her, but she also has a ton of information to process that’s just been dropped on her. She ends up not needing to make a decision. 

“Don’t,” Andy says, holding up a hand, “You’re not prepared to be around her for this.” 

Concern sinks into Hermione’s gut at the words, but she makes no move to follow Andy when she leaves. She shifts uncomfortably on her feet as she tries to decide what to do with herself. She can’t stand to sit here in tense silence and think about Druella’s cruel words. Finally, she looks at Narcissa. 

“Would you like help cleaning up?” 

Narcissa looks a bit disarmed, but gives her a stilted nod. 

Hermione finds her way to the kitchen, happy to leave her thoughts behind in the tense dining room. She takes her time rummaging in the cupboards, searching for a dustpan. She eventually finds it, and returns to the dining room with a marginally clearer head. Andromeda and Bellatrix are still nowhere to be seen, but Narcissa is gathering the plates of half eaten food while Ted attempts to engage Lucius in a chat about football. 

Hermione cleans up the remnants of the shattered glass sharing occasional cordial looks with Narcissa. She can’t fight the sympathy she feels, especially when she considers how composed Narcissa typically came off as opposed to the defeated slump in her shoulders she currently carries. Narcissa is casting periodic glances towards the doorway her sisters disappeared to, anxiety written all over her face. 

After emptying the pan into the garbage, Hermione wanders back into the sitting area to try to occupy herself while she waits for Bellatrix. Her mind continuously assaults her with images of the broken look on Bellatrix’s face as her mother verbally assaulted her. The longer she’s gone the more the anxious churning grows, until Hermione begins to pace in front of the fireplace. 

There’s a flicker of movement by the entrance to the room, and Hermione whips around, hoping it’s Bellatrix. Her shoulders slump when she sees it’s only Draco, lingering awkwardly at the edge of the room. 

“Sorry, didn’t know you were in here,” he says. He turns to leave. 

“Draco,” Hermione says. He stops, turning back around to face her. Hermione turns the words she wants to say over in her head for a moment, deliberating on if the answer she wants is worth the embarrassment of asking, “Do you think she’s using me? You’re about the only person I know who’ll give me a completely honest answer without sugarcoating it, I hope.” 

Draco’s eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but at Hermione. “Um…” He begins, visibly embarrassed, “I think...it’s hard to say for certain. Aunty Bella isn’t exactly the easiest to read.” 

Hermione flushes at his use of Aunty Bella, and she’s suddenly a lot more sympathetic for how strange and embarrassing this must be for him. She waits in silence, hoping he’ll say more. 

“If I had to guess, I’d say she cares for you more than she has the others. She looks at you strangely, unlike anything I’ve seen from her before. Sort of like the fond way she looks at mum, but more intense...possessive,” he adds, pink stinging his cheeks. 

It’s hard not to feel a bit disappointed by his answer. Fond and possessive weren’t quite the words she was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing. She feels ridiculous at her line of questioning after everything she’s been through with Bella, but the bombshell about the assistant has her doubting everything. It makes her wonder if she should be concerned that Bellatrix could be intentionally targeting women who she preserves as inferior to her in some way. 

“Has she ever brought women around the family before?” Hermione asks. 

Draco gives a small shrug, shoving his hands in his pockets and rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he considers his answer, “There was one other. An assistant, I think, a year or so back. She came round the house to get something from mum. Aunt Bella wasn’t with her, she only sent her, but I remember mum making a comment about her being the flavor of the month. That’s the only instance I can think of,” 

“What was her name?” Hermione presses. Maybe it shouldn’t matter as much as it does, but if it’s Pansy…

“Something odd,” Draco says, “Some kind of flower, I think. Poppy or something.” 

Heat flares through Hermione’s chest at the words. “Pansy,” she says. 

“Yeah, that was it,” Draco says. 

Jealousy and betrayal course through her with so much force that it’s almost blinding. She knows that Pansy was Bellatrix’s assistant for years before she got sacked, and Bellatrix had brought her back after she and Hermione were growing serious about each other. If she was everything Hermione thought she was, then why on earth would she do something like that? 

Why did it have to be Pansy fucking Parkinson of all people? Hermione had noticed on multiple occasions how beautiful she was, effortlessly so, with no shortage of envy. Even now, Bellatrix goes to work every day and spends hours holed up in that office with her, with those blinds that close and that door that locks. She’d imagined Bellatrix bending her over that desk, and now that image has been replaced with fucking Pansy, bent over and presenting herself-

Fuck, it hurts. Why does it hurt so much? 

“Sorry, Granger,” Draco says with a grimase, clearly able to read the expression on her face, “I didn’t say it to hurt you. I don’t think it’s still going on. Pretty sure it’s been over for awhile.” 

Only it’s not. Pansy is still very much in her life, perhaps more thoroughly than Hermione herself is. Pansy, with her long legs and her perfect sense of style and her shiny, neat hair…

“I should...I’m just going to find her and have her take me home,” Hermione says, “Running into you turned out to be one of the better parts of the evening, Draco. Thank you.” 

Draco nods, pity in his eyes as Hermione brushes past him to look for Bellatrix. 

“I heard them in a guest bedroom upstairs,” Draco calls after her. 

Hermione pauses, turning on her heel to head through a different hall towards the stairs. She creeps up them, keeping an ear out for the sisters. Her heart races as she wonders how Bellatrix is doing. Despite how hurt she is, she can’t get the image of Bellatrix with tears running down her face while she made herself as small as possible out of her mind. Towards the end of the hall, she hears voices coming from one of the last doors on the right. Hermione hesitates, wondering if she should knock. She decides to gently creak the door open, noting that the quiet conversation stops abruptly. 

Bellatrix is sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, and Andromeda is kneeling on the floor in front of her with a hand on her knee. Tears stain both sister’s cheeks, and Hermione feels she’s just interrupted something very private. 

She molds herself to the doorframe, very unsure of herself in the situation she’s just walked into. Andy whips her head up to look at her, and Hermione wonders if the concern on her face is for her or Bellatrix. 

“Get her out,” Bellatrix says quietly. 

Andy hesitates and Hermione steps forward. 

“Bella, what? I just wanted to see if you were-” 

“I said get her out!” Bellatrix repeats, her voice hoarse. 

Seeing the state she’s in makes her forget about Pansy for a moment, it even makes her forget about her own sense of self preservation as she steps farther into the room. Andromeda is standing in front of her now, her hands on Hermione’s shoulders as she tries to stop her from coming any closer. 

“Hermione, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here right now,” Andromeda says. 

Hermione doesn’t take her eyes off Bellatrix, who is curling and uncurling her fists in her lap and refusing to look at her. 

“Please, Andy, I need to make sure she’s okay...I need to be with her.” 

Andy sighs, all of the pain and stress of the evening poured into the sound. “You haven’t been around her like this.” 

Hermione tears her eyes away from Bellatrix to look pleadingly at Andromeda, “If I’m going to be in her life, I’ll be around her like this sooner or later, right? Please just give us a minute.” 

Andromeda’s resolve wavers. She glances back at her sister, who’s now shaking her head back and forth and bouncing her leg. When she looks back at Hermione, her eyes are soft and worried. 

“Just...I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything, all right?” 

Hermione nods, and Andromeda heaves another sigh before leaving the two of them alone. The room is silent for a moment, Bella’s eyes downcast and Hermione frozen near the door, trying to decide what to say. The selfish part of her wants to come right out and ask her about Pansy, but the dominant part of her just wants to know if she’s alright. 

“Bella? I’m-I just needed to see that you’re okay,” Hermione begins, taking a few hesitant steps towards her. Bellatrix doesn’t move a muscle as Hermione approaches. She’s briefly reminded of scenes in horror flicks when someone touches the shoulder of a seemingly innocent person who then turns around to devour them. 

That’s ridiculous, she tells herself as her fingers brush Bellatrix’s shoulders, See? No devouring. 

“I’m here for you, if you want to talk about anything,” Hermione ventures. Bellatrix’s shoulders are tense to the touch. 

Bellatrix finally turns to look at her, and when she does Hermione’s hands immediately fall away and she steps backwards. This is not the Bellatrix she’s come to know and even started to fall for. This is someone entirely different. Someone almost unrecognizable. 

Bellatrix is cold, expressionless, the soft undercurrent in her eyes that Hermione has come to know and love is gone, frozen over. She stands up and approaches her, the tears dry on her cheeks, and twists her face into a sneer. 

“How many different ways do I need to say I don’t want you here? Aren’t you satisfied that after all your pushing to come along to this hellish dinner you finally got what you wanted? Have you learned so much about me now that you’ve seen me fall apart?”

All of the churning, conflicting emotions Hermione was feeling leave her completely, until she feels like a shell of a human being. She’s frozen, unable to do anything but let Bellatrix into her space as she begins to methodically pick apart her insecurities. Her breath catches, and Bellatrix sees her weakness and goes in for the kill.

Bellatrix continues, her voice flat, “I never should’ve let you come along. You think you’re special to me, Hermione? Did you think you could fix me? This stupid fucking game has gone on long enough. You were fun while it lasted, a mildly interesting distraction. Do you really think I could fall in love with you? I saw you in that coffee shop, a confused little straight girl with insecurities written all over your face, and I decided to fuck with you.” 

Hermione knows what this is. She knows Bella is lying, pushing her away like she did Andromeda. She steels herself, remembering Bella saying she has a talent for it. It’s clearly true, because her gaze is so unflinching, her voice so devoid of emotion that it shakes her to her core. 

“Years ago, a girl named Ali used me as a plaything. She used me as a fun little toy to explore her sexuality with, and when she was done, she left me to settle down with a man. It was fucking humiliating, but even I had to admire her callousness. I envied it, even. I wanted to see if I could do it, too. I thought it might make me feel better. And then I met you, and you were so confused and easy to rile up.” 

Hermione steps away from her, hitting her shoulder on the doorframe. She can’t stand the sight of her, cold and callous. She can’t stand the smell of her, warm and familiar. 

“You think you’re so bloody smart just because you go to Cambridge. You’re not. You’re nothing but a gullible, naive little idiot that I manipulated with the slightest bit of attention. Maybe if your daddy gave you a little more love you wouldn’t-” 

The second Bellatrix mentions her father Hermione sees red. She doesn’t think. Pain flares in her chest and her hand flies towards Bella’s face to slap her. Bellatrix snatches her wrist before she can make contact and she fucking laughs. 

“Idiotic and slow,” she taunts. 

“Beats being a coward,” Hermione hisses, refusing to let the tears burning behind her eyes fall. There’s a flash of emotion on Bellatrix’s face, and Hermione presses down on the sore spot like a bruise, “Because that’s what you are. That’s what this is. You...you prey on people that you deem inferior because we’re what, easy targets? All because you’re scared of getting hurt again, and this is the safe option. How could the great Bellatrix Black fall for a measly barista, right? Only you’ve found that isn’t all I am. I will not roll over and let you do this to me. I am not going to let you talk to me like this and stick around for more.” 

Bellatrix’s expression twitches, the mask flickering as real fear shines in her eyes for the briefest moment before she smothers it again. Bellatrix is still grasping her wrist in a crushing grip, hard enough to bruise. The physical pain is enough to keep Hermione grounded, to keep talking despite how badly she wants to fall apart. 

“If you want an adult relationship with me, then you need to start acting like an adult and show some goddamn consistency. I am not your punching bag, Bellatrix. I came here to check on you despite finding out that you’ve hired back someone you used to shag. I put my feelings aside because I was worried about you, because I-because I care. And you can’t even bother to show me some basic respect. Until you can rectify that, and I truly don’t know if you can, I’m done.” 

Bellatrix’s eyes widen slightly, and her grip tightens on Hermione’s wrist enough to make her wince. 

“Done?” She asks, her voice a disbelieving hiss. 

Hermione wants to believe it so badly when she responds, “Done.”

She pulls her wrist away and leaves Bellatrix standing there, shell shocked and staring after her. She barrels past Andromeda, who evidently hadn’t heard a thing, because she calls after her in bewilderment. 

Hermione ignores her. She runs through the house and straight out the front door, abandoning her coat and shivering against the night air. She fishes her phone out and calls Ginny. 

“Hermione? Are you okay?” Ginny asks, her voice raspy like she’s been sleeping. 

Shit. She has the opening shift tomorrow which means she was probably asleep early. 

“Gin-Shit, I’m sorry. Just go back to sleep, I’ll be fine,” Hermione says, but the tears are finally starting to fall and it’s showing in her voice. 

“No way. Tell me what’s going on. What can I do?” Ginny says, sounding much more awake already. 

Hermione’s reached the end of Narcissa’s long driveway and is now walking in the direction of the nearest highway, the night uncomfortably silent around her. 

“Can I...do you think you could pick me up? I’m walking down some random off road right now and I dont...I can’t be around this family right now, so I don’t know what to do and I-” 

A sob tears its way out of her. Now that the tears are falling she can’t keep it together a moment longer. The dark street in front of her blurs and Hermione wavers, squinting at the street sign to try and determine her location.

She hears some rusling on the other end, then the sound of keys jingling, “Just drop me your location. I’m on my way.” 

An hour later Hermione finds herself wrapped in a blanket, dressed in a pair of Ginny’s pajamas, a glass of boxed Rose in hand and an old episode of Killing Eve on. Ginny’s next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she cries into her wine. 

“You were right all along. I feel like such an idiot,” Hermione says, choking back a sob with another sip. 

Ginny takes the wine out of her hand and leans over to the coffee table where the box is sitting to refill it, pressing it back into Hermione’s hands. Hermione tilts her head back and takes another long sip. She’s not normally one to drink her troubles away, but tonight she’ll make an exception. 

“As much as I love to be right,” Ginny says, refilling her own glass next, “I don’t know if that’s the case. Didn’t you say you thought she was lying when she said all that terrible shit to you?” 

“It’s not about whether or not she meant what she said. It’s the way she said it. She had all of those terrible things ready, and she delivered them so eagerly. She’s thought these things about me before. She had the ammunition ready just to hurt me. And fucking Pansy.”

“Fucking Pansy,” Ginny agrees, nodding sagely. 

Hermione sobs. 

“Fucked up is what that is. I did not need that image rattling around in my head,” Ginny shudders and resumes her rubbing of Hermione’s back with exuberant sympathy. 

Hermione nods in agreement. If Bellatrix had told her, then it wouldn’t have looked so suspicious now that she’s hired her back. And now that Hermione’s ended it, she’ll probably crawl right back into bed with her. Or back onto her desk, or wherever places they liked to fuck. Hermione smothers the thought with more wine. 

There’s a knock at their door and Hermione shoots Ginny a confused look. 

“I invited Harry. Thought you could use the extra support. Plus he misses the shit out of you.” 

Hermione sniffles, wiping her face with her sleeve while Ginny gets up to let him in. Harry brushes by her and gives Hermione a sad smile, coming to plop down next to her. A moment after he’s entered, Ron shuffles in. Ginny throws her hands up in exasperation and whips back around to give Hermione an apologetic look. 

“I did not invite him. Bloody hell, what’s with the uninvited guests tonight?” Ginny says, shoving Ron’s shoulder. 

“I was sitting next to Harry when you texted. I just wanted to see if you were okay, ‘Mione.”

Hermione sniffles again, somewhat obnoxiously this time, prompting Harry to grab her a tissue from the end table next to him and hand it to her. She takes it gratefully, blowing her nose before answering Ron. 

“I’m glad you came,” she says, and Ron’s face relaxes into a relieved smile. 

“Good,” He says, “Now, are we going to go egg Bellatrix’s office or what? Because I’ve been fantasizing about that for awhile and it seems like this is my opportunity.” 

Hermione laughs, smiling for the first time in hours. Ron has that way of making the load on her shoulders incredibly lighter and easier to carry, and god she missed him. Ginny comes to sit next to her again and Ron sits cross legged on the floor in front of her, resting an elbow on the coffee table. 

“I just got so swept up in it,” Hermione says, “It happened so fast, and suddenly everything I was confused about in my life started to make sense and I...Ron I’m so sorry for the way I acted.” 

Ron shrugs, but the expression on his face shows how much he’s still hurting, “I can’t really say I understand but I’m trying. You’re still who you’ve always been and I...well you know I’ll always love you.” 

Ron’s cheeks have turned a ruddy color and Hermione nudges his thigh with her foot, “Thank you, Ronald.” 

“Did you love her?” Harry asks. He drapes his arm over the back of the couch and Hermione sighs and settles into his side, swirling the wine around in her glass and watching the liquid drip back down. 

“It was too early to say for sure but...I think I was starting to. I really could’ve.” 

“She’s a fool for blowing it,” Ron says, staring at his lap. 

Hermione is too stuck thinking about waking up to Bellatrix’s soft eyes and how she may never get to again to really hear him. 

“Maybe she’ll wise up and get her shit together,” Harry says, “You’re a hell of a catch. If she’s got half a brain she’ll realize her mistake pretty quick.” 

Hermione shrugs, flipping her phone over in her lap to check for any unread messages No one’s reached out since Andy, checking to make sure she was somewhere safe. She’d half been hoping that Bellatrix would’ve followed her out, driven after her, or at least been blowing up her phone. 

Ginny becomes distracted by Villanelle committing a violent homicide on screen, and Hermione follows her gaze and finds it easy to let herself get sucked into the show. The four friends fall back into a familiar rhythm, letting the topic of Bellatrix slip into the past in favor of catching up and drinking well into the night. 

At some point, Hermione joins Ron on the floor and Ginny lays down to rest her head in Harry’s lap. He plays with her hair until she falls asleep around midnight, and it’s not long before he tilts his head back against the couch and falls asleep with her. 

It’s well past 1am when Ron falls asleep with his head against the couch and his legs stretched out in front of him, snoring quietly. Hermione is the last to fall asleep, laying down on the floor with her phone cradled against her chest and her feet tucked under Ron’s thigh. She’s lulled to sleep by the sound of his snoring, but her chest still aches with heartbreak until the moment she’s unconscious. 

She’s not sure what time it is when she’s woken up by her phone buzzing. She jerks awake, a sharp pain in her head, and looks up to see that Harry and Ginny are gone, and Ron has taken their spot on the couch. Someone had thrown a blanket over her in the night, and shoves it back to fish her phone out from where it’s fallen. 

The name Bella is lit up on her screen. 

Hermione blinks at it deliriously, and before she can decide what to do it stops. Then, it starts again. Hermione almost cries just from looking at the photo she’d chosen for Bellatrix’s number, one she’d taken while they were out shopping. She’s wearing her round sunglasses, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head and she’s sticking her tongue out at her. She stares at it until the buzzing stops again. She has a second to see that the time reads 3:07am before Bellatrix is calling her for a third time. 

Hermione sighs and presses her fingers to her temple to stave off the throbbing. She stands up to pad into the kitchen and puts some distance between her and Ron before she picks up the call. 

“Hermione?” Bellatrix asks, and shit , she could fall apart just from the vulnerability in the way she says her name. “Hermione, if you’re there...I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up. I know I fucked up.” 

Hermione can’t bring herself to say anything. Emotion is welling up in her chest and climbing up her throat just at the sound of her voice. She lets out a slow, shuddering breath and hears Bellatrix’s breath catch. 

“I can hear you,” Bellatrix says, her voice thick with tears, “I’m outside. Of Ginny’s. I tried Andy’s already and when you weren’t there I Ubered here. Can you come to the door?” 

Hermione blinks, and leans over the kitchen sink to peek out of the curtains. Sure enough, she can see Bellatrix’s silhouette in front of the door. If she wasn't so head over heels for her this would probably be a lot more creepy, but Hermione just feels…

She doesn’t know what she feels. Fuck, why does Bellatrix have to be so confusing? She sighs and disconnects the call, walking quietly over to the door. She shoots Ron a glance to make sure he’s still deeply asleep before she cracks the door open. 

The sight of Bellatrix knocks the wind out of her. Her cheeks are wet, her eyes wild and bloodshot and desperate. She’s wearing the same thing as she was when Hermione last saw her, only minus the blazer and the shirt is untucked and unbuttoned at the top. She swallows the urge to step into her arms and tell her that everything is going to be okay. 

Remember what she said to you. Hermione reminds herself, “You’re nothing but a gullible, naive little idiot that I manipulated with the slightest bit of attention.” 

“Hermione?” Bellatrix says, fresh tears falling from her eyes. 

Hermione fights her own tears that threaten to fall at the sight of her and forces her voice to be steady, “Yes?” 

Bellatrix steps closer, a little unsteady, and bloody hell she reeks of whisky. 

“I’m sorry,” Bellatrix says, looking at her with shining, pleading eyes. 

Remember what she said about your father. The way she used that against you so quickly after you opened up to her. 

Hermione shakes her head and swallows the lump in her throat, “It’s not good enough. Go home, Bellatrix. You’re sloshed.”

Bellatrix sets her jaw and shakes her head, taking another step forward until Hermione feels like she could get drunk again from the smell of whisky leaking from her pores. 

“I-I don’t want to. I need you,” Bellatrix says, and maybe the words would’ve been more impactful if she hadn’t slurred them. 

Hermione feels warmth at her back suddenly, and Bellatrix’s face falls. 

“She said go home, mate,” Ron’s sleepy, irritated voice says from behind her. 

Hermione has never seen Bellatrix look so utterly devastated. The sight makes her stomach roll with an intense bout of nausea, as Bellatrix sways unsteadily on her feet and looks between her and Ron. Hermione can see the thoughts playing out across her face. She thinks about how Bellatrix called her a naive little straight girl and wishes she could appreciate the poetic justice. 

She doesn’t take any pleasure in it. In fact, she’s pretty sure the heartbroken, betrayed expression on Bellatrix’s face will haunt her for the rest of her days. 

Ron slams the door in her face.

Chapter Text

Hermione fucking Granger.

Bellatrix curses the girl for the tenth time that morning. Because of her, she’s getting her coffee from the shit place across the street from work, which yes, is admittedly much more convenient. It doesn’t matter though, because every time Pansy brings it to her it’s wrong in some new unique way. 

It’s been a long week without...Amortentia. Goddamn does Bellatrix miss the taste of it, the smell of it, the warmth of it beneath her hands. The way it filled her with warmth, cleared her mind…

Bellatrix shakes her head to clear it and leans back in her chair, rubbing her temples. She’s managed to go a week without reaching out to Hermione, a mixture of embarrassment and crushing jealousy assaulting her every time she reaches for her phone. If she so much as thinks about it she remembers that terrible fucking night where she made a fool of herself, pleading for forgiveness only to have that ginger twat sidle up behind her and slam the door in her face. 

Bellatrix takes a sip of coffee without thinking, before spitting it out and chucking it across the room. 

“Pansy!” Bellatrix yells. 

Pansy pokes her head into her office a moment later with a carefully neutral expression. Bellatrix appreciates Pansy’s ability to veil her less than savory emotions in her presence. The girl never shows fear, never hesitates, never argues. It’s the reason she holds the longest record for time spent as her assistant.

“Get me some good coffee. I don’t give a fuck where it’s from, but I will not subject myself to any more of the shit from across the street.” 

Pansy gives her a short nod and a, “Yes, ma’am,” before disappearing. 

Bellatrix sits back in her chair and continues to rub her temples, anticipating a withdrawal headache coming on. It’s been impossible to focus on her work since that night. The moment she thinks her mind is blank and focused, memories of Hermione’s face creep back in and it feels like her heart is being squeezed to a stop in her chest. 

Hermione is with that red headed imbecile now. Bellatrix wants nothing more than to cast her aside like she has all the others before her, and for the life of her she can’t understand why she can't seem to.  

She thinks about the tears shining in Hermione’s eyes, the way she grit her jaw and refused to let them fall. She thinks about her freckles, the hints of gold in her eyes that spreads like molten amber when she cries. She thinks about the heat of her skin, the way she lost control beneath her hands, and she understands. Hermione is so different from the others because of her heart, because of the way she so easily looks past all of her walls and her flaws and sees her for who she is. 

Fuck her. 

Bellatrix raps her fingernails against the surface of her desk and glares at the computer monitor. There are things she needs to be doing, important things, things that don’t involve imagining that goddamn weasel feeling so bloody victorious to have her Hermione go crawling back to him. 

Bellatrix’s phone buzzes from where it’s resting next to her keyboard and she’s grateful there’s no one around to see how quickly she reaches for it. She’s mortified at the hope that surges in her chest, thinking it’ll be Hermione calling, only for it to plummet when she sees it’s Narcissa. Bellatrix has been ignoring her little sister all week, fuming with anger over what happened with their mother. Now, though, she’s desperate enough for a distraction that she decides to pick up.

Bellatrix answers the phone with a gruff, “Yes?” 

“Finally,” Narcissa says, “Are you done giving me the cold shoulder now?” 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Bellatrix says. Unable to be still, she produces a nail file from her drawer, props the phone on her shoulder and starts filing. 

“Well, now that I’ve finally got ahold of you I just wanted to try to explain myself again. You just have to understand that...that-Bella, what is that godforsaken noise?” 

Bellatrix pauses, setting the metal filer down silently, “Cissy, it doesn’t matter. I already heard what you needed to say that night. You didn’t invite her, you didn’t know she’d come, yeah yeah. That's not what matters. You know what that woman did to me, you know that I don’t want any part of her in my life, but you helped her keep tabs on me,”

“You’re her daughter and she asks about you! She worries. What was I supposed to tell her?” 

“Nothing!” Bellatrix snaps, “You shouldn’t have told her a goddamn thing, I don’t want her to know anything about my life.” 

“You never told me that, Bella,” Narcissa says. Bellatrix can tell she’s putting effort into sounding calm and controlled. It’s what she always does when they fight, because she thinks that remaining level headed will mean victory in an argument with her. 

“Why would I have to? It’s fucking obvious. All of those years of taking hits for you, covering for you when you fucked up just to keep you from the worst of her, and this is what I get in return?” 

“I never asked you to do any of that,” Narcissa says, her voice wavering.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa says again. When Bellatrix doesn’t say anything, she continues hesitantly, “And I’m sorry about...well, that girl of yours.”

Bellatrix winces at the reminder. As much as she wants to cast that blame onto her sister, she can’t. The things she said to her...she’s the one who destroyed whatever they had. 

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, have you made up with her yet?”

The early morning memories flash unbidden in her mind again. Hermione’s shining eyes, the weasel’s glaring disoriented face from behind her. The slam of a door.

“I tried. There isn’t any making up after what I said.”

She’s already moved on.

To her surprise, Narcissa scoffs, “Bellatrix Black, rolling over and admitting defeat? I thought you always get what you want.” 

Her chest aches unexpectedly at the words. Want doesn’t feel like enough. She’s quite certain she’s doomed to a life of misery and monotony without Hermione. It’s taken her 40 years to find someone like her, and now she’s gone and she’ll never get another chance like that. 

“I had her,” Bellatrix says, her words unconvincing even to herself, “What more is there to get?” 

“You fool,” Narcissa says, “Don’t let your ego stand in the way of this. I’ve watched you go through your life alone and you finally have a real chance here. It’s clear it’s different this time around, so I’m...well, I’m insisting that you don’t let this go."

“I tried to apologize. And you know who came to her door? Her weasel ex boyfriend. She couldn’t even wait until the next day to go crawling back to him,” Bellatrix says, scowling at her sleeping computer monitor.

Narcissa is stunned silent for a moment, and Bellatrix takes a measure of grim satisfaction in her victory.

“...did she say she’s back with him or did you assume?” 

Bellatrix doesn’t bother answering, “Are you seriously taking her side over this?” 

“I’m on your side, Bella. You already know I think it’s sort of ridiculous and that there are plenty of women closer to your age, but if you finally feel an attachment to someone, then you need to hold onto it. Don’t let this slip away.” 

Bellatrix feels an unwanted stirring of hope somewhere deep inside. Maybe she’s right. If there’s even a chance that Hermione would forgive her, wouldn’t she be a fool not to try?

“I have to go, I have someone on the other line,” Bellatrix lies. 

“Bellatrix-”

Bellatrix hangs up.

She manages to at least pretend to get work done while she waits for Pansy to return, pointedly ignoring the smell of the shitty coffee still dripping down the far wall of her office. She clicks through the dozens of new proposals from her marketing team for a new line of jewelry to follow their announcements about ethical sourcing. She’s not sure if it’s her mood or if she’s overpaying the marketing department, but all of the designs feel generic. They’re missing something. They’re charmless, mundane. 

She’s made it halfway through the list, her mood worsening with every new proposal, when Pansy reenters her office, pale and without coffee

“You must be joking,” Bellatrix says. How fucking hard can it possibly be-

“I went to Amortentia,” Pansy says, bringing Bellatrix’s thoughts to an abrupt halt, “Hermione refused to serve me. I believe the words she used were, ‘tell your conniving, vindictive boss that I am saddened to see her stooping to this level and that she can get her coffee somewhere else’.”

Bellatrix stares blankly at her, trying to process an onslaught of emotions, “I told you I was done with Amortentia.” 

“Well, you’ve been complaining about your coffee all week. Clearly you’re not as done with it as you think you are.” 

Bellatrix grinds her jaw, mulling over Pansy’s words.

“She called me...conniving?"

“Ms. Black,” Pansy says, hesitation creeping into her voice, “Is it possible that Hermione found out about...um, did you maybe tell her about...um...the time that I-well, the time that we…”

Realization dawns on her. In the flurry of drama and emotions from that night, Bellatrix had managed to forget something Hermione had said to her. I came here to check on you despite finding out that you’ve hired back someone you used to shag. Shit. And her mothers bloody comment about her assistant. 

“She thinks we shagged,” Bellatrix says, the moment she realizes. 

Pansy flushes, “Well, it’s less embarrassing than the truth of the matter.” 

“For you maybe,” Bellatrix murmurs, beginning to see that night in a new light. How had she been so far up her own arse not to correct her? “She thinks that I...she said that I prey on people that I think of as inferior to me.” 

Pansy blinks at her, easing the door shut behind her to keep their conversation private. “You should correct her, then. It’s better for all of us when you’re caffeinated with the proper coffee.”

“She wouldn’t believe me,” Bellatrix decides. Once the shock wears off, her mood darkens again, “I can’t believe she refused you service. That’s very unprofessional of her.” 

Despite her growing irritation, Bellatrix notices a glimmer in Pansy’s eyes. The assistant steps closer, rounding her desk to prop her hip on it, beside her chair. She lowers her voice, choosing her words carefully.

“Maybe you ought to go down there and give her a piece of your mind. I mean, who has ever treated Bellatrix Black with disrespect and gotten away with it?” 

The corners of Bellatrix’s lips twitch at Pansy’s obvious attempt at manipulation. It’s adorable that she thinks she’s subtle enough to get away with it. Still, she may have a point. Despite their...differences, Hermione provides Bellatrix with a service that she pays for in spades, so why should she allow such blatant disrespect? Besides, maybe, just maybe, if she talks to her she can clear things up and get back in her good graces. 

She ignores the sound of her own voice repeating over and over the terrible things she said to Hermione and rises from her seat. Pansy looks thoroughly pleased with herself, and Bellatrix controls the urge to roll her eyes as she picks up her bag and heads for the door. 

“Don’t forget the famous Black charm you’re so gifted with!” Pansy calls encouragingly after her. 

Bellatrix storms through the deadly silent office, leaving any doubts or hesitations behind. 

Hermione will hear her out. She’ll have to. 

“You must be joking,” Hermione seethes, “What in god’s name could have possessed you to come down here?” 

Okay, maybe Hermione won’t hear me out. 

Bellatrix is well aware that one of her many flaws is her tendency to default to anger when she’s unsure of herself in a situation. She knows this about herself, but she’s helpless to stop it. 

“You refused service to my assistant. You never would’ve had to see me if you’d just serviced her like you’re supposed to,” Bellatrix says, ignoring the way her heart is thundering in her ears at the sight of her. 

“I didn’t realize Pansy was the one who needed servicing when she’s so adept at doing that for you all on her own.” 

Bellatrix blinks, her brain taking a sluggish moment to catch up to what Hermione has said. 

“Hermione-you don’t understand. She...we never...I never went... there… with her.”

Hermione is momentarily stunned silent, the anger leaving her abruptly. She worries her lower lip as she stares at Bellatrix and Bellatrix takes advantage of the moment, letting her eyes track over the body she missed so much. She’s dressed down more than how she normally is, wearing a sweater with her hair in a messy bun, and she looks tired. Bellatrix wants to smooth the furrow in her brow, sweep her up in her arms and take her home with her, force her to get some rest. Hermione told her a story once about a time in college where she had to be hospitalized because she was so busy with courses that she forgot to drink water. She’d passed out from stress and dehydration. Bellatrix hopes she’s remembering to drink enough water now. Bellatrix isn’t one to talk, though, seeing as the only liquid she’s consumed over the last few days has been whiskey. 

Even exhausted, Hermione looks good. The pallor of her skin only makes her freckles more pronounced, the slight flush to her cheeks more apparent. Her eyes are dark and heavier lidded than normal as she tries to read Bellatrix’s expression. Bellatrix swallows and Hermione’s eyes track the movement, running up her throat, her mouth, and back to her eyes. The dull stirring of hope grows stronger. Maybe she has a chance. 

“Explain,” Ginny Weasley says, appearing so suddenly next to Hermione that Bellatrix almost jumps out of her skin.

She looks between the two baristas. She supposes it makes sense that the female weasel knows about everything that transpired between them at this point, if Hermione ran home to her after their fight. Her presence only reminds Bellatrix of her unfavorable brother, and her face settles into a scowl. 

“Why am I the one who has to explain something that supposedly happened in the past when you’re the one who couldn’t wait more than a few hours before running back to her boyfriend?” 

Ginny looks at her with so much disgust that Bellatrix feels a stab of regret at her words. She refuses to show it, looking expectantly at Hermione’s face. 

“Ron and I aren’t back together. No matter how much you may expect it of me, I’m not like your ex. Not that it matters now, though. We’re…” 

“Done,” Bellatrix finishes for her, crossing her arms. “It’s a shame, really, since this is all over someone I never even slept with.” 

“It’s not all over that,” Hermione says weakly, “Don’t pretend you don’t remember the rest of it.” 

Bellatrix is doing her best to ignore the dizzying relief at the knowledge that Hermione isn’t back with Ron. She could dance for joy on the spot if she didn’t care about how ridiculous that would look. Hermione is still hers, even if she’s currently refusing to acknowledge that reality. 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Bellatrix says, prepared to just say what she needs to say to have Hermione back in her arms again, “But I tried to stop you from coming after me.” 

“Still refusing to take responsibility, I see,” Ginny says, and Bellatrix shoots her a glare. 

“Do you mind?” She says through gritted teeth, fixing her with as much intimidation as she can manage into a single look. 

The blasted ginger is unaffected, “Yes, I do mind. I heard all about what happened the last time you were left alone with her.” 

Hermione nudges Ginny with her elbow, lowering her gaze and murmuring, “Gin, it’s okay. I can handle myself.” 

Bellatrix smirks triumphantly, making a shooing motion at Ginny, who fixes her with a resentful glare before skulking away.

“Explain about Parkinson,” Hermione says, “Why does your family think you were shagging her if you weren’t?”

“A year ago, after Pansy had been working for me for about 6 months, she kissed me. She heard about my...reputation and she thought it would help her get ahead. She’s always been willing to do what she felt she needed to do to get ahead, but as far as I know that’s the first time she tried... that with anyone. Working under me is her first real job, and she was just naive.” 

“Don’t defend her,” Hermione says, her voice tense with jealousy, “What did you do?”

Joy springs through Bellatrix's chest at the barista’s envy. That is not the voice of someone who’s done.

“I let her down easily. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think about it, but despite what you’ve assumed about me, I don’t enjoy fucking someone I have quite so much power over. Besides, I’m not stupid. I’d never leave myself open to a lawsuit like that.” 

The tension Hermione was holding in her shoulders drains away. She blinks at her, working through something in her head. 

Bellatrix continues, her tone softening, “I told Narcissa about it without quite as much detail and she must’ve drawn her own conclusions. We never spoke about it outside of one conversation, but clearly she spoke of it to other people.” 

“You sent her to Narcissa’s, though?” Hermione asks, her voice smaller and fragile.

Bellatrix thinks on that for a moment, trying to remember what Hermione was thinking of, “Once, when I left my bag there. Isn’t that what assistants are for?” 

Hermione shrugs, tapping her fingers restlessly against the countertop. A man clearing his throat behind Bellatrix startles the both of them out of their private bubble.

Hermione’s eyes flick between Bellatrix and the customer, distressed. 

“It’s okay,” Bellatrix says, stepping to the side, “I’ll wait.” 

Hermione nods gratefully and turns her attention to the man to take his order. The bloody bastard orders three drinks, and Bellatrix slinks to a nearby table to sit and watch Hermione work. Watching her in her element has nostalgia stirring in her chest. She marvels at how much has changed in such a short time, how much she’s changed. Before Hermione, she’s never lifted a finger to try to continue a relationship with someone. A few short weeks ago, she was so resistant to the idea, and now the thought of a life without Hermione borders on unbearable to think about. 

How did the girl manage it? Bellatrix mulls it over as she watches her work. A faint blush is on her cheeks, like she can feel the CEO’s eyes on her. That’s how it started, really, the immense joy Bellatrix derived from riling Hermione up. She wanted to do it over and over again, finding herself unable to resist doing what she could to elicit a blush, to get her to stumble over her words or lose a train of thought. It went from that to wanting to know her each and every thought, her every experience in life, her every emotion. 

And now they’re here, the space between them painful and unwanted but uncrossable. What more can Bellatrix do now but wait for Hermione to come to her? Her entire life everything has come easy for her except for the things that really matter in the long run. 

The man walks out with his three drinks in a caddy and Bellatrix approaches the counter again. Hermione is leaning against it, the back of her hand pressed against her forehead, eyes closed. 

“Hermione-” Bellatrix starts, softly, quietly. 

“The Pansy thing aside, I can't just forget the things you said to me. They play in my head on a loop, that look on your face seared into my mind. You wanted to hurt me.” 

Bellatrix struggles with what to say. Hermione is right, she had wanted to hurt her. In that moment it seemed so clear that she would hurt her sooner or later, and it had made sense to do it then. Shove her away, straight out of her fucked up, toxic family with as much force as possible. It had seemed like the right decision to protect her, but the moment she saw the pain on her face she wanted to take it back. 

It was the exact same instinct that had caused her to push Andromeda away all of those years ago. Even if she finds herself regretting that decision sometimes, too, it had served its purpose. Nymphadora got to grow up outside the clutches of her terrible family, and Andy and Ted got to build their lives together in peace, free of judgement. Bellatrix even envied her sometimes, wondering what her life would be like if she’d been the one pushed out of the family. Would Hermione still have wanted her if she was in Andromeda’s position? Bellatrix knows she would want Hermione in any alternate universe imaginable. 

Bellatrix wants to tell her how that night triggered some sort of trauma response in her, that she thought pushing and pushing hard was the right thing to do to protect her. She can’t seem to find the words, though. It feels ridiculous to explain, embarrassing to hide behind her trauma like that. It feels beneath her, so instead she just gives Hermione a quiet, “Yes.” 

Hermione drops her hand from her face and stares at her with watering eyes, that look of betrayal returning. Bellatrix’s stomach twists with regret. 

“Why would you do that to me?” Hermione asks, “Why were those things you said even a thought in your head?” 

“I can’t control it…” Bellatrix says, her throat tightening, “When you started opening up to me I just started retaining thoughts like some kind of self destruct button. I don’t know why I just-I just had to be prepared.” 

“Prepared to break my heart?” Hermione asks, a few stray tears falling down her cheeks. 

No, no, no, Bellatrix thinks, scrambling to stop this from derailing further. 

“I didn’t-I didn’t know what I was preparing for until it happened. I didn't mean to-after I said it, after you left, I wished I hadn’t-” 

She winces at how frantic she sounds, how desperate, but no matter what she says the expression on Hermione’s face isn’t changing. 

“How am I ever supposed to let my guard down around you again, Bellatrix?” 

She hates that she’s not “Bella” anymore. 

“I...I don’t know. I promise I’ll never hurt you like that again if you give me another chance-” 

“What’s changed to make you say that?” Hermione questions, her voice harsh despite the falling tears, “Nothing. There is nothing stopping you from having your childhood trauma triggered and responding by wielding whatever new information you gather from me against me again. I will never be able to trust you. Any time I tell you anything personal, I’ll wonder if you’re listening just to save the information for later.” 

Tears are burning behind Bellatrix’s eyes now. This isn’t how this was supposed to go, but she doesn’t know how to argue. Hermione’s side is all she can see, and her logic is indisputable. 

“You’ve destroyed us. You’ve absolutely fucked this, Bellatrix,” Hermione says, a frustrated sob working its way out of her throat. 

“No,” Bellatrix manages, gritting her teeth to hold back her own tears, “You can’t let this go without giving me another chance. This is the first time I’ve ever tried, I just made one mistake. One mistake that I’ll never make again-”

“Bellatrix? What’s going on?” Andromeda says, emerging from the back room. 

She’s looking between Bellatrix and Hermione, taking in Bellatrix’s enraged, derailed expression and her barista’s tears. 

“Bellatrix,” Andy says again, her voice lowering into a warning at the lack of response. 

“Just-give us a fucking minute,” Bellatrix snaps, reaching across the counter to grab Hermione’s wrist, “Hermione, please, can we go somewhere and talk. Please, please, give me a chance to make it up to you.” 

“You can’t,” Hermione says, her body trembling with her tears, “It’s not something you can fix.” 

Andromeda walks up behind Hermione, putting a hand on her shoulder and glaring at Bellatrix. Bellatrix’s chest stings with betrayal, her own sister isn’t even on her side. 

“You need to leave,” Andy says. 

Hermione winces and Bellatrix loosens her grip, gently turning the wrist in her hand to look at it. Her lips part in horror when she sees the faint bruising from the other night. Fuck, what kind of monster have I turned into?

“Hermione…” Bellatrix says, sick to her stomach. Hermione isn’t looking at her anymore, but she isn’t pulling her hand away. 

“Leave, Bellatrix,” Andy repeats herself, her voice simmering with anger, “I won’t let you do any more damage. You’re not to bother Hermione at work, or anywhere. You and Pansy are banned.” 

Bellatrix tears her eyes away from Hermione to look at her sister in shock. 

“This is your fault,” Bellatrix hisses, “I told you to keep her away from me. She never would’ve gotten hurt if it weren’t for you.” 

Bellatrix has touched a nerve, guilt flickering across Andy’s face before it hardens again, “I know, and I’ve accepted my share of responsibility for what happened that night. It’s time for you to accept yours. The things you said to her were despicable, and while I’m able to forgive you, Hermione is under no obligation to. It’s unacceptable for you to reopen these wounds while she’s at work.”

“I wasn’t trying to-Andy, please,” Bellatrix is humiliated at the amount of groveling she’s doing but she can’t seem to stop herself, desperate to claw herself out of the grave she’s dug. She doesn’t understand how Andromeda can’t be more sympathetic to her when she saw first hand how distraught she was after Hermione left. 

“I understand what it feels like to be hurt in that very precise and viscous way that only you can manage, Bellatrix. I remember the things you said to me like it was yesterday. You make it personal. You have a way of picking out someone's biggest fears and insecurities and making them hurt. I am so fucking angry at you for doing that to Hermione. I thought by now you’d have grown out of such childish and cruel tendencies, but evidently I was wrong about you. I’m so disappointed in you.” 

The air rushes out of her in one breath, and Bellatrix drops Hermione’s wrist and steps away. All she wanted to do was protect them from herself and the Black family, but all she’s done is inflict trauma on them that may have never happened if she’d been able to process her emotions better. She wanted to protect them from the things that scare her, from the monsters in her life, but instead she’s become the monster in their eyes. 

“Leave,” Andy says, “And don’t show your face in here again.” 

After that day in Amortentia, Bellatrix completely falls apart. 

She doesn't return to work for the rest of the week. It’s her company, after all. There’s no one who can hold her accountable except herself, and she’s gone completely off the rails. In a moment of weakness, she puts on Hermione’s Cambridge sweatshirt and just never takes it off. She stays in bed, doing nothing but drinking and watching romantic dramas on TV. 

She turned her phone off after sending Narcissa and Pansy texts informing them that she’s alive but does not wish to be bothered until further notice. With no one to report to, she drinks herself into a thoughtless stupor every day, only eating when she feels like she’ll simply turn to dust if she doesn’t. 

A small, humiliating part of her wishes that someone would show up at her door to check on her, but it doesn’t happen. She supposes that’s what she deserves. She doesn’t have a bloody friend in the world, her family is in shambles and the only person to see the good in her outside of her family has been broken beyond repair. There’s not a damn thing she can do about it. 

So all she does instead is drink, sleep, and cry. 

She does it until she’s sick of the taste of her favorite whiskey. She didn't think the day would ever come, but here she is, wincing and spitting it into the sink. She considers trying to find a new favorite drink, but decides she’s had quite enough of being so devastatingly pathetic. 

She’s Bellatrix Black, and she always gets what she wants. 

No matter how completely fucking impossible it seems. 

When she turns her phone back on, she gets a flood of notifications from Andromeda. 

12:53pm<

Bella, I think I was too harsh. Can you call and we’ll talk this over?

1:30pm<

I know you're pissed but you know I couldn’t let you continue to upset my employee in the middle of her shift.

2:10pm<

You didn’t see how upset she was when she picked up her stuff from my house. She said she couldn’t even look at me because of how much I resemble you.

6:17pm<

Bella, I’m starting to get worried. Can you at least respond and tell me you’re alive?

8:03am<

If you don’t respond in the next hour I’m coming over. And if you don’t answer the door I’m calling the police.

8:34am<

If you’re alive I’m going to fucking kill you.

9:20am<

Just spoke with Narcissa. Thanks for the fucking heads up, asshole. Call me when you turn your phone back on.

The stinging in Bellatrix’s chest that’s been constant since the argument at Amortentia lessens slightly now that she knows she isn’t dead to Andromeda. She doesn’t call her though, sending her a text instead. She’s pretty sure her voice is so hoarse from crying and all of the alcohol she’s consumed that it would be unusable. 

>7:10am

I’m alive. Thanks for the concern.

She showers, deciding to check in at the office today. Once she’s fairly sure the stench of alcohol has been washed away, she steps out, towel dries her hair and shrugs back into Hermione’s sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. It hardly smells like her anymore, but it’s the last connection she has to her and it makes her feel just the slightest bit closer to her. She doesn’t bother putting contacts in, digging through the drawers in her bathroom until she finds her old pair of black rimmed glasses.

The receptionist looks horrified when she sees her. Bellatrix ignores her, just as she ignores the confused looks of her subordinates on her way to her office. Pansy comes in a moment later, not commenting on her prolonged absence or her outfit. She simply gives her a stack of folders full of work she missed, a mug of coffee and leaves her to it.

Maybe the alcohol has fried the part of her brain that feels pain, but she’s surprisingly more clear-headed than she was the last time she was in the office. She manages to finish reviewing the jewelry line proposals, and can decisively say she hates all of them without doubting that her distaste for it is coming from a broken heart. They’re just actually all shit, overdone and passionless. 

And she knows exactly how to incorporate some passion. 

She drafts up an outline of what she wants in great detail and sends it over to the design team. The newfound inspiration is enough to get her thinking of a plan to get Hermione back. She texts Pansy, asking her to secure a list of reliable florist recommendations, and by the time she’s finished working for the day Pansy returns to her office to deliver her list. 

“Good luck,” she says with a wink.

Bellatrix shoos her away and picks up the phone to make some calls. 

“Yeah, how quickly can you get fifty bouquets of sunflowers together? Well, what if I pay you double? I don’t care, find a way to do it by the end of the week and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Hermione’s apartment is disturbingly easy to break into. For someone as smart as she is, keeping the spare key above the door frame is a shockingly naive move, and she’ll be sure to let her know once they’re back on speaking terms. Hopefully cramming her apartment with all of the available sunflowers in the region will be a good start.

Bellatrix doesn’t go into the apartment, she only holds the door for the delivery service while they unload the truck full of flowers. 

“I don’t think they’re all going to fit in the living room, Miss,” one of the delivery men says, holding a bouquet that he can’t find a spot for, “Do you want it in a bedroom, too?” 

Crookshanks tries to dart past her but Bellatrix scoops him up and shushes him. Bellatrix chews her lip, considering. She certainly doesn’t want Ginny having any flowers in her room, but she’s also not sure if Hermione will be angry at her for letting strangers into her room. 

“Use the kitchen. And the patio,” Bellatrix decides. 

The man nods, headed towards the kitchen. Bellatrix pokes her head in to see the progress and grins when she sees every inch of every surface covered in flowers. She checks her watch, seeing that they only have another thirty minutes before Hermione’s shift ends, and snaps her fingers to speed along the process. 

Crookshanks hisses and bats at a passing delivery man and Bellatrix pats his head, whispering praises in his ear. 

“Do you think she’ll like it?” She asks him. 

Crookshanks meows and claws his way up her shoulder. Bellatrix drapes him over it so his paws are hanging off behind her. He begins to groom her hair and she takes that as a yes. 

“I agree. She can’t possibly still be cross with me after this.” 

She goes back to the office afterwards, knowing she would be too anxious waiting for Hermione’s reaction if she leaves herself to her own devices. They’re beginning to move forward with her design plan, so she has plenty of fresh drafts to sort through while she waits. The drafts are finally beginning to reflect the passion she wanted from it, and they have a new, fresh feel to them while also having a vintage vibe, and she knows how well vintage is selling with the younger crowd right now.

Her office phone blares, interrupting her train of thought. Her heart jumps when she sees that it’s the receptionist. Could it be Hermione?

“Um, hello, Miss Black,” her receptionist sounds extremely nervous, and Bellatrix frowns.

“What is it?” Bellatrix snaps.

“Well, your sister is on her way up. Security let her in because, well, she’s your sister. She seemed angry though, so I told her to wait a moment while I called you. Well, when I looked away to pick up the phone she was already getting in the elevator, so-”

“Bellatrix Cassiopeia Black!” Andromeda’s voice hollers from outside her door.

Fuck.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Bellatrix says, hanging up the phone and getting up to peek out of her blinds.

Andromeda is storming across the floor, drawing several terrified looks from her employees. Bellatrix looks around her office picking up a paperweight and brandishing it like she’d need it to defend herself. She abruptly feels ridiculous and puts it down, deciding instead to sit back down and pretend to be unbothered.

Andromeda bursts in without knocking and makes it three steps in before stopping. Bellatrix looks up from her computer like she wasn’t just looking around her office for a weapon to fight for her life with. 

“Hello, Andy. Is there something I can help you with?” 

Andromeda is just staring at her, looking her up and down with a mixture of anger and confusion. Bellatrix looks down at herself self consciously. Did she spill something on herself?

“Are you...why are you wearing that here?”

Bellatrix looks up from the Cambridge sweatshirt and shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s...comfortable.”

“You were wearing that the last time I saw you. How long have you been wearing it for?” Andromeda steps forward and sniffs the air around her, pulling a face.

Bellatrix shifts, starting to feel a little embarrassed, “I don’t know. A week or so.” 

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks.

Andromeda rounds her desk and towers over her, folding her arms and frowning down at her. She leans forward and sniffs again. 

“Bella, you stink,” Andromeda comments, wrinkling her nose. She reaches for the neck of the sweatshirt, starting to forcefully pull it off of her, and Bellatrix twists her head to nip her sister's hand. Andromed yelps in shock more than pain and yanks her hand away. 

Bellatrix glares and slumps into her seat. “You stink,” she grumbles. 

“I can’t believe you’re coming to work in that. And that’s beside the point, I can't believe you broke into Hermione’s apartment.”

Bellatrix tries to make herself as small as possible, like Andromeda will lose sight of her and suddenly forget she’s here at all. She could just slide under her desk and make a run for the door. 

“I didn’t break in,” Bellatrix says, pouting. She checks her phone. Why didn’t Hermione call her? 

“This isn’t healthy,” Andromeda says, and when Bellatrix looks back at her her anger has given way to concern, “This isn’t the way to win her back.” 

“Then what is the way?” Bellatrix asks, before she can think about how desperate that sounds, “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never tried. I thought she would...I thought she’d think it was romantic. She’s upset?” 

The remaining anger leaves Andromeda’s body and she slowly lowers herself into the couch against the wall. She sighs, looking at Bellatrix with pity. Bellatrix shifts under her gaze, toying with the strings of Hermione’s sweatshirt. 

“She was...confused. When she called me she said she can’t trust herself to think clearly about this whole situation. She’s scared of going back to you and getting hurt again, and frankly, she’s right to feel that way.” 

“How do I fix it?” Bellatrix demands, her frustration growing. “I fixed it with you, why can’t I with her?”

“It took you years to fix it with me, and you fucked up when you were a teenager. This is completely different.” 

Bellatrix drags her hands through her hair. 

“I need help, Andy,” she says tiredly, “I don’t know how to move on from this when I’ve never felt this way about someone before. Am I just supposed to let her go when I know we’re meant to be together? When I know I won’t get this a second time in my life?” 

Andromeda stares at her in silence for a long time. It’s quiet for so long that Bellatrix has to look up to make sure she hasn’t left the room. Finally, she leans back on the couch and sighs again. 

“I only see one way you have a shot at fixing this, but I don’t know if you’ll go for it."

Bellatrix gives a hollow laugh, “Pretty sure I’d do anything for her.”

She feels like a junkie, strung out without her drug of choice.

“You need to seriously fix your shit. Go to therapy, Bellatrix. For Hermione, yes, but more importantly do it for your own good. Show her that you’re actually capable of changing without her help, because it’s your responsibility to fix your issues, not hers.”

Bellatrix has always been violently opposed to the idea of going to therapy. She hates talking about her feelings, and she’s never felt good after expressing them. Well, except for when she did it with Hermione. That actually felt quite good. But to a stranger? She’s physically repulsed by the thought.

“Therapy isn’t going to fix me. Therapists just get paid to professionally manipulate people into thinking their mental illness is cured,” Bellatrix says.

Andromeda snorts, “You think therapists are professional manipulators?”

“I said what I said.” 

“I went to therapy, you know,” Andy says matter of factly, “I started when I was sixteen, after I moved out, and I just...never stopped. I still go once a month.” 

“Seriously?” Bellatrix asks incredulously.

Andy nods, “I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through life without it. I don’t know how you’ve gotten this far without it.” 

Bellatrix opens her mouth to say she’s turned out just fine, but then she remembers why Andy’s here in the first place and stops herself. She can’t believe she’s actually considering this, but Andy has a point. Monetary gifts have never gotten her far with Hermione, and not even her very sincere verbal apology has helped. It really only leaves her with one option...actually working on herself and becoming...worthy of her.

“Fine,” she says, “I’ll have Pansy get me a list of qualified-”

“Not necessary,” her sister interrupts her, rummaging through her purse and producing a card, “There’s only one therapist good enough for the Black children, and that's the one who counseled me through getting disowned during my teenage pregnancy. She’s the head of the psychology department, multiple publications, a phd and she’s a licensed psychiatrist. Plus, she kept me mentally healthy through all that shit I went through, so there really isn’t anyone else out there more qualified.” 

Bellatrix takes the card and reads it aloud, “Doctor Minerva McGonagall?

“The one and only,” Andromeda says, “Are you really going to do this?”

Bellatrix sighs deeply.

Hermione fucking Granger.

This is all her bloody fault. 

“Yes. I’m really going to do this.” 

“So, what brings you here today, Ms. Black?” 

Bellatrix is sprawled in an armchair, slumped down so her chin is touching her chest, her arms folded and her legs stretched straight out in front of her. Instead of thinking about how to answer the question, Bellatrix is busy trying to decide what type of bird Minerva reminds her of. Some sort of hawk, she’s fairly certain.

Minerva is staring at her, unblinking over the rims of her half moon glasses. Bellatrix is still wearing Hermione’s sweatshirt, even a week after her conversation with her sister. She’s sprayed it with fabric freshener a few times, but she doesn't want to wash it because then it’s just a sweatshirt without any of Hermione’s lingering scent on it. Besides, who is she trying to impress at this point?

Bellatrix realizes that she’s been locked in a staring contest with the therapist for well over two minutes at this point and blinks, shaking herself out of her internal thoughts. She doesn’t know how to answer. What’s she supposed to say, she’s here to get her girlfriend back after being verbally abusive following an incident where her mother was verbally abusive to her? Her girlfriend, who wasn’t even officially her girlfriend, because Bellatrix didn’t know how to ask, because she thought they had more time.

Instead of answering, she shrugs and crosses her ankles. Minerva purses her lips and writes something down. 

“What are you writing?” Bellatrix asks, shuffling in her seat so she’s sitting up. She attempts to peer over the top of Minerva’s notepad.

“I take notes on all of my clients, Ms. Black.”

Bellatrix grumbles and sits back in her chair. Minerva continues to write in their prolonged silence, and unable to sit still Bellatrx shifts again, tucking her feet under herself and resting her chin on her hand. 

“What are you hoping to get out of therapy?” 

Bellatrix blows a strand of hair out of her face and tries to come up with a response that isn’t none of your bloody business, you old bat. 

“My sister thought I should come. You were highly recommended.” 

Minerva hums, tapping her pen against her notepad and smiling faintly, “Yes, your sister and I have quite the history.”

Something occurs to Bellatrix that has her frowning, “I suppose you’ve heard quite a bit about me in her sessions, haven’t you?” 

“Well, I can't discuss the details of that but yes, I know more about you than the knowledge I typically start with when I have a new client.” 

“Lucky me,” Bellatrix says under her breath. 

“I assure you, it won’t affect my perception of you or what we speak about. I am a completely neutral party for you to talk to, free of judgement. Nothing you say to me will leave this room.” 

Bellatrix narrows her eyes suspiciously. Aside from Hermione, there isn’t a single person she’s opened up to who never used any personal information she divulged against her. And she hasn’t known Hermione long, or told her much. Even her sisters have used her words against her during petty arguments. It’s just what people do, she’s found, so it’s difficult for her to believe that she’s in a completely safe space. 

“You don’t believe me?” Minerva asks, reading her expression, “Do people often use your personal confessions to hurt you?” 

Bellatrix shifts in her seat again, taken aback at how perceptive the older woman seems.

“I guess,” she says. 

“Well, this is different. I’m under a legal obligation not to divulge any information outside of this room. Do you know what that means?” Bellatrix slowly shakes her head and Minerva continues, “It means you could sue me if I break that therapist-patient privilege without your written consent.”

Oh.

“That does make me feel better,” Bellatrix says, “I have really good lawyers, too, you know.”

“I would imagine,” Minerva says, amused, “Now, is there anything in particular you want to get off your chest? Would you like to tell me a little about yourself? We can be as superficial or as deep as you’d like.”

Bellatrix considers this for a moment. Her eyes scan the office instinctually, like she’s worried she’ll find a hidden camera or someone listening at the door. When she decides it’s safe, she just...unloads. Once she starts talking, she just can’t seem to stop. Minerva listens quietly, nodding occasionally, or humming in disapproval at the appropriate moments. She starts with a general overview of her life, then at a certain point she decides that since she’s already doing this she may as well do it as fast as possible. If she wants to get better and come to Hermione, waving her progress around like a kid with her first straight A progress report, she needs to open up and work towards a solution immediately. That means that the more she hideously overshares, the better, right?

“...so, anyway, that’s how family Christmases always went. Narcissa crying because she didn't get one of the gifts she wanted, Andromeda crying because my mother found some way to subtly insult her, and me trying to smother my disappointment over the bundle of new office supplies from father. If I acted less than thrilled or didn’t find a way to mention how much I was looking forward to taking over his role in the company, then I would get the belt instead of Christmas dinner. Pretty typical stuff. The worst part of that damn belt is that it was the first gift I ever got for my father. Then, he used it on me for the first time on my ninth birthday.”

Minerva is writing furiously, blinking rapidly as she does so. Bellatrix waits patiently for her to catch up, taking a sip of the cold water she’d been given fifteen minutes ago. Once she finishes writing, Minerva sets her pen down and looks up at her.

“Ms. Black, I’m going to suggest we meet at least twice a week moving forward. I’ll need to move some things around in my schedule, but I think it’s necessary if we’re going to make any real progress here.”

Maybe Bellatrix should be offended at the insinuation that she needs more help than the average client, but all she can do is lean forward eagerly and say, “How about three times a week?” 

Bellatrix is mildly embarrassed at how much she fucking loves going to therapy. She would never admit it to Minerva, but their sessions are the highlights of her week. She doesn’t feel like she’s made any real progress yet, since it’s taken the last nine sessions just to cover her childhood and early adulthood without receiving any real advice. She’s been trying to work up the courage to ask for healthier ways to cope with her anger that aren’t lashing out, but she’s having a hard time admitting her flaws so plainly.

She finally ditched the sweatshirt after the end of her first week in therapy, washing it and folding it in her top drawer. She’s still not planning on giving it back, but she’s backed off of Hermione almost completely. She hadn’t liked hearing from Andromeda that she was confusing her, and pushing her any more so soon would only make things worse. All she’s done was send her a single text after her first session, which was three weeks ago now

>11:53pm

I’m sorry I broke into your apartment. Please find a better hiding spot for your spare key. Also, I didn’t let anyone in your room and I held Crooks the whole time. Not that it excuses anything. I’m going to back off now because you make me crazy and I don’t want to ruin my chances of a future reconciliation any more than I already have. I hope that one day I can earn your forgiveness. 

She’d texted a draft of the message to Andromeda first to get approval, since she had been so out of her mind that she truly couldn't tell what was appropriate and what wasn’t anymore. Hermione never responded, but she’s fairly certain that there wasn’t any more for her to say to make things better. 

All there is to do now is work on herself and leave Hermione alone until her shit is somewhat together. 

The promise is easy enough to keep as long as Hermione is out of sight. She’s adjusted to the taste of inferior coffee, though she’s had to compromise by changing her order to include a full shot and two packets of splenda to lessen the bitterness and increase the effect of the caffeine. She’s slowly starting to do better, drinking less and becoming more present at work. The new line is coming along nicely, and she’s actually starting to get excited for it to drop. 

After working late at the office one day, she finds herself craving the french place that’s on her way home and decides to stop in for take out. She used to go there with Narcissa monthly, back before she’d gotten too wrapped up in work a few years back and stopped making time for her. The nostalgia stirring in her chest has her promising herself to reinstate those dinners and having them include Andromeda this time.

It’s seven o’clock when she gets there, so the dinner rush is in full swing. She slips through the crowd of customers, making her way to the hostess’s counter

“Picking up for Black,” she says, raising her voice over the noise.

The hostess nods and holds up a finger to signal that it would be another minute, before bustling off to check on the order. Bellatrix leans against the counter and scans the room to entertain herself, chuckling at the people on awkward first dates or the older couples looking bored out of their minds. 

Something seems to shift in the air before she sees her. Electricity crackles in the air and time slows. Then, Bellatrix sees her, hair swept back and an awkward little smile on her beautiful face, and time completely stops.

The amused smile falls from her face as all of those feelings she’s shoved to the back of her mind come rising up in full force. Heat flushes through her entire body and her chest aches with longing so intense it’s fucking painful. She’s wearing that jean jacket Bellatrix remembers clutching at to tug her into a deeper kiss and her head swims at the memory.

It takes her a long moment of just staring before she wonders what Hermione is doing there. Across from her, Bellatrix can see the profile of a blonde haired, blue eyed girl who’s effortlessly attractive enough to make her feel threatened immediately. The woman reaches across the table and takes Hermione’s hand, and suddenly she’s wishing she’d asked Minerva for those anger management tips already.

Her stomach plummets and her brain fogs over with anger and pain and all encompassing fucking sadness. She’s been working so fucking hard on herself every second of every day for nothing. Hermione’s already moved on.

Bellatrix shoves her glasses up her nose so harshly the bridge of it flares in pain. The hostess returns with her dinner and she snatches it out of her hand, shoving a fifty dollar bill at her and moves to walk away, only to find herself strangely rooted to the spot. Her eyes are drawn back to Hermione against her will, drinking her in. She hasn't seen her in a month, and despite how many times she told herself that she’s just building this up in her head, she sees her and everything is as overwhelming as it was before. She feels helpless to fight against it. She missed her eyes so much, the details of her face, the little micro-expressions that she’s learned to read so well.

Somebody bumps into her, breaking her out of her trance. She’s too wrapped up in herself to even bother looking at whoever bumped into her, instead focusing on forcing herself out of the restaurant before she got caught up in Hermione’s spell again. 

The fresh air hits her, sharp on her heated cheeks, and she stumbles around the restaurant front to the alleyway around the corner. She leans against the wall and breathes deeply, trying to navigate the absolute mess of emotions she’s feeling. 

This entire time she’s felt hope, so small and inconsequential that it was hardly noticeable. Now that it’s gone, though, it’s devastating. She drops her bag of food on the ground and puts her hands on her knees, forcing herself to breathe slowly and steadily.

She remembers that Minerva had given out her cell number to use in an emergency, and if the painful tightening in her chest is any indication, she’d say this qualifies. She pulls out her phone and starts typing.

Then, she hears Hermione’s voice and she freezes.

“It was really nice to meet you, Fleur. I had a nice time,” Hermione is saying, her voice stiff with forced politeness. 

Bellatrix’s rage simmers. The first time she’s heard her voice in a month and she’s complimenting some other woman.

“Do you really mean that, Hermione?” The woman responds in a slight french accent that has Bellatrix rolling her eyes. 

Surely Hermione isn’t actually into this woman, right? She can’t have moved on so quickly. She can’t be over her when Bellatrix is still trapped in a never ending freefall for her. 

“It was nice. It really was. You’re very nice.” 

Some of Bellatrix’s anger leaves her as she feels the slightest urge to chuckle at the way “nice” seems to be the only adjective Hermione can remember.

“I know things with your ex are still rather recent. We can go as slowly as you’d like, but I would really like to see you again. You’re lovely, Hermione.”

Oh, and the anger is back in full force. Bellatrix pokes her head out of the alley just in time to see Fleur take Hermione’s hand and lower her head to kiss it. God, how fucking pretentious.

Fleur leaves Hermione standing there, looking after her. Then, Hermione turns and Bellatrix ducks her head back out of sight. She shoves her phone back in her jacket pocket and struggles with an impulsive urge rising up inside of her

She can’t seem to stop herself, because Hermione is right there, walking by her alley within arms reach. She can touch her again, and she finds she can’t resist the impulse. She grabs Hermione’s arm and tugs her into the alley, trapping her against the wall and staring at her with wide eyes. Hermione is staring back at her, blinking rapidly but otherwise not freaking out the way Bellatrix was afraid she would be

Fuck, fuck, fuck, please don’t let me be screwing this up more.

Bellatrix is invaded by her smell, rendering her unable to form coherent thoughts. Blueberries and fucking sunshine, the smell she aches for every day. And she’s staring up at her with those eyes, that magnetic gaze that makes her forget her own name, her perfect cupid's bow lips parted slightly, breath coming out in hot pants against Bellatrix’s face.

“What are you doing?” Hermione says, finally.

She’s completely pliant beneath Bellatrix’s hands, making no move to pull away. Bellatrix steps closer, inebriated by her presence.

“On a date, Granger? That was fast,” Bellatrix says, looking down her nose at her. Hermione shivers and Bellatrix feels that familiar adrenaline rush. 

“Was it?” Hermione responds, her voice low and a little amused, “We’ve been apart longer than we were together, really.”

Bellatrix furrows her brow, annoyed at the response, “Who was she, anyway?

“Some family friend of Ginny’s. Gin begged me relentlessly all month to let her set us up, and I figured it’d be easier to get it over with.”

Bellatrix bites back her comment of that goddamn fucking ginger, then bites back another comment of, are you over me yet? Not wanting to seem like an asshole or as desperate as she feels.

“Are you still angry with me?” She asks instead.

Hermione frowns at her, searching her face, “For what?” 

Bellatrix lowers her gaze and tightens her fingers in Hermione’s jacket, scared she’ll pull away at any moment. “For what I said to you...for coming to your work, after. For...you know, the flower thing.” 

“I was never angry with you,” Hermione says, her own hands coming up to brush the lapels of Bellatrix’s jacket. Hermione’s eyes wander over her face like she missed the sight of it, and Bellatrix’s heart stumbles. “I’ve never seen you wear glasses before.” 

Bellatrix bites her lip and looks away, embarrassed, “They’re dorky, I know. I just haven’t felt like wearing contacts lately.”

“They’re cute,” Hermione says without thinking. It’s difficult to tell with only half of her face illuminated by the red neon light of a food truck across the street, but she’s almost certain Hermione is blushing.

“Thanks,” Bellatrix says, fighting her own blush, “I missed you.”

Hermione blinks at her, her breathing deepening. After a long moment she says, “I missed you too. How are you doing?”

Bellatrix huffs out a laugh, letting her hands wander down Hermione’s arms, “You seem awfully at ease for someone trapped against a wall in an alley."

“I could tell you were nearby. I thought I saw a flash of your hair as you left the restaurant, and when we were outside I could just...it’s like I can feel you in the air, when you’re around.”

Bellatrix’s breath catches, “I feel that way around you.” 

Hermione meets her eyes, and Bellatrix feels that addictive surge she gets whenever their eyes connect. A small smile is tugging at Hermione’s lips.

“So, yeah, I wasn’t surprised to be yanked into an alley. Quite relieved you didn’t just run off, actually. I didn’t want you to think...I didn’t want to hurt you, is all.” 

It takes every ounce of her strength to not close the space between them and kiss her senseless.

“Shouldn’t I be hurt? You were on a very romantic date just now. Shouldn’t I be worried?"

Bellatrix’s voice is teasing, but there’s a serious undercurrent to her tone. This is the closest she can let herself get to asking for reassurance. 

“No. I mean, she was lovely, but...something was missing. It’s pretty cool that she’s french, though,” Hermione says with a shrug.

Bellatrix glowers at her, leaning in close and lowering her voice, “Elle n'est pas spéciale; je parle francais aussi.” 

The smile is wiped off of Hermione’s face and her gaze darkens immediately. She’s definitely blushing, now, and Bellatrix rejoices at the victory. Hermione’s fingers tighten in her jacket and Bellatrix tilts her head down so their foreheads are touching and they’re sharing the same air. Bellatrix’s entire stomach is overrun with that fluttering feeling she’s only ever gotten around Hermione, and she feels jittery with the sensation of being close to her again. She thought Hermione may never look at her this way again, and now that she is, it’s so hard to think clearly. 

She wants to kiss her more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life. She doesn’t let herself, but she doesn’t pull away, either. Her next kiss with Hermione will be earned. It’s the least the younger woman deserves after everything she put her through. 

“Hermione,” Bellatrix says softly, the name brushing over the parted lips in front of her, “Hermione, love.”

Hermione whimpers, so quietly she almost misses it. Bellatrix tries to find the words she needs to tell her eveything she’s feeling in this moment, wanting so badly to ease all of the pain she caused. The words come to her, and she lets them spill out without a second thought. 

“I am going to do everything I possibly can to make sure I never hurt you like that again. Words are not enough, so I’m really working on myself so that I can love you properly, the way you deserve.” 

The word love slips out thoughtlessly, and she wouldn't have noticed she said it if it weren’t for the tiny intake of breath and the shimmering of Hermione’s eyes. And fuck, yes, she can feel it. Love. She’s not far from it, and she could get there so fucking easily with Hermione looking up at her like that. 

“God, Hermione, you make me feel like the floor’s been ripped out from under me. I haven't been able to think of anyone else since I saw you for the first time. All I want is to be yours. I can’t think about touching anyone else, being touched by anyone else. It’s bloody terrifying.”

The words won’t stop now, like going to therapy has opened the fucking floodgates and taught her some basic communication skills, shown her how good it can feel to just let it all out. And now she’s letting it out and she is shaking with adrenaline, fisting her hands in Hermione’s jacket to try to steady herself. She’s gone completely off the deep end.

Hermione fucking Granger.

The name bounces around in her head, reverently now. 

“I can’t imagine moving on from you. I’m yours completely, probably forever now, even if this is the last time you ever speak to me. It’s irreversible now, I think,” Bellatrix continues breathlessly. 

She reaches for Hermione’s face, trailing her fingers along her full cheeks, her jaw, ghosting over her lips. 

“You gave me your attention, your touch, your trust. You gave me your...your body, your eyes, your lips, your heart, and I can never go back. I can never stop until I’ve given you everything back, every day, for as long as you’ll let me.” 

“Bella…” Hermione says, and her beautiful face is suddenly shimmering in her vision as it fills with tears. 

God, it’s bloody embarrassing, but each and every emotion shining in Hermione’s eyes has every thought she’s ever kept from her tumbling out. 

“But I can’t give it to you, yet,” Bellatrix says, blinking to clear her vision. Hermione thumbs the single tear that drips down her cheek and just leaves her fingers resting there, “I can’t give it to you until I’m sure I’m better.” 

Bellatrix turns her head and brushes her lips against Hermione's wrist. I’ll never hurt you like that again, never, never, never.

“But I...Bella, you can’t just tell me these things and...and…” Hermione stumbles over her words, her face morphing in distress, in fear that Bellatrix will pull away.

Bellatrix’s heart is soaring, drifting on cloud nine to have Hermione looking at her this way, touching her this way again. She still has all of those feelings for her, she can see it now, and she will not screw it up a second time.

Never, never, never. 

Bellatrix tilts forward, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s temple.

“It will be okay. I promise you, Hermione. We’ll be okay.” 

Bellatrix pulls away, because if she doesn’t now she never will. Cold air swarms her body in the space between them and she shivers more violently. She manages the presence of mind to lean down and scoop up her bag of take out before she turns and leaves Hermione looking after her. 

She forces herself to walk away without looking back. If she looks back, she’s lost. If she looks back, she’s a pillar of salt.

Bellatrix can do this. She can maintain the space between them for a little bit longer for both of their benefits. She’s grown, she has restraint. She can do this. 

Bellatrix’s phone buzzes late that night, while she’s lying awake and thinking of Hermione. As soon as she reads the message, the first one from Hermione in so, so long, she feels her restraint slip through her fingers. 

12:10am<

You up?

Chapter Text

“Need a refill?” 

Bellatrix looks up from her laptop, the focused furrow of her brow smoothing when she meets Hermione’s eyes. She has a way of looking at her lately, with a guarded sort of awe, like every single second she looks at the barista is a gift from the heavens. Hermione finds it incredibly romantic, if not adorably unnecessary. She fights the urge to tuck a stray curl behind Bellatrix’s ear, feeling Ginny’s gaze raising hairs on the back of her neck. 

“Please,” Bellatrix says quietly, gratefully. 

Hermione tilts the fresh pot of coffee into her mug, filling it to the brim, before retreating behind the counter to put it back. She joins Bellatrix, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension of her day and stretching her legs out until they’re nudging against the older woman’s. 

“What are you working on?” Hermione asks, leaning forward to try to peek at her laptop. 

Bellatrix shields it and shoots her a wry smile, “It’s a secret, darling. You know that.” 

Hermione groans and sits back, contenting herself with watching Bellatrix work. She’s been working on some mystery project that she refuses to reveal a single detail of, which has been driving the barista absolutely crazy. She can’t stand not being in the know, especially for the length of time she’s been kept in the dark. She folds her arms and lets her mind wander while Bellatrix continues to work in silence. 

With Autumn term quickly approaching, preceded by her 21st birthday, her life is a kaleidoscope of changes. Her friendship with Harry, Ron, and Ginny is stronger than its been since before she ever dated Ron, back when it felt like nothing could come between the three of them. With Ron around, Bellatrix’s return to her life is a taboo subject, but Ginny has been slowly warming up to the idea. Hermione has permanently moved back in with her, the tension of her strained relationship with her brother and their perfectly aligned work schedules no longer an obstacle. It’s beginning to feel how she’d originally hoped living with Ginny would feel; a lighthearted understanding growing between them after hammering out some boundaries. 

Thrilled with her sister’s completely unexpected devotion to therapy, Andromeda has more than forgiven her and lifted her coffee ban. Bellatrix makes use of it more than she ever has before, often spending hours working from the shop instead of the office, always sprawled at the table closest to the counter. After work, Hermione joins her in the seat she saved, getting a head-start on the term’s reading for English Lit. 

Ginny’s looks have long since changed from being laden with judgement to a begrudging curiosity. Her shifts would start after Hermione’s ended, so she had a front row seat to Bellatrix and Hermione’s oddly work appropriate coexistence. Bellatrix was on her best behavior, so much so that Hermione sometimes found herself entertaining the idea that Andromeda is actually donning a black wig just to mess with her. Bellatrix has hardly touched her since that night in the alley, despite Hermione’s lack of protest. 

No one could have perceived the deadly serious way in which Bellatrix treated her therapy. Minerva McGonagall’s word is gospel as far as the CEO is concerned, much to Hermione’s chagrin. She missed Bellatrix desperately while they were apart, and now that she’s back she’s all about chaste touches only, hugs at best, and absolutely no sex whatsoever. They haven’t even kissed since they started speaking again. 

“Minerva says no funny business,” the older woman cited when Hermione voiced her concerns. Did Bellatrix not want to be with her that way anymore? “She says we should abstain from...intercourse until our relationship is more stable. Until I’m more stable.” 

Hermione shudders at the memory of hearing the stilted way Bellatrix said “intercourse”. Hermione has always been a rule follower, but something about this particular rule and the strict manner in which Bellatrix is adhering to it makes Hermione want to push her. As much as she loves how considerate Bellatrix has been and how seriously she’s taking her therapy, another part of Hermione misses the overly flirtatious version of her. She misses how wanted she always felt by her, the way the woman couldn’t keep her hands off of her. Hermione has struggled with her self esteem since getting bullied for her hair and teeth in secondary school, and the unbridled desire that Bellatrix used to look at her with had done wonders for that self esteem. Being with Ron hadn’t helped matters either; the boy did a terrible job of keeping his eyes off of any above average looking woman that walked by them, making Hermione certain of how utterly ordinary she must look if she couldn't even keep her boyfriend’s attention. 

She’s never had that problem with Bellatrix. The woman is completely unaware of anyone in a room who isn’t her unless they’re speaking to her. Her eyes never linger on anyone but her, her devotion never wavering. 

Is Hermione so terrible if she wants some of that intensity back? She doesn’t think so. She shuffles her chair closer to Bellatrix, rolling her eyes when the woman tilts her laptop away from her, and hooks her foot around hers. Bellatrix is wearing a skirt today, and Hermione is wearing cut off shorts, so the skin of their legs slide deliciously together. Hermione sighs at the intimate contact and watches Bellatrix’s face for any reaction. 

The corner of her mouth twitches, spurring her on. Hermione chews her lip and reaches across her, grabbing her coffee to steal a sip. She brushes against Bellatrix as she does so, and when she tastes the coffee she lets an appreciative moan slip from her lips. When she lowers the mug, Bellatrix is staring at her with a darkened gaze. 

“Hermione,” she warns, her voice low. 

“Bella,” Hermione replies, fighting a smile.  

The smile is wiped off her face when she feels Bellatrix’s hand on her thigh, her fingers drawing slow, soft patterns that send sparks straight between her legs. Bellatrix’s gaze is intense in that way Hermione missed, with mischief gleaming deep in the depths of her eyes. 

“Is this what you want?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione can tell Bellatrix expects her to pull away, or to cover her hand and stop her. Maybe she would have a month ago, but god she missed her, and she wants to surprise her. Instead, she spreads her legs ever so slightly and shifts down in her seat so Bella’s hand slides up higher. 

“Yes,” Hermione says, a thrill running through her body at the way Bellatrix’s fingers dig into her upper thigh, at the way her expression freezes. 

“Don’t you have reading to do?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione smirks, holding Bellatrix’s gaze when she wraps her hands around Bella’s wrist to keep her from moving. 

“I have more important things I’d rather be doing.” 

“Hermione Granger calling me more important than reading? Oh dear, what have I done to you?” 

“You’ve ruined me,” Hermione says, her tone lighthearted, “I’m quite the mess over you.” 

The gentle patterns resume and Hermione shivers. 

“Is that so?”

Hermione nods. 

“You’re going to make this as difficult for me as you possibly can, aren’t you?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione blinks innocently at her, “Oh, am I making it difficult?”

Bellatrix snorts, “You’re turning into such a little brat.” 

Hermione hums, relaxing into Bellatrix’s touch. Her presence is a constant relief from the month straight of the ache her absence brought. Having her full attention, having her hands on her again, is like having that first sip of coffee in the morning times a thousand.

Bellatrix removes her hand and tucks a stray hair behind Hermione’s ear before going back to what she was doing on her laptop. The barista huffs at the innocuous gesture, a blush creeping along her cheeks nonetheless. This reserved side of Bellatrix is new, unfamiliar, and Hermione can’t resist the urge she has to test her newfound boundaries. 

“If you could domesticate any animal and keep it as a pet, what would it be?” 

Hermione stares at the side of Bellatrix’s head in stunned silence.  Bellatrix continues to watch the road as she drives, ignoring Hermione’s stare and waiting patiently for an answer. This is one of the many bizarre, random questions Hermione has been receiving lately. Apparently one of the ways they’re supposed to achieve stability is for them to get to know each other better, according to Minerva. Bellatrix takes all of Minerva’s homework assignments very seriously, and her strategy has been sporadically asking Hermione whatever random thought pops into her head. 

“Um...well, it depends. Am I equipped to give the animal an enriching life and fulfill all of its needs?” 

“Of course,” Bellatrix answers easily. 

Hermione thinks about it, the gentle indie song on the radio the only sound in the car. 

“I wouldn’t want Crooks to feel threatened,” Hermione says, tapping a finger against her chin, “Maybe a hawk? I think a hawk would be fun.” 

Bellatrix shoots her a quick glance, a small smile on her face. Hermione smiles back at her, unable to smother her happiness at how much Bellatrix seems to be enjoying herself. 

“Do you want a hawk? People have hawks in real life, Hermione. I can get you one.” 

Hermione laughs, bumping her head against the head rest, “Stop it. I don’t need a hawk.” 

“Are you sure? Because I’m completely serious, I could get you a hawk by the end of the week.” 

Hermione believes her, her laughter dying out as she stares at the woman with wide eyes, “Don’t you dare.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Can’t have another sunflower mishap on my hands.” 

“It was sweet,” Hermione says, remembering how shocked she was when she opened the door to a shock of yellow, “Misguided, but sweet.” 

“What did you end up doing with all of them?” 

Hermione chuckles, “We took them to work in Ginny’s car and gave out a free flower with every drink. I did keep a bouquet, though.” 

“Good.” Bellatrix says, her smile turning soft. 

They sit in comfortable silence for the remainder of the ride to Hermione’s apartment. When they arrive, Hermione doesn’t get out right away. Instead, her and Bellatrix stare at each other, each waiting for the other to speak first. 

“Do you want to come up?” Hermione asks, feeling oddly nervous. They’ve spent a lot of time around each other lately, but Bellatrix has never seen her bedroom, and the thought of such a glorious woman sitting in her very ordinary room is giving her the jitters. 

Bellatrix swallows her own nerves, looking between Hermione and the front door of her place. Hermione can see the doubt on her face, the flickering of an internal battle in her eyes. Bellatrix used to be so unreadable, her face a blank slate of closed off emotions, but the longer she’s around Hermione the more she lets herself be expressive. Hermione thinks of it as one of the ways she shows her trust, one of the ways she lets Hermione that much closer. 

“I promise to be on my best behavior,” Hermione says, reaching across the console to hold her hand. 

Bellatrix squeezes her hand and levels her with a dark look, “You’re not the one I’m worried about.” 

Hermione shifts in her seat, ignoring the coiling heat in her lower belly, “Come on. I’ll let you ask me as many questions as you want. We can play 20 questions, 50 questions, whatever you want.” 

Bellatrix sighs, and Hermione knows she has her. 

Ten minutes later, Hermione is sitting on the edge of her bed and watching Bellatrix go through her bookcase. She pulls each one out one by one, flipping through the pages before she puts them back. Hermione watches her with an amused smile, wondering how long she’ll go on for. 

“What are you doing, exactly?” Hermione asks. 

Bellatrix shoots her an absentminded look and says, “I’m looking for the ones with the more worn out pages to figure out your favorites.” 

“You could just ask.” 

“It’s more fun this way,” Bellatrix says, moving on to the objects on top of her dresser. She picks up little seashells she’s saved, the old birthday cards, the scattered jewelry, then the framed photographs. One has a baby Hermione with her mom, and the other is her, Harry, Ron and Ginny when they were preteens. 

“What do I need to do to get a framed photo up here?” Bellatrix asks, setting the photo down and turning around to face her. 

“I would love one of you, Bella,” Hermione says, standing to wrap her arms around Bella’s waist. Bellatrix wraps her arms around her shoulders and sighs into her hair. Hermione melts into her, reeling from the heat of her body and the smell of her hair. 

“You could always frame the one I sent you the first time we texted,” Bellatrix says, her voice muffled against Hermione’s hair. 

Hermione laughs, shaking the both of them with the force of it, “I want one with your face in it, silly.” 

Bellatrix pulls back a fraction to smile down at her. Hermione wonders if she’ll ever stop losing her breath every time she looks at her up close. Each time she’s blown away by her endless eyes, her thick lashes, her full, inviting mouth. Bellatrix is gazing at her with so much want and tenderness that it makes it hard to think straight, hard to think of anything except how deeply she cares about her. It’s so easy to get lost in the details of her face until she’s tilting forward and sliding her lips against Hermione’s. 

Finally. 

Hermione’s eyes slip shut immediately as she loses herself in the feeling of Bellatrix’s warm, soft mouth brushing against her own. She’s kissing her so sweetly, so carefully, until Hermione can’t take it anymore. She rises up on the tips of her toes, pressing the length of her body and capturing Bella’s lower lip between her own, tugging it into her mouth and sliding her tongue across it. 

Bellatrix groans into her mouth and moves forward, walking the both of them back towards the bed. The back of Hermione’s legs hit the mattress and Bellatrix hesitates, stilling against her mouth. Hermione grabs her lapels and tugs, until they both go tumbling backwards onto the bed. The air leaves her lungs when her back hits the mattress, Bella’s full weight on top of her. 

Bellatrix chuckles and shifts, her movement constrained in her tight skirt. Hermione reaches for her waistline and Bellatrix grabs her hand before she can undo the button. 

“Won’t Ginny be back soon?” Bella rasps. Hermione is swimming with want, the tides intensifying at the change in the woman’s voice. She licks her lips, her flush deepening as she tries to focus on the actua; question that was asked. 

“Not tonight. She’s spending the night at Harry’s, so…” 

Bellatrix considers this, her dark gaze on Hermione’s face as she does so. 

“Clothes on,” Bellatrix says. When their eyes meet again, Bellatrix is stern, “I’ll stay, but no clothes will be removed. Understand?” 

Hermione bites her lips and bobs her head. Bellatrix relaxes ever so slightly and shifts, her skirt bunching up around her hips as she straddles her. Bellatrix dips down until they’re sharing the same air and rests her forehead against Hermione, quietly watching her. Hermione is momentarily content with just feeling Bellatrix’s body against her, the press of her thighs, the warmth of her hands, the gentle brush of her breath against her lips. 

Hermione’s hands wander up to press against Bellatrix’s sides, feeling the faint outline of her ribs beneath her shirt, moving with every breath. She’d grown slightly thinner in their month apart, a fact Hermione had felt that night in the alley, the way her body felt sharper against her than it used to, the way her cheekbones stood out with a gauntness more dramatic than what they used to be. She already looks healthier but she’s still not quite where she was before. Hermione brings a hand up between their bodies to find her face and lightly trace over the features she longed for every waking moment. 

Her fingers brush over the sharp lines of her eyebrows, the curve of her nose, her cheeks, along her jaw and chin, lingering at her lips. Bellatrix presses her lips against her fingers in a soft kiss, before parting them and nipping at them. Hermione smiles, and Bellatrix nudges past her hand to bring their lips together again. 

Bellatrix kisses her wetly, deeply, always with an intensity that she’s never been kissed with before. A soft noise makes its way out of Hermione’s throat, somewhere between a whimper and a moan. She missed this so much, lived every day of that month in fear that she would never have this again, that she’d never have Bella again. She winds her fingers through Bellatrix’s hair, falling around her like a dark cloud, and tilts her head up to catch Bella’s lower lip between her teeth. She sucks and bites and licks until Bellatrix is humming, pressing her body more firmly against her. 

Hands slide up Hermione’s shirt and her hips jerk in surprise. When Bellatrix pulls away to let the both of them catch their breaths, she chuckles at the red flush in Hermione’s cheeks. 

“I thought you said no clothes were coming off,” Hermione murmurs thoughtlessly, more focused on the way Bellatrix is dragging her nails in intricate patterns on her skin. 

“I’m not taking it off,” Bellatrix defends herself, an easy smile curving her lips before she leans in again, this time focusing on Hermione’s neck. 

Bellatrix takes her time pressing lazy, hot, open mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of her throat. Occasionally, her teeth will scratch against her, making Hermione gasp and arch into her. She feels so open, so vulnerable beneath Bellatrix’s touch, in a way she hasn’t felt since that first time together. 

Bellatrix’s hands slide further up her shirt until her fingertips are sneaking underneath her bra. Hermione’s eyes flicker shut and she feels an unexpected flash of fear. 

So confused and easy to rile up. 

Hermione tenses, hearing Bellatrix’s voice in the back of her mind even though she hasn’t said anything. Bellatrix pauses, her mouth stilling against her neck. 

“Everything okay?” She asks, the words vibrating against her skin. 

Hermione shoves the disconcerted feelings aside and wraps her arms around Bella’s neck, pulling her closer. The warmth of Bellatrix’s chest against her own chases the feelings away and Hermione sighs, relaxing into her again. 

“I’m okay,” Hermione says, her words sending wisps of Bella’s hair dancing under her breath, “Don’t stop.” 

Bellatrix moves her hands around her body, sliding up her shoulders to press them as close together as possible. Hermione tightens her grip, the pressure of their embrace shoving away the sharp prickling of fear she felt. Bellatrix sucks lightly on her neck and Hermione moans quietly, reveling in the sparks of pleasure shooting out from their point of contact. 

Bellatrix’s thighs tighten around her and Hermione’s hands find their way to them, caressing the soft, warm skin. She grips at Bella’s hips, urging her to grind down on her. Bellatrix releases her neck with a wet pop and looks down at her before slowly and deliberately moving her hips. 

It’s so intimate, and Hermione feels so connected to her until that cold prickle of fear returns, spreading from her chest and down her spine. 

You’re nothing but a gullible, naive little idiot that I manipulated with the slightest bit of attention. 

Hermione shivers at the memory and Bellatrix mistakes her dread for desire, brushing her lips across her jaw and digging her fingers into her shoulders. Hermione tries to push through it, tries to ignore the memories of that dark night she thought was behind her, but Bellatrix’s voice in her head is harsh, sharp, unforgettable. 

Bellatrix is so soft, warm, and careful with her now. If Hermione can’t forget what she did to her in this moment of all moments, then how is she ever supposed to forget it? Bellatrix’s hands are tentative, ready to pull away at any hint of hesitation, but all Hermione can think about is the painful grip she had on her wrist, forbidding her from pulling away, trapping her. For weeks the faint ache was all she had left of the woman, and she’d often found herself running her fingers over the bruise, pressing down to remind herself of her touch. Now she’s here, touching her the way she’s been aching for, and she’s flinching away. 

Dark eyes stare down at her when Bellatrix pulls away, concern knitting her brows and turning down her swollen red lips. 

“Hermione? Where are you?” She asks. Hermione averts her eyes, staring at the ceiling above Bellatrix’s head. “You’re so far away from me,” 

Hermione’s throat works as she tries to swallow, words getting lost as she tries to figure out what to say. Panic is blooming in Bellatrix’s eyes as she searches Hermione’s face, like if she just looks at her hard enough she’ll be able to read her mind. Unable to discern what’s happening, Bellatrix shifts until she’s sitting on her heels at the end of the bed, a concerned frown on her face. 

Hermione sits up and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. The length of the bed feels like an ocean between them until Bellatrix crosses it hesitantly, settling against the headboard next to her. Without the woman’s prying gaze aimed directly at her, Hermione finds her words. 

“I think that...being with you in this way scares me, now,” Hermione blinks rapidly, trying to expel the sting of tears behind her eyes. 

“Why?” Bellatrix asks, her voice high and worried. 

“It makes me feel more vulnerable. It makes me feel like I felt before...before you…”

“...Oh,” 

“Yeah.” 

“Hermione, I-” 

“You’re sorry, I know. You can’t take it back and I know you’re doing everything you can to fix it, but...I don’t know, Bella. I thought I was ready. I want to be with you like that, I’m just so scared.”

“You’re scared of me,” Bellatrix says. Her voice is sullen, disappointed, but not surprised. She says it like it’s an expected fact, a confirmation of her fear, a deserved punishment, “I knew we shouldn’t have gone there...it’s too much, too fast.” 

“Bellatrix…” Hermione starts, turning to face her. She looks completely miserable, her shoulders slumped as she picks at a loose thread on her skirt. 

“Don't. It’s okay, Hermione. I understand. I don't want you to comfort me when this is my fault.” 

They fall into a silence, both at a loss for words. Hermione watches Bellatrix’s face as she appears to be working through something in her head, lost in a long and thoughtful silence. Finally, she looks up at Hermione through her lashes. 

“What can I do right now to make you feel better?” 

Hermione’s heart aches, resisting the urge to crawl into Bellatrix’s lap and tangle their limbs together. The way she’s looking at her with such caution paired with her soft spoken, considerate words makes her melt from the inside out. Hermione thinks about what she wants, what would make her feel safe and whole. 

“Can you just...hold me?” 

Bellatrix’s eyes widen for a split second before she settles back against the pillows and tugs Hermione against her. Hermione sighs and curls herself around her, settling against her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her waist. She uses her feet to shimmy the blanket on the edge of the bed up to wrap it around them both as Bellatrix tucks it in around her. 

Crookshanks hops up on the bed once they’re relaxed, coming to settle against Bella’s legs. The tension slowly leaves Hermione’s body until she relaxes fully against Bella, her full bodyweight pressing down on her. 

“Hermione, love, are you sleeping?” 

Hermione sighs, her breath tickling the skin of Bella’s neck and eliciting a shiver. Bellatrix chuckles and shifts, tugging at the hem of her shirt. Hermione lifts her head to look at Bellatrix’s face and finds badly disguised discomfort there. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” Hermione asks. She can’t resist the clawing urge to be close to her in any way she can, and if she can’t be close to her in that way, then she needs this. 

Bellatrix reads the expression on her face and nods, “But I’ll need something a little more comfortable to sleep in.” 

Hermione bites her lip and lets her eyes wander down Bellatrix’s body, the button up straining against her breasts because of how she’s laying, the pencil skirt that is pushed up and tight around her thighs. It’s as adorable as it is hot, and Hermione does her best to ignore the returning flush spreading out from her chest at the sight. The buttons on that shirt are practically begging to be undone. 

“Okay,” is all Hermione can seem to manage. 

The next morning, Bellatrix and Hermione go to Amortentia early to split a bagel and a pot of coffee. Hermione watches Bellatrix eat, noting with amusement that a bagel seems to be the only thing she eats with any sort of delicacy. She’s taking the smallest, almost squirrel like bites, and when she sets it down she has a smudge of cream cheese on her upper lip. 

Hermione snorts without meaning to, covering her mouth with her hand. Bellatrix narrows her eyes. 

“What?” She deadpans. 

Hermione takes a moment to commit the sight of Bellatrix with cream cheese smudged on her mouth to memory before reaching across the table to wipe it off with her thumb. She lets her hand linger there, appreciating the details of Bellatrix’s face in the cold morning light. Bellatrix tilts her head down to kiss her thumb, her lips curving against her skin. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” Hermione says. She feels so soft, so vulnerable, like her chest is cracked open with Bella’s long fingers wrapped around her heart. One knick of her nail or one wrong squeeze and she could devastate her again. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s my fault you feel this way in the first place,” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione lets her hand wander, pushing the curls at the woman’s hairline back and trailing her fingers down through the loose curls. They may not have had sex the night before, but waking up fully clothed and wrapped around each other left her feeling lost in a different kind of intimacy. She was the one to wake before Bella this time, taking the time to memorize the relaxed expression on Bellatrix’s face before her eyelashes began to flutter as consciousness crept back in. 

With every passing day, she’s beginning to feel less and less like Bella may vanish from her life in a puff of smoke at any moment. She looks at her with this depth that didn't exist before, like there are a thousand thoughts running through her head at all times, thoughts about her, thoughts Hermione can’t begin to guess at. 

The slap of a magazine on their table makes them both jump, Hermione’s hand retreating back to her lap and Bellatrix tilting back in her seat to look up at the intrusion. Andromeda is staring down at them, her hands on her hips, her expression warring between concern and irritation. 

“That bitch. This was Mother, I know it,” Andy says, unapologetic about her interruption. 

Bellatrix’s face morphs into anger before she even looks down at the magazine. Hermione scoots her chair closer to read over her shoulder, her eyes widening at what she sees. 

The magazine is open to a full page photo of the two of them, sitting at this very table by the window. Bellatrix is holding her hand and smiling softly at her, her eyes shining with affection, and Hermione is smiling back, a pink tinge to her lips and a cup of coffee hovering in the air as she’s caught in the middle of setting it down. It could’ve been taken any time in the last few weeks. 

In obnoxious black letters the title of the article reads, “Bellatrix Black’s Mystery Woman Caught on Camera; Insider Source Reveals Intimate Details” 

“Insider source?” Hermione murmurs, “Surely they can’t mean...” 

“Read the article,” Andromeda says, her voice clipped, “It can’t be anyone else.” 

Thanks to a tip from a source close to Black herself, a photographer was able to capture an intimate moment between the CEO and the woman who is allegedly a barista at a local coffee shop. Amortentia is owned by Black’s sister, Andromeda Tonks, and the woman in question is a long time employee and college student half Black’s age. 

This calls into question the ethics of this relationship. While both are consenting adults, Black holds a clear position of authority over this barista. Recent news suggests Black is turning over a new leaf, however the CEO of Orion has a long history of exploiting her employees and ignoring the morality of her sourcing. Perhaps old habits die hard. 

Before Hermione can continue reading, Bellatrix flings the magazine off the table and slams a hand on the surface, rattling the coffee cups. Hermione’s heart is the only sound she can hear, thundering away in her ears as she descends into panic. The article hasn't mentioned her by name, by some bloody miracle, but it’s obvious that it won’t be much longer before they have it. Half her face is plastered on it anyways, for the world to see, and for all she knows this will send Bellatrix into another self destructive tailspin and leave her alone to fend off whatever comes next. What happens once all of London knows her name, too? Their fledgling relationship is hardly a relationship at all, fragilely repaired and unprepared to withstand any sort of obstacle this soon. 

She finally gathers the courage to look at Bellatrix, whose expression is flat and unreadable. Hermione’s stomach plummets, but then Bellatrix is looking at her and her eyes aren't angry, they’re scared. 

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry your privacy is being violated like this. To have them...belittle you like this, reduce you to a helpless barista that I preyed upon...fuck. Fucking assholes. Fucking asshole mother,” Bellatrix’s voice changes from apologetic to viciously angry, before she stops abruptly and curls her hands into fists. 

“She’s doing this to get at you, Bella. She wants to hurt your reputation so she can prove herself right. She’s baiting you into self destructing….don’t do it.” 

“I will never…” Bellatrix begins, her words coming out in a huff, “Never let her get to me like that again.” 

Bellatrix’s jaw is tense, her eyes downcast as she seems to work through something internally. Hermione is too scared to move, scared to touch her, scared to run or to stay. She’s frozen and completely at Bellatrix’s mercy. Bellatrix looks at her again, her gaze hard. 

“I need to leave. I should work through this away from you, just to be sure…” her voice  is stilted, nervous, and all Hermione can do is nod her head. 

“Will you be okay?” Bellatrix asks, her eyelashes fluttering as her resolve waivers. 

“I’ll-I’ll be fine. Just...don’t…” Hermione can’t find the words to finish her sentence, and Andromeda’s hand on her shoulder is just what she needs to keep from falling apart. 

“I won’t,” Bellatrix promises. 

“Bella, let's go back to mine,” Andy says, “Hermione, take the day off. I’ll tell everyone not to say a word about you if anyone asks-"

“No,” Hermione cuts her off, standing up and shaking her head, “No, if I have to sit at home with nothing to distract myself, I’ll be a mess. I can find things to do in the back, away from prying eyes.” 

Andy looks at her doubtfully but doesn’t push her, “Alright. Bella, let's go.” 

Hermione watches them go, fighting the sinking dread she’s feeling. Please don’t let this ruin things again. Please, please, please, not again. 

Bellatrix doesn’t look back, no matter how much Hermione wishes she would. 

Nobody asks about Hermione directly that day, although Ginny says she suspects a few shifty customers were reporters scoping the place out. Everyone is equally outraged that this is even something that they have to be on the lookout for, the magazine article being the main topic of discussion at every slow moment of the day. 

Hermione manages to keep herself busy tidying the back room, organizing Andy’s office, and doing dishes before they could pile up. It should make the closing shift a breeze, and when Hermione runs out of things to do she slips out the back door. She freezes when she realizes that Bellatrix drove her here and she doesn’t have her bike. 

“Shit,” Hermione mumbles, pulling out her phone and debating what to do. Before she can decide who to call, Andy’s name lights up her screen. “Andy? Everything okay?”

“I-well, I suppose, all things considered. Are you still at the shop?” 

Hermione glances around at the barren grassy field behind the shop uncertainly, “Yes. I’m leaving now, but I’ve just realized I have no transportation.” 

“Oh. Right, well, I’ll come get you. Can I bring you back here? Bella’s asking for you.” 

“She is?” Hermione blurts out, surprised. 

“Indeed. She’s handling this better than I expected but she’s still not happy. I’ll let you see for yourself.” 

Hermione agrees, and ten minutes later Andromeda is picking her up by the curb behind the building and taking her home. They ride in a thoughtful silence, Andromeda worrying her lip as she focuses on driving and Hermione resting her head in her hand and staring out the window. She tries not to get her hopes up or over think the whole thing, tries not to dwell over how this will likely either be a huge step forward or a step back in their relationship. 

They step into an eerily quiet house and find Bella sitting on the couch, a crestfallen look on her face with her hands folded in her lap. She looks up when they enter the sitting area and her lips quirk into a sad smile when she sees Hermione. 

“You came,” Bellatrix says, her voice sad and soft. Hermione’s fear washes away at the sound and she crosses the room, forgetting about Andromeda behind them and crawling into Bella’s lap to wrap her arms around her neck. 

“Always,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix wraps her arms around her waist and lets out a long, shuddering breath. Andy quietly excuses herself and Hermione melts into the woman beneath her. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Bellatrix says, the words thick with tears against Hermione’s neck, “But I’m trying to. I really am.” 

“I know,” Hermione says, dragging her hands through Bella’s hair and shivering at the cool press of her nose against her neck, “I’m so proud of you.” 

And god, she really is. Bellatrix has come so far from the seductive but removed woman that walked into Amortentia at the beginning of the summer. Hermione doesn’t know why, but for whatever reason Bellatrix has fought so hard for her. She’s fucked up gloriously, but she’s clawed her way back into her life with so much dedication that it’s impossible to deny her. 

Just look at her. How could I ever deny her?

“All I’ve ever wanted is a normal fucking family,” Bellatrix says, “I never realized how far from normal my family was until I started talking about it. And saying everything out loud has made me realize what a bloody mess I am. I’m so messed up, how am I ever supposed to get better?” 

“Look at how far you’ve come already,” Hermione leans back and cups Bellatrix’s cheeks, “Not long ago you never would have dreamed of letting me in the way you are now. You didn’t even know how to open up to me, and now it’s become the foundation of this relationship.” 

Bellatrix blinks up at her, her wet eyelashes making her eyes impossibly darker, even more difficult to look away from. Looking at her in this moment feels like missing a step going down the stairs in the dark; terrifying, overwhelming, startling, where for that split second you’re falling and you don’t know where the ground is. It’s exhilarating looking at her and realizing she would do absolutely anything for her. 

I think I love her. 

“Sometimes I think...that normal family I’ve always wanted...it’s always seemed so impossible, but sometimes when I look at you-” Bellatrix hesitates, taking a deep, trembling breath before plunging forward, “It suddenly seems so achievable. I can see it all right there in your eyes, right here within my reach.” 

Scratch that, Hermione thinks, I know I love her. 

Chapter Text

Hermione stares out the window at the world blurring around them, Bellatrix guiding the jaguar at an efficient speed through the tree lined motorway. She feels so at ease she’s almost lightheaded, full of joy at the promises the weekend holds with Bellatrix. The whole weekend, uninterrupted with the woman she loves. This is shaping up to be her best birthday yet. 

“We have a stop to make along the way,” Bellatrix says, her fingers rapping against the steering wheel with nervous excitement. They’ve been driving out of town for the past 45 minutes to some mystery location. Bellatrix insists that their destination be a surprise, even though Hermione is already fairly certain what it is.

“Along the way to…?” Hermione asks anyway, enjoying the way Bellatrix tries to smother how obviously pleased with herself she is at her “ignorance”. 

“You’ll see,” Bellatrix says, her teeth glinting in the dark. 

The lake house, Hermione thinks, it’s so obviously the lake house, but I’ll let her have this. 

To her credit, Bellatrix seems to be hiding another birthday surprise in their mystery stop along the way, and Hermione has no idea what that could be. She’s been increasingly secretive and jittery with excitement the closer they’ve gotten to Hermione’s birthday, and now that the weekend is here she’s practically vibrating. It has something to do with what she’s been working on, which she’s managed to keep Hermione entirely in the dark on. The last week there have been many phone calls answered outside, long hours spent on her phone or laptop, angled away from Hermione at all times.  

“Ten minutes away now,” Bellatrix says, her leg bouncing. 

Hermione reaches across the center console to rest a steadying hand on her knee. Bellatrix stills, shooting Hermione a wide eyed glance. 

“I hope you like it.” 

“I will,” Hermione says. It’s an easy promise to make. Whatever it is, Bellatrix has worked on it tirelessly for over a month, and no one has ever worked that hard on anything for her.

“We’re close,” Bellatrix reaches across Hermione to the glove compartment, her knuckles brushing against her skin as she pops it open. She pulls out a silver tie and drops it in Hermione’s lap before returning to the clutch, “Use it to cover your eyes.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Just trust me. I don’t want you to see it as we’re driving up.” 

Hermione does as she asks, her vision completely obstructed when she fastens the tie behind her head. She finds herself at a loss for words without her vision, listening instead to the hum of the engine and the shifting of gears as Bellatrix slows the car down and pulls off to the side of the road. The engine turns off and she hears Bellatrix exit the car. Moments later, the passenger door opens and a rush of cool air greets her. 

Bellatrix’s hand slips into hers and she guides her out of the car. Hermione shivers, and all she hears is rustling before Bellatrix is draping a jacket over her shoulders. The air is totally silent except for the sound of crickets. 

“Hermione?” 

Bellatrix sounds like she’s about to say something important, and Hermione finds herself holding her breath. Bellatrix’s hands are warm and firm on her arms, gripping her and pressing her against the car with her body. 

“Yes?” Hermione asks. 

“We should use this tie again sometime. I’d love to see it wrapped around your pretty little mouth.” 

Hermione laughs, even as heat floods her cheeks. She reaches for the woman in front of her, grasping at her waist to anchor herself to something solid. Bellatrix leans into her further and cups a cool cheek with her warm hand. 

“Honestly, though...when we were apart, I spent so much time obsessing over how to show you how I feel about you,” Bellatrix leans forward, murmuring the words directly into her ear, “It felt like nothing I could do was enough, and the obsession invaded my life in every possible way until I finally figured it out. I wanted to show you that for me, you are forever. You and I, this thing between us is forever. I’m yours and you’re mine, forever.” 

Bellatrix’s fingers slip beneath the tie and she slowly pulls it over the top of her head. Bellatrix’s face, pale and glowing in the moonlight, swims in front of her and Hermione realizes she’s crying. 

“Happy birthday, Hermione.” 

Bellatrix steps aside and behind her a billboard towers above them, illuminated by white spotlights. Hermione’s name is in gold cursive letters, surrounded by sparkling, rose gold jewelry with white and chocolate diamonds. Beneath her name in smaller letters it reads, “For a love that lasts a lifetime”. 

All Hermione can do is stare in shock, and after a long silence Bellatrix’s breath tickles her ear. “No gem really captures the depth of your eyes, but a chocolate diamond comes close. It’s our first line that’s sourced one hundred percent ethically, so it’s only right it’s named after you. You inspired all of this. You inspired me.” 

Images flood Hermione’s mind of jewelry inspired by her sitting in glass cases for people to look at, people walking around London wearing something inspired by her, someone proposing with a ring Bella imagined with her in mind. Bellatrix chose the perfect gift; this is something that will last a lifetime, permeating throughout the continent and into the lives of people she’ll never meet. 

Any remaining anxieties Hermione has been holding onto vanish completely. She turns to face Bellatrix and wraps her arms around her waist, burying her face in her neck. Bellatrix returns the embrace with bruising force, enough to lift Hermione slightly off her feet. 

“You’re incredible, Bella,” she says. She wants to say those words that have been haunting her all week, but the moment she thinks about saying it her nerves have her throat closing up. “Thank you. God, no one’s ever…”

“Devoted a jewelry line to you?” 

Hermione laughs, “I just mean...no one’s ever put so much thought and effort into something for me.” 

Bellatrix releases her, pulling back just enough to smooth the hair back from her face, “Hm, everyone else in your life is a fool, then.” 

“You’re crazy,” Hermione says, her eyes returning to the billboard. It has to be a dream, but Bellatrix is soft and warm and real beside her. How can someone like her be real? 

“Being without you will do that to a person,” Bellatrix says sagely. A grin blooms on Hermione’s face and Bellatrix’s lips quirk in response. “All right, let's get out of here. I have more surprises for you this weekend, birthday girl.”

If Hermione had any remaining doubt that the next surprise was the lake house, it leaves her when they enter the Lake District. Even at night she catches the glimmer of water between trees as they dart along the road to their destination. The stars are crystal clear this far out, twinkling over the mountains rising over the water. Bellatrix rolls down the windows and Hermione breathes in the smell of grass and feels the end of summer air drift over her skin. 

“Know where we’re going yet?” Bellatrix asks. 

Hermione tries to keep her face as neutral as possible, “I think I can make an educated guess.” 

Bellatrix looks at her, eyebrows twitching, “You’ve known this whole time, haven’t you?” 

Hermione feigns shock, “What? Why would you think that?” 

Bella snorts, “Oh, please. You’re a terrible liar.” 

Hermione is pretty sure Bellatrix can just read her like a book. Well, that and she is a terrible liar. 

Bellatrix rolls the windows up as they pull onto an off street and drive away, further and further from the road until the pavement turns to gravel. They drive past a mailbox and then uphill, rounding a corner. The house spills out before them, grey stone with natural wood accents and massive windows, nestled in a lush field of trees and overlooking the water behind them. It’s the kind of house she could only imagine living in someday in her wildest dreams, the kind of dreams that are too unrealistic to even bother having.

They step out of the car at the same time. Hermione’s legs are wobbly from the long drive and the heel of her boot shifts in the gravel driveway. She nearly falls, but in a moment Bellatrix is catching her by the arm and steadying her. 

“You like it?” Bellatrix asks. 

“It’s beautiful, Bella. I can’t believe you don’t live here full time.” 

“Well,” Bellatrix says, guiding Hermione up the stone steps, “It’s far from the office. Besides, it’s awfully big to live in all alone.” 

“I’d live with you,” Hermione says without thinking. She doesn’t realize what she said until Bellatrix freezes, staring down at her in surprise. She almost goes to take it back, but something in her wants to hear what Bellatrix will say. 

“I...I don’t think I’d be opposed to that,” Bellatrix says, her voice slightly strained. Hermione’s heart rate stutters, shocked by her response. 

‘Bella I-we haven’t even...there are a lot of steps we haven’t taken,” Hermione stutters. I haven’t even told her I love her yet. 

Bellatrix shrugs and busies herself with unlocking the door, “Someday, Hermione. Besides...we already know, don't we?” 

Before Hermione can dwell on what that means, Bellatrix pushes the door open and disappears inside to turn on the light. Hermione follows her, her eyebrows raising as she takes it in. The front doors open up to a modern sitting area in front of a massive fireplace, still managing to be cozy despite the size. The fireplace is framed by built-in shelves that are packed with books, and there are books scattered on the end tables and the coffee table. It’s too dark to see outside, but Hermione can tell the windows overlook the lake in what promises to be a stunning view tomorrow morning. Bellatrix walks to the fireplace to turn it on, leaving Hermione to wander around the room. 

She recognizes most of the books, but there are several specialty books lying around too. She finds a cookbook, a book on business models, and one about different species of birds native to the area before Bellatrix is wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her. 

Hermione melts into her immediately, overwhelmed with wonderment at everything Bellatrix has done for her. She’s drowning in her emotions for the older woman, and each press of her lips is like a breath of fresh air. Bellatrix deepens the kiss, pressing back until Hermione is falling backwards onto the soft grey couch. Bellatrix shoves her down and straddles her in one motion, never once breaking their kiss. 

“Do we still-need to go-slow?” Bellatrix asks between kisses. 

Hermione struggles to form coherent thoughts, her hands gripping at the body on top of her. Bellatrix is just so warm, so soft, so close and not close enough. Hermione sucks a full lower lip into her mouth and moans, shoving Bellatrix’s blazer off of her shoulders. She feels full lips curve against her mouth and realizes she hasn’t answered the question. 

Bellatrix pulls away, pressing hot kisses to her jaw and over to the shell of her ear, “Hermione,” she purrs. 

Hermione shivers, feeling her entire body flush just at the way Bella says her name. She tries to remember the question, tries to think about if she’s really ready and her body screams yes, yes, touch me. 

“I-I think I am,” Hermione says, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as Bellatrix attacks her pulse point. 

“Hmm, you think?” Bellatrix says, the words vibrating against her throat. 

Long fingers drag over the sides of her torso and Hermione arches up into them, aching for more of Bella’s warmth. Bellatrix pulls away, sitting in Hermione’s lap and looking contemplatively down at her. 

“We should be careful,” Bellatrix says, ghosting her fingertips over Hermione’s arms, “Take it slow.” 

Bellatrix moves her fingers to the collar of her shirt and starts unbuttoning. 

“Is...did you get the green light from McGonagall?” Hermione asks, her eyes drinking in every inch of skin Bellatrix reveals. 

“Maybe I just decided I don’t need to wait for the old bag’s permission.” 

Hermione’s lips quirk at the obvious lie, but the smirk falls away when Bellatrix takes off her shirt and reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hermione says. Then Bellatrix is tossing her bra to the side and leaning in with that hungry look on her face and Hermione forgets what they were talking about. 

God, Bellatrix is a good kisser, Hermione thinks as Bellatrix’s mouth presses hotly against hers. The woman knew just how to move her mouth, just how to touch her to get her body screaming for more and begging for it to go on forever at the same time. She always sets the pace and Hermione is always glad to go along until she’s forgetting how to breathe. 

Bellatrix manages to get her shirt open without Hermione noticing, until their skin is pressed together and she’s arching into her. Hermione never used to be attracted to the idea of someone’s tongue in her mouth, but Bellatrix’s tongue sliding against hers has her moaning and digging her fingers into Bellatrix’s hips. Her fingers slide around to undo the button on Bellatrix’s pants, prompting her to shuffle out of them. Instead of getting back on top of her, she unbuttons Hermione’s pants and yanks them down her legs and off. 

Bellatrix’s lips are on hers again, kissing her swollen until she’s satisfied, moving her lips down her neck, her chest, and pausing at the top of her bra to suck a mark into the skin there. Hermione gasps, arching into her mouth, and Bella slides her hands behind her back and unclasps her bra. 

Hermione grabs hold of Bella’s hair when her lips wrap around a nipple, her nails scratching against her scalp until the woman is moaning against her. Her teeth scrape against Hermione’s sensitive skin and she whines, tugging at Bella’s head until she’s looking up at her beneath her lashes. 

“This is taking it slow?” Hermione manages. 

“Well,” Bellatrix says with a smirk. She moves a hand to her own underwear and works it down her thighs, “We don’t have to fuck each other to have a good time.”

Before Hermione can wonder what she means, Bellatrix’s hand slides between their bodies until she’s touching herself between her legs, watching Hermione’s face until she sighs and her eyes slip shut. Hermione licks her lips and looks down at Bellatrix’s hand working between her legs in tight, rough circles. 

When Bellatrix speaks again her voice is thick and low with desire, “We can just...ease back into things.” 

Bellatrix lets out a little gasp as she slips inside of herself, and fuck, Hermione can’t stop her own hand from sliding between her legs and shoving her underwear aside. She wastes no time mimicking Bellatrix’s movements, two fingers slipping inside of herself with ease. She moans at the feeling and Bellatrix’s eyes flutter open to watch her. 

“That’s it, pet, just like that,” Bellatrix shifts so her legs are spread slightly wider, grinding her hips down into her hand. 

Hermione’s pretty sure she can come just from watching her, just from her breath against her skin and her eyes hot on her face. Her fingers just aren’t quite long enough, not quite hitting the right angle, and even though Bellatrix is gasping and grinding harder against her hand Hermione just can’t match her. 

“Bella,” She whispers. Bellatrix watches her lips as they form her name, her eyes bottomless with desire, “I need you, need your fingers, I can’t…” 

Bellatrix shifts slightly so her weight is resting on Hermione’s thighs and she moves her free hand to rest low on Hermione’s belly. She presses down with the slightest amount of pressure, her hand never stilling between her own legs. 

“Angle your fingers, pet,” she husks. 

Hermione does it and her head slams back against the cushions at the sensation. “Fuck, Bella.”

“There you go,” Bellatrix praises, her breath hitching, “You’re doing so well, Hermione.” 

Hermione spreads her legs as far as Bellatrix’s thighs will allow and picks up her pace, the palm of her hand rubbing against her clit and the pressure building and building. Bellatrix is barely touching her and still she knows exactly what she needs, and god dammit, Hermione is so in love with her she can hardly stand it. She’s a goddess made from midnight and she’s hers, all hers, naked and grinding and gasping her name on top of her. 

“I’m going to-” 

“Come with me, Hermione,” Bellatrix says, her heavy lidded eyes never leaving her face. Bellatrix bites her lower lip, her hips jerking in a desperate rhythm, until her mouth falls open and she lets out the most beautiful sound Hermione’s ever heard as they tumble over the edge together. 

Hermione’s hips jerk up so hard as she comes that Bellatrix falls forward, pressed fully against her. Her lips find Hermione’s again, swallowing the sounds of her orgasm with her open mouth.

Once they come down from their shared high, Bellatrix rests her head in the crook of Hermione’s neck and tries to catch her breath. Hermione’s body trembles with aftershocks, even as she raises a hand to stroke the bare skin of her lover’s back. 

Bellatrix mumbles something against Hermione’s neck that she doesn't quite catch. 

“What’s that?” Hermione asks.

Bellatrix pulls back to look down at her, biting nervously at her lower lip, “Do you want to be my, um,” Bellatrix huffs and looks away like she’s embarrassed at her own hesitation. When she looks back, her gaze is steady, “Will you be my girlfriend, Hermione Granger?” 

It would be funny if it wasn't so fucking sweet. The pair has proclaimed their belonging to one another, has taken so many steps apart from the unspoken ones that it seems almost trivial now. Still, hearing Bellatrix actually say the words and seeing the nerves on her face is everything. 

“I will,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix leans in and pecks her on the lips, her center brushing against Hermione’s stomach as she does so, and Hermione bites her lip to keep from gasping.  

“Let’s get you cleaned up, pet,” Bellatrix says, and in a moment she’s off of her, padding towards the stairs completely naked. Hermione sits up, marveling at the view, until Bellatrix pauses and looks over her shoulder. Hermione jerks her eyes away from her bare ass and meets her gaze with an embarrassed smile. “Come on, Granger, or I’ll start without you.” 

Being washed by another person is far and away the most intimate experience of Hermione’s life. 

Bellatrix starts by working the shampoo through her hair, fingers scratching gently along Hermione’s scalp, angling her head back so it washes out away from her face. She turns Hermione around to work the conditioner through next, taking her sweet time running her fingers through the strands. The showerhead sprays out more than enough water to cover the both of them, and when Bellatrix prompts her to face her again Hermione giggles at the wet hair sticking to Bella’s face. Bella’s cheeks are oddly full, and before Hermione can wonder why, she’s squirting a mouthful of water at her. 

Hermione squeals, turning her face away. She looks back at Bellatrix with her shit eating grin and glares. 

“You’re a brat,” Hermione says. 

Bellatrix’s grin falls away to give Hermione a wide eyed, innocent expression, “What? You had some shampoo on your face.” 

“Liar.” 

Bellatrix keeps up the innocent facade, squirting a generous amount of body wash on her hands, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

She starts at Hermione’s shoulders, rubbing at the muscles until the tension fades away and the soap starts to foam. She leans in to kiss Hermione’s jaw, then to suck on her neck as her hands trail lower. Hermione squirms as Bellatrix runs her hands over her breasts, taking her sweet time washing that particular area until her nipples are straining against her palms. She trails lower then, rubbing her thumbs against the sensitive skin by her hip bones until Hermione’s breathing deepens and her eyes slip shut. 

The warmth of Bella’s body disappears and Hermione opens her eyes to see the woman on her knees in front of her, running her hands down her thighs. Hermione leans back against the white tiled shower wall, chest heaving, and parts her legs. Bellatrix looks between Hermione’s slick folds and her eyes. On her knees, looking at her for permission she reminds Hermione of a dog trained to wait for her master’s command to devour its food, and fuck me, that’s doing something to me. 

Hermione, feeling brave, grabs Bella’s wet hair for balance and slings a leg over her shoulder. 

“Please, Bella.” 

Bellatrix’s face darkens, an almost terrifying intensity creeping into her eyes. Her nails dig into Hermione’s thighs and she leans in slowly, never taking her eyes off Hermione until her mouth is brushing against her. 

The moan Hermione lets out is so loud it would be embarrassing if it weren’t for Bellatrix’s unwavering dark gaze. She wastes no time, opening her mouth and sucking on Hermione’s clit. 

“Ah, fuck, Bella, that’s perfect,” Hermione groans, and Bellatrix sucks harder and flicks her tongue against her, “Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

Bellatrix moans at the praise and the vibration has Hermione grinding against her face for more. The steam from the hot water clouds the air around them, deepening Hermione’s flush until it’s so hot it’s difficult to catch her breath. 

Bellatrix slips two fingers inside of her and starts pumping them straight away. Hermione gasps out her pleasure, the sound bouncing off the shower walls. 

“Just like that, Bella, fuck, that’s so good. You’re so good, such a good girl-” 

Just as Hermione realizes the words that slipped out of her mouth, Bellatrix lets out a high pitched moan different than any sound Hermione has gotten from her before and presses into her harder. Hermione looks down at her through the steam and sees that the expression on her face has shifted into something soft and vulnerable. 

Oh, she likes that, Hermione thinks, surprised. 

She moves her hips against Bellatrix’s face, and tilts her head back, unable to meet her eyes when she says what she plans on saying next. 

“You’re fucking me so good, Bella,” Hermione says, her voice whiny and breathy, “You’re going to make me come all over your pretty face.” 

She feels Bellatrix gasp against her and shift, and when Hermione looks down again Bellatrix’s eyes are closed and she has a hand between her own legs. 

Hermione feels a rush of power, awed that she’s turned Bellatrix into this, something she never would’ve expected from someone like her; head bowed in submission, fucking herself to Hermione’s words. 

“You’re mouth was made for making me come, Bella,” Hermione continues, gasping when Bellatrix stretches her with a third finger and moans against her again, “Fuck, you’re going to make me come again.” 

Bellatrix’s moans get louder, as she continues to fuck herself and Hermione, lapping at the endless moisture she’s creating until Hermione feels herself tightineng so tightly around Bella’s fingers that her thrusts slow. She curls her fingers and returns to sucking a cruel rhythm against her clit until Hermione’s head slams back and she comes, singing Bella’s praises. 

When Hermione's senses return to her, she looks down to see Bellatrix sitting on her heels, looking up at her all flushed and dazed like she hardly knows what’s just happened. Hermione tugs her to her feet and presses her palm against Bellatrix’s flushed cheek.

“No one’s ever talked to me like that before,” Bellatrix says, a line between her brow. 

“Was it okay?” Hermione asks. 

Bellatrix laughs softly, “Fuck. Apparently. What are you doing to me, Granger?” 

Hermione smiles and wraps her arms around Bellatrix’s waist, the water spraying them both down with a now lukewarm temperature. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Hermione wakes up the next morning alone, Bellatrix’s side of the bed still warm. She sits up and looks around the room, an odd sensation running through her at seeing it for the first time despite the hours spent in it the night before. She moves to get out of bed and her hand brushes against a folded piece of paper. She opens it to see Bellatrix’s elegant, scrawling handwriting. 

If I’m not back before you wake up, I’m in a meeting in the office down the hall. Feel free to acquaint yourself with the house. 

-B

Hermione sighs and shuffles out of bed, opening the door to the walk-in closet to find a slew of Bellatrix’s button ups. She runs her hand across them before deciding on a loose fitting white one and shrugging into it. 

She doesn’t want to acquaint herself with the house. She wants Bellatrix. She wants to be around her always, she wants to drown in her presence. Every moment without her is dull and uninteresting, even in a place like this. Now that she can touch her again without feeling afraid, she never wants to stop touching her again.  

Hermione finds Bellatrix’s office by following the gentle sound of her voice. She pokes her head in, ensuring that Bellatrix is facing her so that she won’t show on camera, and creeps into the room. She feels impulsive, emboldened by Bellatrix’s presence. She feels like doing something she’d normally never do. 

Bellatrix looks at her with adorable confusion and Hermione smiles, pressing her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. She see’s Bellatrix gulp nervously as Hermione lowers herself to her knees and crawls under her desk. 

“Ms. Black? Everything alright?” 

Bellatrix clears her throat, “Yes, Ian. Could you repeat that last bit?” 

To Hermione’s immense delight, Bellatrix is wearing a skirt. Hermione brushes her fingers against her bare, crossed knees and tugs slightly at them, asking for permission. She hears Bellatrix sigh, and then she’s shifting and parting her legs. 

“We’ve acquired five billboards throughout London and the commercials are set to start their run early next week.” 

Bellatrix hums and Hermione starts kissing her way up her thighs. Bellatrix spreads her legs further and shifts down in her seat slowly in an attempt to be subtle. Hermione sighs when she feels fingers tugging through her hair. 

“Have we settled on the prices?” Bellatrix asks, her voice giving nothing away. 

Hermione frowns at her steady tone and hooks her fingers around Bella’s underwear, pulling it down and out of the way. Bellatrix hooks her leg over Hermione’s shoulder, her knee bumping against the desk, and drags her closer. A different male voice begins rattling off absurd price tags and Hermione starts sucking a dark bruise into Bellatrix’s inner thigh. 

Her hand continues to stroke Hermione’s hair languidly, distractedly, while she hums along to signal that she’s listening to her marketing team. Once Hermione is satisfied with the dark mark she left behind, she brushes her lips against the glistening core spread open in front of her. Bellatrix’s next hum is a bit longer and lower, spurring Hermione on. 

She drags her tongue in a broad lick, smothering a groan at the taste of her. She missed this so much, and has craved this intimacy every day for so long now that it feels so good to give in and not need to hold back anymore. The muscles in Bella’s thigh jump, and she pulls Hermione even closer until she’s firmly trapped against her. Hermione, not wanting to drag it out, starts a steady rhythm, lapping at the flood of moisture that greets her with every lick. She circles over Bellatrix’s swollen clit before abandoning it to taste her at her opening again, and the noise Bellatrix makes above her makes her freeze. 

“Ah, go back,” Bellatrix says. Hermione smirks at the flustered tone of her voice, obeying her and returning to her clit, “Go back to the previous slide, Bill.” 

Nice save. 

Bellatrix’s colleagues continue discussing marketing plans Hermione can’t begin to care enough to listen to, shutting her eyes and growing intoxicated on Bellatrix’s taste. 

She flicks her tongue over Bellatrix’s clit again and again, until Bellatrix fists the hand in her hair and forces Hermione’s face all the way against her. Hermione brushes her teeth against her clit and then flattens her tongue. 

“That’s excellent,” Bellatrix sighs. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

Hermione hums with vigorous agreement, then slips two fingers inside of her. She begins to drag the flat of her tongue up and down in a firm rhythm and matches the pace with her fingers. She knows Bellatrix well enough now to know the exact way to fuck her to get her coming all over her fingers. Once she feels that telltale fluttering of her walls, Hermione curls her fingers and sucks greedily at her clit until Bellatrix tenses, freezing completely.

Hermione sighs with delight as Bellatrix comes, her thighs trembling and the grip on Hermione’s hair unforgiving. She laps up every delicious bit of her, removing her fingers to slide her tongue over her fully. 

“Well, I believe congratulations are in order, Bellatrix!” 

Bellatrix looks back at the screen, startled, “Pardon?” 

“The design for this line is excellent, and with the way our focus groups tested I believe ‘Hermione’ will be our most successful launch yet. You’ve outdone yourself this time.” 

Hermione shuffles out from under the desk and walks backwards towards the doorway. Bellatrix’s eyes flit over in time to see Hermione sucking her fingers clean. 

“Yes, this one is quite promising indeed.” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione is absolutely giddy after she leaves Bella to wrap up her meeting in peace. She feels drunk with power, with Bellatrix. What she’s just done upstairs was the boldest thing she’s ever dared to do, and she suddenly understands adrenaline junkies on a deeper level because the rush of it was unreal. 

She makes her way down the stairs, practically skipping through the halls until she finds the kitchen. 

The room is large and sleek, distressed wood cabinets pairing effortlessly with the concrete countertops and vintage style appliances. Hermione puts on a pot of coffee, humming to herself. Once it’s done she sweetens her own to her liking and leaves Bella’s black. She leans against the cool counter and looks out the window at the thicket of pine trees and the wildflowers swaying in the wind. 

She feels so peaceful, more at ease and content with her life than she has in a very long time. She finally feels comfortable in her own skin, assured in who she is, and confident in how deeply she’s wanted by Bellatrix. The feeling it gives her is unlike any other; an enrapturing blend of power and complete surrender. 

Bellatrix, silent as a mouse, creeps up behind her and wraps her arms around her waist. “You’re quite the adventurous one this morning, aren’t you, pet?” she purrs in her ear, “I think you’re due for some payback.” 

Bellatrix is naked against her back and Hermione hums happily before she tries to turn around to greet her. She finds Bella’s arms oddly firm, not allowing for any movement. She also notices that Bellatrix is keeping a measure of space between their lower halves and begins to think that the older woman is up to something. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione asks. Bellatrix ignores her, sucking on the skin of her neck until Hermione gasps. God, she’s still pleasantly aching from the night before and Bellatrix is just bloody insatiable. Hermione presses back into her, rocking her hips back and jolting when she presses against something...cool and firm, “Bella, what-”

Bellatrix shushes her and then Hermione feels nails scraping against her scalp and before she can get a sense of what’s happening she’s being pushed forward and the object pressing against her is now sliding against her and-oh, fuck. 

“I think it’s high time I show you what it’s like to be...properly fucked by such an appendage,” Bellatrix says, her voice taking on that low and deliciously cruel tone of hers that Hermione knows only means one thing. She trembles in anticipation of the fucking that tone promises she’ll receive, and spreads her legs. 

“Ah, so eager already, aren’t we, pet?” Bellatrix shifts her hips, dragging the length of the strap through her folds. 

Hermione presses her forehead against the cool countertop and bites back a moan as Bellatrix rubs the strap against her clit and then away again, teasing her. The hand in her hair is tight, and Bellatrix’s other hand is firm on her hip, trapping her fully at her mercy. 

“Bella...please-"

“Please what?” Bellatrix asks, her voice thick with faux innocence, “What do you want?” 

“You know what I want,” Hermione huffs, her frustration getting the best of her. She pushes backwards so the tip presses into her just barely, only to have Bellatrx shift away and press her harder against the counter. 

“Ah, ah, ah, you and I both know that isn’t how this works.” 

Hermione lets out a whimper that sounds quite pathetic to her own ears. She surrenders easily, as naturally as breathing, relaxing against Bellatrix’s hold. Bellatrix leans in again, working the buttons of her own shirt on Hermione’s body open until her skin is exposed for clawed fingers to explore. Bellatrix’s hips shift and the pressure returns, the length of the strap dragging against her slowly, just enough to bring that coiling, white hot heat low in her belly. Hermione forces herself to stay motionless, letting Bellatrix rock into her, her thighs tense as her walls clench around nothing. 

“Bella, please,” Hermione gasps, no longer able to keep herself still. Bellatrix goes motionless against her, letting Hermione grind herself against the strap. She traps it between her thighs and rolls against it, nearly sobbing at the pressure. 

Bellatrix rolls a nipple between her fingers, pinches at it, palms at her until Hermione is a moaning, gasping mess, moisture coating the strap and rubbing against her thighs. She’s painfully empty, aching to be filled by her, claimed by her, taken by her, again and again. So much so she’s certain she’d do anything, say anything just to feel completed by her. 

As if she can read her thoughts, Bellatrix begins to speak again; terrible, humiliating things that only has Hermione losing her mind more and more to aching desire. 

“Sweet, proper little Hermione Granger, bent over and squirming so deliciously to have me inside her. Hmmm, I’ll bet you’ve never felt this way before, have you? Can’t imagine itty bitty Weasel making you squirm, but there certainly wasn’t...much to squirm against, was there?”

That shameful feeling spreads in her chest like a burn, and oh it makes her so much wetter until she can hear it, just barely, that filthy wet slide of that thing between her legs. Bellatrix chuckles at her, low and throaty, twisting her fingers painfully in her hair. “Answer me.” 

“I’ve...I’ve never felt this way before. Never-ah-wanted someone like this before,” Hermione gasps, and Bellatrix rewards her by pressing the tip at her entrance again. 

“Then beg for it,” Bellatrix says, her voice hot and pressing, impossible to disobey. 

“Please fuck me, Bella,” Hermione says immediately, any shameful hesitation gone from her mind, “Please, please, I need you inside me-”

Hermione’s words end with a gasping, high pitched moan when Bellatrix pushes inside her all the way, six inches deep, filling her more than she’s ever been filled. Hermione’s mouth falls open as Bellatrix drags back out and she feels the tight, wet slide of the ribbed girth dragging against her. She’s never felt anything close to this from penetration alone, never felt so overwhelmed with the sensation of it and she’s stunned silent, her lips parted.  

Bellatrix pushes back into her rougher this time, Hermione’s body jerking forward with the force of it. She pulls back and thrusts again, and again, her bare skin smacking against Hermione’s hips each time. Hermione is still completely, uncharacteristically silent, and all she can hear is the dirtiest goddamn sound of skin on skin, the vulgarity of the wet slide of Bella’s strap fucking her. It’s loud, and it only makes her wetter, her face burning with unbearable heat and sounds of pleasure ensnared in her throat so all she can do is listen as Bellatrix fucks her. 

“So quiet,” Bellatrix remarks casually, like she isn’t fucking Hermione harder and deeper than anyone ever has, “Are you embarrassed, little darling? What would your friends say if they could see you now?”

Hermione tries to protest but the sound comes out as a long whine of pleasure instead. Bellatrix chuckles again and the sound sends Hermione’s stomach dissolving into butterflies at the sound. 

“They would be so shocked, maybe even disturbed by it if you weren’t so beautiful bent over and spread open for me. Yes, not a single one of them wouldn’t envy my position,” Bellatrix continues, her voice a medley of mocking and possessiveness. She fucks into her harder until Hermione is bracing her hands against the wall in front of her. Now that the first sound has fallen from her lips, everything else that’s been trapped comes out unbidden. Bellatrix speaks over her and Hermione sinks her teeth into her forearm to listen. “Whatever would you do if they found out just how rough and dirty you like it? Just how wet you get when you’re so wonderfully ashamed of yourself? What if I were to tell them?”

Hermione gasps and before she can protest Bellatrix’s mouth is latching onto the skin of her shoulder. The hand that was in her hair loosens and grabs the loose shirt, tearing it off her body and tossing it away. Hermione feels an abrupt, absurd burst of embarrassment at being completely naked, bent over, fucked and ridiculed. It’s almost too much, and at exactly the right moment Bellatrix’s thrusts ease, turning languid and shallow as she molds herself to Hermione. A shred of logic returns to her and she knows Bellatrix is only saying it as a part of their little game, that she would never betray her like that. She relaxes into the shame and lets herself enjoy it. 

“Please don’t,” Hermione pleads, feeling Bellatrix smirk against her skin.

“Do you think you could stop me?” 

“Please,” Hermione pants. Her legs are beginning to give out and she rests her weight against the surface beneath her. Bellatrix wraps an arm around her waist, holding her up while she continues to fuck into her without pause. “Please,” Hermione repeats mindlessly. 

“Could he fuck you like this, Hermione?”

The sound of her name chases away some of the fog in her head and she almost laughs when she realizes what Bellatrix is asking. Still, there’s that hint of insecurity in her voice that Hermione can only detect because of how well she’s come to know her, so she answers her seriously. 

“Never.” 

Bellatrix’s shallow thrusts increase in speed, rubbing against a particular spot that has her seeing white, that has her panting and losing all sense to the sensation. 

“Never?” Bellatrix asks, the word breathy as she finally begins to sound winded. 

“No one-ah, fuck Bella-no one fucks me the way you do. No one can-can fuck me like this because I’m yours.” 

Bellatrix’s fingers press against her clit, slipping over it in a messy rhythm. Hermione cries out in pleasure. 

“Mine,” Bellatrix repeats in a gasp, “You belong to me. You’ve only ever belonged to me, you’ll only ever belong to me.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck Bella, don’t stop, don’t-” Hermione begs until she cant form words anymore, throwing her head back and gasping as ecstasy overtakes her. She comes, clenching impossibly tight around the length inside her. Everything is lost to white for a long, terrifying moment where she wonders if this is what death feels like, before her senses come crashing back in waves and waves of pleasure. 

Her head falls forward as her body goes slack, feeling Belkatrix moving slowly, dragging out the sharp, wonderful waves of her orgasm until it’s gone. Before Hermione can move, before she can even form a coherent thought, Bellatrix is thrusting again harder and meaner this time. 

“Fuck,” Hermione sobs, feeling tears prick at her eyes at the burning between her legs. The strap has been inside her for so long it feels fucking real, impossible to distinguish from Bellatrix herself. And god does Bella wield it like it’s attached to her, pumping her hips in a maddening pace. Hermione is completely limp and lost to overwhelming, frightening pleasure. A long, low moan falls out of her, hitching with every thrust. 

“Bella, Bella, Bella,” She chants the only thought in her head, as she lets Bellatrix have her completely, lets her ravish her until she’s sated. 

“You’re taking me so well, pet,” Bellatrix praises her, dark and silky and so fucking beautiful. Sometimes, Hermione is sure she could get off from her voice alone, “You’re so fucking soaked, fuck, all for me.” 

“For you,” Hermione repeats. It’s almost embarrassing, the way the strap pistols in and out of her with delicious ease. “Bella,” she moans, her voice nearly unrecognizable to her own ears, “So good, Bella.” 

Bellatrix’s hands move to Hermione’s hips, pulling them back against her to meet her thrusts, going harder and faster until Hermione’s second orgasm hits her like a bolt of lightning and she sobs. 

“Bella, fuck,” Hermione cries, her voice raw and thick with tears. Bellatrix pulls out of her and Hermione sobs again at the loss, until Bellatrix is turning her around and pulling her into her arms. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, darling,” Bellatrix whispers against her ear. Hermione trembles, still reeling from the orgasm. Bellatrix just holds her tightly and strokes her hair, pressing gentle kisses to the side of her head, “You did so well, Hermione.” 

Hermione laughs and trembles again, pressing her tear stained face against Bella’s shoulder.

“What’d you do to me?” Hermione asks, pressing a kiss to the bare skin in front of her.

“I’m just that good,” Bellatrix says. 

Hermione laughs pulling back to see Bellatrix smirking down at her, “You’re ridiculous.” 

Bella’s smirk only grows, “I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

Hermione snorts and shoves her away, scooping up the discarded shirt and shrugging back into it. She smiles fondly as Bellatrix shimmies out of the harness and turns back towards the stairs. Hermione watches the bounce of her hair as she walks away, affection blooming in her chest. She will never get enough of it, of Bellatrix, in all of her possessive, vulnerable and unpredictable ways. She’s never been religious, but Hermione finds herself praying to whoever will listen that she can have this for the rest of her life. 

Bellatrix pauses at the base of the stairs and turns back to look at her. 

“Coming with me?” 

“Always.” Hermione says. 

Chapter Text

Hermione wakes up cold and alone, reaching blindly towards Bellatrix’s side of the bed. She groans when she finds a piece of paper instead, resisting the impulse to crumple it in her fist. She despises Bella’s habit of slipping out of bed before her and depriving her of waking up to her warmth. 

This better be good, Hermione thinks, unfolding the paper to read whatever excuse Bellatrix has prepared. 

Good morning, Darling, and Happy Birthday. I’m sorry I can’t be with you when you wake, but I have plans for you today that require my immediate attention. Believe me, I’d rather spend many more hours burying myself in you again and again, but I think you’ll like what I have planned almost as much. 

Find me downstairs.

Hermione groans again, painfully aware of the seemingly unending burn of desire she feels for the older woman. She rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how she wishes she woke up. 

They’ve never discussed it before, hell, Hermione’s never breathed a word of it to anyone, but she’s squirming at the thought of waking up to Bellatrix’s long fingers moving inside of her. Her eyes slip shut as she pictures it, as she imagines Bella watching her while she sleeps and being unable to help herself. Her own fingers slip between her legs and she gasps at how wet she is, moans when she thinks about Bella discovering it for herself. 

Fuck her plans, Hermione decides, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed, I have other ideas for us today. 

She finds the shorts she was wearing the night before and one of Bella’s discarded shirts, buttoning it up as she descends the stairs. She slows when she’s halfway down the staircase at the sound of multiple voices, freezing when she recognizes one. 

Was that Harry? 

She hears a loud shhh, and the voices cease abruptly. Hermione thunders down the last few steps, certain she must have misheard, when she sees each and every one of her friends and coworkers gathered in Bellatrix’s kitchen. She hardly has time to mutter a shocked “oh, hell,” before they’re shouting “Surprise, Hermione!”

Hermione attempts to discreetly button the last button on Bellatrix’s shirt as Harry and Ginny rush her. Harry lifts her off her feet with his embrace, and Ginny gives her a wide grin. Once Harry releases her Ginny throws her arms around her shoulders and lowers her voice. 

“This place is unbelievable, ‘Mione.” 

“I can’t believe you’re all here,” Hermione says, pulling back to give Ginny a disbelieving look, “That’s what’s unbelievable.” 

“Your woman is unbelievable,” Ginny says with a laugh, and Hermione blushes at Bellatrix being referred to as her woman. 

Her eyes sweep over the crowded living room, spotting Bella’s sisters, Ted, Luna, Neville, Dora and Remus, who’s holding Teddy. Bellatrix is nowhere to be seen. 

“I think she’s getting your cake,” Ginny says, “Since you’re clearly wondering,” 

Hermione’s eyes flick to the doorway leading to the kitchen and she gives Ginny a bashful smile. 

“Thanks, Gin,” Hermione ignores the urge she feels to abandon her friends and forces herself to make small talk. They did come all the way out here just for her. “But I’d like to catch up. I can’t believe you’re all here! Almost all of you, anyway.”

“Me either,” Harry says, casting a disbelieving look around the extravagant living area. Hermione follows his gaze and tries not to think about the various places Bellatrix has fucked her in this very room. “Ron wasn’t going to do it at first, but he texted an hour ago telling me he changed his mind and is on his way. Don’t think Gin’s car would’ve made the journey, though. If Bellatrix hadn’t offered to send cars for everyone, it couldn’t have happened,” His eyes land on her, serious and sincere, “She really cares about you.” 

The air rushes from Hermione’s lungs at the unexpected comment. Affection for Bella and her friends blooms in her chest all at once, and she folds her arms in an attempt to contain the feeling. She can’t believe that even Ron is coming. Ginny gently elbows her in the side and smiles when she meets her eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have been such a prat about the two of you. I was wrong. All this time I thought she was trying to...I dunno, buy you like you were a shiny object in a shop she happened into. But I think she’s actually just loaded and didn’t know how to express herself.” 

Hermione laughs, Harry and Ginny following suit. Ginny is spot on of course; Bellatrix tried to win Hermione’s affections the only way she knew how, in a way that’s probably worked for her every time in the past; through sex appeal, power and money. Not that those attributes aren’t absolutely lovely, but Bellatrix only won Hermione over by baring her soul. Hermione glances towards the kitchen again, wondering what the woman in question is up to. 

“It’s alright, ‘Mione. Go get her. We’ll all be here,”  Ginny says, pushing her in the direction she’s looking in. 

Hermione smiles gratefully back at her, before walking in the direction of the kitchen. She pauses at the doorway, taking one last look at the faces of everyone she’s close with, gathered in the same room. She catches Dora’s eye over Lupin’s shoulder, receiving a wave and an exaggerated wink. Hermione laughs and turns, rounding the corner into the kitchen. 

Bellatrix has her back to her, leaning over something on the island counter. She’s dressed in black slacks and a fitted white button up, tightly fitted enough for Hermione to see the tension in her shoulders from across the room. The silver tie from the glove compartment is loosely tied around her neck with the two buttons above it undone. She’s muttering something under her breath, absorbed enough in what she’s doing for Hermione to be able to approach undetected. Hermione slides her hands around Bella’s waist, and the CEO tenses further before she realizes who’s behind her and relaxes completely. The soft, slender weight of her body leans automatically back into the student, and she breathes in deep to take in her scent. 

Hermione rests her chin on Bellatrix’s shoulder to get a peak at what she’s doing. Before them is a two tier cake with white frosting and a realistic, red rose design cascading down the side. On top it reads “Happy Birthday Herm”.

“Who’s Herm?” Hermione teases. 

Bellatrix groans and lets her head lull back onto Hermione’s shoulder. The student gets a face full of black curls, the intoxicating scent winding its way to her lungs until she’s pulling her closer. 

“It isn’t done! I didn't expect you to be up quite yet with how late we were up last night,” Bellatrix’s voice is still thick with sleep, indicating that she hasn’t been up much longer than Hermione, “I was going to come back up after I finished and wake you. Didn’t want you coming downstairs naked.” 

Hermione slips around Bellatrix’s body until her front is pressed against her side, allowing the woman to look properly at her. Bellatrix drags her eyes down her body, taking in the wrinkled button up that belonged to her, down to her too-short shorts and bare feet. 

“Could’ve given me a heads up in your note,” Hermione complains, her tone chiding but affectionate. 

“You’re a smart girl,” Bellatrix says lowly, her eyes darker when they reach Hermione’s, “I knew you’d hear voices before coming all the way down.” 

“Still, I should put something nicer on,” Hermione says, absentmindedly slipping her fingers through the belt loops of Bellatrix’s slacks to tug her closer. 

“Check the linen closet in the guest bathroom. I had Pansy prepare a few things for you in anticipation of today, and she hid a few outfits in there.” 

Hermione can't stop the snort that comes when she imagines the assistant shopping for her, “And how does Pansy know my size?” 

Bellatrix shrugs, returning her attention to the cake to continue spelling out Hermione’s name, “She did a few years at a fashion school in Paris before she switched majors. She has an eye for it.” 

“We’ll see,” Hermione says, beginning to move away from Bellatrix. 

“Not so fast,” Bellatrix says, catching her around the waist before she can step away, “Tell me how it looks.” 

Hermione looks down at the cake. One of the frosted roses is smeared, and she scoops up the frosting on her right pointer finger. “Perfect, now.” 

Bellatrix wraps her fingers around her wrist and brings her hand upwards, until Hermione’s finger is right in front of her full red mouth. Bellatrix holds her gaze as she parts her lips and wraps them around Hermione’s frosting covered finger. 

Hermione takes a deep breath when she feels the hot, slick press of Bella’s tongue against her finger, licking it clean. Fuck. No wonder Bellatrix is so affected by this when Hermione is the one doing it. Bellatrix’s eyes glint with some unreadable thought, widening slightly. Her fingers tighten around her wrist, running her tongue over the trapped finger a second time.

Heat is already flushing through Hermione’s body at the action, settling in her gut and pooling between her legs. She cannot let Bellatrix continue to do this, or she’ll end up bent over the counter again with nearly every friend she has in the world twenty feet away. 

Bellatrix releases her when she feels her pull away. Hermione steps back, regarding Bellatrix’s fixed, black stare and glistening lips. 

“I should get ready, now,” Hermione says. Bellatrix only continues to stare wordlessly in that way of hers that makes Hermione want to sink to her knees, so instead she turns and flees the kitchen. 

She hugs the wall when she walks briskly back through the living area and down a different hall towards the bathroom. Once she’s inside, she leans back against the door and sighs, listening to the muffled sounds of her friends mingling. She presses her thighs together, embarrassed at how affected she is by Bellatrix’s touch. 

Bellatrix’s eyes. 

Bellatrix’s mouth. 

Bellatrix’s voice. 

She’s so weak for her, and it feels as if she grows weaker every day. Bellatrix wears away at her like waves on a cliff, and it feels so deliciously good to give in to her. She thought being in a relationship with someone was supposed to mean she’d gain control over herself the more she’s around them, but it seems to be  the opposite. Bellatrix is etched on her forever, and even if she were to permanently recede from her, Hermione is already transformed. 

Hermione shakes herself from the current of her emotions and opens the linen closet to see what Pansy’s chosen for her. She rifles through an assortment of skirts, both loose and form-fitting, until she finds a pair of dark jeans. A red sweater is the least flashy of tops in the selection, making it an easy choice. 

She’s just shimmying out of her shorts when the door opens, and she whirls around, infuriated. Her protests die on her lips when she sees that it’s only Bellatrix, with that untamed look on her face that usually spells trouble. Bellatrix shuts and locks the door behind her, seeming to hesitate when she sees the surprise on Hermione’s face. 

“B-Bella, god’s sake, I could’ve been-”

Bellatrix smothers her words with her mouth, soft, hot, insistent against her own. Two steps back and Hermione is shivering at the cold bathroom countertop pressing against the back of her thighs. Bellatrix chases the chill away, gripping at the soft, exposed skin of Hermione’s hips and pressing their bodies firmly against one another. 

Hermione can’t find it in herself to stop her, even with the muffled voices coming from less than twenty feet away. Bellatrix’s mouth, cruel and seductive, smothers her resistance and leaves her thoughtless, malleable, putty in her hands. 

“So easy,” Bellatrix purrs against her mouth. The insult hits Hermione directly between her legs, and she moans against the older woman’s smirking mouth, “You’d just let me take you whenever I please, wouldn’t you?”

A long fingered hand slides up Hermione’s chest, settling at her throat. Hermione chases Bella’s mouth when she pulls away, but the hand on her neck holds her in place. She forces her eyes open to find Bellatrix’s eyes burning in all of her dominating intensity, demanding a response. 

“Wouldn’t you?” Bellatrix repeats, her tone sending a shiver down Hermione’s spine. 

“Yes,” Hermione says, all too easily, “Whenever, however, wherever. I’m yours, Bella.” 

Bellatrix’s breathing deepens, Hermione noticing it in the rise and fall of the chest pressed against her. 

“I own you,” Bellatrix whispers, and Hermione’s knees tremble.

“Yes,” she says, “How would you like me?” 

The burning in Bellatrix’s eyes brightens, the fire dancing at Hermione’s obedience. Hermione’s hardly been touched yet and already she’s trying not to squirm under her gaze. 

“Turn around,” Bellatrix says, her hands urging Hermione to move how she desires. 

Hermione flushes, pink blossoming across her cheeks the moment she meets her own darkened gaze in the mirror. She looks so different with Bellatrix wrapped around her,  possessive hands at her throat and around her stomach, chin resting on her shoulder. Bellatrix is looking at her with all of that darkness, passion, that obsessive glint that she’s known for quite some time now. Behind it, though, there’s a softness that’s new. Tenderness and a fierce sort of protectiveness lurk in her gaze now, and it has Hermione trembling with new and overpowering emotion. 

Behind her, Bellatrix looks like her shadow. Hermione supposes she is, in a lot of ways,  a dark echo of herself. Like looking in the mirror with the lights off, looking at someone she knows and recognizes with every fiber of her being, familiarity shrouded in mystery. 

“You’re beautiful,” Bellatrix says quietly, her breath moving the loose strands of Hermione’s hair, “Look at yourself.” 

Bellatrix trails a finger along Hermione’s flushed cheek, down to her jaw, her chin, her parted lips. Hermione has never been particularly fond of her own appearance, always thinking of herself as rather ordinary. Now, with Bellatrix at her back, with the woman’s influence on her written all over her face, she supposes she does look quite beautiful. 

“Do you miss me when we’re apart?” Bellatrix asks. Hermione finds her eyes, confused at the sudden question. 

“Every second,” Hermione answers honestly.

Bellatrix hums, a rumbling purr against her back, and the hand on her stomach slips lower. She slides beneath her panties without preamble, and there’s a sharp intake of breath against the skin of Hermione’s neck at the slickness she finds. Hermione’s eyes slip shut. 

“Is that why you touched yourself this morning?” 

Hermione’s eyes fly back open, meeting Bella’s in the mirror again. 

“Sorry?” 

“Don’t be shy, pet. I tasted it on your finger,” As if to prove her point, Bellatrix brings her hand out of Hermione’s underwear and up to her red lips to taste her again. She removes her fingers with a wet pop, lips glistening. “It was faint, but I’d recognize it anywhere.” 

“Oh,” Hermione says, remembering the way she felt the moisture between her legs in Bella’s absence, the way it grew when she thought of those fingers moving inside her…”I only...I didn’t finish the job.”

“Good,” Bella says, and in one fluid motion she has Hermione bent over, a firm, cool hand at the back of her neck, “That’s my job. It is your birthday, after all. I wouldn’t want you...straining yourself.”

Hermione lets out a long, shuddering breath. Something tells me you’ll strain me more. 

“Now, be a good little pet and spread your legs.”

Hermione hesitates, her eyes flicking towards the door when she hears a burst of particularly loud laughter. She feels uncomfortably hot at the wrongness of it all, of doing this with her friends right outside. What if she can’t be quiet? What if they saw Bella follow her? What if they know?

“Hermione. Look at me.”

The hand in Hermione’s hair tightens until it’s guiding her head up, forcing her to look at herself. Hermione is stunned at her own appearance yet again, bracing herself on her forearms, hair a mess, bent over before Bellatrix who is looming like a dark goddess behind her. 

“They won’t hear. You’ll be a good girl and keep your mouth shut, won’t you?”

Hermione swallows her nerves, and nods in response. Bellatrix gives her only the slightest smile before the press of Bella’s heeled foot against her own is urging her legs apart. Bellatrix meets her eyes in the mirror and Hermione feels the white hot prickling from her chest down to her core when she sees that look in her eyes; that wild look that borders on unhinged, the one that leaves her feeling completely beneath her heel. 

Hermione is dripping at the sight of it. 

Bellatrix moves her hands away from Hermione’s body, and she watches as the CEO removes the cufflink from her right wrist, then each of the three silver rings decorating her hand. That same hand slams against the counter beside her with a metallic clink, the rings and cufflink sitting abandoned. Bellatrix rolls her sleeves up and Hermione watches every minuscule movement, watches her preparing to fuck her. 

Bellatrix holds her gaze the entire time, even as she shoves Hermione’s underwear aside and slides two fingers across her entrance. The corner of her mouth twitches into that self satisfied smirk at the mess she’s found, the mess she’s made of her, and Hermione fights the flush of embarrassment that rises in her cheeks. She can’t believe that even after all this time, Bellatrix still manages to make her feel this flustered.

Another wave of laughter trickles into the bathroom and Hermione squirms.

“Bella...we have to hurry. If i’m gone long, they’ll know. Ginny would know,” Ginny can read her like a fucking book when she wants to.

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow. “You’re rushing me?” 

Hermione sighs and fights off the urge to roll her eyes. She knows Bellatrix will only torture her if she does, pin her down and take her time just to spite her. And Hermione would let her. 

“Just...Bella, please-” 

Hermione’s sentence ends in a gasp when Bellatrix pushes inside of her, fucking her hard, hard enough to slam her into the counter with every thrust. Her eyes slam shut, her mouth falling open as she pushes back to meet Bellatrix’s thrusts. 

Bellatrix fists a hand in her hair and twists until Hermione is looking at herself in the mirror again. A moan tears out of her throat at the sight of herself, flushed, bent over and jerking forward with each of Bellatrix’s movements. She looks depraved, wild with want, almost unrecognizable.

“Don’t shut your eyes again. I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see what I see.” 

“Bella…” Hermione pants, the heat of her breath ghosting across the mirror in front of her.

Bellatrix begins curling her fingers with every pump of her fingers, hitting that spot inside of her, and Hermione can’t stop the moan that spills out. For a moment she forgets where she is, forgets about the people just down the hall. Bellatrix shifts behind her, her left hand coming up to her neck and pulling her tie loose. 

“Quiet, pet. We wouldn’t want all of your friends to hear what a dirty little slut you are for me, would we?” 

Hermione groans, half in protest and half in pleasure, before Bellatrix is stuffing her tie into her mouth. Her knees nearly give out when Bellatrix fucks into her harder, and harder, until Hermione is digging her teeth into the fabric and moaning uncontrollably.

Bellatrix wraps an arm around her waist, supporting her body just as it goes limp. She leans forward, her body flush behind her and her breath tickling her ear. 

“Look at yourself. Look at how dark your eyes have gone. You’re so beautiful, and you’re all mine. You belong to me.” 

Hermione meets her own eyes. Gone is any hint of color, honey and gold eclipsed by her blown pupils. Her own eyes remind her of Bella’s, the way desire blackens her gaze when she looks like her. It’s as if Bellatrix’s darkness has bled into her, caught her up in its midnight tendrils, possessed her. Bellatrix lives in her, is a part of her, just like she lives in Bella, now. 

Hermione nods her head in confirmation.

Yours. I belong to you, always. 

She’s close, she’s so close she can hear her heart thundering in her ears like knuckles on wood. She’s so close she doesn’t understand why Bellatrix is clamping her left hand over her already gagged mouth and twisting her head towards the door. 

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Bellatrix calls, her normal tone of voice jarring, “Hermione’s zipper is stuck, she just needed a little help.” 

Hermione trembles and pushes back harder, her hips jerking as her stomach coils tighter and tighter. She’s beginning to clamp around Bellatrix’s fingers as that hot, liquid feeling consumes her beyond reason, beyond caring about who’s on the other side of the door. 

“Right, well, come say hi when you’re done, ‘Mione.” 

Ron. God, bloody Ron’s voice. 

Hermione can’t begin to think about how to respond to him. She doesn’t give a fuck about responding, she only cares about the feeling building between her legs and Bellatrix’s relentless fingers impaling her over and over. 

“We will,” Bellatrix snaps, her voice husky and commanding. In that same tone, she leans down and whispers, “Come now.” 

Hermione lets out a strangled moan, muffled by the tie and Bella’s hand as her body obeys her order in the most primal way. Her eyes roll back with the force of her orgasm, the heat between her legs shooting out through her body like a bloody firework show. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Bellatrix. 

Her thighs are shaking when she comes down, her body malleable and weak in Bellatrix’s arms. The older woman turns her around and shifts her until she’s sitting on the countertop. She drapes her heavy arms around Bella’s shoulders and her fingers find the curled edges of her hair to play with it absentmindedly. Her underwear is gone, a fact she registers distantly, as she tugs Bella closer with her legs. 

“You’re messy,” Bellatrix purrs, pulling the tie out of her mouth. Sweet, cool oxygen fills Hermione’s lungs in a deep sigh. “I can’t send you out like this. I ought to clean up after myself.” 

Hermione giggles, drunk with pleasure, picturing Bella as a guilty child who’s embarrassed at the lack of cleanliness in her room. She bets Bellatrix was just adorable. 

Then, Bellatrix is kneeling between her legs and the delirious smile drops from Hermione’s face. 

“Bella,” Hermione whispers, looking down at her in shock, “We don’t have time.” 

Bellatrix’s dark eyes blink innocently up at her as she drags her tongue along a trembling thigh, “There’s cum dripping down your thighs, darling. Your friends will be able to smell it on you if you don’t let me clean you up.” 

Hermione hisses as Bellatrix licks all the way up to the apex of her thighs. Her fingers slide through thick, silky hair and Bellatrix smirks. Hermione spreads her legs wider to accommodate her and Bellatrix resumes, skipping over her heated, oversensitive skin to lap up her other thigh. 

“Good girl,” Bellatrix hums, giving her thigh an appreciative nip. 

Her tongue reaches her center again, and this time she drags it across her in a broad stroke. Hermione’s hand tightens in her hair and her head falls back, too weak from her last orgasm to protest. Fluid is leaking out of her again, and Bellatrix is licking it all up happily, from her opening to her clit, swirling over it again and again. Hermione lifts her hips to match her lazy rhythm thoughtlessly, until she’s creeping towards the edge again. 

“Fuck,” Hermione mumbles, the knuckles of her free hand turning white on the edge of the countertop, “I’m going to make more of a mess.” 

Bellatrix hums her disagreement and the vibration has Hermione biting her lip to stop a moan. 

“I’ll lick it all up,” Bellatrix murmurs, her head bobbing with the rhythm of every stroke. 

Hermione shifts her hand down to cup Bella’s face, to feel her jaw working. She widens her legs and tugs her impossibly closer, until Bella’s tongue is dipping inside of her with every lick. Bellatrix’s nails dig into Hermione’s thighs, spreading her wider as she presses that hot, slick muscle harder against her. Hermione’s thumb swipes over her chin and she groans at the slickness she finds there. 

“I’m all over your face,” Hermione whispers, her hand trailing lower. She gasps when she finds more of herself there, sliding down Bellatrix’s throat. “Fuck, Bellatrix.” 

Her next orgasm is heavier, slower, and she has to anchor herself with a hand in Bella’s hair so she doesn’t fall off the counter. It comes in waves, and she rides each one out on Bellatrix’s eager, expert tongue. True to her word, Bellatrix laps up every last drop until Hermione’s vision clears, and she looks down to see her kneeling between her legs and admiring her work. 

Bellatrix notices Hermione staring at her and smiles brightly, “I’ll leave you to get ready now. You should probably be quick before people really get suspicious.” 

Bellatrix stands and turns towards the door, but Hermione grabs her wrist and tugs her back. Bellatrix returns to her with a knowing smile and grabs the back of Hermione’s head to pull her into a kiss. 

You’re the worst, Hermione wants to say. Instead, she just lets her kiss her. Bellatrix’s lips are warm and soft, and she tastes like her. She can hardly ever seem to kiss her chastely, never able to resist the slide of Bella’s tongue against her own as she claims her mouth absolutely. Bellatrix pulls away, her eyes clouded with tender affection, a thumb brushing over Hermione’s cheek. 

I love you, Hermione wants to say. Instead, she hands Bellatrix her rings and the forgotten cufflink. 

“Stall for me, please,” Hermione says softly into the sliver of space between them. 

“Anything for you, darling.” 

Three hours and four mimosas later, Hermione is outside, leaning on the back deck and watching her friends getting ready to play a spontaneous game of football. Only Remus remains inside with Teddy, who’s finally napping with his father diligently watching over him. Bellatrix’s backyard is massive; a large, grassy field standing between the house and the massive lake, making it the perfect place for a game of football. The nearest house sits on the opposite side of the water, giving them almost complete privacy.

Hermione watches her friends prepare to face off, and amused smile on her face. On one team is Ginny, Ron, and Harry, facing off against Ted and Dora, who are currently begging Neville to be their third player. Andromeda had adamantly refused, agreeing only to be the referee after their incessant begging. 

“I don’t have an athletic bone in my body. I’d just be a burden!” Neville complains. He shuffles behind Luna in an attempt to hide from Dora’s pleading gaze. 

“Auntie Bella?” Dora asks, turning her gaze behind Hermione. 

A cackle shatters the still lakeside air behind her before two warm arms wrap around her waist from behind. Bellatrix’s warmth and smell surround her, and she leans back into her. 

“I’m well past the age for a children’s game, Dora,” Bellatrix says, resting her chin on Hermione’s shoulder.

A cool breeze blows across the lake and over the yard where her friends are playing and Hermione shivers. Bellatrix wraps her arms tighter around her and brushes a cool kiss over her temple. 

“Hey!” Ted protests, “I’m not a child!” 

“None of us are!” Ron yells, his bellow carrying loudly over the wind. 

Bellatrix scoffs in her ear. Hermione grabs her hand and twists to face her. The wind whips Hermione’s hair forward, and Bellatrix wrinkles her nose when it hits her in the face. The older woman tucks it behind her ear and Hermione automatically leans into the touch. 

“It was really big of Ron to put his feelings aside and come out here, even if he was late. It means a lot to me,” Hermione says, and Bellatrix furrows her brow, peering at her suspiciously, “You know what else would mean a lot to me?” 

Bellatrix groans, her lips slipping into a pout. “Don’t say-” 

“If you played one round with them. It would show them you’re trying. It would totally win them over. It would mean everything to me.” 

“Hermione…” 

“Please? It’s my birthday,” 

Bellatrix groans again, and Hermione feels a twinge of guilt at pulling the birthday card when Bella has already done so much for her. She’s lightyears ahead of what anyone else has ever done, of what Hermione has ever even imagined. 

“You never ask anything of me and now is when you start?” Bellatrix asks, looking resigned to her fate already. The guilt only grows. 

“You’re right. You’ve already done so much, and I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

Bellatrix’s shoulders relax. 

“Scared Ron is going to beat you?” Andromeda calls. 

Hermione sees the warmth drain from Bellatrix’s eyes before she whips her head around to look at her sister. Ron, Harry and Ginny dissolve into laughter, the rest of the partygoers looking on with wide eyes. 

“Bella…Bella, it’s alright, you don’t have anything to-” 

Bellatrix pulls away from her and storms inside, leaving behind a fragile silence. Andromeda gives Hermione an apologetic smile and shrugs, but moments later Bellatrix is thundering back out of the sliding doors wearing sneakers instead of heels. She looks ridiculously adorable in a way that has Hermione’s cheeks hurting from the force of her smile, in her sneakers paired with her expensive clothes. 

Another cackle erupts to Hermione’s left, and she whips her head around to see that it’s Narcissa, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. 

“I can’t believe my eyes! Bellatrix Black in sneakers, playing a children's game!” Narcissa’s normally cool and delicate voice is loud and joyful, only serving to further annoy her eldest sister. 

“Oi! It’s not a children’s game! People play this professionally, you know!” Ted hollers, offended. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bellatrix says, looking newly uncertain with the decision she’s made, “You’re going down, Weasel.” 

Hermione is also beginning to regret ever suggesting this. “Play nice, everyone!” She calls. 

As soon as the game begins, Hermione has to fight the urge to cover her eyes. Everyone except Bellatrix snaps into motion the second the ball is in play, the eldest woman choosing instead to watch everyone’s movements. Hermione can’t look at anyone else but her, watching the way her eyes skim over everyone’s footwork analytically. Ginny and Ted both hang back as goalies, leaving Dora to weave around Harry and Ron by herself. 

“Come sit with me, Granger,” Narcissa calls. 

Hermione tears her gaze from Bellatrix to look at her in surprise. She’s hardly interacted with the youngest Black sister, and she hasn't been able to shake off how intimidated she is by her. Bellatrix’s fire and Andromeda’s heat she’s comfortable with, but Narcissa’s ice?

 “Come on. Unlike my sister, I don’t bite,” Narcissa says, a hint of a smile gracing her elegant features. 

Hermione moves away from her spot on the deck to sit on the iron bench next to Narcissa and directly in front of the game. Hermione eyes her as subtly as she can manage to try to figure out what she’s up to. Her posture is pristine but not tense, her hands folded gingerly in her lap, and strangely enough there is not a single blonde hair out of place despite the wind. Her icy gaze rakes across the open field in front of her, eyes nearly translucent in the bright afternoon sunlight reflecting off the lake. 

“I’m glad Bellatrix found you,” Narcissa says, turning her head and catching Hermione’s eyes. Hermione freezes at the unexpected eye contact, marveling at the stark contrast in the youngest sister's bright eyes as opposed to the darkness she’s used to, “I’ll admit, I thought it was ridiculous at first. Now I realize you must measure up to her if she’s kept you around this long.” 

“I...thank you, erm, Mrs. Malfoy. I don’t think anyone measures up to Bellatrix, though.” 

“Narcissa. My sister is deadly serious about you, Hermione. We may as well be on a first name business if she intends to make you my sister-in-law someday.”

Hermione’s eyes widen. She’s thought about spending her life with Bellatrix, sure, but to hear it spoken of so plainly by Narcissa Malfoy, to be referred to as her future sister in law...Well, Hermione’s never had a sister. Never had a sibling at all. 

Andromeda brings her fingers to her mouth and lets out a whistle that could be heard from London, stopping the players in their tracks. 

“That’s a foul, Bella. That’s a free kick to the kid’s team.”

“We’re not kids!” Ron protests, rubbing his ribs where Hermione can only assume Bellatrix has elbowed him. 

Bellatrix shoots Hermione a wink before sticking her tongue out at Andy, and the younger woman finds herself blushing inexplicably at the simple gesture. Bellatrix’s slacks are caked in mud up to her knees already, and her shirt is unbuttoned to show off the white tank top beneath. She takes advantage of the pause in the game to roll up her sleeves, bringing images of what they did in the bathroom earlier that day to the forefront of Hermione’s mind.

“We’re all the same age as Hermione,” Ron argues. Oh, don’t bring me into this.

“That may be true, but she’s leagues ahead of you maturity wise,” Andromeda says, folding her arms and fully playing the part of a chiding mother. 

“Andy!” Ginny whines, “Come on!” 

Andy only whistles again. Bellatrix springs back into motion, weaving with surprising ease between Harry and Ron to swipe the ball away again. Hermione’s shocked at her agility, and she finds herself looking to Narcissa for answers. 

“She played when we were in school. You know Bella, she never half-arses anything.” 

“I didn’t know that about her,” Hermione says. Her eyes are drawn back to Bellatrix, watching incredulously as she kicks the ball past Ginny’s attempt at blocking her. She’s light on her feet, lighter than anyone else on the field. She’s smaller, too, even smaller than her niece. Fondness grows in Hermione’s chest. 

“She likes her mystery,” Narcissa says, a similarly fond glint in her eye. 

Ron’s face begins to take on that tomato-like quality that accompanies him when he’s losing at something, and Bellatrix’s has settled into a focused sort of single-mindedness that comes when what she wants is within her grasp. Hermione shifts in her seat, chancing a glance at Narcissa. The blonde woman looks subtly amused, watching her sister elbow Ted after he attempts to discuss strategy with her. 

“After everything that happened with Andromeda I never imagined we’d have a day like this. Bellatrix, Andy and I all together like a family again. I certainly never imagined it’d be with Ted. It’s hard for me to ignore the hand you’ve had in it, Granger.” 

“Hermione. First name basis, right?” 

Narcissa hums in a higher tone than the one Bellatrix would use, “Fair enough...Hermione. I suppose I ought to thank you for bringing out this softer side of Bella. And apologize for what happened with my mother.” 

“Oh, you really don’t have to-”

“I wasn’t finished,” Narcissa says, her tone running cold, “My mother won’t be bothering the two of you again. That night was all I needed to see...well, I’m done with her. Bellatrix protected me all of her life, so now it’s my turn. Bella has never been this way with anyone before. Not even close. If you ever make her regret letting you in the way she has...if you ever hurt her…” 

“I would never,” Hermione says, holding Narcissa’s cold stare in an attempt to convey her sincerity, “Ever hurt her.” 

“She can be difficult,” Narcissa says, continuing as if Hermione hasn’t spoken, “But to be loved by her, for her to consider you family...there’s nothing more rewarding.” 

“I know,” Hermione says, taking a moment to revel in the way Bellatrix makes her feel, “There’s nothing like it. There’s no one like her. I’ll do anything I can to hold onto her forever.” 

Narcissa chuckles, her gaze softening at the words, “You don’t need to do anything. You have her wrapped around your little finger. She’d follow you anywhere.” 

Hermione smiles, trying not to blush at the words. She’s hardly ready to show the ice queen of the family what a flustered mess Bellatrix can turn her into. She opens her mouth to respond that the feeling is mutual, but a pained shout from the field stops the words in her throat.

Bellatrix is laying on her back, clutching her wrist with her eyes screwed shut and Ron kneeling over her. Hermione is on her feet in a flash, jogging across the field to her fallen girlfriend. 

Once Hermione is close enough she can hear Bellatrix’s enraged, pained muttering, “Bloody arsehole. Stupid twat. Slimy little ginger f-”

“Bella? What happened?” 

Hermione kneels by her head, her denim covered knees sinking into the damp, muddy grass. The right side of Bellatrix’s body is soaked in mud, ruining her white shirt. Hermione takes her forearm in her hands and Bellatrix winces. Everyone is crowded around them now, even Neville and Luna, who stand at the back of the crowd just close enough to see what’s going on. 

“I didn’t mean to! She came out of nowhere-I-I didn’t know she was there when I turned around. She’s so bloody light-footed I didn’t-”

“Are you seriously blaming her?” Narcissa says, standing directly behind Hermione. The ice queen is fuming, glaring furiously at Ron, “If you weren’t such a clumsy oaf-”

“Hey! It was an accident, there’s no need to speak to my brother like that!

The group dissolves into an argument that Hermione can no longer hear when she turns over Bellatrix’s red, swollen wrist in her hands. Bellatrix is looking at Hermione, her cheeks flushed and her eyes watering with unshed tears. 

“Oh, darling. It looks like it could be broken,” Hermione says, trying to keep her own emotions in check, “How bad does it hurt?” 

“It’s fine,” Bellatrix says, avoiding Hermione’s eyes. Lying like this with the sun above them and moisture gathering in Bellatrix’s eyes, Hermione can make out the faintest hint of reddish-brown. 

“I know it hurts. Baby, you can tell me,” The pet name slips out by accident. Hermione is so distracted she wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the way Bellatrix’s eyes flick to hers in surprise. Vulnerability floods her expression.

“It hurts a bit,” Bellatrix admits in a small voice.

Andromeda’s piercing whistle brings the argument surrounding them to an abrupt halt. She’s kneeling next to Hermione a moment later, peering down at her sister’s arm.

“You okay?”

“I think it might be broken,” Hermione says, “How far is the nearest hospital?” 

“Shit,” Ron says, “Broken?” 

“Probably,” Hermione says, fixing him with a cool glare, “Honestly, Ronald, she opens her home to you, plays this stupid game with you and you can’t show the smallest bit of caution?” 

“She’s not made of glass, Hermione,” Ron says. 

“You’re twice her size, you should’ve been more aware of where you were going!” 

“He said he was sorry. It was an accident, it could’ve been me just as easily,” Harry says. 

“It wasn’t, though, was it?” She can’t seem to let it go, logic evading her every time she thinks about Ron’s oafish body crashing into the delicate form of the woman she loves. 

“Hermione,” Bellatrix says, drawing her attention away from her friends. Hermione’s heart aches when she looks down at her, looking smaller than usual, covered in mud and hurt from a game she asked her to play, “It’s alright. As cute as it is to watch you defend me, he’s right. It was an accident. He didn’t see me.” 

The anger leaves Hermione’s body at once. She can hear how much pain Bellatrix is in from the strain in her voice, she can see it in the unshed tears shining in her eyes. She smooths the curls back from Bellatrix’s forehead and leaves her palm resting against the top of her head. 

“Can you get up okay?” 

“I can carry her!” Ron offers. 

“Jesus-no, I’m quite alright,” Bellatrix says, shooting him a disturbed look. 

Hermione helps her up, making sure her injured wrist is protected. Bellatrix curls up against her, tucking her head beneath Hermione’s chin when she wraps her arms around the older woman’s slender, mud soaked shoulders. Narcissa is watching them with an odd expression on her face, looking torn between her concern for her sister, anger for Ron, and surprise at the vulnerability Bellatrix is showing. 

“You should take them to the hospital, Cissy. I’ll clean up here so we can be out of their hair before they’re back,” Andromeda says. Unlike Narcissa, Andromeda is looking between the two women with a smile, like she’s...proud. 

“I’ll help you clean!” Ron says, his over-eagerness making Hermione roll her eyes. 

“We all will,” Ginny interjects, grabbing her brother and Harry by the elbows to pull them back towards the house, “Thank you for the party, Bellatrix.” 

Harry and Ron talk over each other, Harry thanking her and Ron spewing more apologies, until they disappear back inside. 

“Let's go, you two,” Narcissa says, walking towards the  front of the house. “No funny business in the back seat.” 

Hermione gasps, pulling Bellatrix along behind her sister, “We would never.”

Bellatrix is smiling against her neck, still firmly glued to her side. 

“Please. I saw how long you took in the bathroom this morning. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Hermione’s face flushes and she falls silent, swallowed by her embarrassment. The rest of the walk is uncomfortably silent.

“Don’t worry,” Bellatrix says once they reach the car, quietly enough so only Hermione can hear, “I’m just as good with my left hand.” 

Bellatrix’s wrist turns out to only be sprained, but it’s bad enough for her to need a cast. She goes with black, to “match her wardrobe” in the name of “professionalism”, despite her obvious preference for green. Narcissa makes numerous digs about “childlike injuries” coming from playing “children’s games”. Hermione knows the pain pills have kicked in when Bellatrix tells Narcissa to fuck off on the drive home. 

Hermione is the one to drive them back to Bellatrix’s London flat, and she insists on driving her around when she can until the cast comes off. Bellatrix can afford a driver, but she’s never hired one before now, preferring to drive her own car as often as possible. With Hermione back in school she hires one, their schedules conflicting too often for Hermione to be able to do it herself. 

Hermione moved at a snail’s pace in her last and only other relationship, so she’s caught off guard by how difficult it is to pace herself in this one. Her return to school has severely limited her time with the CEO, so she’s started to bring her coffee and a pastry after her shifts at Amortentia. Since she’s back to being without a car, Bellatrix has the driver she hired at her disposal as well. 

“All we had left was blueberry,” Hermione says upon entering Bella’s office that day, “I hope that’s okay. I don’t actually know if you like it, so if you don’t I can always just-”

“Blueberry sounds lovely, darling,” Bellatrix says, looking up from her monitor to smile at her. 

Hermione still loses her breath when she looks at her. In her defense, Bellatrix is backlit by the sunset in the window behind her, the orange streaked sky lighting up the loose curls on her head like a fiery halo. She looks like a goddess of the sun, her form fitting black dress hugging her heavenly curves and making her skin stand out in a shocking contrast. Her hair wild and her dark eyes are appraising Hermione as if she’s the angel.

Hermione presses the coffee into Bellatrix’s cast-free hand along with a kiss on her forehead. Bellatrix hums happily, beaming up at her. 

“You’re heaven sent. How was your day?” 

Hermione leans against the edge of Bellatrix’s desk, toying with the ends of the woman’s curly hair absentmindedly. “Long. I had to do coursework during all of my breaks so it felt like I didn’t have any time to myself.” 

“Behind in your classes already? What has the brightest woman of her age so distracted?” Bellatrix teases, grabbing Hermione’s hand away from her hair to kiss it. 

“A beautiful witch has enchanted me,” Hermione says sagely, “It’s horrible. All I can seem to do is spend all of my free time with her. She’s all I can think about.”

Bellatrix blinks up at her, doing a remarkable job at faking a horrified expression, “How dreadful! She sounds evil, monopolizing your time like that. How do you plan on breaking her spell?”

Hermione snorts, watching Bellatrix fondly as she toys with her fingers, “Oh, no, I don’t plan on breaking it. I quite like it.” 

Bellatrix tsks and shakes her head, “That sounds like the spell talking.”

Hermione shuts her up with a kiss, and when she pulls away Bellatrix sighs and leans back in her chair. She finishes the small coffee in only a few sips while Hermione watches, drinking in the sight of her after the long day apart. God, she missed her, missed the way she makes the simple act of drinking coffee look sexy. 

Bellatrix stands up, tosses the empty cup in the waste bin and walks around the back of her chair. When Hermione only stares blankly at her, she gestures to the empty seat.

“Sit down, I’ll rub your shoulders.”

Hermione laughs, “With one hand?”

“Don’t doubt my abilities. I can do just as much with one hand as I can with two,” Bellatrix fixes her with a stern look, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione says, turning and sitting in Bellatrix’s chair. The leather shifts and pulls her in as she leans back.

She feels a hand at the base of her neck a moment later, a thumb pushing into her sore muscles. She sighs and leans into the touch, letting Bellatrix show off her one handed capabilities. Bellatrix’s hand is strong, steady, and knows what it’s doing, and it’s not long before Hermione’s head is rolling back as the tension bleeds out of her body.

“Told you,” Bellatrix says in a sing-song voice, “Feels good, doesn’t it? My tense little college student. You work so hard.”

Hermione sighs, the gentle tone of Bellatrix’s voice relaxing her further. She continues in silence for a bit longer, before Hermione decides now is a good time to bring up a discussion they’ve been clashing over for the last week. 

“When are you going to let me draw on your cast?” 

Bellatrix’s hand stills, and Hermione opens her eyes to look up at her. Bellatrix is glaring. 

“Hermione...I told you. It’s not professional.” 

Hermione frowns, “You’re the boss. Who cares what they think?” 

“I have a certain image to uphold here. Cutesy doodles on my cast will shatter that.” 

“Oh, so it’s not about professionalism! You’re just scared they won’t be intimidated by you if they know you have a loving girlfriend.”

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, but doesn’t have a retort. 

“Come on,” Hermione presses, “I’ll use a silver marker. It’ll look cool.” 

Bellatrix groans, and Hermione knows she’s close to giving in.

“Please, Bella?” 

“Fine,” Bellatrix says, “I’m starting to think you might be the witch.” 

Hermione is already rummaging through Bellatrix’s drawer to look for a silver marker, a grin on her face. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Bellatrix mutters, coming around to lean in the spot Hermione previously occupied in front of the chair. 

Hermione takes Bellatrix’s injured arm and scoots closer, uncapping the marker and placing it against the black canvas. She hadn’t expected to get this far, and doesn’t have a clue of what to write. 

“Didn’t think I'd let you, did you?” Bellatrix teases, seemingly able to read her mind as usual.

Hermione meets her taunting gaze and finds herself stuck looking at her. Bellatrix is smirking down at her, in that amused way she always has since the first time they met, only now her gaze is so much deeper. She looks so soft, the bottomless eyes that were once a mystery now full of affection that Hermione can feel just from looking at her. The words rise up and then lodge in her throat like they always do, like they’re just too big to get out. Then, she knows what to do. 

I love you. 

The words shine back at her in glittering silver, so simple and so overwhelming all at once. Everything it took to get them here, the obstacles they’ve overcome seem so small now that they’re past them. The future stretches out long and full of wonderful possibilities, filling Hermione’s mind. She can’t wait for it. She can’t wait to share a home with her, build a life with her, marry her, have children with her. 

When she looks back up at Bellatrix, tears she didn’t know were building start to fall down her cheeks. Bellatrix’s smile fades, her brows furrowing in concern. She looks down at what Hermione’s written, and her expression smooths. For a long moment she just stares at the words while Hermione stares at her. 

“No heart?” Bellatrix asks. When she looks back at Hermione her eyes are glimmering, too, black tinted orange with fading sunlight. Hermione realizes what she’s doing, and the memory of their first meeting comes flooding back like it was yesterday. 

“Would you like one?” Hermione responds. 

Bellatrix laughs softly, and a tear slides down her cheek. She bites her trembling bottom lip and looks at Hermione with so much love she feels as if she’ll drop dead from the force of it. 

“How else am I supposed to know I’m-” 

Hermione pulls Bellatrix into her lap before she can finish her sentence. Bellatrix kisses her as easily as breathing, all tears and laughter and teeth. Hermione never wants to come up for air again. Bellatrix deepens the kiss until Hermione’s lungs are burning and then she deepens it more, like she knows she’s all Hermione needs to live. Bellatrix tastes like coffee and pure joy. She tastes like the future Hermione’s always dreamed of. She tastes like wedding cake, like a fiftieth anniversary, like soil from a shared grave. She’s the love of her life, and if there’s a life after this she’s the love of that one, too. 

“You’re everything, Bella,” she says against her mouth. Bellatrix tangles her hands in Hermione’s hair, cupping the sides of her face. Hermione feels her next words straight in the chest. 

“I love you, Hermione.” 

Hermione has spent nearly their entire relationship doubting herself. She’s never seen what Bellatrix sees in her, and when Bellatrix broke her heart she felt like all of her fears were validated, coming to life before her eyes. Now, Bellatrix is back, looking at her like she hung the star she’s named after in the sky herself, and she sees all of her love reflected back at her. Bellatrix’s eyes aren’t so dark and scary anymore. Hermione Granger has always been a morning person, but she’s developed quite the taste for midnight. 

“I know.”