Chapter Text
Hermione didn’t impulsively shift. She usually had designated days, every two to four weeks, meticulously scheduled, just like everything else in her life. Normally she could resist the turn, but today was different; she needed the release as soon as possible.
She wasn’t sure what exactly brought it on. Perhaps an amalgamation of things. Partially the fact that she hadn’t shifted in two months; she'd been too busy. Partially the full moon that night. Partially her breakup with Fleur. Partially Ron practicing Incendio in the common room — really? — and setting her essay aflame. Unsalvageable. Definitely Bellatrix Black "bullying" her in potions. Usually she wasn’t so susceptible to her harassment. Today, though, she’d broken down and fled the classroom. Her most visible veins, hands and neck, had turned black in preparation of a shift, brought on by intense emotion, and that was not a good look for her in front of her classmates. Bellatrix, of course, was unaffected. She loved to rile her up. She found joy in Hermione’s suffering.
The issue with Bellatrix, at least today, hadn’t started off as an argument. Hermione had gone to the restroom and came back missing supplies. She’d heard Bellatrix snickering with Daphne, looking at her, clearly at her expense. The months of being pent-up along with the sadness from the breakup erupted out of her.
Bellatrix hadn’t shouted back at her, but she had retorted with venom. When Hermione began to rant, the other witch had settled for interrupting her with snide comments and an amused look. But it morphed to shock and pity(which was possibly worse) when Hermione had begun crying.
She didn’t know why she bloody cared so much. The other witch shouldn’t mean anything to her. Bellatrix’s little quips shouldn’t get to her. Not after seven years. Shouldn’t bury themselves under her skin and make her rot away. But they did.
The whole ordeal and the years of rivalry between the two had made Hermione’s wolf want control. It never really had control anyway. But it wanted out. Badly.
Hermione had fled to the bathroom during Potions. She’d been breathing hard, sweating, fighting the shift. Inside, Myrtle had asked if she needed to fetch another ghost to tell Madam Pomfrey about a calming draught. She had refused. Sworn the ghost to secrecy. Gently, of course. An upset Myrtle would be screaming about the uncontrolled werewolf in the bathrooms for hours, and Hermione couldn’t have that. The Ministry would hear about her little wolfy outburst, and she’d not be allowed to run in the forest for Merlin knows how long.
For decades now, at Hogwarts, supernatural students were given accommodations. For meals, glamours, comfort items, and in the shifter’s cases, passes to break curfew or leave class.
Of course, shifters posed threats to the rest of the student body — and endangered magical creatures — if they could not control their other form. Which is why a Ministry official, from the Department for the Cooperation of Supernatural Creatures, would come once every few months and watch as they transformed.
They’d be brought into a room in Hogwarts, placed in silver-barred cages, and be monitored during their shifts. If they could control when they shifted and showed adequate sentiency in their alternate forms, they would be allowed to roam free in the Forbidden Forest.
It was all incredibly invasive, if Hermione was being honest. She abhorred the strictness, the watching, and the way she had to stuff down her instincts to appear controlled. Not that she wasn’t, but she didn’t want them to question it. The last thing she needed was to be confined to the cages during shifts.
Obviously, only once they reviewed a list of things that they could not, and were allowed to hunt. The Ministry was fickle about endangered species. Understandably. Overhunting by the sentient werewolves — called direwolves — was a mild issue. Worse, though, were the wolves that lost their sense of self during the shift. Also dubbed vargulfs, which was ironic, because in Norse, the literal meaning of the word was “rogue wolf”.
Included in this category were Remus Lupin and Fenrir Greyback. The difference between the two, however, was that the former couldn't control when he transformed, while the latter could.
Werewolf was an umbrella term. Falling under it were direwolves and vargulfs. But what separated direwolves and vargulfs was profound -
Pain.
Since vargulfs were essentially mutants, originally created by ancient direwolves biting humans and injecting them with venom, they felt much more pain than during the natural, beautiful direwolf transformation. Comparatively, however. Direwolf transformations were still painful. The agony of the bite caused the wolf and man to split to safeguard sanity. But the difference was not only mental. They did not have proportionate limbs or faces or teeth, they looked strangely stretched, skinny, and bald. They were not built for power and speed and their fur was not fine and luscious like Hermione’s.
Fortunately, direwolves lost their venom sacs over time; now, the only ones that could turn humans to werewolves were vargulfs. For some reason, their saliva combined with the slight coating of venom on their teeth turned the poor souls. Where vargulfs were bitten by other vargulfs, direwolves were born shifters. They had their whole lives for their bodies to prepare for the shift, while vargulfs had, in the best case, a month. The little amount of time between bite and full moon only added to the pain and dysmorphia of the vargulf form.
It was a hassle, being a direwolf in Hogwarts, but that just came with the territory. No pun intended, Hermione thought.
Werewolves’ changes were sometimes triggered by intense emotions. For a direwolf like Hermione, the change wasn’t involuntary, but she knew she needed it, sooner or later, to release tension. This time, it was sooner. She’d waited all day, agitated, on edge.
All because of her bloody bad day. And one Black sister.
Even though Hermione was sure Bellatrix wasn’t a thief, and wouldn’t have taken her Potions supplies, she hadn’t been able to help but engage in the argument. She didn’t like being laughed at, especially when her emotions were already high from something else. In reality, it was probably Ron or Harry playing a prank on her.
Bellatrix was a perfect student. But so was Hermione. The widespread debate about which one of them was better had lasted years. Hundreds of classes worth of them seeing which one could raise their hand faster had made them almost enemies. The biggest debate in the school paper, for the longest while, was which one of them was the biggest know-it-all.
Despite their enjoyable unbearable rivalry, Hermione couldn’t help but sneak peeks at her. She was gorgeous. Stunning, even, and Hermione did not use that word lightly. Her high cheekbones, piercing eyes, dark, glossy coiled hair, and curves - not that Hermione was looking there - would have made her irresistible. If she wasn’t insufferable.
Yet, Bellatrix never failed to make the brunette blush. What with her unbridled sexual innuendos that she would whisper in her ear when they were in public. She thought she did it specifically in public to make her flustered, make her worried that someone would hear and get the wrong idea. Or maybe it was to throw her off, rile her up, or just for fun. But she didn’t even need to whisper in her ear. She’d be able to hear her from across the room at the same volume. Her sensitivity to sound made it even worse, she could hear every contour of her voice, every syllable enunciated, the air coming in and out of her lungs - directly in her ear. Bouncing around her skull. Gods.
Bellatrix had… ahem, a reputation. And her teasing was relentless. Did she want Hermione? But then again, she flirted with almost every girl in their year. She just never bedded them. She could have anyone, and yet chose no one.
Hermione and Bellatrix’s relationship was incredibly confusing. All the time, they’d be rivals. In class, they’d be enemies. And outside of class, Bellatrix flirted with her.
Regrettably, Hermione most definitely fancied her.
Maybe even more than fancied. Therein lied the problem.
She’d always seen her in a different way than just “rivals”. Perhaps that was why she was so determined to be better than her. Validation. She wanted Bellatrix to acknowledge her but could only return the witch’s energy.
Against proper judgement, Hermione would grow jealous when Bellatrix would flirt with other girls. She wasn’t hers, so she couldn’t be the only one she paid mind to. She told herself that she wanted her attention because of the rivalry, and nothing more.
That day had been one of the worst in a while. Hermione may have acted rashly, the full moon that night making her nerves high, but Bellatrix had antagonised her.
Hermione found herself nearly growling in anger in her bed at the thought of the witch. Even though she was at the mercy of her own romantic feelings, she also couldn’t stand her. Hermione needed to pull herself together before she made an incriminating sound. A sound that tipped off the other Gryffindors as to what she was. She just couldn’t get Bellatrix out of her head.
Now, it was finally nighttime, and all she had to do was wait until her classmates were asleep. Then she could go outside, and shift, and her tension would evaporate, and everything would be fine.
She could tell by their heartbeats which of her roommates were asleep. Her own heartbeat, in her ears, was almost as loud as theirs were.
Finally, finally, after the longest time, she could leave. Hermione threw on her robes for class. In the case that she’d stay out all night, which was likely, she’d need to not be in her pajamas when she entered the castle in the morning. It would raise some questions that she - and the school - would be unable to answer to the general public as long as she wanted to maintain her privacy about her status. She wasn’t just a witch. And others might not like that, despite the protective laws.
There would always be bigots. Hermione would forever be aware of that as a muggleborn, a woman, and a werewolf.
Headmistress McGonagall oversaw and made sure the more-than-human students got their accommodations, which included knowing who was who. Only a select few of the professors in Hogwarts had the privilege of knowing, and they were still on a need-to-know basis. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were the only ones who got the entire file, as the latter needed it for accommodations, and the former for medical treatment.
Hermione snuck out of the common room. She had just gotten outside of the hallway leading to the Fat Lady, when she caught a scent down the hallway. She smelled him before she saw him, diving behind a stairway just as he turned the corner.
He smelled like soap and exhaustion, pink and orange, yawning as he passed. He rubbed at his bleary eyes, unaware of Hermione even as she scrambled to stay hidden when the staircase moved.
She only needed to go a little further to reach one of the secret passageways out of the castle. When the Prefect was gone - Ravenclaw, Hermione continued.
Lumos would be too conspicuous. It stretched the shadows of the hallways, and someone even far away would be able to see it. It helped that she could see fairly well in the dark - though not as well as when she was a wolf - so whoever was patrolling wouldn’t be able to spot her before she had a chance to get away.
She snuck around in order to keep her status as a direwolf secret, even though some flaunted it as if it were a medal. It was fairly uncommon to have a supernatural walking amongst wizards, and even less accepted.
People don’t like people that are different. Hermione thought, quiet in her bitter acceptance.
The passage was behind a painting. She tapped on one of the bricks with her wand, and it inserted itself into the wall with a grating sound that made her cringe. The tunnel was less well-used than the other secret passageways that she knew of. She did know most of them, courtesy of being one of Harry Potter’s two best friends. Though, with the amount of secrets in the school, she wouldn’t be surprised if there were more.
The ground was slightly damp under her feet, and she could hear the echo of it splashing. She couldn’t smell anything disgusting yet, so she assumed she wouldn’t need to scrub her shoes after this. Sometimes the students that used this passage would track blood and/or guts in. It left a horrid stench that lasted for weeks.
Hermione began to smell the forest. She breathed in deeply, the slight scent of trees, grass, and dirt tickling her nose and making her eyes water. Orange, brown.
At the scent, her wolf howled free, and she could feel it under her skin, pressing against the surface, begging to be released. It buzzed in her bones like a bee rejoined its hive, and she didn’t need to look to know that her veins were swelling black with anticipation.
She broke into a run when she reached the outside. Her legs carried her quickly, faster than someone of her size should be able to. She passed Hagrid’s hut, having exited near the west tower, and once a reasonable distance into the treeline, began ridding herself of her clothes.
She nearly ripped through her robes in her eagerness. Her blood roared in her ears, and she could hear next to nothing aside from her own hammering heart. She didn’t hear, but more sensed, a twig snapping somewhere to her right. She assumed it was an animal, but couldn’t stop herself anyway - honestly couldn’t care less, because she was here, finally, her wolf nearly cutting from under her skin.
She fell to the ground, and finally let go.
She screamed in release. Her body lit like a thousand matches, hundreds of bones snapping, muscles coiling around them. It was agony — though considerably less than a vargulf — yet it was relief. More than any spell or amount of rest could give her. It was the replacement of everything, a new form, shape, existence.
Though her muscles were in the wrong place, bones broken, tendons stretching.
It was all wrong, so wrong, until it was over, and she was better, fresher, more herself than before.
Hermione could have laughed in relief, if her body was capable. Her new strength and everything else slammed into her at once, and she shot to her hind legs, unable to resist the urge to howl. It was a victorious sound. Her eyes landed on the full moon for a moment, before she closed them. Blast. She had poor timing. Hermione hoped she wouldn’t need to deal with any vargulfs tonight. She’d left her last encounter with nasty scars on her shoulder that she could barely hide with a glamour.
After several seconds of indulging in her wolf’s desires, she dropped to all fours and ran, slashing the dirt and grass with her claws in every bound.
The Ministry didn’t need anything killed off urgently, so Hermione was free to choose whatever she’d like for the time being. They didn’t force them to kill specific creatures, but it was encouraged. Hermione thought doing it was efficient, however. She could feel free and hunt.
Tonight, deer met her punishing claws. They didn’t have time to get away. She was several paces faster than them, and when she pounced, they were dead before they hit the ground. It was a merciful way to die. Little life wasted on fear, little terror about what was coming. There were more than several creatures in this forest that would take their time with the killing; and Hermione wasn’t in the mood to stalk.
Honestly, she was a little surprised that deer weren’t extinct around these parts. Many wild shifters hunted more than one at a time, and there was an abundance of vargulfs that were unable to change back deeper in the Forbidden Forest. The pain overwhelmed them, their wolves had completely taken over. Permanently. Their bloodlust wouldn’t be satiated just from one deer.
But she didn’t need to worry about anything else right now. Just allowing herself to be free was enough.
*
Hermione woke up in a field. Light was bathing her body, and it was pleasant, warming her muscles. She was almost boneless, physical and mental satisfaction from the night’s transformation filling her completely.
Until she opened her eyes and realised that the sun was way past the height that indicated dawn. Classes would be starting soon.
“Bollocks… fuck!” She swore.
She jumped to her feet, realising that she was covered in dried blood, and began looking around immediately.
“Where is the castle?! Where even am I?” Hermione, in fact, could not see even the tips of the towers from where she was.
“Accio wand!” At least she’d learned wandless magic for this. For other activities, too, as it was a very useful skill, but mainly this. It was a pressing issue. Though she’d only really practised her wandless Accio, she had gotten fairly comfortable with other spells, joining Harry in the duelling club occasionally.
The fact that her wand took several minutes to get to her was a bad sign. The thing was travelling at several dozen kilometres per hour.
She almost gave up and took her hand out of the air, when she finally saw it sailing over the trees. It snapped into her palm.
“Thank Merlin! Tergeo!” She pointed her wand at herself after casting the spell, clearing the blood off her body. “Scourgify,” she cleaned herself next.
Her body dried immediately, a slight sting to it from the power of the spell. At a certain point, Scourgify could burn skin off. It wasn’t necessarily a spell that used heat, but with the right strength and concentration, would do damage.
Hermione summoned her robes next. Thankfully, she’d had the foresight to cut a few corners with spells to make it easier for herself. They arrived almost instantaneously, and she put them on, beginning to run in the direction that they came from. While running, she cast a quick distance gauging spell.
Oh, no. She thought. She was… very far away. She couldn’t apparate, since the castle had wards around it, so she had to settle for running.
Running nearly a dozen kilometres. To get to class on time.
Great. Curse the wards. Curse werewolves.
She’d be panting and sweaty by the time she got back. She enjoyed running, but not when she was in a field north of the Forbidden Forest, trying to get back to Hogwarts before classes started.
She did not remember going through this area the previous night. Which was only a half-shock, as she’d allowed herself little restraint, and therefore her memories were slightly blurred together.
Hermione arrived at the castle, but kept running, seeing as breakfast had ended and everyone was most likely already near or in their classes. The beige bricks on all sides of her seemed to echo her hard breathing.
She’d barely gotten into the Defense classroom before she was cornered.
“Granger.”
Dark eyes, even darker hair. Right in front of her, blocking her path. The smoke, amber, and cinnamon that was Bellatrix’s scent twirled in Hermione’s nose. After a shift, her senses were always heightened. Not to mention the running, which had her rapidly breathing in way too much of the other woman’s scent. She willed her eyes to not look further down than the witch’s face. Her lips were already tilting on the edge of dangerous, but to look at the white button-up shirt beneath her tie, was a freefall from a great height. Certain death, because she was showing an amount of cleavage which she should definitely be dress-coded for. In fact, Hermione could even go so far as to say that she’d be able to see her bra, if she looked close enough. But she wouldn’t.
She wanted to look. Her eyes were practically vibrating with restraint. But Bellatrix would see where her gaze was. And Hermione could not handle that humiliation.
“...Black. What- do you want?” The brunette had gone too long without saying something, still gasping for breath from the run, and Bellatrix’s lip curved slightly as if she knew what Hermione was restraining herself from.
“That’s not very kind, Granger.” Hermione glared at her, but it was half-hearted. She’d gotten over her anger, emotions released by the shift. But if someone wasn’t kind, it was Bellatrix the day before. The Slytherin ignored her expression. “Rather hot in here, isn’t it?” She said, voice bordering on teasing.
“Er-” She attempted to reply.
The dark witch reached a slender finger upwards, tugging at her collar, once, twice, and on the third, Hermione couldn’t help but drop her gaze down to it.
The Slytherin’s tie had shifted to the side, allowing Hermione to view too much. Her mouth watered at the creamy expanse of skin between both sides of her unbuttoned shirt. Hermione was nearly drooling, with her mouth partially open from her erratic inhalations. Bellatrix had a beauty mark on her left breast. She wanted to lick it.
Oh, my…
The puffs of air from the shirt-tugging caused the scent of Bellatrix’s skin to waft in waves towards the direwolf. Dark violet, amethyst, red, green, honey. Gods, she smelled amazing. And the colors mixed so well in her senses.
Hermione tore her eyes away when she heard a chuckle, a blush creeping up her neck. This was clearly the reaction that Bellatrix had been seeking, and she’d fallen right into her clutches.
That’s so not fair! She did that on purpose.
“What’s got you so exerted today, Granger? You don’t normally come to class this…” She roved her eyes up and down Hermione’s body, lingering on her heaving chest and flushed face. “Dishevelled.”
Hermione would need to make up an excuse. Perhaps a partial truth?
“I, erm, went for- a morning run… and got a little… carried away. Went too far.” She gasped out. “Had to sprint… back.”
“I see. In your school uniform.” The curly-haired witch deadpanned.
“Well, I-”
“-Black! Granger! Sit down before I send you both to the Headmistress.” The professor shouted. Thank Merlin. Saved by the bell, or so to speak. Hermione was relieved from whatever horrifying, incriminating response she likely would have given.
“Sorry, Professor.” Hermione said, at the same time as Bellatrix’s, “won’t happen again, Professor.”
“Just catching up. Weren’t we?” Bellatrix commented to their professor, grinning somewhat wickedly. It unnerved Hermione. She didn’t respond, taking her seat dutifully.
*
Throughout the entire next week, Bellatrix had decided to grace Hermione with her presence. Constantly. The witch flocked to her like a crowd to a celebrity, and her personality - which could have been enough for several people - made the comparison even more appropriate.
In the beginning, she’d caught the curly-haired witch staring. Onyx eyes peeked from behind a book, a person, a desk. She didn’t break eye contact until Hermione did, always being the shier one of the pair.
What was even more abnormal, was her incessant joking.
Mainly about canines.
The first time, her pun wasn’t even true.
“Granger, the fact that you’re still sweating is a cause fur concern. You might want to wash up.”
“I’m not even sweating anymore.”
“Not from where I’m sitting!” She said cheerily.
“You’re far across the-”
“Granger and Black, focus," scolded their professor. Gods dammit. Caught for the second time that class.
The brunette fumed. If Bellatrix knew about her being a direwolf, she might as well tell the whole bloody school with how loud she was being.
Harry cocked his head at her in a question. Hermione shrugged in response.
*
The second was strange for Hermione. She hadn’t experienced a question of this type from Bellatrix… well, ever.
“Granger. Is your favourite author Virginia Woolf?”
“No, but I like her work, why?” She was concerned at why Bellatrix was paying so much attention to her, attention that wasn’t patronising or attempting to start a not-so-friendly competition. “Wait, you know muggle authors?” She asked incredulously. Why did Bellatrix, a pureblood Slytherin - a Black - know Virginia Woolf?
She wasn’t even sure why the witch would care enough to ask for her favourite author. She squinted at her, trying to see an ulterior motive behind her words.
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “So? And I was just wondering. Thought she’d be rather relevant.”
Hermione shook her head in confusion.
*
It happened again, when they’d been instructed to read a passage in a textbook in class. The instructions were clear, if Bellatrix had been paying attention, she would have heard.
“Ah, Granger, we’re confused, is it page 20? Nevermind, wolf-igure it out.” She emphasized the word “wolf”, in a crudely melted single-word version of “we’ll figure”.
“I- what?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Bellatrix grinned. Hermione wasn’t very optimistic that she didn’t have something planned.
Did she know she was a direwolf? Was she going to out her? Like this? To the class first, before everyone else? No, she was probably making things up.
“Try to pay attention, Black.” She sighed exasperatedly.
*
It kept going. Hermione couldn’t wait for the week to end so she could sleep in late and avoid Black.
“Granger, you like canines? You certainly have the teeth for it.”
“...Um.” She touched her teeth self-consciously. She didn’t think she had problems with that anymore after the Densaugeo incident.
"That's unkind," Ginny commented.
"Yeah, I don't know what she means," replied Hermione.
*
“Granger, what’s your Patronus?” She asked her in the Great Hall.
“An ott-” She began.
“A wolf? That’s what I thought!” Bellatrix interrupted. Merlin, she was annoying. Hermione glared at her.
"That one's not even true!" Ginny exclaimed, eyebrows high on her forehead. The unfortunate witness yet again. "What is wrong with her?"
Hermione merely put her head in her hands.
*
Then, the last straw. Which wasn’t even a joke at all, actually.
“Granger, what’s your essay on? I’m thinking about doing mine on werewolves.”
“Alright.”
Hermione slammed her hands down on the table as she stood, shaking their work materials and nearly denting the desk, causing poor Harry to jump out of his skin.
“Black?” When she spoke, it was through her teeth, and her voice was above its normal pitch by several octaves. “Would you mind speaking with me outside?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She stormed over to where Bellatrix was, grabbing her arm. She caught the surprised yet satisfied look on her face, but paid it no mind, roughly dragging the witch by her arm until they were in the hallway.
She whirled on her.
“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you talking to me so much and making bloody wolf jokes?” She hissed at the other woman, letting go of her arm once they were far enough away from prying ears.
“What, do you not like me?” Her eyelashes fluttered, but the act, coming from her, didn’t give off innocence.
“Yes, Black, you’re fantastic. Truly lovely.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, glaring up at the dark witch.
Bellatrix preened.
“I’m aware. But I appreciate it all the same.”
Hermione opted to ignore that.
“Are you going to answer my questions or ask more of your own?”
After seconds of no response, Hermione was fed up, done with Black’s games. She turned to leave, to go back to class or maybe to her dorm to take a stress nap. But she was stopped by a firm hand on her wrist, spinning her until she was facing her again.
“You know, you should really be less obvious when you’re sneaking out.” Bellatrix leaned forward, close, so close that their noses were nearly touching. The other witch was a bit taller than her, which was rather unfortunate, because it was humiliating being angry at someone who she had to look up at.
Hermione’s heart stopped, her words sinking in. She thought it’d be best to feign obliviousness.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Let’s not play dumb. I saw you last night. Outside.”
“Are you sure it was me?”
Even though Hermione continued to "play dumb", Bellatrix’s eyes lit up, and if eyes could smile, they would be.
“Would you like me to act it out? To prove I know what I saw?”
At this point, dread had settled deep in Hermione’s chest. She was nauseous and upset. She didn’t answer her.
Bellatrix began miming a werewolf transformation. It was ridiculous; werewolves couldn’t have their hands in that position when mid-shift. It was also incredibly exaggerated. Hermione was frankly embarrassed at the thorough debasement of her species. And when she finally got to the howling-
“Stop! Stop, I get it.” At this point, she was so close to a panic attack that she was just desperate for Bellatrix to stop. Her anger had very quickly morphed into fear.
She raised a single dark eyebrow.
“What’s stopping me from telling everyone that their precious Golden Girl howls at the moon?” The corner of Bellatrix’s lips quirked. How dare she find this amusing. Hermione would be ruined. It wasn’t shameful, per se, but it was her private information that could potentially be used against her. Like now. And she’d already been bullied for it before, in her earlier years at Hogwarts. With silver knuckles. Thankfully the wizards involved had been expelled. She'd been in the Hospital Wing for weeks. She shuddered just thinking about it.
“I’ll do whatever you want!” She blurted. Oh, shit. She had not thought that through. At all. Now she had to face the consequences.
Hopefully Bellatrix would not take interest.
“Oh?”
Dammit.
She should have known the witch would have been interested. Her natural curiosity made it so she wouldn’t deny such an opportunity, and her intellectual prowess would make her pick something either very embarrassing, or something that would inconvenience Hermione.
“Wait, I take it ba-” Hermione said quickly.
“-No take backs.” The dark witch interrupted with the childish phrase.
“Fuck.” The direwolf muttered. “Well?” She asked expectantly.
Hermione glanced at her nervously, waiting for her to pick something. She didn’t need to wait long. The dark witch scrutinised Hermione, eyes narrowed, before stepping into her personal space again.
“I want to watch.” She whispered.
Hermione jerked back as if slapped. “W-what?”
“You heard me. I know those little wolf ears hear everything.”
Little?
“Little?” She echoed her thoughts.
“You’re short.”
Hermione scowled. “I’m not that short!”
“Shorter than I.”
The direwolf rolled her eyes, but thought about the situation for a moment. It couldn’t be that bad. Nobody had ever seen her that way, but what if it was freeing? She wanted to share the satisfaction she experienced after a shift with someone else. One specific someone. Wow. She must really like Bellatrix to want that. She was ashamed of it, sometimes. Even though she inherited the direwolf trait genetically and was fortunate she hadn’t been infected with lycanthropy, she didn’t want others – or herself – to think of her as a monster. Bellatrix seeing her… couldn’t be that bad. As long as she didn’t bring a camera or anything like that. She should mention it.
At the risk of seeming insecure, Hermione asked, “...And you’ll keep it private? Completely? No camera, nothing?”
“Yes, Granger. My eyes only. Pinky promise.” She sounded sincere, and Hermione desperately wanted to believe her. The curly-haired witch held out her pinky finger. Hermione stared at it for a moment before accepting it. Her knuckles brushed the rest of the other witch’s hand. It was cool to Hermione’s warm, and a small thrill ran through her at the feeling.
“Fucking voyeur.” Hermione muttered jokingly as they pulled apart.
“What was that?” The dark witch asked.
“Nothing.” She clasped her hands behind her back as if hiding something.
“Uh-huh.” Bellatrix intoned skeptically.
“We should get back to class. Let’s discuss the logistics later.”
“Sure.” She agreed, moving to walk by Hermione. “Fucking exhibitionist.” Bellatrix said under her breath as she passed.
Hermione grinned.
*
Hermione, having cornered Bellatrix after dinner, decided to mention it to her again. Logistics.
“Erm, when should we do it?”
“It’s your body. You decide when we do it.” Hermione’s eyes widened at Bellatrix’s suggestive tone. She chuckled lowly at the brunette’s expression.
“...There’s no need to say it like that!”
“Like what?” She teased, eyeing the other woman’s flushed cheeks.
“You know what-” Hermione grumbled, refusing to play that game with her. “...Next week? The moon won’t be full.”
“Will that be a problem?”
“The opposite, actually. A full moon means more werewolves. Next week there will be few.”
“You think I can’t defend myself against a few puppies?” The brunette would have glared, but she considered it futile; it would make Bellatrix say it again.
“Even I have had troubles with them before.” Hermione shrugged, loosening her tie and tugging the collar of her shirt down. She turned to the side to reveal part of five large slashes, beginning just above her collarbone and ending at the bottom of her scapula.
Bellatrix was quiet for a long time, and when Hermione turned her head, she caught the dark witch’s eyes exploring the rest of her exposed skin.
“...Fine, I guess you’re the expert, Golden Girl.” The unbearable woman rolled her eyes. Hermione honestly just did not want Bellatrix to be mauled while she was fulfilling their deal.
Was that what it was? A deal? Bellatrix’s silence - blackmail, by the way - in return for a sacred part of Hermione’s life and identity?
In return for revealing herself entirely?
Was it worth it?
Some part of Hermione wanted to be seen. She wanted Bellatrix to be the one to see. There was a certain thrill in knowing that the girl was going to lay her eyes on something that Hermione had never shown anyone else - at least in a more intimate setting than being locked in a cage with a Ministry official watching. Sure, she’d told people, like Harry and Ron, but seeing was completely different.
Hermione had always been guarded about her identity. The choice she had to make was difficult. She didn’t like being blackmailed, though she wanted to be understood. But Bellatrix was forcing her hand.
It should have been humiliating. It was humiliating. Even still, she was indecisive. The conflict consumed her.
Yet some traitorous part of her wanted it anyway. She knew then that she’d decided, despite the possible consequences.
The expression on Bellatrix’s face changed, most likely in response to how hers had, as well. Hermione decided not to say anything more than a simple, “okay.”