Work Text:
Hermione was sitting on a desk in the back row of the DADA classroom, her nose was bleeding, but she didn’t bother healing it. There was no reason for that, she’d soon go back into her dorm and treat it the muggle way, just like her dad taught her, years ago.
She placed her hands on the desk, leaving bloody prints behind, she cursed at her bad luck. Professor Black had stumbled upon Hermione fist fighting with Draco, while she was on her nightly patrol.
Hermione was caught by the wizard, out of curfew. He deducted Gryffindor points, called her mudblood, and she answered with her fist. Technically it was not her fault, but her word didn’t hold much of gravity against a pureblood’s.
It also didn’t help the fact that when they got separated his condition was ten times worse than hers and was rushed to the infirmary by the professor while Hermione was ordered to wait for her in the classroom.
She just couldn’t help herself, could she? Hermione shook her head bitterly, fed up with herself, Draco was baiting her, and she fell for it, proving once again that her self-control was more than lacking, proving further that her expulsion two years ago was rightfully given.
And to be caught by Professor Black, the only teacher Hermione hated and genuinely wanted to be away from, she sighed, the feeling of embarrassment was strong, but her pride was stronger. Reason and logic against Gryffindor's brashness, she chose the latter.
High heels clicking on the floor had Hermione facing the empty blackboard, signs of previous writings evident, it was the time of the year that the sixth years learned about werewolves.
Bitterness overcame her, she was taught about the creatures a year ago instead of getting ready to graduate alongside her friends, so they could start together with their Auror career. Now though, she was banned from even applying to the force.
Rita Skeeter took care of it, hefting a good amount of galleons by the Malfoy’s and the Parkinson’s, and just like that Hermione’s angry outburst was front news, her expulsion announcement made the headlight with neon red letters, granting that no one would miss it.
It was a rather simple endeavor, she got expelled, Pansy continued her studies without as much of a flinch, and Draco got sent home early feigning mental fatigue due to the shock, his absence had him repeating a year just like the Gryffindor.
To this day Dumbledore didn’t dare to face Hermione, after her explosion hearing. He cowardly lowered his head to the purebloods and ordered the Gryffindor witch home, protecting Draco Pansy and their parents, as he admitted. Not caring at the least for Hermione or the problems it would cause to her family.
When she returned, he permitted Black to deal with the troublesome Gryffindor as she saw fit, the only condition was to keep her far away from him. He deserved to be ridden with guilt, it was a small price to pay, Hermione would be out of his hair in two months.
The door screeched in desperate need of oil and Hermione wondered if the professor would have her oil every door in the castle just to spite her. It would not be the first time the woman would ask the Gryffindor to perform a ridiculous act, like painting the quidditch field bleachers or helping the elves out in the kitchen, all tasks performed without the aid of magic, of course, Black was truly a sadist.
Black appeared in Hermione’s peripheral vision like a dark cloud, curly hair moving in tune with her strides and black skirts swirling elegantly along with the rhythm of her hips while she confidently walked in front of the class, the Gryffindor hated her, but she wasn’t blind, Bellatrix Black was a woman to die for. The perfect combination of brains and beauty laced with the sharpest tongue Hermione had ever encountered.
The woman could make a grown-up wizard cry with a mere glare and piss his pants with a few well-aimed jabs. She had been a witness when Rodolphus Lestrange the beauxbatons DADA professor tried to get handsy with Black, only to end up hurrying away from the ballroom spilling his wine and tears on Hermione’s new suit. Students mocked them both and by the end of the night, they made a pitiful sight. Lestrange teary, deeply humiliated, and Hermione with a big red stain in the size of a basketball, needless to say, that none of them danced that night.
Black settled upon resting her body on the front side of the podium, not bothering to sit in a chair like a normal person, yet again there was nothing ordinary about the witch. Hermione refocused her attention on the board, grateful for her decision to sit in the back.
“Granger, come closer.” Black beckoned her with her right hand, her finger raised in a ‘come here’ motion, while the left pointed at the desk right in front of the podium.
Spoke too soon, Hermione stood up, tasting the coppery blood, her nosebleed had reduced a great deal, and maybe she wouldn’t have to patch it up back in the dorm, a small win before a big loss.
She dragged her feet to the front of the room, faced the board once again, anger mixing with tiredness, and sat down unceremoniously. One bloody hand nested in her hair, dirtying them up, and the other was placed palm down on the desk so she could lean on it with her chin.
Black glanced her way, sizing Hermione up, assessing the damage on her face. They were in too close proximity for the Gryffindor’s liking, she couldn’t stand the way her blood rushed through her body when in the presence of the witch as if it was singing through her veins in a cheerful tone that she was unfamiliar with. She suppressed the feeling, urging it to leave her alone.
“Heal your nose, you will bleed everywhere.”
Hermione gave the professor a bored look and didn’t lift a finger, her wand held securely in its holster above her left forearm.
“No need for that.” She leveled the processor with a glance before saying, “Let’s get over with it, dish out the punishment so I can go to sleep.”
A vein popped on Black’s forehead as she pushed herself off the podium and walked to Hermione’s desk, wiping out her crooked wand in the way and pointing it at the Gryffindor’s face. Black began muttering under her breath, a spell Hermione didn’t recognize, and soon enough, she felt her nose healing, the scratch on her jaw, closing and the dried blood disappearing. For a brief second Hermione considered asking the professor if she had any spells for wounded egos but decided against it.
“Why do you have to be so difficult to deal with, pet?” Black put the wand back in her corset, an action that was previously missed by Hermione but this time her eyes followed the motion settling on the woman’s displayed cleavage, how she got away with showing that much of skin while teaching, remained a mystery for the Gryffindor.
“I don’t know how you want me to answer that,” said Hermione averting her attention from the exposed skin of her professor, heat rushed to her cheeks but played it off by leaning fully on her hand.
Black sighed, she accioed a chair from the desk behind Hermione’s and took a seat directly facing her. Her calm demeanor bothered greatly the Gryffindor, the witch didn’t look mad as Hermione initially thought, yes, she was annoyed, but her disappointment was more prominent.
Hermione felt a pang of guilt on her stomach and cursed herself for still wanting to be good for the witch after all these years. She huffed, trying to gain back some of her anger, to no avail.
“Why did you start the fight with Draco?” asked Black, tone soothing and soft.
“Didn’t he tell you?” Hermione asked back.
“He did, but I want to hear your side too.”
Hermione laughed at that, a low depressing sound, it was funny how the tables have turned. Black didn’t ask for her side two years ago, she just went along with the convictions, nodding at Lucious and preparing the paperwork, a job well done by a good teacher, a great pureblood witch, and the best aunt.
Hermione’s mom didn’t talk to her when she returned home, she was alone in the house with her, but she didn’t even acknowledge the Gryffindor's existence. Emma Granger who was embarrassed by her daughter’s actions, just like Black, hadn’t asked for Hermione’s side.
Instead, she settled on making her daughter feel asphyxiated every time they breathed in the same space, having Hermione searching for ways to be out of the house.
“He caught me off curfew, deducted points, and called me mudblood. I retaliated by punching him straight to the face.”
Black gasped a little upon hearing the slur and Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to push fresh tears back, it was not the time or the place for them to spill. Unfortunately, thinking about her mom reduced her to an emotional mess.
Hermione had spent most of her time away from school, by driving around muggle London in her Dad’s old, beat-up car. Father and daughter had great trouble at finding the right pieces to fix the black BMW that her grandfather had bought for Hermione’s dad as a graduation gift, but by the start of the summer, they had it up and running. Giving Hermione her much-needed mean of escape.
It was the best way to get away from the choking atmosphere in the house, the breeze in her face always managed to calm her down, taking away her tears and letting them travel far from her. Oh, how she missed such freedom, at this moment, in the dimly lit classroom.
“It was stupid of you to bite, all things considered,” said Black, somehow absentmindedly, tilting her head to get a better look at the Gryffindor. “He won’t take it to his father, I made sure of it. He can’t afford to lose another year”
“I think it’s a little late for that Professor, all things considered.” Hermione scoffed, Black raised an eyebrow at the attitude.
Hermione was aware that she was unfair, that her behavior was uncalled for, that the woman had nothing to do with Dumbledore’s final decision, that not even her sister Narcissa agreed to it, but she had so much pent-up frustration with the whole magical Britain and its unreasonable cruel way of operating and dealing with everyone who wasn’t of pure origin, that her skin felt like it was bristling.
Suddenly, she stood up, the tears she tried to shoo away came back at full force, running freely, breaking through every stubborn defense she had raised in an attempt to save her pride from another hit.
“Granger, sit back down! We haven’t finished talking,” said Black, vigorously, sharply, standing up as well, she pulled her wand and shut down the door, locking it up, trapping Hermione inside.
“Oh, I am beyond finished!” Hermione answered with the same amount of vigor, she wasn’t thinking clearly.
“I am done!” she took a step towards Black, “To hell with Hogwarts!” she raised her voice, another step, “to hell with Dumbledore, he can’t even face me!” another one, “to hell with the ministry!”, she was almost touching chests with the professor, “to hell with your pureblood community, you took away my dream!” Dark eyes watched in confusion as Hermione raised a finger and poked the witch’s chest in the place just above her heart “and most of all, to hell with you Bellatrix Black, I hate you!” she managed to croak out, voice strained by all the yelling, view blurry from the tears.
“I hate you!” she sobbed, “I hate that I became the best dueler, the best student, I had the best behavior, I hate that I believed you when you said that you valued a person’s magical skill above everything else, all for you to notice me, to look at my way, to recognize me as an equal,” Hermione took a wheezing breath, it has getting hard to focus.
“And you!” she pointed at Black’s chest again, “Oh, you.” She let her hand fall back to her side, defeated. “You turned your back on me, how could you believe them? I wasn’t in a relationship with Parkinson, and I didn’t get mad at her when she asked me to break things off! I just snapped under the pressure of hers and you nephew’s mockings and those fuckers turned it on me!” Hermione let her head hang, her heart beating a hundred miles per hour, but she had to say everything that ate her mind, take everything off her chest. “How could I? Answer me Bellatrix, how could I?”
“I don’t know, my pet. I really don’t know,” said Black, her expression a mystery to the Gryffindor who kept her head down, gaze pinned firmly to the dark floor. Not daring to face Bellatrix, afraid of what she might find upon gazing at black coal eyes.
“How could I when I only have eyes for you?” her voice broke, at last, the truth was out, raw, and pathetic, perfectly matching Hermione’s feelings.
The Gryffindor didn’t wait for an answer, she was leaving, and this time for good. Once again, she dragged her feet, directing them to carry her over to the tall door, the pain on her nose felt like a faraway dream, in front of the close nightmare that was her feelings.
She took her wand out, muttering an alohomora, nothing happened. She tried once more, nothing changed. Hermione drew a deep breath, facing the floor she turned to address the dark witch in the other corner of the room. “Professor unlock the door.”
“No.” was the short answer she received.
“Please I want to leave.” No energy was left in Hermione’s body, she just wanted to lay down and cry until come morning.
“I said no.”
Heels clicked, clothing ruffled, Black was approaching at a fast pace. The Gryffindor curled on herself, afraid to face her actions, a cowardly lion. How fitting!
“I’m going to blast the door off,” she threatened, but it didn’t hold even an ounce of truth, gone was the pride, gone was the fury, gone was the self-righteous anger, she felt empty.
Without a notice, gentle hands were placed on her shoulders, pulling her in a soft embrace and Hermione allowed herself time to cry some more. One of the hands was running through her hair, untangling knots, the Gryffindor didn’t know existed in her head.
Black’s scent filled her senses, engulfing her in a sense of security, unconsciously she pressed herself harder to the woman, basking in her warmth and softness, managing to wrap her arms around Bellatrix’s back.
“Let it all out pet, I'm here,” said Black, tightening her hold in Hermione.
They stayed like that for some time, no one spoke, Hermione’s sobs filled the silence until she buried them in Bellatrix by nuzzling her face in the crook of the witch’s neck getting tingled by the thick curls of the dark mane in the process.
The Gryffindor already addicted to the woman’s embrace felt a carnal resistance jolt through her body when she released her as if she would fall and break if they were apart.
Nothing of the dramatic sort happened, Hermione took a step back, a sudden coldness sized her up erupting goosebumps in her arms. Fortunately for the Gryffindor, the ice melted almost instantly when Bellatrix held her jaw firmly, thumbs pressings under her eyes wiping away the remaining tears.
“There, there, all good.” the witch’s fingers pawed hesitantly on Hermione’s face, tracing patterns from her forehead to her jaw and finally settling on her puffy from crying cheeks, “all good my little lion. Take your time,” Bellatrix cooed, a newfound sweetness, in the otherwise strict voice, that had Hermione’s head spinning and her body leaning on the touch.
“I’m sorry,” said the Gryffindor, her outburst must have been a sight to behold, what would the witch think of her now?
“None of that.” Bellatrix put a stray lock of hair behind Hermione’s ear, tracing the scalp lightly with her nails, “You were right, I didn’t fight to keep you in the school as much as I could,”
Hermione went to answer, but the hand lowering from her scalp to her neck had her silenced. Bellatrix's hand kept going from the base of her nape to the beginning of her hairline and finishing by petting the spot behind the Gryffindor’s sensitive ears.
“I was so busy trying to secure your return to Hogwarts, that I didn’t focus on the ways I could prevent you from leaving in the first place.” Bellatrix sighed and locked eyes with Hermione, giving the Gryffindor a sad smile.
“You mean that you were the anonymous person who demanded my return?” Hermione’s eyes widened, when she had asked McGonagall about it, she just said that a very influential person had demanded that she, Hermione Jean Granger was to return Hogwarts after the end of the year, no matter what, to complete her education as it was her right.
Come to think of it, the transfiguration professor hadn’t lied, the answer was right in front of her eyes, but she was too blinded by anger to investigate further, she shrugged it off, thinking that it was a pet project of some pureblood to gain the favor of the muggleborns at the ministry or an attempt to spat and ridicule the Malfoys and the Parkinsons by overthrowing their decision.
“Surprise I guess? I had some favors to call in the minister’s office, being a member of the most ancient and noble house of Black can open most of the wizengamot doors.” Bellatrix finished her sentence and flicked Hermione on the recently healed noise, earning a little whine from the Gryffindor.
“What was that for?” Hermione asked, rubbing on the spot.
“That was for your judgmental glare.” Bellatrix immediately placed her lips on the reddened spot, kissing the pain away, “Don’t you Gryffindors know that the end justifies the means?”
Hermione momentarily petrified by the sudden kiss on her nose, stood with her jaw hanging. Her ability to form sentences was taken away by the dark witch.
“Thought so,” said Bellatrix, putting a finger in the Gryffindor's jaw, shutting it up. A smug expression, so Slytherin-like, appeared on her sharp face.
“Now, as much as I enjoy our little time together.” Bellatrix retrieved her hands from Hermione, unlocking the door not only wordlessly but without the aid of her wand either, “You pet, need your sleep, I can’t have you dozing off through lessons.”
Hermione gulped, not wanting to leave just yet, her head filled with imaginary pictures of driving Bellatrix around in her dad’s car, sharing her favorite locations with her while listening to music, enjoying the breeze together, drifting off to sleep under the stars. “Um, Bellatrix?”
“Hmm, pet?”
“Well, I… I mean… only if you want, no pressure or whatsoever, well,” she paused, unable to continue with dark eyes following hers in a chasing manner.
“Ask me, pet.” Bellatrix looked at Hermione with a smug smile that revealed white, sharp teeth that contrasted heavily with her dark red lips, capturing the Gryffindor in a trance.
“I-”
“Yes, pet.”
“Well, I-” Hermione felt Bellatrix leaning forward the witch’s hot breath, warming her lips.
“Doyouwanttogooutwithmeonceigraduate?” Hermione breathed out all at once and felt a blush forming from the base of her neck all the way to her cheeks and ears.
“Would love to, Hermione.” Bellatrix grinned, leaning impossibly closer, but stilled, waiting for the Gryffindor to initiate the kiss.
Hermione without pondering too much closed the space, placing her lips in the softness that was Bellatrix, a contradiction so delicious that the Gryffindor had only started unraveling and figuring out.
The dark witch was no Black, she was red, or better yet crimson. Just like her lips that had a faint taste of firewhiskey, just like Hermione’s blush that kept on spreading, just like the blood that sang and danced inside of the Gryffindor, the blood that used to separate them, raised high like a wall, waiting for tonight to fall and free them.
Red like the tongue that slithered inside Hermione’s mouth, demanding her utmost attention, pushing, and probing at her teeth, exploring the unfamiliar territory, destroying everything at its wake.
Hermione inexperienced as she was let Bellatrix take the lead of the kiss and was content to just follow the dark witch’s actions, she wrapped her hands around the corset-clad waist and felt Bellatrix’s hands snaking up to her neck causing her to bend, reducing their height difference, giving the shorter witch better access to her mouth without the need for stretching.
And as Hermione was lost in the divine sensation called Bellatrix Black, the witch pulled away, cutting the kiss short and putting just enough distance between them, so that the Gryffindor wouldn’t be able to snatch her back and keep her close.
She regarded Hermione with a serious expression, the one she sported when announcing a pop quiz, “Be a good pet and try to stay out of trouble. Only two months remain.” The expression disappeared in an instant, and Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed full of mischief. The same way they shined when passing the results of the pop quiz, before she added, “Try for me, and then you can come back to get the real thing.” In a swift, trademark dueling motion, she pecked Hermione’s right cheek and disappeared in a thin cloud of smoke, leaving the Gryffindor alone in the room with the door slightly ajar.
“Damn you, Bellatrix Black,” said Hermione to no one in particular, the witch should have at least taken her back to the Gryffindor dorms. How was she supposed to stay out of trouble when the prefects roamed the hallways.
Pull yourself together Granger. A witch like Bellatrix would need someone smart and strong beside her to match her energy, there was no time to waste. Hermione took her wand out casting the disillusionment charm and began walking towards the Gryffindor tower, once again she would have to be the best.