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It’s not the thrill of the chase. It’s not craving something forbidden, taboo, more than craving water, the essence of life itself. It’s not even the sense of admiration combined with beauty that she withheld.
It’s the sensation of aching to the very core. And Hermione ached, to the point of being ready to give anything to not have to feel that way.
She ached to touch those brown, shimmering strands of soft hair. She ached to let her lips wander over that delicate, perfectly shaped neck. She ached to feel skin under her fingernails, to almost draw blood and hear the exquisite moans that would follow her actions. She ached, without knowing how it had happened. She’d read about similar things, of course, although she’d never experienced immediate infatuation like this before.
The name itself lingered on her tongue like poison, refused to be swallowed. Bel-la-trix. It was always present, like the taste of coffee in her mouth after breakfast, and it stayed with her all through day and night.
And the nights that followed felt longer than ever before. Eyes staring at an empty ceiling, mind conjuring mental images that would have driven anyone insane. Tossing and turning, night after night, she found herself waiting for the next day’s lessons, eager to get to class for a quick fix, like a drug.
All it had taken, one night of tobacco-smoke-filled air and the taste of alcohol. Through a crowd of desperate souls aching for anything to feel alive, Hermione had found her. The letters J, A, C, K and S would from this moment on be burnt into her memory, for they represented the moment that everything, that Hermione had ever known about herself, seemed to evaporate into nothingness, replaced by mental images of acts she would never have allowed herself to succumb to, before.
But before was not now. Now, she had to stand it, day through day. Long looks and the slow movement of her hips. A voice so hoarse Hermione felt her skin crawl with desperate need. Slender, beautiful fingers around pens of ink as Hermione craved those same fingers against her own skin. Desperate hopes of running into her in the corridors, or just maybe catching a glimpse of her on the grounds; any situation where she could strike up a conversation would do, as long as she got to be alone with her, without distractions or anyone telling her she was out of her mind to want to pursue someone like Bellatrix Black. She’d gone as far as to read endless amounts of French literature, just to make herself look smart and desirable in the brunette’s smouldering eyes.
No.
It’s not the thrill of the chase. It’s the sensation of aching to the very core. And in the wee hours of the morning, just like on the warm, last day of summer, Hermione ached.
Hermione was staring. She was always staring, since the beginning of the year. Any excuse she could find, she used it to get to know the new teacher a little bit more. She was sitting in the back of the class, one leg hooked upon the other, rolling her pen between her fingers and – of course – staring. Her pulse was beating in her ears, and not once, ever, during these three years with Ron had he made her heart beat this quick. She’d never before experienced how someone’s presence, even for a moment, could make her pulse race so hard.
Professor Black was walking around the classroom, her heels clicking, just like that night over at Jack’s. She carried a pad in her hands, asking various people to translate paragraphs out of the book for her, and then writing down how well they did. Sometimes Hermione thought she was avoiding her on purpose; she’d never asked Hermione to translate anything. Since that night at Jack’s, the only words exchanged between them had been Hermione’s full name and the silent whisper of take a seat. Hermione did not understand, the woman had been completely different towards her that night. That wasn’t the only thing she didn’t understand, though. These feelings of hers, the mess of them, all these voices suddenly screaming inside her, made absolutely no sense.
Hermione inhaled deeply and shot a look out the window. Her seat was in the back row, on the far left, by the huge windows that made the sun shine onto her face. She closed her eyes, realising that if she didn’t start paying attention she’d most certainly fail this course – and nothing could be more embarrassing than that.
Out of nowhere Professor Black walked past her. The leather of her skirt brushed gently against Hermione’s desk, making the girl catch a breath in the back of her throat. Her eyes lingered on the Professor’s legs and didn’t move until she realised she was being stared at. The moment Hermione looked up, Professor Black’s eyes were on hers, clearly with an asking expression.
“Miss Granger, are we boring you?” she asked in her sensual, dark voice.
Hermione then realised everyone had turned around to look at her. Her mind went blank. Words, words words, she thought. Any words would do.
“Well?” Professor Black asked again, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
“No”, Hermione whispered, then coughed to get more volume out of her voice. “No, of course not. I was just thinking about that last paragraph, about how I would have chosen a different set of verbs.” Brilliant bullshit.
Professor Black raised her eyebrows and gave Hermione one of her most beautiful smiles, with a hint of a dare. “Well then, would you be so kind and tell us how you would have translated, since you seem to be so utterly full of inspiration and energy today?”
It was sarcasm. Of course it was. Hermione’s mind was screaming, asking her what on Earth she was doing. This was no way of getting the new teacher to like her; she would most likely think she was being an ignorant brat with no respect. She took a deep breath. “Yes, of course. Um, personally I would probably have used croire instead of penser, since I interpreted the text as if the man speaking was pointing out a profound opinion of his, rather than it being a thought. I just, I thought…” Whilst Hermione spoke Professor Black’s eyebrows rose even higher and her hand travelled up to her collarbone, massaging her neck with her slender fingers, “... Well, I thought the important part was the opinion, and not the statement that he was thinking before he expressed his opinion.” What did I just say?
Professor Black smiled, then tilted her head to the side. “Merci, Miss Granger. You’re absolutely right. Thank you for that observation.” She actually smiled with her teeth and gave Hermione a look of positive surprise before turning around to proceed through the classroom – a smile Hermione recognised from a couple of weeks back.
“Hi”, Hermione said shyly but with a hint of confidence.
The brunette next to her turned her head towards Hermione, then looked behind her before meeting her gaze again. “Hello.” She was clearly confused.
“I saw you come in”, Hermione continued, smiling mischievously.
“Yes, yes I did”, the woman stated, and giggled. “How very observant of you.”
“May I buy you a drink?” Hermione continued, blood pounding in her ears but trying her best not to make the woman realise how incredibly nervous she actually was. It didn’t help that all of her friends together with her boyfriend were staring at the two of them from across the pub.
“I already have one”, the mysterious new Professor responded and looked at Hermione from head to toe. “But, I wouldn’t mind another one.”
What? Hermione was sure she was kidding. “Right”, she replied, then laughing nervously. “Of course, what would you like?”
“Scotch”, the woman replied, giving Hermione that same mischievous look as Hermione had given her. “On the rocks.” Instead of staying upright, she sat down on one of the empty bar-chairs behind her and crossed her legs, her dress inching a bit higher above her knees. Hermione’s gaze darted down before returning up to the woman’s eyes. She could feel her cheeks burning. This was such a bad idea, what the hell had got into her?
“I would not have guessed that”, Hermione smirked, then turned towards the bartender and made the order, adding a beer for herself. She then turned towards the woman and raised her hand. “I’m Hermione.”
The woman kindly took her hand and shook it, squeezing just a little too tight. “Bellatrix.”
“What?” Hermione whispered, then laughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that?”
“Bellatrix”, the brunette said calmly, still holding Hermione’s hand in her own. Her finger suddenly brushed Hermione’s skin. “It’s ancient. My mother was a big admirer of history, whereas my father would’ve named me something more traditional, like Beatrix.” She finally let go of the girl’s hand.
“Your father’s French?” Hermione asked, although already being quite sure of the answer.
“Yes, but I was born and raised in London”, she replied, still smiling beautifully. She brought the Scotch up to her lips and took a sip; Hermione’s eyes followed her every move. She let the glass linger by her lips, then put it back down and licked them. “Oh, that’s good.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say. She was completely mesmerised. Not only did this new woman, Bellatrix Something, look amazing, she seemed like a really interesting person as well. Suddenly she realised she had been staring into the woman’s eyes for far too long without saying a word, and coughed a bit.
“What do your tattoos mean?” she asked and pointed at the woman’s arm. She was indeed curious about them.
“They mean that something mattered to me”, the woman replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Oh, so mysterious”, Hermione smiled. Great, couldn’t have thought of anything else could you? “So, what brings you here?”
“The university”, she replied, her eyes staying on Hermione’s neck for a second or two, then coming back up to meet her gaze. “I’m taking over French in the Linguistics Department; Rabastan thought it would be a good idea. Rabastan – the man I came in with… who, by the way, should be back any minute.” There was a hint in that last sentence, although it wasn’t an awkward one, more like... I’d like for you to stay but unfortunately I have company.
“I see”, Hermione replied, suddenly realising that she was indeed going to have the pleasure of being in the woman’s class. “Well, I will probably see you there then”, she said with a hint of mystery in her voice.
“Oh?” the Professor asked, crossing her legs a bit higher. “Are you teaching there as well?”
Do I really look that old? Hermione thought. “God, no, I’m a student here”, she laughed, then realised the brunette looked like she had been struck by lightning. All of Hermione’s confidence suddenly dripped out of her head down to her toes. There must have been a look of panic on her face as she quickly tried to come up with words. “I mean, I’m studying biology and psychology as my main subjects but I’ve chosen French and Italian to get a bit of foreign culture into it all, so I guess I’ll be seeing you.” She tried to appear confident. It was obvious from the look in the brunette’s eyes that she did not succeed.
“Well then”, she said softly, then taking another sip of her Scotch. “If you are indeed one of my students, you may not call me Bellatrix but Professor Black, if you please.” Whilst saying her last-name, her voice suddenly became a bit deeper; not much but enough for Hermione to notice. “Your friends seem to be waiting for you.”
“What?” Hermione asked, then turning around, only to realise Ron was waving his hand at her, as if to tell her to come back and sit with them. “Oh, them. Yes, uh, I should indeed go.” She hadn’t touched her beer, too excited about the fact that she was actually speaking to this gorgeous woman.
“This whole buying a drink thing…”, the brunette started as Hermione turned towards her, “... was some kind of dare on the part of your friends, was it not?”
Busted, but her voice made Hermione melt. She sighed, then smiled widely like she sometimes did at herself in the mirror when preparing herself for a presentation. “It can be whatever you want it to be”, she whispered, her voice as husky as she could make it, yet not too flirtatious. She raised her hand yet again, as did the brunette. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Professor Black”, she whispered, making sure that it was her finger, this time, brushing the professor’s hand.
Professor Black clearly felt the gentle movement of Hermione’s index finger. She looked down, still smiling, then directed her midnight-dark orbs right into Hermione’s hazel-brown ones. “Likewise, Hermione.”
The bell snapped Hermione out of her trance as people started fumbling with their desks and bags around her. She had been so lost in the memory she hadn’t even realised she had been staring out the window for probably ten minutes or so. Nevertheless, Professor Black had realised. As Hermione was gathering her things she heard a dark voice, merely a whisper, behind her.
“Miss Granger, may I speak to you for a moment… or two?”
Hermione couldn’t turn around faster, seeing exactly who she was expecting to see. Her Professor was sitting on an empty desk chair behind her, hands on the wood, legs crossed just like in the bar, only this time her skirt was even higher. Eyes, eyes, eyes, Hermione thought while biting her tongue, just look at her bloody eyes, legs, God, what’s wrong with me? “Well, I really should be going -”
“This will only take a minute”, the Professor insisted sharply, straightening her back and crossing her arms in front of her chest just a bit too tight. Hermione’s eyes wandered.
“I’ve noticed these first few weeks that you do seem oddly distracted during my classes”, she continued, suddenly with a look of worry on her face. “When I met you that night, under casual circumstances, nevertheless, you seemed like a very bright and well, confident girl. Is there something going on that I can help you with?”
Yes, Hermione thought. You can help me by letting me take you for a drive and just talk to you through the night. You can help me by getting off your high horse and admitting that you were flirting with me that night. “No”, she replied softly, smiling. “It’s nothing, really, I’m just stressed and this is the first time I’m living together with someone. I find it a bit, well, it’s just a lot more invasive than I thought it would be.” Why did I say that? She did not need to know that.
“Oh”, she replied, then twirled a strand of her dark hair around her index-finger. “Well then, off you go.” She got up, nodded, and then started walking towards her own desk and things. Hermione’s eyes couldn’t help but travel from the click of her heels onto her calves, her knees, her thighs, her -
“Until tomorrow, then”, she said whilst walking away.
Hermione looked up, but the woman hadn’t turned around. Her back was to Hermione, and she was packing things into her black leather bag. “Until tomorrow”, Hermione whispered, then hurried out as fast as she could.
It was final. From the night she had met Professor Black, for reasons she was not even sure of herself yet, Hermione was indeed in hell.
Ron exhaled a deep breath, smiled and curled up around Hermione, his arm over her side, hand resting on her toned stomach. He rested his face in her hair and let his eyes fall closed. “You’ve been kind of quiet lately. Is everything alright?”
“God”, Hermione muttered, staring at the wall from where she rested, in their bed. “You’re the second person to ask me that today.” Her own hand rested loosely on Ron’s but now moved up to her pillow and crawled under it.
“Oh”, Ron sighed. Hermione sounded irritated. “Who else is concerned about you?”
Hermione glared at the nightstand next to her head; her French books piled up there. “Bellatrix”, she replied, not sure whether or not she wanted Ron to know.
“Who?” he asked.
“Professor Black”, she answered harshly, then realising no-one else probably knew her first name. “She asked if I was alright after class. I told her and I’m telling you, I’m fine.” She closed her eyes, hoping Ron was smart enough to let the subject go and finally let her sleep. The clock on the nightstand shone brightly. 1.32am.
“Maybe you should talk to someone”, Ron whispered.
Hermione’s eyes shot open and she rose a bit to look at him. “About what? To whom? What are you saying?”
Ron looked genuinely surprised and tried to calm her down by slowly caressing her forearm. “I’m just saying, you seem all stressed. I mean just now, I felt like you were flying somewhere else.”
“It’s one-thirty-four in the morning and I have biology at eight-fifteen”, she grunted, rolling her eyes. “Excuse me for not wanting to please you at this hour.”
That shut him up. His deep blue eyes stared at her with a hint of sadness, but he knew her well enough to know that it was time to let it go. He put his head back down onto the pillow, and she did the same, back turned towards him.
“Goodnight then”, he said, moving his hand back to her stomach.
“Goodnight”, she said, but her eyes stayed open, staring at the alarm clock, for she knew that the minute she closed her eyes, Bellatrix would be the only thing she’d see.
end