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I. For sparks to start flying, you need to spend time together. Drop whatever you are doing and go see the woman of your dreams!
In Bellatrix’s opinion, friction was what created sparks. And the author had missed a massive opportunity here. But who was she to judge? Instead, she got to her feet, dusted herself off, grabbed the wand lying on the small coffee table beside her, and did exactly as she had been told by the book.
Books almost never lied to you. Unless they had one seventh of an evil wizard’s soul imprisoned inside them. Such books tended to be manipulative, emotionally abusive, and overall not a delight to lose yourself in.
Bellatrix would take her chances with this one. She fastened a cloak round her neck with determination, turned on the spot with deliberation, and Apparated with nothing but her destination in mind.
It was a Wednesday, which meant Hermione was working. Bellatrix went to the trouble to actually get a visitor’s badge from the telephone box (she knew how to spell the word!) and wait in line at the lifts. For some reason, the lines were moving quicker than usual today, and she decided it was not that bad to take the orthodox approach. She even got a lift all to herself.
“Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” the voice announced. Bellatrix was out before the grilles had fully slid to the side. Now, then.
“Auror Headquarters…” she muttered to herself, setting off along the corridor, “Head Auror Office, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, Improper Use of Magic…”
And there, at the very end of the walkway, a polished golden plaque read, ‘Head of Department’ in shiny black letters. Bellatrix gave a nod of approval of the colour palette, and let herself in.
“Have you people still not grasped the concept of—Oh, it’s you.”
Bellatrix did not let the tone discourage her. The book hadn’t mentioned how to deal with apathy, but she was knowledgeable enough. Some things you couldn’t learn from a book.
“Well, hello there, Miss Head of Department.” Bellatrix pulled up the chair sitting unoccupied before the desk and straddled it, undoing the clasp of her cloak in a simultaneous, fluid motion. Hermione ought to be impressed, if not by the outrageously tight corset she had donned, then by the sheer skill it took to look this good. More of a natural talent, really.
Bellatrix flipped her hair.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking decidedly unimpressed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work yourself?”
“I cracked a project over breakfast, would you like to hear about it?”
“No.”
Bellatrix loved it when they played hard-to-get. “I have come to spend time with you,” she winked.
Hermione, who had just picked up her quill again, pursed her lips and appeared to count to ten before responding. “I have a busy day ahead, so feel free to clear off.”
There was a thrill in the game of cat and mouse, Bellatrix commended her for that. She let her know and had to avoid a Stinging Jinx on her way out. Feisty.
She dashed home to pick up the book, eagerly flipping through the first dozen pages. Perhaps chapter one just wasn’t applicable to cases of particularly hard-working witches. Bellatrix Summoned a sweet treat from the cupboard under the sink and settled on chapter two.
~
II. The way to a woman’s heart is paved with gifts. Make sure to treat your lady!
Ah-hah! There it was. Coming in strong after a questionable beginning. One could never go wrong with a carefully picked out gift.
Luckily, Bellatrix knew exactly where to go find one.
“Wrap the box with a ribbon, will you? It’s a gift.”
The clerk raised a fat, bald head and stared at her with bulging eyes. “A… gift?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” she snapped.
“Of course, Madam Black, of course,” he simpered, hobbling away into the depths of his shop to prepare the purchase. Bellatrix shook her head at herself. It made sense he wouldn’t know what a gift was, he’d likely never got one.
That wasn’t her fault though, was it?
She walked out of the shop, rectangular box in hand and a deeply gratifying feeling in her heart (she had left a pouch of Galleons as a tip, advising the shopkeeper to buy himself a gift). Who knew being good felt so – good?
She could barely contain her excitement on the way home, impatient to call upon her pet to make the delivery.
“Albus! I have work for you!”
Chuckling at her own little joke, Bellatrix stretched out her hand for the raven to land on. He looked miffed, as if he knew very well his name served for humoristic purposes rather than represent his qualities and skill. Bellatrix nuzzled against his beak before tying the parcel to his leg.
“This is a very special delivery, you know. I’d trust no other creature.”
He gave her a sideways look as if to say, ‘Don’t lay it on too thick, now,’ but brushed against her cheek in return before pushing off her forearm and shooting through the open window, quickly gathering speed. Soon, he was but a speck in the azure sky.
Bellatrix took note of how high the sun had climbed and decided to make herself lunch. It was less out of any actual need for food just yet, more to pass the time until an undoubtedly sweet thank-you note made its way back via Albus. Bellatrix wished she could see Hermione’s face while opening her gift, but this would have to suffice, for now.
She was proven right when Albus returned, not an hour later, with a red envelope in its beak.
The colour of love. How poignant.
Albus’ bravado was somewhat dampened, enough to have him discarding the envelope on the kitchen table and turning back, in a hurry to leave for his home among the trees outside. Bellatrix was left to be the sole recipient of a passionate Howler which aimed to thank (admonish) her for the thoughtful (insane) present that Hermione was sending back because:
IT’S A BLOODY MACHETE, BELLATRIX, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KEEP THAT IN THE MINISTRY?
Bellatrix noticed how the ribbon had been stuffed inside the box and pierced through with the machete blade. So well thought out in response, she couldn’t help but feel touched by the gesture.
After chapter two’s raging success, she wolfed down her lunch to get on with the next chapter.
~
III. Everybody appreciates a little help. Make sure your girl’s day flows smoothly!
Sheer luck or a few strings pulled just right – Hermione’s work got interrupted by an afternoon meeting. And if somehow, someone managed to slip inside her office while she was gone and have all the time in the world to do as they pleased, well, that was a security problem.
Bellatrix puffed up her cheeks and exhaled slowly, taking in the mess that was the Head of DMLE’s workspace. Pieces of parchment and open binders strewn all over the desk, sticky notes covering the cabinet door and some of the wall beside it, case filed attached to the blackboard, which had leftover chalk figures drawn on it…
Lucky, yes, very lucky someone was there to help. Hermione’s gratitude was bound to multiply tenfold when she walked into a much cleaner and organized workplace after her important meeting. Bellatrix was giddy to think of all the ways this gratitude could be offered to her. Not wanting to get ahead of herself, however, she got to work instead, whipping out her wand and tracing complicated Spell patterns in the air.
She ended up finishing with time to spare (that happened when one was overqualified for a job) and decided to sink into Hermione’s chair (the work may be a lot, but that softness was certainly worth it) and take out some light reading material, just to be prepared to show double the effort this time and really drive the point across.
~
IV. Communication is key. Let her know how you feel.
She had spent the past half an hour practicing the perfect speech. Then, one look at Hermione (absolutely murderous due to having walked all over the Ministry in search for a nonexistent meeting) and Bellatrix decided it was best to speak from the heart.
“Bellatrix, not you again!”
“Of all the people I struggle to tolerate you get on my nerves the most,” Bellatrix solemnly pronounced.
It rendered Hermione speechless for a moment, which gave Bellatrix the courage to continue.
“Every time I see you, my blood boils.”
Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“If I had to pick a nemesis, I’d choose you in every lifetime.”
“I am not even going to try and unpack this now—” Hermione started towards her own seat, gesturing for Bellatrix to free it up, when she suddenly paused. Apparently, the lack of anything to trip over got her to notice the result of Bellatrix’s hard work. “What have you done?”
Bellatrix stood to present proudly. “I cleaned up so you wouldn’t have to.”
Hermione swayed on the spot, reaching to steady herself on her spotless—and very bare—desk. Her face had paled and was progressing towards green faster than the acceleration of a Firebolt. “You – what?”
“Yes, it was a bit cluttered in here, and I know you’re an organized person, normally,” Bellatrix waved a hand. “But that’s all right, I took care of it. You can focus on your work now. I won’t keep you, just wanted to make sure you knew how I feel.”
From Hermione’s subsequent screams she found out two things. One, Hermione was not, in any way, shape, or form, the least bit interested how Bellatrix felt. Two, she had this system apparently, where she spread her work all over her office to make sure her desk wasn’t sagging beneath the weight of a thousand things to do, and also help her remember what she ought to finish before heading home.
The third Bellatrix concluded on her own: it was best to leave now, while Hermione was still yelling and the Curses hadn’t started flying yet.
~
It had long since gone dark by the time Hermione made it out of the Ministry and onto the moonlit street behind Whitehall. Her head was throbbing with the stress of the day, and she could still see the outline of legal documents every time she blinked.
It had been a hellish day. It might have been a tad less hellish if not for the meddling of a certain witch who was going to have revenge served to her on a platter at the first opportunity on Hermione’s part. No way was she letting Bellatrix come out on top of this sick power play. Sending her on a wild goose chase all over the Ministry when she had an actual job to do. The nerve of some people…
She finally made it home, and if she slammed the door a bit harder than necessary, it was the draft that had been created. Hermione kicked off her heels and ripped the cloak from around her neck. She was looking forward to a glass of wine and a book in bed. No better combination.
She hadn’t taken two steps in when the world suddenly turned black.
“Wha—!”
“Shh.” A finger was pressed gently to her lips, silencing her more effectively than magic. “I have a surprise for you,” said the voice in her ear. “Come.”
Robbed of her sight, Hermione could only tightly grasp the proffered hand and allow herself to be led upstairs and into a room which welcomed her with the heady scent of aromatic candles. She could discern chocolate, cherries, and something unique and strong she found no name for in her vocabulary at the moment.
The hand in hers supported her when she tripped over something, and the voice murmured soothingly in her ear.
“Almost there, come on now.”
The silk fell from her eyes without warning, but the light was dim enough to not place a strain on them.
Hermione was standing in her bedroom, more specifically on the threshold of the en-suite. The bathroom was decorated with rose petals, balloons, a bouquet of roses on the windowsill, and candles lining a path to the bathtub, which was filled and topped with sweet-smelling foam. She could feel a gentle touch at her waist now her hand was dropped, and a whisper of magic brushing her hair aside to make way for lips to land on the side of her neck.
Her wife knew her very well. Well enough to have anticipated her next question, ready with an answer before Hermione could finish.
“What is all th—?”
“Just something I’ve been occupying my day with.”
“Oh,” Hermione tried not to show the effect that voice had on her when spoken directly against her skin, “you had free time, hm?”
“A lot of it… Terribly boring, being all alone. Shame you had to work today.”
“Yes,” Hermione gritted out, “shame.”
She turned around, not really prepared to see her wife in nothing but a flimsy robe tied so incompetently it barely left anything to the imagination. Hermione gasped, averting her eyes, still too unaware to remember she was allowed to look, and touch.
And that’s when she saw it. Lying innocently on the chest of drawers behind them. Hermione could read the title from here.
“Bellatrix Druella Black!” she broke off from the embrace, suddenly very clear-headed, and strode over to grab the book and shake it as if something was hiding between the pages. But when she turned to confront Bellatrix, she was met with a knowing smirk.
“Some very solid advice in there,” Bellatrix crowed. “Works like a charm.”
Hermione smacked her face into the paperback. “We have been married twenty years,” she groaned.
“Down to the day.”
She heard Bellatrix step forward, and the book was gently pried from her grip. Hermione tried very hard to look furious.
“You didn’t think I’d forgotten our anniversary, did you?” Bellatrix’s tone bordered on insulted.
Of course she hadn’t. That didn’t mean she expected the tricks her wife had pulled. Somehow, even after all these years, Bellatrix was able to surprise her.
“Tsk, tsk, Mrs Black, how egregiously careless of you.” Bellatrix moved behind her, and Hermione felt the zip of her skirt going down. “You know, I never did get around to finishing it. And they say it’s the last chapter that really seals the deal.”
“O-oh?” Hermione was being not-so-subtly directed to walk forward, entering the bathroom.
“Mmhm,” Bellatrix reached around her to unbutton her shirt. “I think I should like to try it out. Never start something you’re not going to finish, and all that.”
Hermione couldn’t help the moan that escaped her when the shirt fell off and Bellatrix’s hands roamed over her bare skin.
~
V. Actions speak louder than words. Physical touch is a love language for a reason – make sure your witch can feel your love!