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The Black Prophecy

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Hermione and Bellatrix luxuriated in a world of touch and feeling. They mapped each other’s bodies with lips, tongue, teeth, and fingertips until they discovered every inch of imperfect perfection. The afternoon sun burned brightly, reminding the sated pair of the impending need to depart for the evening’s festivities. Reveling in their last few moments of privacy, Hermione laid half on top of the older witch while fingers ran gently through her curls. Lazily she ran her fingertips over the dark mark on the left arm of her lover. She slowly traced its length.

"You can ask me whatever you want, you know? You are thinking so loudly I can nearly hear it."

"You could just read my thoughts," the girl replied nervously.

"You're right. I could, but it would be better if you told me. I can make it worth your while," she added flirtatiously.

"What more could you possibly do to me?"

"You've barely even scraped the surface of my... capabilities."

Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to control the butterflies set off in her stomach by the mere idea of the woman's hands on her body. "I'm just a little confused," she began. Bellatrix's face darkened at the possibility of rejection. Noting the look, Hermione continued quickly, intertwining their fingers.

"No. I am not confused about this. This is the only thing in my life to feel... right. What I can't wrap my head around is you," she said, affectionately running her open hand down the bare chest in front of her. "You are open, kind, and loving towards me, this" she continued pointing to the dark mark. "This is not earned by those traits. Not to mention your reputation. Pardon from previous crimes aside, you are the most feared witch in Great Britain."

Bellatrix laughed darkly. "How do I begin to respond to such lovely compliments?" she asked rhetorically. "My reputation is well earned. I never denied any of the charges against me. I am intentionally ruthless in battle. I have killed and driven people mad and laughed afterwards. All of that is who I am. The rest of the world sees me as one dimensional. All Death Eaters have families or lovers or others they care about. We fight; we lead a revolution to protect the ones we love and our way of life." She watched Hermione's eyes closely looking for a reaction.

"Does my darkness frighten you," she purred, nipping roughly at the girl’s earlobe.

Hermione's breath hitched noticeably. "I.. no.. not exactly," she panted in response. Taking the reaction as permission, Bellatrix rolled herself quickly on top. She grabbed the witch’s wrists less than gently and pinned them above her head. Her move earned a guttural moan.

"So if it doesn't frighten you, little one, what does it do?" While asking the question she ground her hips roughly against a bare hipbone.

"I can't think while you are doing that."

"Hmm then perhaps I should tell you what I think you are feeling. Does that seem reasonable?" She ground a knee roughly into the very wet core of the young girl, eliciting a gasp.

"My beautiful witch, I think since the moment you recognized who I am you have lusted after my...reputation. And based on how wet you've made my leg, I'd wager it's only increasing. But perhaps it is your desire you fear."

"Bella, please."

"Please, what?"

"Please please touch me. I need to feel you."

"And how do you want me to touch you? Gently?" The taunting voice and constant grinding stole Hermione's control over her vocal chords. Adamantly she shook her head no, doing her best to convey the full depth of her desire.

Satisfied with the wanton look of need on the girl’s face, Bella magically bound the hands in place and drew her nails from neck to thighs causing angry red marks. The girl arched her back in response, offering more of her body for similar treatment. Accepting the invitation, she took a hardened nipple in her mouth and bit down. A scream expressing pleasure and pain intermingled jump-started the girl’s begging. Taking the opposite breast into her mouth, Bellatrix pushed two fingers into her, setting a demanding pace. If the girl wanted the "real" her, it was the “real” her the girl would have. Any concern the dark witch had about the roughness disappeared as the girl’s hips pushed firmly into her hands at each stroke, demanding more. Feeling the girl’s inner walls relax, Bellatrix added a third finger while roughly circling her clit. In a matter of seconds the girl crumbled into release, panting her name hotly.

Bellatrix slid down the witch’s heated body giving her no time to recover and swiftly sucked the bundle of nerves into her mouth, stroking it firmly with her tongue.

“Bella, I can’t. Please,” the girl squeaked, trying to squirm away. The mouth on her clit stilled momentarily and her eyes were held by the dark gaze.

“You can and you will. For me. Because you are mine.” Releasing the bound hands, she allowed them to intertwine in her dark hair. The moment she felt them tighten and pull her closer, she resumed her intimate caress. She felt the young witch tense as the fingers in her hair pull painfully before a wave of release ripped through the body beneath her.


 

Bellatrix and Hermione barely returned to Malfoy Manor with enough time to get ready for Christmas dinner. Hermione bathed as quickly as possible, but had to slow in dressing to apply glamour to a number of well earned love bites and scratches. She was interrupted, while tilting her head to the left to cover the final mark, by her lover who strode confidently to her side. Bellatrix gently ran a finger down the slender neck, appreciating her work before applying the spell herself.

“Come dear, I should escort you downstairs,” she said offering her arm. Hermione eagerly stepped close to the witch and melted into her side.

Downstairs Hermione withstood the appraising eyes of Narcissa. The blonde witch raised her eyebrow as if she saw right through the spells cast to hide the evidence of the intimate activities. Hermione blushed and turned to Bella as though she should be able to rescue them. In turn the older witch chuckled and shrugged her shoulders as if to say there was nothing she could do about her sister’s judgment.

As always the food, drink, and company were excellent. Hermione found herself happier than she could ever remember. Draco practically drug the family into the library where the large Christmas tree sat in front of the fireplace. Bellatrix sat Hermione between herself and her nephew. The young witch watched as the family exchanged gifts happily, basking in the love and joy of just being in their presence. She smiled slyly as Draco and Lucius opened their gifts from her at the same moment. In unison they held up matching Caerphilly Catapults jumpers while the three women burst into giggles at the idea of the Malfoy men wearing matching sweatshirts. Trying to control her mirth Hermione managed to draw their attention to the subtle gold and emerald pens, which were the real present.

Draco insisted that Hermione open his present next. The box contained a revealer, parchment and a secret quill. He playfully bumped her shoulder commenting,

“These are so you can write my aunt Bella all sorts of scandalous notes without the fear of prying eyes while we are at school.”

“Thank you, Nephew. How every thoughtful. What makes you think I won’t be sneaking in to see her every night?”

“Because I won’t permit it,” Narcissa interjected.

“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione said kissing his cheek fondly, hoping to divert the escalating sibling squabble.

Narcissa unwrapped the book Hermione selected out of the library at Timoleague, confirming how rare it was. She promised to share everything she learned with Hermione as soon as possible. In return she gave Hermione a tiara for her to wear on New Years.

Instead of passing his gift around the small semicircle as they had been doing all evening, Lucius stood and hand delivered his present to Hermione. Crouching down he said,

“In my work for the Dark Lord, I found this. We decided that it belonged in your hands. We all deserve evidence of where we came from.”

Hermione tugged the ribbon off the package. As the wrapping fell away, a photograph of an attractive couple holding a toddler smiled back at her.

“You were eighteen months old here.”

Tears fell silently down her face as she collected herself enough to whisper a thank you. Looking at her lover, she realized their gifts were the last two to be exchanged. Narcissa passed the small package to her sister.

“I can’t believe you got me something after this morning. A home was more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“This is just a little something. And it is almost as much for me as you.”

Hermione unwrapped the small package and pulled out a shining silver necklace. Bellatrix took it out of her hands and explained

“This is the Black coat of arms. It can only be put on or removed by a member of the family. To others of our class it will signify that you are mine. That you belong to us.”

In response Hermione turned around and lifted her hair, offering her bare neck to her lover. The delicate necklace draped down her clavicle sparkling in the candlelight. Narcissa caught her eye and gave an approving smile. Hermione took the small package out of the blonde witch’s hands, placing it into Bella’s.

The dark witch quietly opened the package, running her fingers over the locket before opening it. The metal glowed briefly as Hermione’s face appeared inside. Holding back tears, she pulled her young lover close.

“Thank you, this is beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s. An image only appears on the inside when it is exchanged between sonuachar.”

Bellatrix clasped it behind her own neck happy to find that the chain was long enough to nestle the locket inside her corset where it would stay safe. She gently took Hermione’s face in her hands and kissed her slowly, showing every ounce of appreciation she could muster. Narcissa cleared her throat to break the pair apart.

The little family lingered in the candlelight. They told stories of Christmas past and the fun they had as children. They even listened openly when Hermione shared memories of the Grangers, including the year they gave her a dollhouse. Narcissa smiled noting she received one at the same age. The pureblood family didn’t understand, or frankly want to understand, muggle ways, but they did care about Hermione.

Hermione fell asleep on Christmas night resting her head on the shoulder of her lover, rocked to sleep by the deep soothing breaths of the resting witch. She knew everything had changed that day. She had changed.