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The Black Prophecy

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“Well, hello there, little witch,” Bella hissed at the teeth nipping at her ear.

“I’ve missed you, Bella,” Hermione said swirling her tongue around the shell of her ear. “I have had a dreadful week and I need you.”

“Need me to what?” The dark witch grasped at her wife’s robes keeping the full body contact. She liked being wanted. She had grown to need being wanted.

“I think you know, don’t you?” Hermione flirted and ran her hands up the corseted waist she loved.

“I have an idea, but I would hate not to be entirely clear on what you want from me.”

The young witch sighed and leaned into the smooth neck, tasting the warm skin. “Someone else attempted to have me. I had someone else’s hands and lips on me, even though it may have been mostly innocent.”

Bellatrix bristled at the reminder. Narcissa and Hermione had done a rather impressive job of downplaying what Andromeda had done. The thought of her bloodtraitor sister doing anything with her wife made her blood boil. With a firmness that she rarely used with the brunette she grasped her wrist and started dragging her to a bedroom. The young woman tripped along behind her keeping up with the brisk pace and change of location the best that she could. Bella practically threw the witch through the door before waving her wand dramatically to lock it.

“How far did she go?” Bellatrix stalked towards her wife. It was gratifying to see the young woman back away with each step she took. She hadn’t put her wand away. “Hermione,” she continued in the sing song taunt for which she had become known, “Where. Did. She. Touch. You?”

Hermione stopped her slow progression away from her very angry wife only when the back of  her knees hit the bed. She managed to stay upright, but only barely. She shuddered at the force of Bella’s voice and her body language. She had seen only glimpses of this side of the witch. She was equal parts intimidating and sexy as hell. There was very little that she wouldn’t do while Bella was in this state if the dark witch asked.

“She backed me against a wall. She touched my hair and she briefly held my hand.” Hermione answered as succinctly and honestly as she could.

Bellatrix stopped walking when their bodies were flush against one another. “Wise choice not to lie to me. Don’t worry, little witch. I am going to love you so thoroughly that you will never question to whom you belong. But there is the matter of other’s understanding of that fact.” The dark witch began stripping clothing away from her wife’s body. She didn’t tear the cloth away, but that was the last vestige of her self control. She was utterly and completely done with others believing that her wife was in any way available. When Hermione was standing in front of her without a stitch of clothing on, Bella broke the lingering silence.

“On your back, love. Let me see you,” she purred. She was pleased when Hermione complied enthusiastically. She took great comfort in the fact that, though outsiders seemed confused about the serious nature of their relationship, Hermione apparently had no doubts. With a subtle flick of her wand, the witch’s arms were affixed to the corners of the bed securely.

Predictably, Hermione tested the strength of the bonds. She relaxed her entire body in offering once she confirmed there was no escape from her current position. Being at Bella’s mercy was incredibly attractive and the only thing she had desired throughout the long week. She couldn’t help how her breath was coming in sharp pants.

Bellatrix hiked up her skirts enough to be able to climb over the prone body of her aroused wife. She enjoyed the whimpers in response to the lace of her gown scraping up tender skin and how Hermione strained against the restraints to try to get closer to her.

“It seems that in spite of our marriage that the general public is having a hard time grasping the idea that you are very much off the market,” Bellatrix spat. 

“Oh Bella. I am yours and only yours,” Hermione said breathlessly with no small measure of adoration in her voice.

The dark witch settled her hips over her wife’s so that she was sitting astride her. Based on the gasp below her, the young woman appreciated the lack of underclothes. It was easy enough to banish them magically while Hermione was evaluating her current situation. 

“Yes, you are mine,” she whispered roughly palming Hermione’s breasts drawing out a moan. “Its time to prove it.”

“Anything Bella. Anything at all.” She leaned up, seeking the dark witch’s lips. She was relieved when her wife acquiesced and captured her in a passionate kiss. It was possessive and demanding. Perfectly Bellatrix in every way. “I trust you,” she whispered against red lips when they finally parted. She watched enraptured as Bellatrix touched her wand to the tender skin of her forearm.

“You want to be reminded that you belong to me. You desire for it to be so apparent that it is impossible for anyone to deny it.”

“Yes, Bella. Please,” Hermione begged.

“As you wish little witch. There will be no changing it once it is done.” She stared down at her wife looking for any sign of real fear. There was clear trepidation, curiosity and love, but the beautiful creature below her didn’t see her as a monster. She placed her mouth on Hermione’s ear much like the witch had done to her earlier tugging on the earlobe. “And it is going to hurt, but I will love you so well after it is done.”

Hermione’s body was trembling and pressing closer to her. “Bella, please,” she whispered into the dark curls.

Bellatrix slowly lifted her wand just barely above the unblemished skin. She whispered quietly and darkly. The body beneath her jerked in reaction to the pain of the spell and Hermione moaned low. The dark witch ground lightly against her, unable to resist the incredibly sexy body any longer. With great care she continued the spell weaving the image into the skin of her lover. As she completed the magical branding, she leaned down to kiss the now sweaty and tender skin of Hermione’s forearm. The mark look even better than she had imagined.

“Bella,” Hermione croaked, clearly hoarse from the pain.

The dark witch kissed her gently. Marking the witch had calmed the fire raging within her and the way that Hermione had taken it was beyond attractive. Bellatrix kissed wetly down her throat enjoying the sheen of salt over her skin. When she reached heaving breasts, she found nipples already straining. She happily latched on to one, teething it gently. When her wife’s hips started rocking rhythmically, she switched to the other one. As she slithered down the quaking body, Bellatrix waved a hand releasing Hermione from her bonds. Hands instantly anchored in dark hair pushing her farther down.

“Enough teasing, Bella. Fuck me,” Hermione demanded.

The insistent fingers digging into her scalp caused the dark witch to moan against the wet flesh in front of her. The resulting jerk of Hermione’s body caused Bellatrix to move quickly. She poised two fingers at her wife’s entrance for a moment before plunging them firmly in. Fastening her mouth over her lover’s clit, Bella enjoyed the bowing of her wife’s back in pleasure. The dark witch set a pace that she knew would unravel Hermione as quickly as possible. The muscles pulling at her fingers suggested that the young witch was attempting not to come for her. Replacing her tongue with her thumb, she gazed up at the blissful look on her face.  

“Hermione,” she commanded quietly. She waited patiently until the brown eyes opened and focused on her. “Now.” 

She was pleased with the immediate tensing of every muscle in her wife’s body, followed by shouting of her name. She was unprepared for the change of positions Hermione executed just after climaxing. But Bellatrix was not disappointed with the image of her wife panting and pinning her to the bed.

“And what is it that I can do for you, Madame Black?” Hermione batted her eyelashes in the way that Bellatrix could not resist. 

“You can be a good girl and get me off, love.”  

“And why would I do that,” the young witch teased running her hands over the dress that hid the beautiful body from view.

“Because you are mine,” she hissed. Bellatrix turned her face enough to kiss the new mark on her wife’s arm.

Hermione looked down at her arm and the gentle caress it was receiving. She had been so distracted that she had yet to look at the brand cast by her wife. She took in the familiar crest as her wife moved back. She had been marked with the Black family crest. It was so utterly appropriate, though ironically would not have prevented Andromeda from taking action. Were it not for the writhing body beneath her, she might have teared up at the sentimentality of it. Others might not understand how such an action could be could be so incredibly romantic, but nothing about her relationship with Bellatrix was average.

“So I am,” she said reaching a hand beneath the black skirts. Her wife was positively soaked. Hermione would never tire of the physical proof of her wife’s desire. She slipped her fingers inside and gave Bellatrix the breadth to move as she wished. She enjoyed the feeling of the dark witch grinding against her hand with intent. She could tell that she was nearing the precipice.

“I am yours, Bellatrix Black,” Hermione whispered in reverence. The searing kiss spoke of more than possession, but also of love and the kind of connection that no other could ever replicate.

Bellatrix collapsed on the bed bonelessly pulling Hermione to her and kissing her damp hairline.

“I am so glad to see you,” the dark witch managed through attempting to catch her breath.

“You have no idea, my love.” Hermione snuggled deeper into the embrace.

“Rough week?”

“Something like that. But this has vastly improved it.” Hermione rotated her arm admiring the mark her wife left on her skin.  

“It does look good on you,” Bellatrix answered in a smug voice.

Hermione playfully hit her stomach. “Everything looks good on me.”

“Nothing looks better than what you are wearing now.”

“You are a pervert, Bellatrix Black,” the young witch yawned into the witch’s neck.

“I never claimed to be anything else. And don’t even think about going to sleep. I have you until dawn. We can sleep when we are dead. Until then, you are mine.”


 Narcissa stood outside of a warded guestroom. It was not the room that she designated for her sister and young wife, but then again the warding was so sloppily done it was clear that Bellatrix was rather vexed when she cast it. Had anyone aside from Hermione been inside with the dark witch, Narcissa would have been worried that body disposal would have likely been a necessity. As the lock on the door finally gave way, the blonde stepped into the warm air that smelled of significant physical exertion. It was tempting to open a window. She would have to make sure to tell an elf to do so later.

The two lightly snoring women were predictably naked and intertwined. It reminded Narcissa of when she walked into the library the afternoon Hermione learned of her connection to Bellatrix. She found it impossible to describe the sense of peace that seemed to flow from them. Not to mention how the expanses of pale skin were incredibly attractive. If it were a different type of morning, she would be sorely tempted to crawl into bed and wake them up slowly. Unfortunately, as she had warned the witches, Hermione had to be back to Hogwarts before the sun rose.

Sitting primly on the edge of the bed, Narcissa ran her hand lightly over the curves of Hermione’s silhouette. She continued to be such a beacon of light, even if she had clearly been having a tantrum all week. No matter how brilliant or talented the young woman was, she was clearly still a teenager with all of the challenges inherent therein. The blonde smiled as the nude body shifted and hummed at her touch.

“Hermione, darling. It’s time to wake up,” Narcissa said gently sifting her hand through brown curls.

“I don’t want to,” Hermione mumbled rolling over and snuggling into Narcissa’s skirts.

“I know you don’t, but you have to get back to Hogwarts. Important business, like following my directions and not ditching your escorts,” the blonde said in a light tone.

To her delight brown eyes opened lazily and stared up at her in adoration. Sleepily, Hermione reached up with every intention of touching the defined cheek bones and soft lips. Halfway to her goal, her hand was snatched and moved so that Narcissa could more clearly see the mark on her arm.

“Bellatrix Black, what the fuck is this,” Narcissa said louder than was entirely necessary.

“I suspect it is whatever the fuck it looks like. It’s too bloody early, Cissy. Come back later.”

“Not a chance, Bella. I am going to be escorting Hermione back to school right after you explain yourself.”

With a huff, the dark witch rolled over and begrudgingly opened her eyes.

 “Oh that. Well my dear sister, that is the Black family crest. Have you forgotten what it looks like?”

“I know very well what it is. What I was asking was how it came to be permanently affixed to her arm,” the blonde spat.

“I put it there. It was time for everyone to know. I am tired of hiding this,” Bellatrix answered fully awake and ready for a fight.

Hermione sat up and grasped Narcissa’s hands drawing her attention.

“Cissy, look at my arm. What does it say about me?”

The blue eyes scanned her critically before the woman answered slowly. “That you belong to the Black family.”

“Precisely. It says that I am Bella’s. And that I am yours. And that nothing and no one can change that,” Hermione said without a trace of doubt in her voice.

“This,” Narcissa said tracing the outlines of the mark reverently. “This, you can use to show others that you have been thoroughly and permanently changed. But it isn’t for them.” 

“You are right it isn’t. Its for me. I am simply fortunate to have a wife who understands such needs before I can even put voice to them,” Hermione completed the thought and smiled at her wife.

“That is quite enough sap, you two. We must get Hermione back to school. Please tell me you brought potions. Today is going to be a very long day.” The dark witch interrupted.

“She is quite right, Hermione. We must be off.” Narcissa watched with appreciation as the woman stood up with little regard to her lack of clothing.