Author's Note I: This was just something really quick that I whipped up in honor of Hermione's birthday...today. So not my most thorough edit, keep in mind. But here it goes anyway. Femslash, smut, subtle dub-con hints (if you squint), cheating, dirty language, Ron bashing, etc. Really wanted to try my hand a short one-shot. So here goes...


September 19th, 2011:

It was a cold night, or rather a cold morning. The moon had risen and the witch took pains not to look at it; she didn't wish to see the black curling around its pale face. Hesitation for a moment, perhaps for the man in her bed, the man she reluctantly called husband. Or perhaps for the two small children down the hallway that slept unaware of their mother's strife. But the moonlight did not hesitate to bathe her forearm; the silver scars sparkled with fading letters. Absentmindedly, she traced the raised line than ran diagonally and thin on her neck. A long ago cackle breathed across her throat as the night air tingled the old knife wound and the trees bore dark eyes into her head.

She turned thirty-two here in the outside dark and welcomed it in on the balcony, much as she every other birthday since her twentieth. Hermione Granger, the girl long ago replaced by the regretful Hermione Weasley, lingered in the black air for a moment. Decided eyes closed and a crack of apparition sounded. She was no more.

A cloud passed over the moon, and the night played in tendrils there.


As history is often known to repeat itself, the wizarding-world had become a frigid place, one whose priority was national security. The Second Wizarding War had wrought a chilly climate amongst magical folk; the sense of warmth a young curly girl had once found there, now gone. Although the major threat had vanquished, Hermione found that many friends had become strangers, and strangers' eyes accused in the streets. She scoffed outside the Ministry of Magic, knowing security to be an illusion. Her wand proved this as she easily cast aside the complex barrier for a few seconds, allowing her entrance into the warded building. In the pitch of night, the glow of her wand illuminated scarring on her arm. Yes…security was most assuredly an illusion.

Hurried footsteps echoed loudly in the vacuumed quiet. She needed not worry about discovery; she had the highest security clearance, second only to the Minister himself. But still, in the dark, in the dim, her feet prickled the small hairs on the nape of her neck. They stood at attention, and screamed at her, 'You shouldn't be here, foolish girl…' And yet, here she was.

The stomach churned in the lift as it moved in its disorganized linear path, downward…down nine levels to be exact. The lift opened, revealing a single onerous door at the end of a short corridor. The sight looked as familiar as the last her eyes had met it, in her 5th year at Hogwarts…15 years before. But this time Hermione was more prepared for the organ-shifting drop on the other side of the doorjamb as she plummeted downward. Her body halted mere centimeters from crushing her nose. Still she grimaced as she plopped harshly down the rest of the way, barely managing to turn her face in time. Brushing robes off and standing, she spun in a slow circle taking in the twelve handless doors surrounding her, silent in their existence.

'Ah…that one…'

The door recognized her touch. Security clearance apparently had its perks. Her heart tumbled in ribcage, though her face remained washed of emotion; The Hall of Prophecy did not hold the best of her. It had changed, she realized. A snort. How could it have not, after all they had effectively smashed most of the existing prophecies housed by the Ministry. However, she did see the beginnings of a new army; pale globes on shelves reaching up toward the heavens, their blue futures glooming weirdly. But what truly interested Hermione was the other half of the room, the half now dedicated to other magical objects of interest. After all, it was such an object that brought her here tonight.

She found it in a dingy corner; the cloth thrown over its grand form did nothing to hide its shape, or its identity to those that knew it. No, the Mirror of Erised was not one to hide, merely one to riddle. Its new home here was not public knowledge, but then again Hermione was not the public. As the Senior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, his second in command, Hermione was well informed of all government and wizarding-state affairs (far more informed than she wished at times…).

It must have been moved quite recently, she noted, as the dust bunnies had yet to copulate and breed. She whisked the cloth off and it snapped in the air before floating to the ground. It was a garish old thing, the mirror, with gold filigree pompously declaring its superiority. Yes, she could see why many a man had wasted away before it, dwelling on dreams. How Da Vinci of the maker, she supposed, the backwards code. Her hand rose up, even though she knew it would fall short of the raised and looping inscription: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

'I show not your face but your heart's desire…'

Hermione's life revolved around the absence of desire. She did not desire her husband. Perhaps at one point she had thrilled at the idea that Ron could actually love her. Her…Hermione Granger, the insufferable know-it-all bookworm that was defined by her brains and never her soul…and god forbid never her gender. In the beginning it had been good, but once his prize won the appeal had quickly waned; only the idea of her now remained his desire. And Hermione found that she had never wanted him in the first place. But with a child, and another on the way, she had found herself in a maze with no end. It had been easier to dissolve into her mind.

And the Ministry of Magic had been eagerly keen to snatch up her brainy talents. She had let them, finding the absence of desire in her occupation rather fitting for her lonely and bland life. Only Minerva had fiercely glared knowing eyes at her when they crossed paths at Ministry functions; she learned to avoid the prompting gaze of her former mentor.

Hermione loved her children desperately, but she did not desire their existence. She hypothesized that this made her a terrible mother. But their innocent eyes and sweet smelling hair only made her love for them, and her wish for them to disappear, that much greater.

And so one day Hermione had been washing soap off her face, and found a desireless woman in the mirror, starting back at her. The only time she remembered feeling was annually, on her birthdays. Upon the balcony when the night became morning she would remember what it was last like to feel and she held onto it, not because it had been pleasant, but because it had been real.

The Mirror of Erised was said to tell of a person's innermost desires. Dumbledore had once warned Harry, ""It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that." But as Hermione had not forgotten how to live, only how to dream; she figured that the sentiment did not apply. She gazed into the shining depths…and found nothing but herself as she was.

A tear rolled down her eye and she sank to the floor. Was she really so heartless that she no longer possessed a single unconscious desire? Her vision blurred. Motion reflected in her peripherals. Brown waves snapped up, and Hermione swore she saw dangerously full, black skirts fly out of the mirror frame. But despite her unrelenting stare, the skirts did not return.

'I could have sworn, Be-…no, impossib-' Her thoughts ran unencumbered and trembled her hand as it resumed her habit of tracing the scars etched into her arm.

A faint breeze in the room. The smell of…pine and magic. Her eyes flickered back to the silver mirror depths and froze at the sight awaiting her. Bellatrix Lestrange in all her horrific glory smirked down at Hermione, evilly, appearing to stand behind her, twirling her wand. She was hazardous and poisoning with her dark beauty, just as Hermione last remembered her. The memory, both painful and alluring, retrieved:

Writhing in pain (and in other intense feeling), Hermione had struggled beneath the dark woman and the firm hands that held her down. And those eyes…those hating eyes had curiously darkened in another emotion before carving the hated word into her flesh. And before the chandelier had come crashing down, Hermione remembered the lips that had cherished her neck in cruel bites, and the heated whisper that had come, "You've been claimed, Muddy-mine…try and forget that why don't you, Filth…we'll see how fucking well that works for you…"

Like fish-line, Her eyes caught; Hermione couldn't look away from the apparition in the mirror. The woman had captivated her since their skirmish in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix didn't look a day aged over her death, her youth still raging, her curls still blazing. But then again, Hermione figured that such a trivial thing as age wouldn't dare touch someone of Black nobility, for fear of death itself. In the mirror, coal eyes pinned hers, staking a claim, nothing more. Hermione's breath quickened. Inside she felt horrified…and somewhat relieved. She had known, always somehow deep down…she had always known. But it had been easier to marry Ron than to harbor the hated desire for…for this black thing that fed on souls. Her soul.

There would be later time to reconcile the darks in her heart, but for now she had gained what she had come for, desire…no matter its disturbing target. She stood and touched Bellatrix in the mirror shakingly and prepared to leave, after all, it was only a dream.

"Accio…" Hermione whispered, and the discard cloth zoomed back into hand. She threw it over the ornate mirror, appreciating its flying dance.

'No harm, no foul…' She lied to herself; fingers lingered on the fabric and a quiet sob rattled her frame. Eyes squeezed tightly and Hermione hugged the draping fabric to her body. No, it wouldn't do well to dwell upon dreams…or nightmares.

"Going so soon are we Mudblood Granger…or Weasley's whore now, is it?"

Hermione let out a rasping scream at the throaty voice and the sharp nails that dug painfully into her hips. Her mind refused the gripping touch at her sides, refused the hot breath that chafed into her ear. She tried to break away but hands wouldn't relent. A haunting cackle she hadn't known she'd missed rang through Hermione in vibration as a tall body leaned curves into her. The shorter witch quivered as a hand snaked around her abdomen and jerked them together. It was the wrenching and unkind touch that did it.

"B-b-bella-trix…" She moaned. It wasn't a question, simply a ridiculous statement that Hermione was having trouble fathoming.

Hot words rancidly replied, "In the flesh…"

The mouth bit down on her neck hard and Hermione hated herself for the squealing whimper that passed her lips. She closed her eyes,

"You're impossible, you're dead…this is all in my mind." The whisper was pained.

Her body was suddenly flung. Hermione winced as she made harsh contact with one of the corner walls, but she quickly grew apprehensive as the object of her strange affection approached. In shadow, her features were hard to make out until Bellatrix remained only an inch from Hermione's lips, snarling. Pale hands swiftly grabbed her hair and pulled painfully hard, forcing Hermione's chin upwards in an uncomfortable tilt.

"You always have given your Muddy mind too much credit…and don't take dead for impossible. Especially when such a state is at the confirmation of a Weasley." Bellatrix enjoyed throwing in the final jibe, reminding Hermione that she was, inescapably, a Weasley as well.

The younger witch was surreal; here she was having an almost civil conversation with a deranged murderess, one known to be long dead and rotting. She should be petrified, mortified…part of her was. But the greater part reveled in the pain…the sheer feeling the woman produced. Hermione had not felt in a long time, not for thirteen years. Brown eyes teared again, as the elegant hand yanked hair roughly and the other raked crisp nails across her jaw line, snagging beads of blood. Her breath was ragged.

"But how-"

Bellatrix's mouth hovering against her jaw cut her off, "Contrary to popular belief…even a strong Reductor curse cannot kill. Maim, dismember, and delay reformation of body, yes. But kill? No no no…." A tongue licked up the red handwork.

"You taste positively…dirty."

Hermione broke free of the woman's trance and snarled at her, struggling. Bellatrix laughed in utter delight and held her victim firmer against the bricked wall, seemingly enjoying her in plight and anger. The coal eyes darkened and Hermione's breath could not help the gasp that hitched. But Bellatrix felt it and did not hesitate to thrust her leg between Hermione's thighs. Brown eyes rolled up to the whites.

'Of all the nights to wear a dress, Hermione…real stupid of you…' Her thoughts admonished, as a skirted thigh roughly grazed her knickers.

She thrashed against the hardness and the hands pining her own arms to the wall; they scraped harshly against the bricks there. But her struggles only served to increase the persistent contact with her core. Involuntarily, she bucked against her captor and moaned.

"Y-you're free, s-so long the w-world t-thinks you're d-d-dead. Why c-come b-back now?" Hermione managed through gritted teeth, trying to distract herself from growing arousal.

Their bodies were sealed together now, Bella's breasts upon her own and Hermione tried so hard not to move with the dark woman as she began to thrust into her without mercy. Bellatrix seemed to consider her answer as she licked a fluttering pulse point, causing the witch underneath her grasp to tremble.

"If you recall, I made a claim; one which I fully intend to stake…now." Bella bit down on her clavicle, nipping harshly, marking her in purple.

Despite the groan of gratification that ripped out her mouth, Hermione snapped at her,

"You've no claim over me…I belong to another."

Bellatrix grew still at this, her thigh ceasing all motion. Hermione didn't know which was worse, her relief or immense displeasure. She whimpered. In a horrid and tender moment, Bellatrix released one of her arms from the wall and brought it to her mouth, caressing her carved words of old with seductive lips and a wagging tongue.

"Is that so, Mud-Whore Weasley…because I do believe my claim is written on your body."

Hermione screamed hoarsely at the reminded humiliation and damage of that memory. And to the surprise of both of them, she managed to wrench her hand free and wallop Bellatrix across the face, striking her. The younger witch froze as the action penetrated her mind. Sneering, Bellatrix wasted no time in returning the harsh favor and slapped her right back. But Bella's thrusts had begun anew, and the combination of pain and pleasure forced a dark yell out of Hermione. Their eyes locked, tacitly agreeing they were even.

"Granger…not Weasley…" Hermione whispered vehemently. She could be Bella's mudblood for all she cared; truly to the dark witch it was more a dirty endearment. But Hermione hated her husband's name and she would not have it remain here between the two of them.

"Gran-ger…." Bella hissed into her ear, enjoying the quivers her voice prompted from the witch.

"And here I thought you belonged to another…" Bellatrix countered mockingly, as she slipped down the young witch's dress, shoulder by shoulder.

Hermione gazed away. Firm hands prompted her chin back, to full lips as they leaned in, tantalizing, and whispering,

"But he doesn't do this, does he…?" Bella's thrusts morphed from hard into languid and prolonged.

Bella hiked up her dress and muttered something under her breath. Hermione gave a small throaty cry when she realized that Bella had banished her knickers, leaving them skin on skin. The younger witch flushed as the full extent of her arousal coated Bellatrix's thigh. Bella growled her approval and pulled her impromptu lover up and down her leg, as her hands fell to Hermione's slim hips. Frantically, she grappled at the older woman's corset, desperate to see what lay beneath. Dark eyes appeared faintly amused at her uncoordinated efforts, but didn't stop her. Trembling Hermione managed to unknot the tie and unlace several eyelets. Not wanting to allow Hermione too much control, in a most impatient and Bellatrix fashion, she tore the top of Hermione's dress, exposing the woman's breasts to the air.

Hermione hissed her disapproval and arousal at the rash action. But objecting thoughts died as black eyes shifted Hermione closer to a knee, raising her higher against the wall, and bringing her breasts right in line with Bella's waiting mouth. Hermione trembled as full lips licked themselves. Arms wrapped around her naked torso; as the lips descended, they paused to whisper,

"And I'm guessing that he most certainly doesn't do this…" Bellatrix took an erect and very pink nipple into her mouth.

Hermione arched up into the nipping touch and wantonly thrust her clit against Bella.

"P-please…oh…g-god!..." It had never been like this him; a single look from Bella thirteen years ago had been more passionate.

"Please what?" Bella's voice demanded against her breast as it licked and sucked…bit everything it could find.

Hermione warred herself. She lost.

"Fuck me…Bella…F-fuck me…"

Bellatrix howled in triumph and lust. She swiftly brought the girl back to the ground and removed her leg. In support, her arm came behind the small of Hermione's back, as her other hand thrust beneath a ripped dress. Fingers toyed upon a slick clit. Hermione's eyes padlocked upon coals as their faces were only centimeters apart, drawing in ragged and quick breaths. Daringly, she darted in for a kiss, her first from the dark woman. It was surprisingly gentle; Hermione trembled against full lips that sucked at hers as a talented thumb circled her clit faster and faster. It turned consuming as Bellatrix owned her mouth and Hermione moaned unintelligible sounds into her. Bella nipped down her jaw and demanded,

"Say it..." Her tongue savored the fading knife scar on Hermione's neck.

She could have denied it, she could have. But it would have been a lie.

"Y-yours B-bella….I'm yours." It rasped out as the thumb and tongue rendered dark magic upon her.

Dark eyes never left hers as three fingers swiftly entered her core in one passionate thrust. Hermione screamed gutturally, in pleasurable pain as Bella pumped in and out of her eagerly. Lips bruised her mouth as their coupling grew more furious by the moment. With each thrust Hermione felt the brick wall scraping her back harshly…deliciously. But it all felt so…good, so raw.

"So wet and dirty aren't you…my dirty Hermione that's just what you are…."

Hermione's eyes widened and moaned hotly as the sound of her name graced Bella's lips for the first time; a liquid gush of arousal fell around the darker woman's fingers. Bellatrix chuckled her darkened glee at this. She thrust deeper into the witch, loving how muscles clenched about her.

They kissed, and Hermione whimpered loudly, meeting Bella thrust for thrust. Into her mouth, Bellatrix whispered,

"And how dirty…just how filthy do we think Mudblood Granger tastes, hmmm? Shall we find out?"

"Aah…B-bellat-trix…" It was amazing how Bella's crude and offensive mouth was nothing but arousing dirty talk now.

"Beg me…Beg me, you filthy girl…"

The thrusts were insistent yet frustrating Hermione beyond belief; Bella knew exactly how to deny orgasm and apparently had no qualms doing so. But the idea of those full and pouting lips wreaking havoc upon her core began to override Hermione's pride.

"P-please…Bella, oh p-please, god, your m-mouth….on me, taste me…." A bruising kiss was her affirmative answer.

The lips trailed down her exposed chest, thrusting fingers never stopping. Everything stilled for a minute in Hermione's world as she felt breath caressing her core. She whimpered in utter desire, her hands trembling in Bella's curls, prompting. A nip on her thigh. The first lick to her clit shook her legs; Bella's spare hand came up to support her bucking hips. Hermione thought she would collapse as sparks flew through her system, and the visual of Bellatrix's mouth upon her wet clit and the hand still thrusting inside her, had Hermione moaning unrestrained.

Bellatrix licked her inner lips, savored her folds, and touched her core in places Hermione hadn't known existed. Dark eyes peered up at her, and knowing red lips closed around her hardened clit, and sucked. Hermione bucked into the hot mouth and long fingers. She yelled out her pleasure as the mouth once again closed around her swollen nub, suckling. She was so close….

Hermione more felt, than heard, the words whispered against her clit,

"I've decided: sweet and filthy…come for me, Hermione. Come for me, and come for me, Muddy."

She did. The scream that let out her mouth was more than a decade's worth of pent up desire and aggression. Her orgasm bucked into Bella's mouth, as did the hot rush of fluid that released. Just as she began to follow the crest down, she felt teeth nip, and clamp softly onto her engorged clit. She peaked again…and then again….wildly thrashing into the hot mouth and the hands that grabbed at her hips.

"BELLATRIX!"

She felt herself collapsing and sliding down the brick wall. Strong arms caught her, and yet the mouth still licked, swirled, and another small orgasm rocked her. Again and again, Bellatrix brought her down this way, small culminations that had her quivering in a puddle until nothing was recognizable…nothing but Bella.

They somehow ended up on the floor; Hermione huddled in Bellatrix's breasts that somehow had become exposed in their passion. Frantically, she sought out those dark eyes and wanted nothing more than to escape into the woman herself. Bellatrix held onto her fiercely as sobbing shakes racked through Hermione, as the last aftershocks pierced her through. A soulful kiss…until Hermione's lungs burned and they pulled away finally. The taste of herself on Bellatrix's lips was addicting. Hands tangled in Hermione's hair; she was surprised to feel them shaking. She chanced a look at her new lover. As usual, Bellatrix was unreadable, her eyes unrelenting in the night. But Hermione thought she saw some sort of emotion there. She went with it.

"Don't…go?" She wasn't quite sure how else to put it. But Hermione had spent too long being numb to let this sudden feeling go.

Surprisingly, Bellatrix chuckled darkly.

"Do you really think I'd spend over a decade piecing my soul and body back together only to run out again? Good to know you think me that classy…"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak; Bellatrix slapped it shut. Dark eyes blazed when the younger witch let out a clear moan and her limbs trembled in renewed arousal.

"Oh no…I intend to stake this claim many more times." Lips possessed and kissed fiercely.

"Consider this, merely a...birthday present of sorts, because next time, next time I think I will be less…nice."

Black eyes held hers hostage, as a pink tongue animalistically grazed teeth with dark lust. The eyes flickered to the scar upon her neck and the new bite marks that had befriended the same territory. It was clear from Bellatrix's leer that she had left many a dark rock left unturned still.

In the sinister witch's arms, Hermione trembled at the future promise of such dark liaisons. She wasn't sure if she wanted nice, but for once in life, she most definitely wanted. And that was present enough.


Author's Note II: For all you hardcore HP book fans out there (like me), I decided to go with Bella's movie version death rather than the book's because it seemed hold up better to the, um, plot (well what little there was of it...heh). R & R please, you know, I do keep a running tally of brownie points and such...