Trapped
Title: Trapped.
Universe: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Pairing: Bellatrix/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: An alternate take on the torture scene in Malfoy Manor. Smutty times ahead, proceed with caution kiddies.
The dungeon floor tore at the beds of her raw nails as they clawed against the dark stone. She needed something, anything, to escape the white hot pain that seemed to invade every pore of her anguished frame.
“Crucio,” Bellatrix spat with gleaming eyes, not unlike a child with a brand new toy.
Hermoine’s eyes watered and nails dug half moons into her scraped palm.
She needed something; she needed anything.
“Now my little muddy, I’m going to ask you once more and I want you to tell the truth to sweet aunty Bellatrix,” the older witch paused, a menacing smile fixated upon her full, pouting lips.
“WHO TOOK THE SWORD FROM MY VAULT? “
Her scream echoed throughout the dimly lit room and caused Hermoine’s ears to ring. Fresh tears raced down her cheeks and sweat pooled at the base of her pale neck.
She pleaded, “I swear, I don’t know. Please, please…” she trailed off, hiccupping and struggling against her captive’s fierce grip.
Bellatrix cackled, her face moving to bury itself into Hermoine’s hair. Her lips brushed against her ear and she whispered, “I think you’re lying.”
Bellatrix was up in a flash, grabbing the younger woman by the hair and pulling her up to efficiently pin her roughly against the wall beside them. Her want poked dangerously sharp against the hollow of Hermoine’s throat.
She shuddered hard, barely seeing the room around her through the thick river of tears trailing down her face.
And then, she remembered. Hermoine’s eyes went wide as she moved to break free from Bellatrix’s hold, though her bony hands stuck to her bare shoulders and dug them into the coarse wall behind her. Her jacket had been a casualty of their struggle, but her bag hung loosely by her side.
Using the few ounces of strength left in her frail figure, Hermione immediately dropped to the ground and rolled across the stone floor, reaching into her brown velvet purse. Bellatrix whipped around just as Hermoine’s hands clutched at the time turner.
She began to turn the magical relic until she saw Bellatrix break into a maddened sprint. There, all the air seemed to evacuate itself from her lungs. A weight trapped her to the cold floor beneath her and the world seemed to implode into itself. The only thing Hermione was left aware of was a sharp cackle pervading the silence.
Black. Pressure. A piercing light and deafening noise. Quite.
Hermione was the aware of the crunching of leaves around her. There was no crushing weight anymore, yet she knew she was not alone. Hermione finally opened her eyes and was met by a familiar setting that she knew would never be the same: the forest of Dean.
She was surrounded by crisp leaves and tall trees, her breath coming out in puffs against the cold winter air. The forest welcomed her like an old friend with an unwanted visitor.
Hermione sprang up, goose bumps arising on her arms, crying out against the exposure to the cold. Her wand was nowhere to be found, and she felt fear coil deep within her at the thought of being unarmed against the older witch who she knew had traveling along with her.
Powerless, she tensed with anxiety for what she knew was to come. There was a soft crunch and before Hermione could even turn, she was pinned from behind to the rough bark of the tree beside her.
“I bet you missed me, mud-blood,” she heard hissed into her ear.
Her arms were wrapped around the tree, and Hermione tensed as her eyes became clouded with the familiar sensation of salt water; she was trapped, stuck. She whimpered as her captive laughed and came around the face her.
“That was a clever little trick you almost pulled back there deary, quite the smart little witch,” she whispered, moving to push up against Hermoine’s trembling frame. She moved close enough to hiss against her lips, “but not quite quick enough,” she said, quickly backing away before spitting onto the leaves beneath their feet.
“And now, we have all the time in the world to play our little games. Maybe not forever, but I do hope it feels like it to you, filthy mutt,” she spat again, sneering with a twinkle in her eye that could only be described as glee.
Bellatrix laughed as Hermione struggled against the magical binds that kept her held tight to the tree. Though suddenly, she stopped and stared blankly into the eyes of her captor.
“You have only a few hours at most before you’ll have to take us back to the manor. Not even you would be foolish enough to tamper with time. You can’t kill me,” she said, her voice breaking, “do your worst,” she finished, her chin jutting out in defiance.
Bellatrix allowed herself a moment of genuine surprise before sheer fury overtook her. Slapping the younger witch hard across the face, Bellatrix moved to grasp her bare throat.
“Well, aren’t we a brave one?” she said, before digging her nails into Hermoine’s tender flesh. “So very brave,” she whispered against her cheek as she dropped her nails and faced her dead on. Bellatrix stopped and her breath hitched in her throat. Her maddened eyes seemed to darken as her lips parted.
“And so very pretty for someone with such dirty blood,” Bellatrix said, her face riddled with a distant look of confusion as she trailed her finger down Hermoine’s face and into the hollow between her breasts.
Hermione gasped in fear, but was surprised as a flush began to paint her cheeks and heat pooled in the pit of her belly. She didn’t bother denying herself the evidence of her arousal. Her entire life was devoted to being in control, doing what was proper; she always followed the rules. In this moment, she found herself loving the lack of power, she felt at ease in her submission.
Her flushed face rose up to meet the eyes of the older woman, and as if seeing her for the first time, she noticed pink lips and creamy skin, the low neckline of her cloak that hinted at full breasts and her dark eyes.
Bellatrix raked her nails painfully down the rest of Hermione’s arm before slamming her lips against her open mouth. Hermione screamed in surprise before moving to return the rough kiss, tears dripping down to rest at the base of her neck.
At Hermoine’s response, Bellatrix pulled away with a look of lustful confusion tainting her striking features. She saw the glazed look in Hermoine’s eyes before cackling out, “You want this don’t you?” she taunted.
Hermione made no move to answer and Bellatrix favored biting at her neck rather than forcing one out of her. Her breath hitched as Bellatrix dragged her hands across her collarbone before moving to roughly grasp at her breasts spilling from the confines of her camisole.
Hermione whimpered as she was thrown to the ground with Bellatrix straddling her bruised hips. The older witch ground against Hermione’s center before releasing both a sigh and murderous laughter. Hermione’s face flushed crimson as she reached up to grasp Bellatrix’s hips and meet her for a bruising kiss that caused blood to trail down the corner of their mouths as teeth met tongue and soft lips.
She tensed when she felt Bellatrix roughly disrobing her, leaving bright red marks as she scraped her nails across every newly revealed expanse of pale skin. When her teeth followed, Hermione could only lie back and shut her eyes as her pulse raced, while Bellatrix left bite marks along her collarbone and scraped her fangs across a tightly budded nipple. Hermione gasped in response and only looked up when she felt the older woman stop and begin to fumble above her.
“Help, you bloody idiot,” she hissed as she untied the strings of her corset and made short work of her top. Hermione grasped her skirt and tossed it, all the while gaping at porcelain thighs and full breasts. Her mind seemed to become clouded and she leaned forward to nip and tongue at Bellatrix’s shoulder, trailing down to circle a hard nipple before returning to eager lips.
The wind was then knocked out of her as she was slammed onto the forest floor, Bellatrix’s hands strongly clutching her bare shoulders.
“Tell me. Tell me that you want this, that you want me,” she hissed, baring her teeth and trailing her fingertips towards Hermione’s center. Hermione’s heartbeat thumped wildly and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. She thought that this must be how the Dark Lord must feel, having something so precious within your grasp, only to have it torn away from you.
Bellatrix began skimming her nails across the patch of sodden cloth covering Hermione’s clit, and she heard the younger witch give a helpless whimper. Bellatrix grew angry then, “SAY IT!” she shouted, moving her touch back upwards.
Hermione became desperate, “Yes! Yes, I want this,” she gasped, her lids lowering and her voice quivering, “I want you.”
Bellatrix smiled menacingly before plunging two fingers roughly into Hermione’s warmth. Hermione groaned, her breath coming out in haggard pants as she squirmed against the older witch’s pumping digits. Bellatrix continued to watch Hermione with delight, before leaning up to suck greedily at her breast.
Hermione cried out as every muscle in her body seemed to tense and become filled with pleasure as she began to shake. She heard Bellatrix cackle as she screamed and moaned against the fingers moving hard against her. Her back arched up before she fell back down again, exhausted.
She lay panting before Bellatrix yanked her back up by the hair, allowing herself to sit in the younger woman’s lap. Bellatrix thrust her fingers into Hermione’s mouth and her eyes gleamed while Hermione’s went wide with shock as she chocked in surprise before complying. She tried not to admit to herself that she was equally disguised as she was turned on by the taste of herself on Bellatrix’s fingers.
“Enough!” the older witch snapped as she stripped herself of the dark fabric covering her heat. She leaned back and smiled toothily before once more grabbing Hermione by the hair and forcing her down her stomach. Hermione cautiously looked up to meet her eyes, suddenly unsure of what exactly she was even doing here in the first place. Bellatrix merely rolled her eyes and spread her legs further, forcing Hermione’s head to meet soft, wet flesh.
Bellatrix gasped and loosened her hold, slightly. Hermione felt intoxicated and surprised; she was not in the least repulsed by the scent and flesh that seemed to cry out for attention. She groaned as she allowed her tongue to rove over her clit and was reassured in Bellatrix’s answering groan. Hermione continued, trailing her mouth over Bellatrix until she felt her fingers pulling roughly against her hair once more and heard her moaning above.
Hermione dragged her teeth down before circling back up the Bellatrix’s clit, and she was surprised when suddenly, after adding a third digit inside her, Bellatrix stilled and released a blissful scream. Hermione beamed as she watched the older witch pant and turn around to hide her dishevelment.
Hermione watched as Bellatrix stood, retrieving her wand, and began to dress herself. Hermione decided to do the same, but with a smug smile. She knew she was practically taunting a mad woman, yet she found it hard to care after making her come apart in such a way. Hermione pulled her camisole over her head; just as she caught a glimpse of her wand lying on the forest floor behind Bellatrix’s turned back.
Hermione held her breath as she ghosted across the leaves, hoping to make as little sound as possible. She bent down and grasped the long, thin wood in her palm, as she watched Bellatrix continue to tie the laces of her corset.
She dared not to breathe whilst tiptoeing back to her place, wand clutched to her fluttering heart. Hermione then froze, hearing a seemingly deafening crunch. Her heart dropped as she heard Bellatrix approach, but before she could turn, Bellatrix had her arms behind her back and her wand pressed into the pulse in her neck. She felt her warm breath tickling the base of her neck and Hermione felt her hair stand on end.
“You didn’t think you could get away yet, did you? We wouldn’t want to mess with time,” she whispered mockingly, “and besides, I’m not quite done with you yet,” she finished, her lips moving against the base of her neck.
Hermione felt her stomach flip and her heart quicken impossibly faster, the blush painting her cheeks told her she couldn’t blame it all on fear alone.