***Countess***

12. September 1996

Dear Harry,

I do not know how to write this letter and I am already on my tenth try. The sun is high up in the sky by now and I'm feeling it's light tire me. Do you feel it too? I bet you do, if you're not sleeping till sunset, anyway.

First off, because I know you, I want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened at the Ministry. It was our decision to follow you and the consequences of our actions are our own fault. I know you're shaking your head right now, but you must not blame yourself for the decisions of others.

This is where I have problems writing this letter. These consequences we have to live with now, if you can even call it living. Not even the English language has fitting words for our situation. Unliving? Undead? Inbetween? What are we?

In my path of finding out who I was now, I did horrible things. I will keep on doing horrible things because as I found out, that is who I am now. I feast on the living. That is a fact. Would I not, I would lose my strength, my magic and eventually my life. I don't want to die. I refuse.

There are many things I cannot write to you about. I am the Countess, which is something known by many, but understood by few. Crazy things have happened. Maybe it sooths your worries, maybe it doesn't, but I have found people who help me. Well, they have found me, really.

Maybe you'd rather see me dead, as so many others out there. In that case be assured that I understand. However, maybe your own situation can give you a glimpse of what it is like. You have hunted, haven't you? Maybe not, though. The vampires around me tell me that they have heard through the grapevine that you have found some sort of sanctuary. Some even say you've found family. Is that true? Do you like it there? I certainly hope so.

They also said you had a battle with Dumbledore. Some can't imagine him being angry, not even among the people I'm with now, but I have seen it. He wanted to kill me in 's. That is why I ran. That is why I went on a rampage through Britain. Just as my nature is to blame, Dumbledore is to blame for releasing it. I should've been guided. I was deprived of that chance and many had to pay for it. Maybe you understand? You have been through a similar transformation.

I would love to talk to you. About our lives, about this new world we were thrown into. I miss you. I miss many things and people, but most of all I miss you, my first friend. Some days, when I sleep, I see you lying on the Ministry floor, dying as a vampire feasts on you. That image, and many images from the days and weeks following - they haunt me.

Even if you hate me. Please, tell me you're alright. Tell me you're cared for and continuing your studies. I miss you, but most of all, I worry for you.

Love,

Hermione

Harry sat alone in one of the many pavilions of the manor's park. The residents of Black Manor were celebrating one of their many feasts. Vampires were hedonists, Harry had found in his days at the manor, and as much as he tried to deny it, he did enjoy these parties, even if, or rather, especially because he never was the focus of them. Wine and blood was drunk until the morning, and even then, some just moved to the catacombs beneath the manor to continue. People danced and laughed and more often than not, Harry saw some couples vanish in the bushes or in their rooms.

Today, however, he didn't feel like celebrating. The letter in his hand, delivered by a banshee of all things, had soured his mood further than his original plans. He felt the muscles on his face cramp up as they decided between frowning, scowling, smiling and some other expressions. He didn't know what to do with it. On one hand, Hermione was his best friend. She shared a fate with him; was also undead. On the other hand he had seen what she could do, and needed to do to continue living. Even the muggles had a ridiculous name for her, Cannibal Candice, with experts already naming her in one sentence with the Ripper. Their headcount didn't include the wizards, goblins, centaurs and mermen that fell prey to her. It had been a massacre.

Had he been anyone else, he wouldn't even consider answering her, let alone forgiving her. But he was Harry Potter, vampire of the Black Clan and someone who was also supposed to prey on the living. He had felt the urge and could only imagine what a primal lust for blood it would have become, had he not been fed his daily dose.

He folded the letter back up and packed it in one of the inside pockets of the fine silken suit he had selected for the evening. It was time to go back to the manor, for the meeting he had dreaded since he came here. Heavy felt his steps as he walked towards the manor. On his way he snatched a glass of Vino Sangue from one of the many tablets that hovered in the garden. With one gulp he fortified his nerves.

At the garden entrance of the manor he met Isla Black. No words were spoken. Harry didn't speak since he really didn't feel like it. Isla didn't because she could clearly read the emotional turmoil her initiate was in.

She led him down a few flights of stairs. They didn't lead to the catacombs, like the big set of stairs in the main hall did. These smaller stairs led down to the dungeons, if one could call them that. Once they had descended three levels of nothing but black stone and storage rooms, they came to a hold in front of a mighty steel gate, locked with a multitude of locks and chains of all varieties.

"You will enter alone, as you wished." Isla said. "I just urge you to remain cautious."

Harry just nodded as answer. Cautious he would be.

Isla waved her wand in a complex figure and spoke a long chain of numbers as a password. Once finished the locks and chains began opening and retracting to the side of the gate. It's perfectly oiled hinges barely made a sound as the gate opened.

With another nod to Isla, Harry entered. He heard the gate close behind him, the chain rattling as they locked him in the room. The entire thing had the looks of a hybrid between comfortable lounge, library and bedroom in one. The walls, drapes and carpets were in a strong red, while the rest of the room was furnished with luxurious oaken couches, armchairs and poster-bed. The many frames on the walls showed soft and calming landscapes, illuminated by orange light that gave the room a relaxing tinge.

The vampires had many names for this room, but Isla herself used just one. The Turning Room was its name, which didn't leave much to the imagination when one tried to figure out what happened in it. Humans are brought into this room and vampires came out.

Harry searched the room for the one he was looking for. He heard her before he saw her, coughing and retching in one of the armchairs turned away from the gate. She sat in front of a roaring fire in an elegant fireplace that roughly resembled the one in the Gryffindor Common Room. 'Probably the reason she chose this wall to stare at' he mused.

He took careful steps around the armchair. Eventually he saw what she held in her hands that made her retch like that. After a few days of tasting fresh blood, the smell of old blood was something he knew all too well and that made his features twist in disgust.

"Fresh is better. Much better." he whispered. His low voice could be heard through the entire room. Next to the fire cracking the wood, his voice carried as her body stiffened and the hand holding the glass came to rest in mid air.

Harry came further around the chair and sat down in the one right next to it. The sight before him left him gobsmacked. Minerva McGonagall. He knew - he had heard that vampirism restores the youth of the body. Yet, seeing the once old Professor, looking back at him from a wrinkle-free, stunning face left him speechless. Unlike his speech, his muscles remained ready. He had never, ever seen the Professor that angry and his legs were ready to jump; his instincts on high alert.

She stared at him with her green eyes, surrounded by black. Her thinning lips were still covered in blood. Her brown hair was untamed, wild, like the beast she had to incorporate into herself during the last week.

"Professor…" Harry whispered.

"Not anymore," she hissed. "Thanks to you, Mr. Potter."

"I…"

"No apologies. This is your fault and I do not care for your small words explaining what imbecilic reasoning..." She smashed the glass down on the table, hard enough to break it at the bottom. The glass fell over and spread the blood over the fine oaken table. "But then again, I wonder… why?"

Harry gulped, even though it barely did anything. "Dumbledore." he said.

"Explain,"

"He used this spell. I can't recall if I even heard its name. It was like the sun. I couldn't think of anything. My chest hurt so much…"

"Alastor hit you with a Helios curse." she stated.

"Yes, " Harry touched his sides where his skin was still sensitive to the touch. "I was barely conscious. Then I bit you. I remember the taste of you, but not much after that. I just knew that biting you, that… that … making you one of… us. It would stop him from casting."

"Did it?"

"Yes,"

Silence followed. Harry didn't dare say anything, lest he would disturb Minerva in her musings. She looked at her hands, twisted them around as if to make sure they would stay youthful, slender and with perfect, pale skin. "I tried crying, but tears wouldn't come." she whispered. "Then I started raging. That came easier. But I'm burnt out now."

"I eventually just tried to accept what I became. Still doing so, but well…"

"The difference, Mr. Potter, is that you are sixteen, while I am sixty. I have lived. In many ways, I'm done living. It's something completely different for me to be confronted with the fact that my life will now last until the Earth stops spinning." Suddenly she jumped up and started pacing the room. The glass in her hand cracked, as her knuckles whitened with the tight grip she had on it. "All I wanted to do, until the day I stopped waking up, was to teach children Transfiguration. My only endeavor, my only wish for the future was that, maybe, one day, Albus would grant me the position of headmistress by stepping down. That was all!" With a snarl that presented her long and strong looking fangs, she smashed the glass against a wall.

Once again Harry didn't dare say a word. What could he say? Apologies and pleads hung in his mind, but none of that would strike a chord with his ex-Professor. Instead he just kept looking at her. He observed as her stiff stance relaxed until she fell to her knees. He saw her body rocking in silent sobs that would never again be accompanied by tears.

Harry and crying women. He was never good with them and seeing Minerva McGonagall sob through her sorrows was even more awkward for him. Still, he tried to at least follow once given advice, in theory. He made his way to her, knelt down and started to rub his hand in circles over her back, just like Hermione once did for him.

"What will you do now?" Harry asked.

"That is the question, isn't it?" she looked up at him, her face as he had never seen it before. Harry doubted that any student at Hogwarts had ever seen Minerva McGonagall so helpless. After a while she sobered and her stoic, stern face once more took hold. "It was my understanding that the Lady Black would grant me housing here if I agree to continue working as a teacher at the manor. Is that true?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I think there is already a room prepared."

"Good. My home has been Hogwarts, but I would find no warm welcome there."

"But, haven't I been allowed? I'm sure if you'd ask…"

"No, Mr. Potter. You were an exception, like you always seem to be."

"Why?"

"Because Albus thought you were the key to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I was sceptical myself and now that I feel the lust for blood, I must say that Albus played an even more dangerous game than I initially thought."

Harry just nodded in answer. It fit with the treatment he had gotten from the Order. Silence stretched out between them, only disturbed by the rustling of Minerva's clothes as Harry's hand kept circling on her back and the fire that kept on eating on the wood.

Eventually Harry looked up into Minerva's eyes again. "You didn't try to hurt me." Then he laughed. "You even yelled at Moody for doing so."

"Naturally, Mr. Potter."

"I just don't understand, is all. You didn't fire anything, not even a stunner. I don't remember all details, but I can't recall you casting anything."

Minerva stood up. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her middle, her eyes downcast. Her fingers clawed at the robes she wore. She looked like a trapped animal when she walked back to the armchair and curled up in it, almost as if to build a wall between her and Harry.

Harry too, stood up. But he remained standing where he was, hands in his pockets. "It just seemed weird to me, you know?"

"Not just to you, Mr. Potter." she mumbled. "But I dare say the details I found unnerving differ from those that caught your eye. It was a… shock, yes a shock for me to be part of this… this… manhunt. Don't get me wrong, I believe… believed? I believed that you were safe in Hogwarts. I came with them when Albus sounded the alarm. I was… paralyzed… enraged, when Alastor shot that curse at you."

"But why would he? I've asked. The Helios curse, its…"

"Lethal, yes. Crafted by wizards long ago, the Helios curse is the main weapon against vampires. Conjured and focused sunlight. Its use… it shone a light on Albus' motives. A light that made some shadows appear that I hoped were long gone, if you understand."

"Not really, no."

"Nevermind, then. Another time. It is still too fresh, and I just… I cannot. Not now."

"Its alright, Profe… uhm…"

"Just call me Minerva." She looked up at him, a small smile on her face. "May I call you Harry?"

"Of course... Minerva." He finally felt that he could come closer. Minerva relaxed on her armchair, at least enough to make her position look somewhat comfortable. He took a seat on the armchair next to hers. "How have you been? I mean in the last week?"

"Not well, as you can imagine." She sighed and shot a quick, disgusted glance at a crystal flask with red liquid in it. "You say that fresh blood tastes better?"

"A lot better."

"Good enough to fraternize with the enemy?"

"What?"

"Rumors travel fast within these walls, I have learnt that much during the last week."

"Minerva, I…"

"I what? I have found a taste for Death Eater? Is that it? Have you forgotten who she is, what she did?"

"No…" Harry whispered. "No, I haven't. I just… I don't know." His throat went dry. He almost couldn't hold the gaze of Minerva, but the fact that she kept the small smile on her lips kept his head up.

"It has been explained to me, Harry." she said "It is a strange concept, and even stranger is that I will have to take part in it. I'm just saying…" Minerva waved with her hands, searching for words. "I'm saying, be careful. I know that now, as vampires, we have to use other measurements. She still is a Death Eater, though. She killed, out of her own free will. She is a murderer, torturer, arsonist and so many more cruel things."

"I meet her, at dawn." Harry mumbled. He swiped his hands on the armchair, as if to swipe away sweat that wasn't and would never be there. His eyes were unfocused, like his mind when the many possible outcomes of the meeting flashed before his inner eye. "I'm scared." he admitted. "Of both possibilities. I'm scared of her saying yes, I'm scared of her saying no. I… I'm… just scared. I don't know what to do in either case."

Minerva sighed. "I cannot answer you. However, there is opportunity there you should not miss."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Bellatrix Black, is the most dangerous Death Eater in the ranks of Lord Voldemort. If I understood correctly, you have the unique chance to strip her away from their ranks and into ours, severely weakening their forces."

"You are Minerva McGonagall, right?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

She snorted at his expression, but sobered quickly. "Harry, I haven't been one of Albus' Seconds because I'm so very good at Transfiguration. He has the magic locked down, I got the pragmatics. We have a situation and we'll do the best we can to get the most out of it."

"That is such a Slytherin thing to say, I'm surprised you can talk like that without cringing."

"Believe me, Harry, I'd much rather stand against the Death Eaters on the battlefield, but alas, they are truly Slytherins and one has to adapt to the enemy. Wars are seldom won by force alone. Cunning and intelligence, as well as a certain ruthlessness to seize every possible advantage available. Those are the keys to win wars."

"But where exactly do you think we stand now? As far as I can tell, the Clan is happy to keep out of it. There will probably be some backlash if Bellatrix stays, but I don't believe Voldemort would risk making an enemy out of one of the biggest vampire Clans in Europe."

Minerva nodded slowly. "That is all true. However, you forget that Voldemort is not entirely rational in his decisions. The proof of this claim sits in front of me. He insists on killing you himself. Insists on it with the promise of punishment by death for anyone of his followers who would dare steal from him this kill."

"I would not have survived had they all been shooting Killing Curses at me." Harry said. He nodded to himself. It maybe was a morbid thing to think about, but nonetheless the truth of the matter. Had even half of the present Death Eaters opened fire on him at the graveyard, he wouldn't have lived to become a vampire. "His pride, more than anything, saved me."

"Exactly. As brilliant a mage he is, he is also a fool when it comes to strategy. He is arrogant, now even more so than last time and he always had a flair for the dramatic, let me tell you. Had Dumbledore not steered our side towards an almost pacifistic approach, the first war wouldn't have taken a turn for the worst."

"So you say we prepare for the day he moves against the Clan. Have you talked about this with the Lady Black?"

"I have." Minerva leaned forward to Harry.

Harry leaned towards her as well, his eyebrow raised. "What did she say?"

Minerva met his eyes. She took a breath, more out of a habit to fortify oneself than out of need, and then said with her most commanding voice. "We need Bellatrix. And we need you to make it happen."

***Countess***

It was dawn. He felt it like a weight pulling down on him. The sun was banishing the creatures of the night into their hideouts. Harry wanted to go to bed, wanted to just lie down and wait for the moon to come out again. It was not to be, unfortunately. Instead of in his bed, he was in a saloon, sitting on a red velvet armchair and waiting for the one who would occupy the one opposite to him.

Now it would only be a short while until Bellatrix Black entered the building and Harry felt more nervous with every minute passing by. He remembered his talks with Remus about fear. Not knowing produced fear. Ignorance was like wet and warm places for the fungus of fear, creeping into every corner, every crack and hole in the mind, enrooting itself there. The longer it grew, the harder it was to remove.

Harry feared what this meeting at dawn would bring. He knew nothing about Bellatrix Black. He didn't count the many accounts of people who have once seen her, or other such testimonies. Of those he had enough, all contradicting themselves. The vampires who had seen her with the Dark Lord around described her as obedient fanatic, an amazingly violent psychopath who only got more dangerous due to her masterful skills with Dark Magic and Dueling.

Those who knew her as family, such as Isla Black, remembered her as a disturbed, difficult , but highly intelligent girl and eventually woman, weighed down, but never broken by her parent's demands of her. Isla bemoaned that Cygnus Black had never allowed Bellatrix to pursue her masteries. Had he done so, who knows what would have happened to her. Maybe she would have worked with Bill as a cursebreaker? Maybe she would have joined the ranks of the Unspeakables and researched the very depths of magic? But alas, she had been urged to walk fast down the road to marriage and pregnancy, the second which was never to be due to irreversible curse damage to her lower body.

The last perspective and honestly the one he trusted the least was the angle from which her enemies had seen her. The lack of difference between her enemies and allies, however, disturbed him. Was she a psychopath? Harry did not know, and hated that fact. Was she dangerous? Definitely.

So Harry made sure he had his wand and several paths of escape from the saloon. The three doors to adjourning rooms and the main corridor were unlocked, with vampires waiting on the other side just in case. If worst came to worst he could still just overwhelm her with superior strength.

"Yeah, keep telling that to yourself." Harry hissed at his own mind. "She'd probably just curse me to a pulp should I try."

That cheerful thought in mind he waited until the door from the main corridor clicked. Harry looked up and saw Isla come in. She had a small smile on her face. Harry took some courage from that.

"Is she here?" he asked.

"Yes, right outside. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Harry gulped, though no spit would come down his throat it was still a habit. He steeled his nerves and watched as Isla waved someone into the room before leaving.

The moment she entered, Harry smelled her. It was that same scent as in the hall, wild and overwhelming. Her clothes had the aroma of an especially harsh and smokey Scotch on her. She wore perfume that smelled like roses, but the dominating scent was her blood streaming through her veins.

In a daze he stood up to greet her. His face found into a genuine smile at her presence. All doubt was gone and all fear of her with it. He needed her and her blood. "Miss Black. Thank you for coming." Harry gestured her to the armchair opposite of his. "May I offer you a drink?"

"Whiskey," she ordered. The moment she said that a small houselve popped into the room and placed a fine bottle of Scotch on the table between them. Bellatrix filled a goof three fingers into the tumbler and took a deep gulp from it before she focused onto Harry.

His eyes never left her. He took her in, starting from her throat, but soon looking her over. She was meticulously dressed, as was expected of her. She wore a black dress, a black corset and black gloves that went up her arms. Her hair was as wild as ever, flowing in locks over her shoulder and partly over her face. It was obvious why when he saw the scar tissue over her right eye.

"I think we both know why I'm here, Potter."

Harry shook his head once to clear it. He had truly been caught off guard, but recovered fast enough. "Yes, of course. I apologize, I've been… unprepared."

"For what?"

"For you, of course. Or rather, for what the smell of your blood would do to my senses."

She nodded as her eyes roamed over him. "So it is true? You have the same... "

"Longing?" Harry offered.

"I suppose," She shrugged. "So what are we going to do about this, Potter?"

Harry leaned back into his armchair. Having his back on the lean reminded him to hold back. Though, it was a hard task. Her blood was screaming for him. It was almost maddening to sit so close, but not indulge. "Obviously I cannot come with you," he started.

"Obviously,"

"So the only possible solution I see is you leaving Voldemort."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at him. She gave a short, dry laugh that never reached her eyes. "The Dark Lord has lost much of his appeal. I thought you would have been briefed, Potter."

"I heard your husband filed the divorce after the… the events in the Ministry."

"You may as well say it. After your mudblood bitch got rabid and tore me up like a present on Yule." Bellatrix growled and took another big gulp from her whiskey. "I almost became a vampire, but in the end just suffered severe wounds. Ever since then my Lord mistrusted me."

"Why are you still calling him your Lord?" Harry was able to ignore the use of mudblood for now, figuring the word was as normal to her as any. Though her use of Voldemort's title did not sit right with him.

Bellatrix just shrugged as her first response. She looked around the room, never really seeing the fine decor and furniture. She contemplated, and with every second her body sagged more and more. "Habit, I suppose." she finally said. "And I haven't yet changed allegiance."

"Would you?" Harry leaned forward. His jaw cramped up. His instincts were pushing and beating against his control, provoked by the steady waft of her blood's scent.

She mirrored him, leaning forward. Her eyes shone with violet fire as she whispered in furious hisses. "I know you would claim me. But you will be as addicted to me as I will be to your bite."

Harry nodded with a twitch of his head.

"I will not be enslaved by you, Potter and I. Don't. Share."

"What do you want, Black?"

"You will not assume superiority over me. I am my own person. You will not take blood from those sluts in the featshall. My throat will be the only one for you."

Harry's eyes gleamed with every one of her words. "You will be loyal to me?" he asked, his voice as much a hiss as hers. "Your allegiance to Voldemort will be canceled, then? You will have to fight. Voldemort will not stop hunting me. Do you understand that?"

Bellatrix stood up with one, quick and fluid move. She pressed Harry back into the armchair. With a elegant wave of her hand she removed her wild hair from her throat. Harry growled in anticipation. "Do what you did in the hall." She whispered in his ear. "I want this feeling, again and again and again. Do it."

All negotiation was forgotten. Harry could only smell her blood, only see her throat and those words whispered in his ears made all other thoughts meaningless. With unnatural speed he latched onto her throat and drove his fangs into her skin and flesh. Blood began to pool in his mouth, wetted his tongue and tastebuds.

Once again her entire body shuddered with the sensation. Her hand on the back of head forced him to keep drinking, while the other hand dug into his back. No sorrow, no doubt or worry survived the onslaught of bliss he gained from her blood. Who would think, who would doubt, when all good things one had every experienced danced around his mind and senses, caressing him down to his very soul.

When he felt like he was truly full, an almost alien sensation for him after all these weeks, he let go of her. He was in a daze, but it seemed Bellatrix wasn't in a much better condition. She kept clinging to him. His tender kiss to close the wound made her give a slow, husky moan. She rose her head to look him in the eyes. Harry was baffled at her small, tired smile.

"I understand, Potter. Promise me I will be the only one and I will pledge my life to you."

"I promise." he breathed.

"So do I." she whispered before she let her mouth crash against his own in a deep and passionate kiss.

***Countess***

When the sun hid behind the horizon once again, Harry slowly came back from his deep sleep. He stared at the ceiling of the four poster he lay in, processing those things he had done. Now it was quite clear why he had taken Bellatrix bridal style to his room and rolled with her through the sheets for hours on end. He had been in a rush, a high from her blood, but now she had accepted it, embraced it even, instead of running away. It felt so absolutely right to take her, make her his own. It wasn't even a conscious decision for the most part. He had growled at a vampire who had dared even show a sign of taking her from him. Yes, he figured, last day had definitely been dominated by his instincts.

Why Bellatrix had reacted so, he didn't know. He did not speculate, lest he would assume things that were far from the truth. He still didn't know her enough to form an image of her character. However, he did know that only feasting on her would not be a problem.

He looked down his body, only to find her head resting on his chest. Her arms were locked on his body, even clawing into it. She looked peaceful like this. He could see the long scar over the right top of her head. It was red against her alabaster skin and spoke volumes about how vicious vampiristic poison truly is. It was an ugly scar, yet he couldn't help but trace it with his fingers. Further down her body he saw even more of them. He remembered her entire upper body, chest, belly and back, being full of the scars. Her arms were covered with them and Harry understood why she had worn those gloves and why she had been reluctant to get rid of them when they had reached the bed. Even in their shared state of addictive rush, she didn't want the world to see the marks of her defeat.

His right hand felt the pattern of scars on her back, from her behind to her shoulders and back. Then it hit him rather hard, the realization that he had lost his virginity to Bellatrix Black. It had been hard enough to die a virgin, but he wasn't quite sure how Sirius would use this one to tease him. Would he even tease him? Harry grimaced as he admitted that it was much more likely Sirius would have his head for it.

He started when he suddenly saw her two violet eyes staring at him. She didn't flinch. She didn't even move all that much. Only her death grip loosened, leaving deep marks on his skin. She mumbled something into his chest, but Harry couldn't quite hear it.

"Uhm… good morning." Harry tried.

She squinted her eyes, but didn't answer. Her fingers scratched over his chest while she seemed to think about something with all her mind.

"Did you… uhm… last night..."

She slapped a hand over his mouth, shutting him up. Then she pressed a kiss on his cheek, stood up and with a punch against his chest declared. "Well, at least you're an acceptable fuck, Potter. Stand up, I'm hungry."

With that she dressed in knickers and one of his t-shirts, kicked open the door to the private quarters and left without waiting for him.

Harry kept staring at the door she had just vanished through. "Acceptable?" he mouthed.

He made to get up, grabbed a shirt and boxers and went after her to the living quarters. There she already sat on a couch, drinking tea while a houseelve piled croissants onto her plate. The little thing quickly got him a bowl of blood pops, but Harry didn't quite register even taking it.

He plummeted down onto an armchair next to the couch. "Acceptable?" he asked a bit louder.

"What? Think your virgin broom can already fly the distance? Aww, little Potter thinks he can play with the big girl. Adorable."

Harry narrowed his eyes and a cheeky smirk went over his face. "So that were screams of disappointment last day, my little pincushion?"

"Pincushion?"

"Yep, that's gonna be my pet name for you." Harry threw a bloop-pop into his mouth, laughing at the dumbfound expression on Bellatrix. "I stuck my teeth in you so much, the name fits, doesn't it?"

"You will not call me pincushion." she growled.

Harry indulged in another candy before he waved his hand at her and answered with a wide, cheeky grin. "Now, now, but it's such a good name for you, Pincushion."

She smashed her teacup on the table, stood up and almost jumped him so fast did she move. She pressed her entire weight against him until she was face to face to Harry. "Do you think it's a good idea to provoke me?"

On Harry's side of things he thought it was a brilliant idea, especially when he got his breakfast delivered to him like that. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto him. The strength of a vampire did help, but once Bellatrix noticed where his head moved she seized to push back. Once more he bit into her and let the amazing feeling of her blood wash over him. Though he made it short. He had drunk so much of it during their 'negotiations' that he feared for her system should he consume any more.

"So, what now? You're going to drink from me every time I get angry?" she asked, though her voice had the bliss in it she got from his poison. It was as if it worked like a sedative. Instead of anger at her name, she began to snuggle into him and started playing with his jawline.

"Does it work?" Harry asked, stopped to think for a moment, and then added. "Pincushion?"

"A little…" she said and pouted.

Harry was a little taken aback at that. Seeing Bellatrix Black pout was like seeing Ron holding a lecture. It just didn't seem right. He made a mental note to ask the Lady Black just how strong a vampires poison can be, but for now just enjoyed having her in a state of civility.

He felt her hand travel down his chest and grinned, expecting another round. It travelled further down, over his belly and finally over his boxers.

"AAAARGH!" he screamed when she took his balls and squeezed. Her hands were like iron claws, relentless in their grasp. Harry could only give a silent scream from his opened mouth. Meanwhile Bellatrix had her mouth right next to his ears. She whispered. "One thing you must get into your cute little head, Harry. I'm not one of your Hogwarts broom closet sluts." She squeezed even tighter and Harry could only cramp up in pain. "We may be addicted to each other and yes, you're good entertainment in the sheets, but get on my nerves and I'll make your life an eternal nightmare. Do you hear me?"

"Yes…" he wheezed.

"Well then," she quipped and pressed a smooch on his cheeks. She released his balls and Harry groaned as the pain in his private area subsided. "I'll get ready. Aunt Isla said she wants to speak with us, yesterday." With that she stood up and left for the bathroom.

Harry whimpered as he held his privates in pain. Note to self, don't call her pincushion. Ever. He laughed at his own idiocy - about simply forgetting that he was speaking with Bellatrix Black, not some girl he had dated. He shook his head at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Truly, about the madness that has become his life, he could only laugh.

Though, on the bright side, she did just call him Harry, now didn't she?

At long last, another chapter. Sporadic, I know, but I can't really spend more time on it. Hope you enjoyed this little get together with Bella.

See ya'll next chapter.