For Anna

Somehow she always seemed strongest when her back was against the wall. She was resilient, strong and kind. Though, regardless of her mettle she wasn't immune to the charms. It was almost unbelievable. Almost like a mirage. Here, stretched out across the boards, those silvery flickers hiding in the edges of limbs. The walls shrieked with life when she was here. Her own cries echoing, coming back to challenge and inquire. It was like a smoke that would not rise. A sort of chiaroscuro. A sort of grey. Everything. Everything was grey. Except for her. The gentle pinks of her mouth would spill out with her screams, with her breath. Hair the colour of straw and a whole body filled with red blood. She did not match. But Bellatrix wouldn't have wanted her to. The whole house was filled with grey figures. Black figures. Platinum blond figures - and this girl. Her limbs didn't match the furniture. They were much too veracious. Truthful in their curves, their youth and the strong skeleton beneath her skin. She had never known the kiss of a Dementor or the sleek claws of madness. No, she did not fit.

Bellatrix circled the witch as if tugged along by an unseen gravity. Orbiting slowly as her eyes grazed and scraped over the figure. She practically saw the breath from her lungs cascade down onto the girl, making her twitch. Hermione, the Mudblood, began to reach out for the seams of the floor boards. Her nails clicking into the crevasses when her fingers failed to grip the sleek wood. Bellatrix watched as the girl shifted her weight from one side of her hips to the other, writhing on the floor. Across the wood and through the soles of her boots she felt the girl's heat, it pooled around her as thick as spilled blood. And these floors had known that many times before. Still Bellatrix circled her, her gaze like spears and her footfall heavy. Words formed and slipped from her mouth, which fell as blurred noise onto Hermione's ears as still she clung to the floor boards. The Death Eater paused her movements and raised her wand to the girl and uttered her favourite word. Instantly, the witch's body seized with wracks of pain as her muscles tensed in waves. Bones close to the surface of her skin rattled against the floor as Hermione tried to retreat from the jet of red hot magic pumping into her chest. Bellatrix's teeth caught her lower lip as she felt a jolt fire across her shoulders.

Then, their eyes locked. Wrought across the girl's face was a look of understanding. She knew Bellatrix needed this. And Bellatrix hated that she did. The dark witch bent at the knee and stooped down to the girl, their faces inches apart. She could see the glassy trails of torture and dirt built up on her skin. She could smell the cold earth on her. The trees. The blackest nights. She could smell Hermione's arousal. It cut through everything as delicately as breath and as forcefully as a Cruciatus. Bellatrix could practically feel her eyes grow dark as she remembered taking Hermione against a tree in the woods and here she was now against the floor.

The dark witch grinned broadly and said, almost plainly, closer to the girl's face, "Hello." An insane giggle skittered from Bellatrix's lips.

The space between them was familiar. The way their breaths mingled into warm air. The way Hermione challenged Bellatrix to move closer simply by not moving herself. The way they moved together was easy, and intuitive. Their bodies knew each other, even if their allegiances tore them apart. No one would have noticed it, except Bellatrix, in that room when Hermione shifted her body towards the dark witch instead of away from her. When her fingers reached for the claws wrapped around her wrists, pinning her to the floor. When her eyes drifted, as slowly as she liked, over the body of the woman. No, only Bellatrix would have noticed this. The dark witch still had her wand pointed at the girl as she rose from the ground. She lifted her head from the auburn eyes and turned them around the room. As if in search for something else to play with. Her breath increased and her fingers clenched as she turned back to the girl. Bellatrix could see the rapid rise and fall of Hermione's chest as oxygen ceased to be enough.

Calmly, Bellatrix again stooped down to the girl. She scooped up the fabric of her dress and positioned herself so she sat astride Hermione. In her new posterior pose Bellatrix could see the witch's pulse seizing under her skin. Carefully shifting her weight forward the Death Eater held her wand against the girl's cheek, pushing her head to the side so she might catch a better view of the paroxysm. She could practically feel the strong muscles of her jaw flex and release through her wand. Slowly, she dragged the implement, the wand, the weapon, over the hard flesh of jaw and down the sinewy neck until it caught in the hollow of her collar, where Bellatrix began probing gently into the soft flesh. The breath in Hermione's lungs was stopped, momentarily, as the wand compressed internal structures. The witch's eyes began to water and a redness rose in her face but she did not quiver. She trusted Bellatrix. She knew Bellatrix. She wasn't afraid. Silently, Hermione had given her permission, given up her body- to be used and to be broken by this beautiful dark witch. A smouldering grin spread across Bellatrix's face and the flesh of her lip turned white as she sucked the tissue into her mouth and sunk her teeth into it. Hermione's limbs were still spread across the floor, but now her fingers dove rhythmically from her palm to their extremes as she desperately tried not to touch the dark witch. Perched on top of the girl Bellatrix found great joy in watching her struggle with her convictions, in watching the profound effects she had on the young witch. On the young Gryffindor. People must have thought that she was panting because she was afraid, that her body was twitching beneath the witch because she was wanting to get away.

The dark witch slowly lowered herself down, she put her hands on Hermione's shoulders and forced her into the floor with her own body weight. "Scared are we?"

Confused, Hermione's gazed shifted between Bellatrix's two eyes rapidly, not sure what was going to happen next. Quickly, and like an animal, the dark witch stooped even lower. Their faces were only breaths apart and they were both completely obscured from view by Bellatrix's dark hair. A carnal giggle slipped from her lips as the smooth tip of a wand once again dug itself into the hollow of her neck. And then, as delicate as gossamer, a single utterance again slipped from her mouth.

"Crucio."

The most guttural of noises began to spill from the young witch, coming from deep within her as the curse wracked her body. Veins in her neck bulged and her limbs pounded the floor. Bellatrix pinned their foreheads together and looked directly into the eyes of the girl as she was destroyed by the Cruciatus. At the moment of infliction Bellatrix had inhaled sharply, wanting to internalise the experience of this girl's, this victim's, pain. The hot and coarse expulsions sent further jolts through the dark witch who, by now, was breathing hard herself. The sharp claws of the Death Eater latched onto the joining of Hermione's shirt, her distal knuckles pressing into the blazing skin beneath them. With a strong, swift motion of the arm Bellatrix tore open the top half of the shirt in her clutches. A noise of surprise crawled from the girl's open mouth as the dark witch pointed her wand at the witch's exposed heart. Their eyes met, then, for a moment. She looked into the auburn eyes of her prisoner who looked back with broad pupils. No matter what her screams said, she was enjoying herself. Hermione's mouth hung open slightly as Bellatrix refused to look away. The wand at the girl's chest begun moving back and forth, caressing the skin. Were it an organ Bellatrix would have surely entered her. Hermione feared she might anyway.

Suddenly, in a blur of black and luminescent grey, Bellatrix was torn to the girl's forearm. Her face exceptionally close to the skin as the air was filled with the scent of blood and metal. Screams ripped through the house while Bellatrix and her dagger were transfixed on the patch of pale, soft flesh. As slits were carved into her arm Hermione's free hand flew through the air and bound itself into the dark witch's hair, who smirked at the contact. She felt the digits desperately tug at the black strands as her work neared completion. Bellatrix flung the dagger across the floor and raised her wand to the bleeding wound. A whimper came from the girl, who was still latched onto her. She could feel the witch's muscles tense in anticipation of pain, in anticipation of curses, or magic. But no pain came. Instead, Bellatrix whispered into the cuts, her wand gently grazing over the bloodied skin. When she was done the dark witch buried her face against Hermione's neck, who shivered when the hot breath kissed her flesh.

"You're mine now," the words came as a carnal whisper, "And when you're all alone you'll know it." A quiet moan escaped from the girl and Bellatrix was thankful that no one heard it. Beneath her lips she could feel the girl's blood rush to meet her as an unbelievable heat washed over the skin.

Air rushed into Hermione's lungs as the watery grip of the Penseive let her go. Her chest rose and fell rapidly trying to draw precious oxygen into her lungs. While her heart slowed, and her mind still raced, she covered her mouth with her hand and looked down at her arm. Slowly she peeled back the sleeve of her shirt to reveal Bellatrix faintly scrawled into her flesh. Gently, as if too much pressure would erase the scars, she ran her fingers over the raised letters, which had been charmed to read differently when she was alone. No one ever understood why she refused treatment for the Mudblood cut into her by Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione covered the name with her hand, she liked the way it felt beneath her palm. A smirk spread across her lips as she turned from the Penseive in search of another vial.