Chapter 1

The wind whipped through the tall, dense trees of the Forbidden Forest, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and something much more primal. Hermione Granger moved swiftly, her boots crushing the underbrush beneath her as she weaved between thick trunks and low-hanging branches. She had been here countless times before, yet tonight the forest felt different, alive with something feral that sent shivers through her spine.

She paused, chest heaving, her breath misting in the cold night air. The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

Hermione had learned long ago how to survive in silence, how to let her instincts guide her when the world fell apart around her. The war had changed her, marked her in ways that ran deeper than scars. People saw her now and still whispered the name Granger with reverence, spoke of the fearless war hero, the witch who had stood beside Harry Potter and faced down the Dark Lord. They didn't know—couldn't know—that underneath all that history and honor, she was hiding a secret that would destroy her reputation in an instant.

She was an Omega. 

It was a label she had fought to suppress, ever since she first felt the stirrings of her true nature in the chaos of the final battle. That night, while spells flew and bodies fell, Hermione had felt something more dangerous than fear begin to rise inside her: heat. She had barely managed to hide it, pushing down the visceral need, forcing herself to focus on the fight. From then on, she swore she would never give in to that side of herself.

Being an omega wasn't something that could destroy her. No, that was one Bellatrix Lestrange. 

Her one.

So few magic users were alpha or omega. It was something deep and ancient tied to magic itself. It was something that was presented when two lines, especially powerful magical lines, were meant to join. It could happen at any time whether you'd known the person a thousand years or two seconds.

It hadn't been immediate with Bellatrix, but it had still been sudden enough.

Suppressants had become her shield, stronger than any wand she had ever wielded. Day after day, she had taken them religiously, masking the scent, the impulses, the urges that would betray her. The world needed the sharp, logical Hermione Granger—the leader, the strategist—not some Omega who could be thrown into submission by biology.

But tonight, in this cursed forest, she wasn't so sure her suppressants were enough.

She had to be away from the castle.

She pressed a hand to her temple, feeling a dull ache spread behind her eyes. They had started to wear off—too soon. She had been careless, stretching out her last dose longer than she should have. There had been so much to do: teaching at Hogwarts, the endless Ministry meetings, and the sleepless nights spent poring over old texts in search of a way to rebuild a fractured world. She hadn't realized how thinly she had spread herself until it was too late. The first sign had been the headache. Then the feverish feeling that crept under her skin. And now… now she was out here, deep in the forest, hunting for something she hadn't even named.

Something she knew was hunting her.

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow, though the chill in the air should have made that impossible. Her fingers twitched towards her wand, but she resisted. She couldn't use magic, not yet. Not until she was sure of what she was facing.

But she knew. She had always known.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

The name alone brought bile to her throat. After the war, Bellatrix had been captured, dragged into Azkaban with the last remnants of Voldemort's forces. She had been silent for years, kept in a dark corner of the prison, left to rot with the others who had clung to their twisted ideology. Hermione had heard rumors, of course, that Bellatrix had gone mad, that she had become a husk of the sadistic witch she had once been. It seemed like poetic justice. But Hermione had learned long ago never to believe in rumors.

Three weeks ago, Bellatrix had escaped. No one knew how. No one knew why. But Hermione did.

She had felt the pull the moment it happened. It was faint at first, a disturbance, like a dark spell drifting through the cracks of the world. But as the days went by, the feeling grew, gnawing at her, invading her dreams, her thoughts, until she couldn't ignore it any longer. Bellatrix had escaped because of her.

And now, Bellatrix was hunting her.

The scent of the forest shifted, a brief waft of something acrid and burning on the wind. Hermione stiffened. Her senses were sharper than they had been in years, her body hyper-aware, ready. She could hear the distant rustle of leaves, a subtle shift in the air pressure, and then—

A snap.

Hermione's wand was in her hand before she even thought to draw it, aimed at the source of the sound. But nothing emerged from the shadows. The silence pressed in around her again, thick and suffocating.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but her grip on her wand was steady. She wouldn't panic. She couldn't panic. Bellatrix was testing her, playing her sick, sadistic games, the same ones she had played during the war. Hermione had expected this. What she hadn't expected was the low, dark laugh that echoed through the trees.

"Still as sharp as ever, I see," came a voice from the darkness. Low, velvety, and dripping with malice. "But I can smell your fear, muddy"

Hermione's jaw clenched. She turned in the direction of the voice, her wand raised high. "Lestrange," she said, her voice tight.

Bellatrix stepped out from behind the trees, her black cloak blending into the shadows around her. She looked thinner than she had in her days of power, her cheekbones more pronounced, her hair a tangled mess. But her eyes—those wild, unblinking eyes—had not changed. They gleamed with a dark hunger, something feral, something that made the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stand on end.

"Granger," Bellatrix purred, taking a step closer. "I must admit, it's been far too long. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"Hardly," Hermione replied, keeping her wand trained on the older witch. "You're the one who's been hiding in Azkaban."

Bellatrix's smile widened, a sharp, predatory grin. "Hiding? No, no, darling. Waiting. And it seems my patience has finally paid off. I can smell you now."

Hermione's blood ran cold. She fought the urge to back away, to retreat, but it was as though the air around them had shifted. Bellatrix took another step forward, her nostrils flaring.

"You've been hiding something, haven't you?" Bellatrix's voice was a dangerous whisper. "All these years, pretending to be the hero, pretending to be better than the rest of us. But I can smell the truth. I could feel the truth."

Hermione's fingers twitched on her wand. She knew what Bellatrix was trying to do, how she twisted words like daggers, cutting deeper with each passing second. But this time, it wasn't working. Hermione had prepared for this. She had trained for this.

She would not let Bellatrix break her.

But then, Bellatrix's smile faltered, her nostrils flaring wider, her eyes darkening. "Ah… now that is interesting," she murmured, taking in a deep breath. "Suppressants, Granger? Hiding that you are still an unmated omega even though you'd found your mate? Found your alpha."

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her expression locked in place. Bellatrix couldn't know. She couldn't know. But the glint in Bellatrix's eyes told her she did.

"I've waited a long time for this," Bellatrix said, her voice thick with anticipation, dripping with something dark and ancient. "Do you think those pathetic little potions could keep me from finding you?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but before she could speak, a wave of something primal washed over her. The suppressant's effects were weakening, unraveling inside her as Bellatrix's scent filled the air, rich and overpowering. An Alpha's scent. It flooded her senses, lighting every nerve on fire.

The omega clenched her jaw, fighting the dizzying wave that surged through her body, the Alpha scent wrapping around her like a smothering blanket. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stood her ground, willing herself to ignore the fire crawling under her skin. She had spent years preparing for this, suppressing every part of herself that could be used against her.

But Bellatrix's voice cut through the tension like a blade, dripping with twisted amusement. "Oh, I can see it now, Granger. The war hero, the witch too clever for her own good, hiding in plain sight, suppressing her true nature. Suppressing who she belongs to. Did you think you could hide from me forever?"

Hermione swallowed, her throat dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bellatrix tilted her head, her smile sharpening into something darker. "Oh, but you do. I can smell it. The Omega beneath all that logic, all that brilliance. How long have you been pretending, I wonder? How long has the little lioness been running from the inevitable?"

Hermione forced herself to meet Bellatrix's gaze, refusing to give an inch. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" Bellatrix's voice lowered to a purr, her eyes gleaming with predatory delight. "Then why are your suppressants wearing off? Why is your scent so… vulnerable?"

Hermione's grip on her wand tightened, her pulse thudding in her ears. She couldn't let this happen. Not now. Not here. The suppressants had been her shield, her barrier against the world's prying eyes, against anyone discovering the truth. And now, with Bellatrix standing mere feet away, it felt like that shield was crumbling.

"Poor little Omega," Bellatrix cooed, her voice soft, mocking. "All that power, all that strength… wasted on trying to be something you're not."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She couldn't let Bellatrix win this. She wouldn't. "I'm more than enough to handle you, Lestrange," she spat, her voice steady despite the raging storm inside her. "You're nothing more than a relic of a failed cause."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed with fury for a split second, but then she laughed, the sound low and cruel. "Oh, muddy, you misunderstand. This isn't about politics. This is about us. About what we really are."

Before Hermione could react, Bellatrix moved—swift as a shadow, closing the distance between them. Hermione's wand flicked up, a hex ready on her lips, but Bellatrix was quicker, her hand darting out to grip Hermione's wrist, twisting her wand arm just enough to throw off her aim.

Bellatrix's breath was hot against Hermione's ear, her voice a deadly whisper. "You think you can fight this? Fight me?" She leaned in closer, her lips brushing the shell of Hermione's ear, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine despite herself. "I can feel it, muddy. You're burning up inside, aren't you?"

Hermione's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She struggled to pull away, but Bellatrix's grip was iron, holding her in place. Her scent—dark, musky, overpowering—flooded Hermione's senses, making it harder to think, harder to focus.

"You've been running from this for so long," Bellatrix whispered, her voice silk-soft but laced with venom. "But now? There's nowhere to run."

Hermione's mind raced, panic creeping in at the edges of her thoughts. She couldn't let Bellatrix get inside her head, couldn't let her—

But the suppressant's effects were slipping, unraveling with every second. The heat building inside her, the desperate, clawing need that she had kept at bay for so long, was starting to bubble up, pushing against the walls she had so carefully constructed. Bellatrix's scent was suffocating, overwhelming every rational thought, every defense Hermione had relied on for years.

"I will never submit to you," Hermione ground out, her voice rough, defiant. She twisted her wrist, trying to break free of Bellatrix's grip, but the older witch only tightened her hold, her fingers digging into Hermione's skin.

"Oh, but you will," Bellatrix breathed, her lips grazing Hermione's neck. "You may think you're stronger, smarter, more capable than the rest of them, but deep down, you're just an Omega. And you know what that means."

Hermione's muscles tensed, every fiber of her being screaming at her to fight back, to get out. But Bellatrix's scent, her proximity, was clouding her mind, dragging her deeper into the haze of her weakening suppressants.

"I know what you're thinking," Bellatrix murmured, her breath hot against Hermione's skin. "You think you can resist me, that you can fight this. But you're wrong." Her voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Because I'm your Alpha, Granger. And you—"

With a sharp movement, Hermione jerked her head back, ramming it into Bellatrix's chin. The impact sent a jolt of pain through both of them, but it was enough to loosen Bellatrix's grip for a split second. Hermione tore herself free, stumbling back, her wand back in hand and pointed directly at Bellatrix's chest.

But Bellatrix only laughed, a slow, dangerous sound that echoed through the trees. She rubbed her chin where Hermione had struck her, her dark eyes glittering with something primal, something ravenous.

"You've got spirit, I'll give you that," Bellatrix said, her voice thick with amusement. "But you're running out of time. Your scent is getting stronger by the second. How long do you think you can hold out before your instincts take over?"

Hermione's chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, her wand never wavering from its target. But Bellatrix was right. She could feel it—the heat building inside her, the pull of her Omega nature, the desire that was quickly becoming unbearable. Her suppressants were failing, and once they wore off completely...

"I will not give in to you," Hermione said, her voice low, but the conviction in her words was waning, barely holding against the flood of sensations.

Bellatrix's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Oh, darling," she whispered, taking a slow step forward. "You don't have to. Your body will do that for you."

A sudden gust of wind whipped through the trees, carrying with it the full force of Hermione's scent—rich, potent, Omega.

Bellatrix inhaled deeply, her pupils dilating as the scent hit her like a drug. "There it is," she breathed, her voice thick with hunger. "That's what I've been waiting for."

Hermione's heart raced, her body betraying her as the heat became unbearable. She could feel her control slipping, the suppressants barely holding on, her instincts clawing at the edges of her consciousness, demanding release.

Bellatrix stepped closer, her eyes locked onto Hermione's, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "You can't fight this, muddy. You were born for this. For me."

Added several new explicit FREE one-shots on our blog (https://fictioneers.thinkific.com/pages/new-updates), including "My Prisoner" Bellatrix/Hermione - "Captured and chained in a dark dungeon, Hermione Granger endures the twisted obsession of Bellatrix Lestrange. As pain and desire blur, Bellatrix seeks to claim Hermione, pushing her body and mind to the breaking point in a cruel, possessive game of dominance." 

5 chapters are already published on the blog with Explicit in Chapter 3/4 (https://fictioneers.thinkific.com/courses/EtherealNarrator). Otherwise chapter 2 will be posted here Sep 29th.

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Bellatrix's fingers dug into Hermione's chin, the grip sharp enough to bruise. For a split second, her dark eyes glimmered with pure, unadulterated malice, the dangerous thrill of control radiating off her in waves. Hermione could feel her heart slamming against her ribs, but she refused to flinch, refused to let Bellatrix see the fear twisting beneath her skin.

The roughness came without warning—Bellatrix's hand moving like lightning as she grabbed the front of Hermione's shirt and yanked hard, tearing the fabric down the middle with a vicious rip. The cool night air hit Hermione's exposed skin, making her gasp as Bellatrix's hand slid roughly across her collarbone, her nails leaving faint red marks in their wake.

"Such a disappointment," Bellatrix hissed, her voice low and mocking, though it was laced with dark humor. "I was hoping you'd put up more of a fight. Run, maybe. It would've been more fun that way."