Day 10: Vampire Bellatrix

Day 10: Vampire Bellatrix

The streets of Hogsmeade were eerily quiet this late at night. The shops had long since closed, their windows dark and lifeless, and the only sound was the faint whistle of the wind weaving through the narrow alleys. Hermione Granger, now Minister of Magic, walked briskly down the cobbled path, her shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone as she made her way back to her flat.

It had been a long day. A long week, really. Meetings, negotiations, endless paperwork—it seemed as though the responsibilities of her office were never-ending. The weight of her position bore heavily on her shoulders, and even now, as she finally left the Ministry behind, her mind was still racing with thoughts of the next day's tasks.

But tonight... tonight something was different.

Hermione frowned, her pace slowing slightly as a strange sensation washed over her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was subtle at first—a faint prickling along her skin, a sense of being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowing as her eyes scanned the empty street behind her.

Nothing.

The faint glow of the streetlamps cast long shadows on the cobblestones, but there was no one there. No movement. No sound.

Hermione shook her head, forcing herself to keep walking. She was being paranoid, she told herself. It had been a long day, and she was just tired. But even as she tried to push the thought away, the feeling of being watched persisted, gnawing at the edge of her consciousness.

Her footsteps quickened, her heart beating a little faster as she turned down a narrow alley that led to her flat. The shadows here were thicker, darker, the glow from the streetlamps barely reaching this far. She told herself she was being ridiculous, that no one was following her, but the prickling sensation wouldn't leave.

And then she felt it.

A presence. Faint, almost imperceptible, but there.

Hermione's breath hitched, her heart racing as she stopped in her tracks, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand. The street around her was silent, the stillness almost oppressive as she stood frozen, listening. She could hear her own heartbeat, the rush of blood in her ears, but there was something else—something just out of reach.

A soft breeze swept through the alley, and with it came a scent. Faint, but unmistakable.

Flowers. Jasmine and lavender. And something unmistakably coppery.

Hermione's pulse quickened, her grip tightening around her wand as she slowly turned, her eyes scanning the darkness. "Who's there?" she called, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her insides.

There was no answer. Just silence.

And then—movement. A flicker of a shadow at the edge of her vision, gone as quickly as it appeared.

Hermione's heart raced, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she took a cautious step back, her wand raised. The air around her felt heavy, thick with something she couldn't quite name, and the scent of jasmine lingered in the breeze, stronger now, wrapping around her like a phantom.

"Show yourself," Hermione demanded, her voice firm as she took another step back, her eyes scanning the darkness. But even as the words left her lips, a cold dread settled in her chest. She had felt this before—this presence, this feeling of being hunted—but she couldn't place it. Couldn't understand why it felt so familiar.

And then, out of the shadows, a voice—low, dark, and dripping with amusement.

"Still so brave, little lioness."

Hermione's breath hitched, her heart nearly stopping in her chest as the voice washed over her. No. It couldn't be. Her mind screamed that it was impossible, but her body knew. The scent, the presence, the voice—there was no mistaking it.

Bellatrix.

Her name echoed in Hermione's mind like a ghost from the past, dredging up memories she had long since buried. Memories of the war. Of that night in the Great Hall. Of Bellatrix's death at the hands of Molly Weasley. Or had it been death?

Hermione's grip tightened on her wand, her body tensing as she scanned the shadows, searching for the source of the voice. "You're dead," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to remain calm. "I saw you die."

A low, dark laugh echoed through the alley, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. "Oh, love," Bellatrix purred, her voice soft and teasing as she stepped out of the shadows, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Did you really think death could keep me away from you?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as Bellatrix finally emerged from the darkness, her pale skin glowing in the faint light of the streetlamps. She looked exactly as Hermione remembered—dark, dangerous, and impossibly beautiful. But there was something different now, something more dangerous, more alluring. Her skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light, and her eyes... her eyes gleamed with an unnatural hunger that made Hermione's heart race.

"No," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling as she took a step back. "You're supposed to be—"

"Dead?" Bellatrix finished, her lips curving into a wicked smile as she stepped closer, her movements smooth and predatory. "Oh, I was. For a moment. But death doesn't hold me, Hermione. It never has. I can't be killed like that."

She said the last word as though it was unsavory. As the killing curse was a child's toy and not something that ended lives by the hundreds in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione's mind was spinning, her heart racing as Bellatrix moved closer, her presence overwhelming, suffocating. She had been so certain that Bellatrix had died that night, had watched as her body crumbled into dust. And yet, here she was—alive. No, not alive. Something else. Something more.

"How?" Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible as Bellatrix's scent—jasmine and lavender and that same coppery scene—wrapped around her, intoxicating and dizzying.

Bellatrix's smile widened, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement as she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Hermione's cheek. "You didn't think it was that easy, did you?" she purred, her voice soft and dangerous. "You didn't think a simple spell could keep me away from you."

Hermione's breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling beneath Bellatrix's touch. The chill of her fingers sent a shiver down Hermione's spine, but it wasn't the cold that made her heart race. It was the overwhelming pull, the magnetic force that seemed to radiate from Bellatrix, drawing her in, making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe.

"You've felt it, haven't you?" Bellatrix whispered, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear as her fingers traced the line of her jaw. "The pull. You've always felt it, even when you tried to deny it."

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as Bellatrix's words sank in. She had felt it—the strange, inexplicable pull toward the darkness, toward something she couldn't name. But she had never allowed herself to believe it, never allowed herself to even entertain the thought.

"I don't..." Hermione began, her voice trailing off as Bellatrix's fingers slid down her neck, teasing the sensitive skin just below her collarbone.

"Shh, love," Bellatrix purred, her voice a low, seductive whisper as her fingers trailed lower, brushing against Hermione's chest. "Don't fight it. You belong to me now."

Hermione's breath hitched, her body trembling as the weight of Bellatrix's words pressed down on her. She should be afraid—terrified, even. But instead, all she could feel was the overwhelming pull, the need to be close to Bellatrix, to give in to whatever dark magic held them together.

"You've always belonged to me," Bellatrix whispered, her voice soft but commanding as she pressed her body against Hermione's, pinning her against the stone wall of the alley. "From the moment I saw you. And now, my little lioness, I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Hermione's heart raced, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as Bellatrix's lips brushed against her neck, soft and teasing. There was no escaping this—no escaping her. Hermione was trapped in Bellatrix's web, caught in the pull of something ancient, something dark.

"Bellatrix," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to gather her thoughts, tried to push away the overwhelming need to give in. "I can't—"

But the words caught in her throat as Bellatrix's lips brushed against her neck, her breath cool and enticing. "Shh, love," Bellatrix whispered, her voice filled with dark amusement. "You don't need to think. Just feel."

And then, before Hermione could protest, before she could muster any further resistance, Bellatrix's lips parted, and sharp fangs grazed the delicate skin of Hermione's neck. A shudder of anticipation ran through Hermione's body, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the sharp points teasing her skin. Bellatrix's grip tightened around her, possessive, inescapable, as if daring her to fight, but the part of Hermione that had once been so strong and defiant was melting away under the weight of Bellatrix's presence.

The prickling sensation on her neck became a sharp sting, followed by a flood of warmth as Bellatrix bit down, her fangs sinking into Hermione's flesh with a precision that was both painful and exhilarating. Hermione gasped, her body jerking involuntarily as a wave of dizzying pleasure mingled with the pain. She could feel the pull of her blood being drawn from her, Bellatrix's lips pressed firmly against her skin, feeding from her as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.

A soft moan escaped Hermione's lips, a mixture of fear, pleasure, and something she couldn't name—a primal need that Bellatrix had awakened within her. But just as quickly as the bite on her neck began, Bellatrix withdrew, her lips trailing down Hermione's skin, leaving her neck throbbing and wet with a mixture of saliva and blood.

There it was again. The smell of copper, but stronger now as her blood was spilling down her neck.

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, her body trembling as Bellatrix's fingers slid down her arm, wrapping around her wrist with a grip that was both firm and tender. She guided Hermione's arm up, raising it to eye level, her dark eyes gleaming with a dangerous hunger as her fingers traced the old scar carved into Hermione's flesh.

Mudblood.

The word had haunted Hermione for years, etched into her skin as a permanent reminder of Bellatrix's cruelty during the war. It was a scar that had never truly healed—both physically and emotionally. And now, as Bellatrix's fingers brushed over the raised letters, Hermione felt a strange mixture of fear and arousal bubble to the surface.

She tried to make her legs work, but she was frozen.

Bellatrix's lips curled into a wicked smile as she gazed down at the scar, her eyes dark and filled with a dangerous kind of affection. "Such beautiful work," she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as her thumb brushed over the word. "I marked you once, little lioness. And now, I'll mark you again."

Hermione's breath hitched, her body trembling as Bellatrix's words sank in. She should be fighting back—should be pulling away, running—but the pull of Bellatrix's voice, the overwhelming presence of her power, left Hermione frozen in place, trapped in a web of dark desire.

Bellatrix's lips descended on Hermione's arm, her tongue flicking out to trace the scar with a slow, deliberate stroke that made Hermione shudder. The sensation was both maddening and addictive, a mixture of pleasure and pain that left her gasping for breath. And then, without warning, Bellatrix's fangs sank into the scar, reopening the old wound with a vicious precision that made Hermione cry out.

The pain was sharp, biting, but it was immediately followed by a flood of pleasure as Bellatrix's lips closed around the wound, sucking the blood from Hermione's arm with an almost reverent hunger. Hermione's body jerked, her heart racing as the sensation of being fed upon coursed through her, filling her with a strange, addictive heat that made her toes curl.

Bellatrix's grip on her wrist tightened as she fed, her fangs still embedded in the scar as she drank deeply, the sound of her feeding echoing in the quiet alley. The pull of her mouth was relentless, drawing Hermione's blood with a ferocity that left her lightheaded, her knees weakening as her body trembled under the intensity of it all.

Another moan slipped from Hermione's lips, her eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook her, washing away any thoughts of resistance, any fear she had left. All that remained was the overwhelming need to give in, to be consumed by Bellatrix, to feel her dominance, her power, until there was nothing left of herself. Every nerve in her body seemed to ignite under Bellatrix's touch, the bite on her arm sending pulses of pleasure straight to her core, coiling tighter with every pull of Bellatrix's lips.

Hermione's body trembled uncontrollably, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo. The raw, primal heat that surged through her, mixed with the pain and possession of Bellatrix's bite, was too much to contain. A wave of ecstasy crashed over her, her muscles clenching as her orgasm ripped through her body, overwhelming her senses. She cried out, her voice a broken, needy sound, as her entire world narrowed to the pulsing pleasure radiating from deep within her.

Her body quaked, her limbs trembling as wave after wave of release tore through her, leaving her breathless and shattered. Every pulse of pleasure was drawn out by Bellatrix's continued feeding, her lips never leaving the scar as Hermione's climax stretched on, consuming her until all that remained was the raw intensity of her submission, of belonging completely to the vampire.

Bellatrix's dark laughter rumbled against Hermione's skin as she withdrew her fangs, her lips trailing up Hermione's arm as she continued to suckle at the reopened wound, savoring the taste of Hermione's blood like it was the finest of delicacies. Her tongue flicked out, lapping at the scar as if to claim it all over again, the heat of her mouth sending waves of sensation through Hermione's trembling body.

"Do you see, love?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice low and filled with dark amusement as she kissed the bleeding wound on Hermione's arm. "I marked you once in pain... but now, you're mine in pleasure."

Hermione's breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stared down at the reopened scar, the blood still trickling down her arm. The sight of it should have terrified her—should have filled her with horror—but instead, all she felt was a twisted sense of belonging. A need to be bound to Bellatrix in a way she had never imagined.

"You belong to me," Bellatrix purred, her fingers trailing up Hermione's body, possessive and tender. "You've always belonged to me, my little lioness. And now, you will forever be mine."

Hermione's mind was spinning, her body trembling with the aftershocks of the bite as Bellatrix's words wrapped around her like a vice. The rational part of her mind screamed at her to run, to fight, but the primal part—the part Bellatrix had awakened—craved more. She couldn't deny it. The connection between them, the dark, magnetic pull, was too strong to resist.

"Let go, Hermione," Bellatrix whispered, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear as she pulled her closer, her body pressed firmly against hers. "Give in to me. I'll take care of you. I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, her mind clouded with desire and confusion. She knew she should fight—should resist—but Bellatrix's presence, her power, was too overwhelming. The need to be claimed, to belong to something, someone, was too strong to deny.

"I... I can't," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to gather her thoughts, tried to push away the overwhelming pull of Bellatrix's voice.

Bellatrix's dark laughter echoed through the alley, soft and mocking. "You can't what, love?" she purred, her fingers sliding down Hermione's body with a possessive tenderness. "You can't leave me? Or you can't deny how much you want this?"

Hermione's breath hitched, her body trembling as Bellatrix's fingers trailed lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of her waist, teasing her with the promise of more. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All she could feel was the overwhelming desire coursing through her, the need to be close to Bellatrix, to give in to her completely.

"You're mine, Hermione," Bellatrix whispered, her voice dark and filled with satisfaction as she pressed a soft kiss to Hermione's lips. "You've always been mine."

Hermione's chest heaved, her mind spinning as Bellatrix's words sank in. She should be afraid—terrified even—but instead, all she could feel was the pull, the need to belong, to give in to the darkness that had always lingered just beneath the surface.

And with one last breath, Hermione gave in.