Chapter Text
Hermione cannot figure out where she has gotten the blind, stupid courage to go to this club. Her stomach ties up in knots just thinking about it, her brain constantly worrying and posturing about what could possibly go wrong. But yet, she’s just stepped through a gaudy entryway and into a busy and poorly lit club on the lower east side of London.
Merlin, I need a drink.
That’s how Hermione decides she’ll get through this night, this night that she’s imagined and panicked over for months. With just a bit of liquid luck, Hermione can finally do what she’s been aching to do. Without it, she was sure to leave without getting things off of her chest.
Her heart is racing, beating erratically in her chest, but she forces her feet to move. She quickly shuffles over to the bar situated on the far right wall of the club, discreetly seating herself on a stool. Taking a moment to draw her cloak closer, Hermione peers around the bar, taking it in.
It’s laid out similarly to any of the other bars that she’s been to; a dimly lit dance floor, booths and sofas littered about, a pounding music system, nothing wildly unique. A DJ was placed up on a balcony behind the dance floor, seemingly doing nothing but hopping along to the beat while the club goers danced crazily. The entire dance floor was full of sweaty bodies pressing up against each other to the rhythm of the pounding bass. But here, in this particular club, it seemed as if all of the patrons were wearing as little clothes as physically possible and were practically, if not literally, fucking each other.
The glint off of a tight latex bodysuit catches Hermione’s eye and she's momentarily enthralled with the idea of looking at the crowd. The harder she looks, the more leather and latex she sees. She sees a gay couple wearing nothing but thick leather harnesses and colorful jockstraps, and another couple where one has their face pressed into the crotch of the other. Suddenly, Hermione is very overwhelmed by the sheer smell of sex coming from the dance floor and cannot stand to watch any more.
A heavy flush tints Hermione’s cheeks as she turns back from the craziness on the dance floor and goes about flagging down a barkeep. A large gruff man comes by moments later to take her order, which then promptly pops into existence next to her. She greedily sips her fruity cocktail, hoping that the alcohol would somehow calm her nerves about finally being inside a place like this. Her hand instinctively goes to grasp her wand in her back pocket, a comforting habit to ground her.
“First time in a fetish club?” Comes a gravely question from the barkeep. Hermione can see the amusement written across his dark features, but also the curiosity.
Hermione immediately flushes again, and swallows down one more sip of the citrus drink. It’s just a barkeep, someone she’ll never see again. What’s the harm in admitting her inexperience?
“I, um, y-yes actually. But I’m looking for someone-“ Hermione rushes out, trying not to lose her courage. She looks up to the kind, curious face of the barkeep and decides to share more. “A woman, in her late forties. Dark curly hair, a good bit taller than me. She looks like she could kill someone and it’s kind of amazing,” Hermione gushes. Avoiding the entertained gaze of the barkeep, she tilts her head down to catch another sip of her drink.
Hermione’s pulse pounds in her ears as the man smiles, about to answer. She swears that he can feel the nervous energy radiating off of her, and is seemingly pitying her with his answer.
“Bellatrix? I’m surprised you missed her,” comes the stiff reply. “The booth in the corner.”
She must be a regular.
Hermione immediately whips around, intent on finding the corner she missed. The barkeep continues however.
“I dunno if she’s your type, lass. She’s known to chew up and spit people out.”
Hermione looks into his light eyes and sees no lie. It’s unsurprising that Bellatrix’s harsh demeanor translates to her interactions outside of the classroom; Hermione expects nothing less from the dark witch. “Thank you for the drink and the advice.” She gives him a tight smile. The dismissal is clear, and the burly man returns to the other end of the bar.
Taking a calming breath, Hermione steels herself. I need to find her. She’s had this adventure planned for ages, and she cannot let herself down.
She peers over the gyrating crowd, looking purposefully in the dark shadows of the club’s corners. All of the corner booths were occupied and covered in heavy shadows, how was Hermione supposed to find the dark witch? Squinting once again, she tries to distinguish the shapes of people she can see through the shadows. Suddenly, a shiny flash of movement caught Hermione’s eye. A slender woman in a sleek silver dress has broken away from the crowd and saunters over to the booth furthest from the entrance. Hermione stares intensely. Something in her gut is telling her that Bellatrix is there, that she has to be there.
She squints harder, willing for her to finally become apparent when Bellatrix emerges from the shadows to greet the slim woman who’s come to the table. Hermione’s heart races as she takes in Bellatrix for the first time outside of school.
Even from this distance, she can see she’s exchanged plain black Professor’s robes for a more provocative black look. She aches for a closer look. Even from here, Hermione can see her trademark blood-red lipstick as she seemingly greets the newcomer. Bellatrix stands up fully and hugs the slim woman and almost delightedly kisses her cheek. They seem to exchange a few words before they both disappear deeper into the shadow of the booth.
Hermione’s view of Bellatrix is gone and she can’t help but lurch stiltedly to her feet, somehow magnetically drawn to Bellatrix, wanting to catch another glimpse of the powerful woman. Hermione moved quickly from the bar to the edge of the dance floor where the crowd is thin and not as rowdy as those dry humping towards the center. She tries to stand on her tiptoes to see over the heads of people, but she’s much too short to see much of anything. Bloody hell. She’ll have to dare even closer to Bellatrix’s corner. She needs to make sure Bellatrix is here, needs to ask her a question.
Slinking her way past the sweating club goers, Hermione slowly but surely covers ground toward the corner. Peering again through the crowd, she can just barely make out the booth where Bellatrix is with more detail.
This close, Hermione can see Bellatrix’s feral smile as she laughs at something someone to her right has said. The booth is occupied by seven other people, one of which being the young woman who had approached the booth from the dance floor. They are all situated very closely together, and it seems like a brown haired man seated on the end was receiving some sort of hand job underneath the table. The girl giving it to him was the slim woman from the dance floor, wearing a heady expression on her delicate features. Bellatrix seems incredibly amused by the whole situation, her smile never slipping from her face.
Hermione stands there for some time, being constantly jostled and elbowed by the surrounding crowd, just watching the way Bellatrix interacts with her peers. She often holds the center of attention, and very obviously commanded the small group of club goers. Hermione easily gets caught up in the way Bellatrix stirs a slim finger into her dark drink before sipping it gently. From there, it almost looked like her red lipstick had left a stain on that glass.
Oh god, to be that glass.
Now Hermione was swaying, unsteady on her feet as she gets more caught up in the motion of the crowd. She barely cares, all she can think of was the deep red lipstick that Bellatrix wares on her luscious lips, and suddenly Hermione is again thinking about what it would be like for those lips to kiss her. Hermione lets her mouth fall slightly agape as she starts to take deeper breaths, her anticipation and arousal and anxiety all hitting her at once.
Out of nowhere, a sudden movement directly in front of Hermione distracts her from her reverie, and she finds herself instinctually jerking away from somebody stepping closer to her. But not just anybody. Suddenly, Bellatrix Black is in front of Hermione, no less than three feet away, wearing her trademark smirk as her blazing black eyes catch Hermione like a deer in the headlights.
Bellatrix easily towers over Hermione, and readily uses this against her as she slides forward and into Hermione’s personal space. She’s immobilized, caught by the commanding aura that emanates from the dark witch. Leaning down, Bellatrix finally says, “And what are you doing here, Granger?”. There’s a dangerous glint in Bellatrix’s eyes as Hermione scrambles to form a sentence. None of this was going to plan.
Suddenly, all of the courage Hermione has spent months working up has left her, and she tries to flee and back away into the bustling crowd behind her. Before she takes more than two steps backwards, Hermione fumbles on some random woman dancing nearby and loses her footing. But a pale hand shoots out from nearby, and then she’s being whisked away from the dance floor.
Hermione can barely register where she is or where she’s going, she’s just letting the older woman take her away from the dance floor.
The next thing she knows, Hermione is pushed roughly into a wall with Bellatrix looming directly in front of her, blocking any view of her more immediate surroundings and of where she was. The pulse in her ears begin to pound louder than the booming music as Hermione stands there, chest heaving and eyes blown wide as she waits for her Professor to make a move.
A wicked grin spreads across Bellatrix’s face, making her beautiful features look almost like a predator who had caught its prey. She seems to take immense enjoyment at the scared look on Hermione’s face. “Oh, did you really think I didn’t notice you, pet? Your thoughts were loud enough to notice from across the room.” Bellatrix grinds out. Somehow she’s moved closer to Hermione, to the point where she can feel the Professor’s erratic breath upon her skin.
Hermione’s back is now pressed soundly to the stone wall behind her from trying to get as far away from Bellatrix as possible, but unfortunately finding herself trapped. Suddenly, her plan to confront her Professor seems like the stupidest idea Hermione has ever come up with. Bellatrix’s sheer sexual energy has managed to pierce through her heart, and she can feel a pool of wetness begin to develop as she realizes that she’s trapped alone with her maniacally grinning Professor.
Paralyzed, Hermione is unable to move an inch as she feels her pulse race from the proximity to the older woman. Tilting her head, Bellatrix dares another step closer as she licks her ruby red stained lips. Hermione feels her knees start to buckle as a voice in the back of her head speaks up.
Oh god, she’s too close, she’s too angry. Appease her! Submit, submit!
“P-Professor, I-,” Hermione manages to stutter out before being interrupted once again.
“No, you don’t get to talk yet, there’s no privacy,” comes the hurried reply from Bellatrix, “You’re coming with me, girl.”
Once again, Bellatrix grasps Hermione’s wrist soundly, and before she can blink, Bellatrix has again dragged her away and has taken her out some back door that she hadn’t noticed to exit into the neighboring alley.
Before she can get any greater sense of her bearings, Hermione is again shoved roughly into the exterior of the club with Bellatrix’s forearm placed firmly across her chest and a crooked wand jabbing into her neck. All Hermione can focus on is the warmth coming from Bellatrix’s body and the sharp, heady smell of her perfume; Hermione is practically drunk off of it.
Bellatrix takes a moment to blow an errant curl out of her face, once again composing herself. She pokes her wand deeper into Hermione’s neck and smiles threateningly before speaking. “And what is little bitty Granger doing here?”
Hermione swallows loudly twice before trying to speak, “I-I don’t know, I’m-” before she can stutter out the rest of her sentence, Bellatrix shoves her face directly next to Hermione’s and starts to push the younger witch harder into the wall.
“I don’t have time for this,” Bellatrix spits out, pointing an accusing glare at Hermione, “you tell me why you’re here and how you found me or I will drag you by the scruff of your neck to McGonagall and clean my hands of you.” There’s no softness in Bellatrix’s voice, only hard, cold steel, and Hermione scrambles to answer, scrambles to submit.
“Wait! Wait, I was...” Hermione begins, desperate to make sure Bellatrix doesn’t abandon her to her Head of House, and subsequently leaving Hermione without the chance to ask her question just yet. She takes a deep breath before murmuring, “I was looking for you, Professor Black.”
Hermione wants to bow her head in submission but she can’t, Bellatrix’s flaming gaze keeps her captive, and the woman’s eyes glow even more after telling her why she came here. The amusement is clear on her face as Bellatrix smiles a condescending grin.
“Looking for me, Muddy? At a fetish club?” There’s no shame in her question, only the expectation of an explanation from Hermione. Professor Black plays no games, and knows that there’s no way back from this just because Hermione has found her here. All Bellatrix has to do is crook upwards a dark eyebrow before Hermione is suddenly pouring out an explanation.
“The-the other day I had s-some friends look into where you went on, um, on the Hogsmeade weekends, since you’re the only Professor who doesn’t ever chaperone. He just gave me the name of the club, th-that’s it. I did some more research, a-and came here in person twice to ask some people outside about it and everyone said that, that this is a place for...um-” Hermione trieS to keep going, but as she continued speaking, the fire in Bellatrix’s eyes grew and grew until Hermione could feel her knees buckling. Without the strong presence of Bellatrix’s arm, she might’ve collapsed.
“A place for sexual deviants?” Bellatrix offers, her delight never so apparent.
“A place for someone like me.” Hermione dares.
For just a moment, the smile that Bellatrix wore dropped into a sneer, a look of bewilderment and disgust. She quickly regains her composure before spitting out angrily, “What? A little Muddy as a Dominant?” Bellatrix’s voice drops in pitch as she leans forward to place her lips mere centimeters from Hermione’s left ear. “Or are you a submissive, pet? ”
Merlin help her, Hermione can’t help the whimper that escaped her lips. When Bellatrix had become her Professor in her fifth year, it was obvious early on that she enjoyed giving students little demeaning nicknames Hermione wasn’t spared from her bullying. Her Professor had started calling her “pet” that year during one of the many times she’d stay behind to ask questions after class. Hermione had initially brushed it off as another facet of the woman’s Pureblood beliefs along with her sadistic personality, but slowly the nickname had wriggled its way into her subconscious and her dreams. Hearing Professor Black call her by that name, the one usually full of disdain and mockery, in such a husky tone made her stomach lurch with lust.
A puff of breath sounds off and Hermione realizes that her Professor has turned her head to the side in apparent disgust. Immediately Hermione’s hopes fall through her feet and she grows incredibly red with embarrassment. She shuffles there awkwardly for a moment before trying to speak, when she was cut off again.
“I called it,” comes the gruff reply from her Professor. A moment passes before Bellatrix takes her arm off of Hermione’s sternum and takes a single step back so that she could stare triumphantly at the young witch. Hermione is practically gaping like a fish.
“What? What is that supposed to mean?” Hermione questions quickly, not remembering to hold her tongue around this woman.
Bellatrix cocks her head to the left as she playfully points her warped wand directly at Hermione’s chest. “Do you think I never noticed you leer at me? I notice everyone who does; all of the Weasel men, poor itty-bitty baby Potter, and even you, Granger.” Bellatrix pause:, seemingly just for dramatic effect, before continuing, “You may act somewhat petulant and uncooperative in class, but you look for any excuse to spend more time with me and I’ve caught you daydreaming while staring at me more than once this year. You’re a people pleaser and a teacher’s pet. It’s not hard to put two and two together, when you have the knowledge I have.”
Hermione flushes with embarrassment once she realizes that she’s been caught. She has done those things, multiple times, but she thought that Professor Black just never noticed. Bellatrix continues impatiently before Hermione could dwell on how badly she had fucked up.
“I won’t ask you again. Why were you looking for me?” There’s a twinkle in her eye, a knowing look, that unsettles Hermione as she fumbles for the answer, trying to find the best way to phrase the embarrassing truth.
“I’m looking for you because I have a question for you.”
Bellatrix is immediately displeased with this answer. She slams her palm firmly against the wall behind Hermione, once again getting into the girl’s personal space.
“Spit it out, Muddy, before I lose my patience and I drag you back to Hogwarts myself.” Bellatrix threatens, her angry warm breath billowing over Hermione’s face.
Hermione swallows thickly before beginning, “Please. I-I know I’m just a dumb little brown-noser wh-who is your student, bu-“
“I don’t hear a question.”
I can do this.
So Hermione does the only thing her brain tells her to do. She drops to her knees.
Kneeling, she sits on her haunches and places her hands face down on her thighs. Her back stiffens slightly and she thrusts her heaving chest forward and tilts her head up so she could see the shocked expression that Bellatrix wares. In a timid voice she starts, “Please, Miss. I want to be yours. Your submissive.”
Hermione takes a breath before continuing, “I feel so innately drawn to you. Y-you have this commanding aura that I can’t resist. Whenever you’re near me, I get this tug in my stomach, I-I just want to cave in and sink to my knees and be good for you. I know I've seemed defiant towards you in the past, but it was because I was scared, I didn’t understand the desires I was having. I want to be yours, but I don’t know how to; I want you to teach me how to be yours. Please, Miss.”
Hermione’s earnest honey eyes bore into Bellatrix so deeply that it nearly takes her breath away. The lust and desire is so clearly evident on the girl’s face, and looking deeper, Bellatrix can see the glossy, hopeful submissive look now shining in her eyes.
Never in a million years would Bellatrix expect this from her student, from this student. She never dared dream that big. Sure, she’s been pined after and idolized for her entire tenure at Hogwarts. Sure, some students had the idiocy and balls to even approach her. But never had it been this way. Never had it been someone like her, like this.
Granger had always found a way to get under her skin, and somehow, her heart felt softened towards this young woman. Standing there, Bellatrix can see how the young witch’s pupils are blown and how her chest rises and falls quickly, and damn it all if she doesn’t feel a deep burning start in her loins.
So Bellatrix does the only thing her brain is telling her to do. She goes with it.
Slowly, Bellatrix reaches out her left hand to gently cup Hermione’s flushed cheeks. Bellatrix carefully grazed her thumb across Hermione’s cheeks, feeling the younger girl immediately sink into her touch.
“Prove it.”