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My first Harry Potter fic, and my first entry to Porn Battle 11. In Deathly Hallows, Pt. 1, Hermione Granger is tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. I simply extended it into a non-con scene. Please skip this, if that’s not your cup of Earl Grey. Prompt was: “Bellatrix Lestrange/Hermione Granger, scream, crucio, bondage, pinned.”

The dim light was her only comfort, as her body wracked with pain. Her screams echoed in the manor, and Bellatrix chuckled softly in her ear, her voice an eerie singsong. “Aww… pretty, bitty, missy Hermione. Don’t you like that, little birdie?”

Hermione ground out her snarl of displeasure, even as one side of her face was pressed hard against the floor. The snarl shifted up an octave as Bellatrix used her wand to slice open Hermione’s clothing. She squirmed in protest of the removal of her vestments, earning another “Crucio” jab for the effort. Hermione screamed out her pain and frustration; she was also furious with herself for not having thought of a counteroffensive, even having known that they would cross paths with the Death Eaters again.

“Let me go, you bitch!” she panted, when the wave of pain finally receded.

This earned her a more direct slap in the face, on the side that wasn’t pinned to the floor. “Ah-ah-ah!” the evil witch reproved. “It’s not nice to speak to your elders that way.” A manic giggle followed. “Pretty bitty girl. I’ve been wanting a taste of you for sometime now. Don’t mind a bit of scrapple for tha’ apple.” Bellatrix’s expression darkened. “You’re just a mudblood, anyway. Whore. Thief.”

Ropes suddenly snaked around Hermione’s wrists, binding her arms tight underneath her. Bellatrix then placed her wand between Hermione’s thighs, and ripples of sensation began to emanate from the wandtip. “Tell me, how’d you steal the sword?!” Hermione choked back a sob, as Bellatrix roared, “TELL ME!”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Hermione cried, her chin trembling in the prelude to tears.

“LIAR!” The sensation of the wand noticeably altered, imitating a harsh intrusion of her core. Hermione felt like she was being penetrated now, far too roughly by an object far too large for her to accommodate so quickly. She never thought anything like this could be so painful; it hurt terribly, worse than even the cruciatus curse, to her reckoning. And so very, very intimate a pain.

Bellatrix stroked her blonde curls with a spidery hand. “Aww… tell me, kitten. Tell me whatever you know, and I promise I’ll take the pain away.”

Hermione wept. There was no choice in the matter, but it was betrayal of the two young men she cared for. “Harry found it, in a frozen lake. Ron helped him retrieve it. I don’t know how it got there, I swear! None of us know!” A strangled sob. “Please, make it stop!”

“Good girlie, little mudblood,” Bellatrix cooed, and the sensation subsided, as the witch had promised. Bellatrix grasped Hermione’s chin with her free hand, holding the girl immobile as the witch pressed her lips hard against Hermione’s.

Bellatrix thrust her tongue into Hermione’s mouth, as if to claim ownership. Hermione’s whimper was muffled in the rough, demanding kiss (as if it could even be called a “kiss”!). The feeling of being penetrated however, had not wavered. Instead it increased again, finally wresting an unwanted orgasm from her with a force that was completely alien to the young woman.

Shame colored Hermione’s face, and she embraced the black, blessed unconsciousness that came to her.

* * *

Her eyes opened moments later, the sound of Bellatrix screaming at someone else in her ears. She was dizzy and tired. Her arm burned. Her eyes tried to fixate on anything, to no avail. Then she was yanked to her feet, braced in Bellatrix’s arms and a wand at her throat. “Drop your wands! I said drop ’em!”

Hermione felt the sting of tears pricking her eyes, as unconsciousness had been far more desirable than this. There was only relief when the chandelier crashed to the floor and she tumbled into Ron’s arms. She clung to him for dear life, savoring the comfortable warmth of him, even long after having apparated to safety.

She was held by him now, sand underneath her, and she made a silent vow to herself. Never again would she let anyone have the chance to take what she would only give freely to him. Never.


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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.