Title: Surreal

Disclaimer: I do not own Bellatrix or Hermione

Rating: T to be safe

Genre: Romance/Drama

Summary: Bellatrix knew that this was bizarre and unreal, she knew that this probably wasn't really happening, but it was. Who could have imagined, a mudblood?! Bellatrix/Hermione There is dominance, severe dominance, but it's just not what you think.

Surreal: (Reposted and redone)

Bellatrix's POV

I know how bleeding bizarre and unreal this all was. How the hell, could it be happening? I tell myself that this probably isn't really happening, even though I know in my black heart of hearts that it was. I know for a fact that it's real, given I'm lying right here against the mattress. It is happening whether I like it or not and it makes me want to spill bile all over the floor.

It had started when those worthless Snatcher Death Eaters had brought those three little brats to Malfoy Manor. The three were the Potter bastard, "the boy who has a hard time dying," that worthless idiot blood traitor, the Weasley boy, and that filthy, yet brilliant mudblood, Hermione Granger.

My stomach clenches at so much as thinking of her name. I glare at the walls of the room where I had grown accustomed to being my prison as I think about this.

I had instantly hated the girl, and when my eyes had lain on the sword of Godric Gryffindor, I feared for my great Dark Lord, and yet, the realization that I had an excuse to torture and punish that disgusting girl for ever bearing magic made me feel exhilarated.

It had been easy. At first, anyway. The curses flew out of my mouth as easy as the praises I gave my beloved Dark Lord. The cuts my knife left upon the wretched girl's arm were as beautiful as the most talented artist's strokes of paint against a blank canvas, begging to be covered. There was a dominance in this relationship between us that had left me on a high. I could dominate, torture, break and destroy this girl to my heart's content, and there was nothing anyone could do to save the piece of filth. I had the mudblood completely under my control, watching the girl writhe in pain was entertainment in its purest form. If I had thought that I had felt joy before when that pitiful excuse for a wizard, Dumbledore died, it paled in comparison to when I was torturing the mudblood.

So then how exactly did the tables turn on me? How?

I was one of the strongest and deadliest Death Eaters. All fear me, or rather, used to fear me. Damn that mudblood to hell. They wouldn't fear me now if they saw me…..

Muggles, muggle-borns, half-bloods, even purebloods and by Merlin, even some Death Eaters were afraid of me. So how exactly had this happened? None of it makes any sense. The Granger girl was a filthy mudblood, she was a disgrace to the Witch and Wizarding world just by existing. I hate her kind! I DO hate her filthy kind. And I hate her….or at least tried to.

I had made sure the little muddy knew her place and knew that she was inferior, by doing everything I could to the naïve girl. Pain and agony was all the girl felt for almost weeks. I made myself overpowering of her, of course. I showed myself to the inferior little girl that, as a Death Eater, I was powerful and would prove it by all humiliating and painful ways possible. But time changes everything, doesn't it? It makes people age, it makes things die, even the tallest, mightiest tree, and it even forces people to change their feelings towards one another.

Still, that doesn't give me an answer. It doesn't give me a bloody answer as to where this nightmare began. It still didn't give a vital answer, nor did it explain how I had ended up like this. It didn't explain why I was now the one…

I tried to piece together how it had started. Had to fit all the pieces into the puzzle and try to make sense of when the hell I had become so weak. When had the tables turned?

How had this started? How did I end up being the one under the mudblood's control? How did she break me?

Maybe, it had been when I had finished the last letter carved in the girl's arm. The "D" in the Mudblood. Perhaps it had been when I had finished it and when I was done with the "engraving" that the girl deserved and the mudblood still had had life in her, and actually had the gall to raise her free other hand to my face, placing the palm of her hand against my face, stroking gently.

Perhaps it had started when I had broken out of my bloodlust when I felt the girl's hand against my face and I couldn't stop my damned foolish curiosity as I turned towards the girl's face and away from the carvings that I had put on the mudblood's arm and faced the mudblood myself and heard the astounding thing that the muggle-born had dared said.

Perhaps it was when Hermione had whispered fearlessly, "You poor, pathetic thing. You don't even know what real love is, do you? Your parents have trained you to be a hateful, bloodthirsty, ignorant and bigoted dog your whole life, that they never once really gave you love, did they? Poor, pathetic creature."

Maybe my feelings had started when I admitted to myself that I actually had been impressed by the mudblood's audacity to say those things to someone with a much higher status than her. Perhaps it had been because after Hermione had said it and after I couldn't help but let out a hiss and slapped the girl hard across the face, making the girl's lip bleed, Hermione had just slowly looked back at her and laughed, a tear trickling down the mudblood's cheek. Yes, a mudblood laughed at me. How exactly did that happen?

But the more I think about it, I brought it on myself, didn't I? If I just hadn't let that girl in…if I just hadn't let her know more….this wouldn't have happened. Because the truth is, what I know now is that it truly started when I had foolishly sneered at the Granger girl, "I have love, you stupid piece of filth! I have the Dark Lord! No feeble, normal love could rival that!"

That was it; that had been all it had taken. The mudblood knew about me; knew about my pitiful need for the Dark Lord. If I had just not said anything about it…..this hell might not have claimed me.

It continued, as the infuriating muggle-born had smiled sadly. "He doesn't love you." She had whispered, "He only loves himself."

The shock and pain that I felt at that time when I heard that had been horrendous. That time, instead of slapping the girl, I pulled away from her body, aimed my wand again and snarled, "Crucio!"

And it started like that. It continued; Granger telling me that my Lord was incapable of love and me continually torturing the little idiot. But I now know another truth. The things that the Granger girl said to me, hurt more than I suspected any cruciatus curse had hurt her. And it did. I just wanted the Dark Lord to love me, give me affection, smile at me as if I was the only Death Eater in the world. At least I did at the time.

Merlin damn that filthy girl. If she just had never entered Malfoy Manor…..

I know that that was when I started to break. Day after day, week after week went by and she kept saying that my beloved Dark Lord didn't love me and he never would. She even said something that I found very strange but I understand now.

"He doesn't love you…and even if he did, you deserve better than that creature to love you." I had been startled at that, before kicking her in her ribs and making her go into a fetal position and then had her get thrown into the dungeon with the boys.

It went on more and more. I had long since forgotten about trying to find out how the mudblood and her friends had gotten a hold of the sword and just cared about hurting the little bitch. I wanted her to suffer in ways that not even my Lord would think up. I hated her, I hated her. I hated that she could get under my skin. I hated her for telling me that the Dark Lord didn't love me. I hated that she was right.

One night, when I had the mudblood be brought up to me and Potter and Weasley were restrained so as not to help the bitch, she was thrown at my feet and I immediately started using the cruciatus curse on her, between the curses, she started asking me surprising questions. She started asking me about my life. I wasn't sure how to react to it but I usually just didn't answer her.

Finally, after a few more days passed, I finally found myself answering.

Those days between us became more and more frequent, and Granger spent more time talking to me, despite how much pain I was so sure that she was in, asking questions out of sheer curiosity. I didn't know why, I just couldn't comprehend in my slowly breaking mind, but I started telling her about me.

I had allowed her the opening into my life when I had told her my illusion that the Dark Lord somehow loved me, and Granger had taken advantage from there and invaded my life without me realizing it fully.

When the boys and the goblin escaped, thanks to that miserable house elf,…Dobby, I think the Potter boy called him? After they escaped, I managed to take the mudblood and keep her from escaping as well. Merlin, when I think about it now, I wish that I had just let her escape along with the two of them and be rid of this excruciating position I'm in. If I had just known better and had let Granger go and let her escape with the others, this wouldn't have happened.

Back then though, I was so determined to please my master, that I foolishly kept her as close as possible, knowing that they'd come back to rescue her. I know that that was a big mistake. If I had just let her go or killed her…..

Weeks and more weeks passed and finally, after all that time; her asking if she could come to my room and talk, even after all the torturous curses that I unleashed upon her, and when I stupidly allowed that vermin into my room, each night when I did, I gave her that accursed opening to know more and more about me as she prodded me with questions and soothed me with reassurances of how I deserved better than my husband and better than my Dark Lord.

That, understandably had pushed me over the edge. I had gone into more than enough rages because of her infernal, unwavering questioning. Her bizarre desire to get to know me; but as a result had said things that she shouldn't have, earned her a many of curses and tortures. By the end of her questioning, every dark night that passed, she donned more and more slashes and carvings on her and her body would always be ragged with pain from the cruciatus curse.

It wasn't even about finding out about how she stole the sword of Godric Gryffindor anymore; I just wanted to stop her from telling me that my beloved Dark Lord wasn't worthy of me and that I deserved better and….what was even worse was….I just wanted to stop being afraid of every time she asked me something personal….as if she cared.

I wanted to stop being afraid of her.

I kept telling her, "You know it would be much easier if you'd just stop asking these ridiculous questions." Really, the questions were completely ridiculous. She actually seemed to care about what my childhood was like, what it was like between me, Andy and Cissy when the three of us were children, how bad it was growing up with parents like Cygnus and Druella Black, and other uncomfortable things to discuss.

I gave her more warnings that her abuse would continue if she didn't stop asking me these things. She shocked me once again as she threw her head back and laughed as if the thought of torture was nothing to her.

I demanded to know why she laughed and she just smiled and said, "So what's new?"

During all the torture, we talked more and more.

The mudblood once asked me, "Why do you let him in control of you?"

That, understandably had left me confused. What did she mean? Who did she mean I let control me? Did she mean my Lord? If so, she wouldn't get any reaction from me. He was my Lord and nothing less.

At seeing my confusion, she supplied, "I mean your father, Cygnus Black. Why do you keep letting his tyrannical, prejudice, brainwashed ways still control you?" She stared at me with unyielding dark brown eyes, so strong willed as she spoke, "Stop letting him dominate your life, Bellatrix. He's dead and he shouldn't be controlling you anymore."

I had been astounded at that. So astounded that instead of torturing her like she deserved, I just slapped her across the face again, making sure that my long fingernails dug hard into her cheek. This didn't do any more than it usually did. She just turned her head back to me slowly and smirked playfully.

I snapped at her at that look, "Don't you dare look at me, mudblood! You are a being lower than an animal! You and all the other mudbloods and half-bloods!"

Hermione seemed unable to take a warning as she continued to try to spurn me, "Half-bloods are low-lives, huh?" She giggled, in a strange, unnerving manner, "Did you know that your dear Dark Lord is a Half-blood himself? His father was just a muggle. Sorry to disappoint you, Bella."

I believe after she had the impudence to say that, I grabbed her by her hair, unwilling to listen to the bitch's lies, and pulled her hair, almost hoisting her off of the ground and threw her to the floor in a violent rage. I'm almost sure I heard a cracking noise when Granger landed on the floor, and I had a feeling that it wasn't from the wooden floor boards.

But still, the insane, yet courageous mudblood Gryffindor wouldn't stop. She rolled over, smirking up at me as her lip bled. She laughed, "Face it, Bella. He's just a half-blood that's obsessed with pureblooded witches and wizards because he's ashamed. He's a disgrace because he can't even be proud of who he is….he's a coward, Bella, and you're not. He is unworthy of you, because you're proud of who you are, and he is humiliated."

I don't really remember how many times I used the cruciatus curse on her. I don't remember. All I know is that I watched her body writhe and writhe on the ground again and again, like a puppet constantly having her strings pulled by a murderous puppeteer.

When I was done, I sent another vicious kick to her stomach and I looked away as she rolled herself up in pain, to protect herself. I walked out of the room. I couldn't hear these lies anymore and I realized that she wouldn't stop mocking my Lord.

So the question now becomes; why didn't I kill her? I certainly had all the opportunities in the world, after all. And I had every reason to, given the way she was talking to me and what was more, the way she was talking about my Lord.

And further words that she said later on still haunt me, "And you're as weak as your Lord is for bending to your father's will and doing everything he told you to, all the time, even after his death. Even though he's just a ghost now, you still allow his reign over you to remain."

When I had turned to her to use the cruciatus curse on her twenty more times, when I heard her say that foolish statement, before she interrupted me, "Isn't it sad, though? You hate and mistreat your niece, Nymphadora Tonks because she's a half-blood and yet she'd probably be welcomed right in as a Death Eater by Voldemort, because he'd feel sorry for her, because he too is a half-blood. Her own aunt would forsake her, yet the darkest wizard in the world would accept her because he was a half-blood as well as she is. After all, why do you think he accepted Snape into his fold?"

"Silence!" I had spat, raising my wand threateningly. The Mudblood just smirked and continued, "It's because, Bellatrix, Snape is a Half-blood, just like Voldemort. It's sad, isn't it? You hate your own niece for being a half-blood, and yet Voldemort of all wizards would welcome her with open arms if she came to join him because they have blood in common."

After that, after hearing those words that made so much sense in theory, and as a result infuriated me so much, the spells from my wand flew where they would. Hermione had been screaming for days.

And yet, it still didn't stop. She still didn't steer her arguments, or stop that haughty laugh and those remarks that started making me think about my life. It didn't stop her from being caring for me when I was injured from a battle when I'd leave her at the Manor. All the tortures didn't stop her from coming into my room and stroking my hair or holding my hand while I was having my nightmares of my mother and father's abuse towards me and my sisters.

It went on, back and forth, back and forth. Me insulting her, her giving a strange answer that took me aback more than I wanted to think about, and I would torture her seventeen times or so more, and then she would keep looking after me whenever I was injured or had a nightmare.

No matter how bizarre it was, I kept a cold façade up, calling her inferior, more inferior than a filthy half-blood. And again, it seemed as if I had walked into yet another one of the girl's traps when it came to trying to make me see that my Lord was wrong.

"You know, Bellatrix," She said dryly after hearing me say that, "It probably is a good thing that you see half-bloods as at least a little better than muggle-borns, since the man you want to sleep with so much is actually a filthy half-blood himself as I've said many times."

And this would earn her more tortures. I can't begin to tell you how many times I cut her across her back with my knife and then whipped her. And that still did nothing. She was still as sarcastic and strong willed as ever.

After her back had been all bloodied and cut, I had snapped at her, "You know, I could easily kill you. I've had at least a million opportunities to kill you since I caught your miserable skin."

"Well that's a good point," She grunted out painfully, "You could have killed me a long time ago," She had stared up at me with those dark brown eyes that seemed to be as deep as the ocean as she questioned me, "So why haven't you yet? Is it really because it's more fun to see me break? Or information? Are either of those the real reasons why you haven't killed me yet?"

As she bled, staring up at me, I just found myself unable to come up with any retort. Nothing. That fucking mudblood had left me speechless so many times; I had every reason to kill her, especially after that. Even then, I realized that she was affecting me in a way that I was starting to become afraid of.

Instead of giving her the killing blow that she so deserved, I just turned and walked away, leaving her to bleed.

Later on that night, as I had thrashed around from the nightmare of my father using the cruciatus curse on Cissy and forcing me to watch, I had woken up from hearing Hermione come into my room and she sat down next to me, stroking my hair in reassurance, blood still soaking through the back of her shirt.

Finally, when the war came to an end, and my poor Dark Lord's demise occurred at the hands of that filthy half-blood, Potter boy, and all the other Death Eaters were either killed or captured and thrown into Azkaban, Hermione stood by me and spoke for me at my trial, offering to try and "rehabilitate me," as she put it.

Naturally, I thought that she had finally lost it. When she stood on that stand and looked up fiercely at Cornelius Fudge, the disgusting traitor, who oh so willingly left our Lord's side to save himself, and when she looked at him and spoke to him so as to save me, I truly believed that my tortures had driven Hermione mad at last.

And of course, everyone else had thought the same thing. All of them believed that Hermione was suffering from psychological trauma due to her time in my "care," that was making me control her.

Potter even made the suggestion that Hermione protecting me was a case of what was called in the Muggle world, "Stockholm Syndrome." Apparently, that was when the captive of someone else formed a bond with their captor and sympathized with them to the point that they'd die for them and were submissive to them.

When I heard that, I felt like laughing bitterly. Oh, he was right about the first part and completely dead wrong about the second. I realized during the battle at Hogwarts, after Hermione was rescued from the Malfoy Manor and joined in the fight against my Lord that she wasn't willing to put my life at risk, so yes, he was right that she would die for me, but Potter was wrong about Hermione being submissive to me.

Oh no, just the opposite. The "submissive" part of this….well, "Stockholm Syndrome" that Potter spoke of, did not seem to have affected Hermione. I was the one that suffered from that part of the condition, not her.

Hermione was not the one of the two of us who was submissive, not at all. The fact that now, even as I think about those turn of events, while allowing Hermione to pin me to the bed, allowing her to remove my clothes is proof enough of just how wrong he was.

There are so many times now, that I just wish that I had killed her when I had the chance. Anything to stop me from being this weak.

Anything to stop me from being in love.

Anything at all to stop me from allowing Hermione's much weaker arms to pin my hands above my head and allowing her lips to kiss my throat again and again.

How did this happen? I can recall every single incident that occurred after first meeting Hermione at the Department of Mysteries and later at Malfoy Manor, and I've gone over it in my head repetitively without end, but there's no explanation.

I'm completely submissive now to Hermione. Not like she hasn't given me basically everything.

Even now as she's moving above me, bringing one of her hands to my breasts, cupping one of them and stroking the pad of her thumb against my clothed nipple, making me jump a little as a strike of heat hits me between my legs, she leans close and asks me gently, without any mirth, "Do you want me to stop, Bella? You know I will if you really want me to."

I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear this. Oh yes, I know very well that Hermione will stop as soon as I beg her to. Even if she is forceful in her sex, she never actually forces me into anything. The moment I tell her to stop, she stops. Rodolphus, my so called husband, never did that. Not that I'd ever beg him, but whenever I told him to stop, he'd just keep thrusting without consent. Hermione has always been different. Considerate, kind, easily amused, playful…ever since I first met her and started torturing her.

Merlin, I realize how morbid that sounds, but it's true.

"Well?" I hear whisper again in question.

No. Fuck my life, I don't want her to stop. I want her to torture me sexually until I pass out, but this is so wrong. Who's the pureblood here?! She's just a mudblood and yet she has complete control of me. If she wants to, she can bury her fingers in me for hours and I'd just scream away not ever wanting her to stop.

I am the greatest Death Eater that ever lived….or was, once again, but I've been changed. But how? How did I become so submissive? I no longer have any control.

"No," I admit, closing my eyes and burying my head against the mattress, "I don't want you to stop." I was trying to block everything out and pretend that I wasn't enjoying every moment of it. It was not working.

I feel the movement of Hermione nodding above me, and I feel her leaning down more, kissing along my shoulders and neck some more. I feel the hand that's not pinning my arms move down to my underwear, slowly removing them. I feel her fingers on the inside of my right thigh, coming dangerously close to my sex for what must be the millionth time. How many times have I let this bitch of a mudblood use those fingers and her tongue to drive me to the edge of what tiny shreds of sanity I have left and then throw me over the edge? Many times, I can tell you.

The tables have turned. I had kept Hermione prisoner for almost a year, and yet nothing had made her break. Instead, she had broken me. I had spent almost two decades in that hell hole of a cell at Azkaban, but nothing had broken me like this mudblood had.

Nothing could have prepared me for how stupid I was; not slitting the mudblood's throat as soon as she landed in my hands so that I'd save myself from being ensnared by her. Now there's nothing I can do. It's too late. I'm broken; I can't sum up any will to kill Granger, or even Potter, even if it's to avenge my Lord.

I'm more than sure that all the families of those that I've tortured to insanity are sitting back and laughing now, aren't they? For all those that I've broken and left hopeless, here I am, weakened, broken, submissive.

All because of this one mudblood's kindness and love.

And here I am, spent, exhausted, satiated. I don't have any strength left. Each orgasm that Hermione has given me, not giving me a moment to recover from the pleasure, taking more and more out of me. Here I am, completely undignified as I'm helplessly resting my head against her breasts, panting, and she strokes the back of my neck gently.

It was pointless to wonder now, wasn't it? It had happened and there was no turning back.

But the question still, was how? I was the most feared Death Eater known to the witch and wizarding world and Hermione Granger was a mudblood. I was nearing forty-nine, this mudblood was just a girl. I know now that she's just turning nineteen this coming September, in only three months.

Funny how I'm actually thinking about giving her something as a present. What, has she rubbed off on me, or something? Hermione brings me gifts all the time, even when it's not my birthday. Flowers, books, dark, unnerving looking jewelry, in the shape of skulls or snakes that I'd earlier had taken interest in. She'd roll her eyes when she saw me looking at those but would get them for me anyway. When I gave her an astounded look at buying me them, she'd say that she liked seeing me happy.

The more we've had sex, and the more I saw how surprisingly dominant the little mudblood was, the more my mind drifted to other possible things that she could get me, involving our sex life.

Hermione was appalled when I suggested that she cuff me to her bed, but pressure finally made her cave. We tested my present just last night. They were…very enjoyable. And again, Hermione didn't force me into anything. This was my fault as well as hers. I was consensual in everything. Hermione made it clear long ago when this first started that she would stop whenever I wanted her to and that she'd never do anything without my consent. She didn't force me to wear those chain cuffs last night, I wanted her to put them on me. No one forced me to have my arms pinned above my head and have Hermione finger-fuck me to near unconsciousness, like she did tonight. I allowed her to do everything. In fact, I wanted her to do everything and anything.

But it was times like tonight when I had to be very grateful for my decision to allow her to look after me, given during tonight I had a horrific dream of being locked in Azkaban again. The nightmare was as agonizing as it always was. The sorrow and hopelessness that took me almost every night, along with the nightmares of seeing my father, Cygnus torture my sisters in front of me was unbearable. But even as I dreamt of the Dementors draining my joy, the rats biting at my legs, and the cold darkness of the cell I had been locked in for fourteen years, I had felt Hermione hold me and rock back and forth with me in her arms protectively, whispering that she was right there for me and would never leave.

As if I hadn't sunk low enough or felt humiliated enough. Not but three minutes ago, after I had woken up from that accursed nightmare, I had ended up sobbing into Hermione's breasts, shaking as the sobs wracked my form.

Hermione just would do what she had always done whenever I had had my nightmares at Malfoy Manor: stroke my hair, whisper sweet nothings into my ear, hold me, rock me back and forth, telling me that everything was going to be alright; everything she had always done for me before.

She actually looked down at me as I recovered and as I snapped at her, completely disturbed by my weakness, "I don't need your pity! I spent fourteen years in Azkaban, I don't need someone comforting me when I'm just having nightmares."

Hermione's smile remained as she said, stroking her fingers against my cheek, "You know just as well as I do that there's no pity in our relationship. And you don't need to suffer those memories alone. I'll bear the pain with you, Bella, just like I always have."

And there it was. Not just a declaration of her loyalty to me, but proof that she had endured all of the pain I had put her through at Malfoy Manor, and she believed that the outcome was truly worth it all. What a strange and I suspect possibly unhinged witch Hermione Granger is. Though, it's not really like I'm one to talk about being unhinged.

And she had bore the pain with me. Every time I had had a nightmare back at the Manor, she had comforted me like she had done tonight. It would be no different in the future.

I have bite marks along my arms and legs from the rats in Azkaban biting me. Hermione has never shied away from me because of those. If anything, she leans down and kisses each bite mark lovingly, as if trying to make them heal and go away.

When she does that, I realize that I want to make her wounds heal as well, figuratively speaking. When that urge hits, I roll up the sleeve of her left arm and look at the scar that I gave her long ago, leaning down and kissing each cut of each letter that I had sliced into her arm.

I hate her for making me love her, but it's impossible for me not to. She's willing to give me everything. She has become a rock for me. She's held me always when I have nightmares, soothed my pain, made love to me selflessly when everyone else that I've ever been with takes selfishly. And even more importantly, she taught me to love myself, and not let my father control me any longer.

I no longer fear his shadow over me or fear that he'll come out of the shadows and threaten to use the cruciatus curse on Andy or Cissy if I don't do what he says anymore. I still have nightmares about what he used to do to them as children unless I obeyed him, but I'm no longer cowering from the very memory of Cygnus and Druella Black.

And as I am ready to meet again with Andy and Cissy, one of the many times Hermione has forced me to meet with them, to reconcile with Andy and to remain close with both of them, I realize, though I'm captive in Hermione's grasp, I am free and I have never been more free in my whole life.

I realize this as Hermione is cradling me, and I slowly look up at her, whispering, "Thank you."

I can tell that hearing this is a shock for her, as I watch her eyes widen and her lower jaw drop a little. As she recovered, her smile widened and she pulled me up so that my back was now pressed against her chest as she wrapped her arms around me from behind, nuzzling into my hair.

She whispered into my ear, "You're welcome, Bella. And I love you, so much. Now get some sleep, there's going to be a big day tomorrow, seeing Andromeda and Narcissa."

I had tortured her and tortured her, and in the end, the tables had turned. I was hers now, completely and utterly and I've come to realize that I'm very happy with that.

After all, isn't there a muggle saying…, what is it? "You attract bees with honey and not vinegar?" I think. Or is it flies, instead of bees? I don't know, I'll ask Hermione tomorrow. In any case, it's easier as I found, to tame someone with kindness than with abuse.

The point is that, I always wondered how someone of inferior blood status tamed me, but I know now. That's how Hermione broke me. With her kindness.

Author's Note:

Okay, whether you find this fic cheesy or find the characters OOC, constructive criticism is more appreciated (and tolerated) than flames.

And as mentioned, the very possible OOCness is because I wanted a complete change from the usual Hermione being submissive to Bellatrix. Whether or not it worked out in my fic, is another story.