AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello, readers.

This fanfiction has been long-awaited.

It's been about 6 months, I think, since bellamione-trash uploaded Healer AU fan art and together we started making a child. That's exactly what this fanfiction is, mine and Trashy's child. With her art and my mediocre writing, we've managed to pop out this.

It is fast moving and description isn't my strong point, but it's what the fans wanted (I hope).

I'm not going to pin time frames on part two, because we all know I suck, but if Trashy makes more art then I'll make more fic… because I need inspirATION, GODDAMMIT!

I'm hoping to make this fic about 30k words long, split into three parts. It was never meant to be long, and originally was going to be a 10k word one shot, but it has evolved.

Anyway, I won't ramble much longer. Here it is. Enjoy it, and please let me know what you think in the comments.

Thank you for your patience and happy reading!

-types

THE HEALER: PART ONE

"A healer's power stems not from any special ability,

but from maintaining the courage and awareness

to embody and express the universal healing power

that every human being naturally possesses."

Hermione hunched over her desk, nothing but the lamp she had on next to her to illuminate the journal she had open.

She'd never come across anything quite like what she'd come across today.

After a mere two years of experience – having been through a war, being a renowned successful healer and everyone's preference for advanced procedures – Hermione thought she'd seen it all. However, nothing prepared her for the insanity she had been met with in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes.

She put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, supporting herself out of fatigue.

Insanity, but also… vulnerability.

The brunette slammed the journal shut when she concluded that nothing in it would be of any help, moving over to her Pensieve which was positioned in a cabinet in a corner in her study.

She used her wand to light the area as she opened the cabinet and the Pensieve slowly drifted forwards so that it was accessible.

Its surface glowed, rippling in her presence, and she pressed the tip of her wand to her temple. Removing the memory from her head, she immediately placed it in the Pensieve.

Hermione cast a dark shadow over her Pensieve as she lowered her face into it.

"Miss Granger, lovely to meet you, welcome to St. Mungo's. I presume you've been here before?" the tall lanky man at the front desk, obviously a new addition over the past year, gave a small bow out of pure manners before he handed Hermione a folder.

"Once or twice. Who is my patient?" the Gryffindor cut to the chase immediately; she loathed mixing small talk and business.

He pointed to the folder. "All the information is in there."

She was wearing her deep ivy green healer robes, not at all like the lighter green ones the man before her was wearing. He was obviously someone very low down in the hierarchy, from the way he talked to her, the way he stood, the fact that he didn't bother introducing himself; he was someone who admired her.

Then again, who didn't these days? Hermione Granger, the famous healer. The girl never thought her life might end up like this.

"Follow me," he gestured towards the hallway which lead to the Prisoners of War, particularly the dangerous ones, as Hermione followed on behind.

Her black leather boots tapped on the floors as they went, her white shirt tucked into dark trousers. There was a tie around her neck, black and red to honour her original Hogwarts House, her robe billowing out behind her as she flicked through the folder and glanced at her new patient's file.

"Excuse me?" she said, halting her tour guide by placing a hand lightly on his arm.

He looked to her worriedly, as if he might have done something wrong personally. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I was told I would be seeing a male patient," Hermione began, holding up the folder's first page for him to see. "This is a female patient."

The name across the top of the page read, 'Lestrange (née Black), Bellatrix.'

"Madame Lestrange has always been down as your patient, from the moment you agreed to join us," the man seemed flustered as he hurried on to ask, "Who told you you were having a male patient?"

"The Chief Healer," Hermione referred to her old friend with narrowed eyes.

"I advise you talk to her then, since I can't really be of much help. Will you still treat Madame Lestrange?"

Hermione gritted her teeth, slowly nodding. She'd come far in her career considering she had barely crested twenty years of age and was reluctant to back down now because of such a low-life, evil woman.

"Of course, I will," she almost sounded indignant as she spoke, "who do you think I am?"

The man nodded his head once. "Of course, my apologies. Right this way."

Walking through the corridor, lined with doors to cells holding Prisoners of War, Hermione felt a familiar cold settle over her. She had been asked upon applying for the Arch's School of Healing during her third Hogwarts year if she would have a problem with treating criminals. She had said that she may never be comfortable with it, but that everyone deserved medical care when it came down to it.

Now, however, as she came face to face with the guard positioned outside Bellatrix's door, she was thinking of reevaluating.

The guard opened the door for them, turning to face the entrance as he allowed room for them to enter.

"Thank you," Hermione gave him a nod.

The tall woman nodded back, her blonde hair swept up into a neat bun, dark robes making her almost blend with the steel grey of the door.

Hermione and her tour guide entered a room, the walls made of stone, two more guards stood in each of the far corners. Then, in the middle of the back wall slumped in heavy shackles was the defeated form of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her hair had fallen over her fallen face, her arms spread either side of her by the shackles, and her robes were dirty and ripped. She rolled her head up painfully to glance at her visitor, barely having the energy to crack a smirk before she dropped her head again, unable to hold her own weight.

Hermione gasped at the sight before her. Never had she expected to see Bellatrix so vulnerable. The desperation in the older woman's eyes was almost scarier than the usual crazed look they reflected.

Without a second thought, Hermione drew her wand and waved it at the shackles. With a screech, they each fell away from the wall and Hermione was there to catch Bellatrix as her fragile form collapsed to the floor.

"You kept her locked up here like an animal? Look at her, she's barely breathing!" she yelled at her tour guide.

The raven-haired woman in Hermione's arms coughed as she tried to lift herself up, only to fail and fall back in her lap. Blood oozed from where the shackles had cut into her wrists and neck, and her face was coloured with bruises and cuts.

"Miss Granger," her guide said shakily, "it is against the orders of the Ministry to release Madame Lestrange from her shackles."

"I don't care!" Hermione hissed up at him, still cradling Bellatrix. "I have a duty to my patients, to treat them like human beings, to heal them, and this won't do. If you do not like the way I work, then find someone else!"

The tall lanky man's eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. "No one else will take her, Miss."

Hermione looked down at Bellatrix again and for a moment, their eyes met and Hermione came face-to-face with the all too familiar deranged look that glistened in the Slytherin's eyes.

She looked up to her guide, jaw set. "Then you better hand me my equipment so that I can diagnose her."

Hermione lifted her head from the Pensieve, reality hitting her like a slap in the face, but she found the warm familiarity of her office comforting after putting herself back in such an environment.

Peace, however, wouldn't last for long. The Gryffindor placed the memory in a vial, labelling it, before she pulled another memory from her temple and placed it in the Pensieve.

She watched it for a moment. Going over her trickier patients was good practice and she had managed to purchase a Pensieve after the Ministry had rewarded her, Harry and Ron so heavily for their involvement in the War.

Having moved to a different school, Hermione had been far away from her two friends, but that hadn't stopped her from aiding them in their search for Horcruxes anymore than it had stopped her from treating injured members of the Order and other friendlies.

The memory in the bowl before her ended her train of thought abruptly and, with a shaky breath, Hermione lowered her head back into the Pensieve.

"Why did you let me go?"

It was the first time Bellatrix had said a word to her. Hermione had calmly explained upon sitting the dark witch on a stool that if she tried anything then she would refuse to treat her, therefore leaving her to die in the hands of the "inept members of staff at St Mungo's"— which unsurprisingly evoked a snort of laughter. Hermione found that Bellatrix co-operated, although whether that was because she wanted to or because she was just too weak to do anything else, the Gryffindor couldn't be sure.

She talked Bellatrix through every examination she did, starting with the cuts on her wrists from the shackles, then with the one around her neck. After Hermione had announced that they should all heal just fine with the correct spell, which she would perform in a moment, Bellatrix had spoken.

"Because you were dying, despite the fact that you are already supposed to be dead. Mind telling me about that?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking at the bruises and dried blood on Bella's face. "I'm just going to make sure nothing's broken. Hold still."

Bellatrix didn't even wince as Hermione prodded at her bruises, but she continued to speak, her voice clear and even. "That's not any of your business."

"Actually," Hermione squinted at a particular bruise, muttering something to herself about a healing potion, before continuing, "it is. If you have in some way come back from the dead or recovered from being fatally injured then I need to know, since every encounter you've had in the past that could have put you under any emotional or physical duress could be a deeper cause for your frankly appalling physical and mental state."

Bellatrix laughed, eyes travelling to the side where the shackles used to hang. "I was only subjected to a fourteen year sentence in Azkaban, I don't know what could possibly have driven me over the edge… Healer."

She added the last part mockingly, her eyes flickering back to meet Hermione's lazily as she spoke.

"Obviously, but it's no secret that you were mad before being locked in the madhouse, so I'm going to say you're an abuse victim," Hermione turned to her bag and tapped it with her wand. It grew into a cabinet which contained all sorts of potions and Hermione picked one from a green and red vial. "You show the classic signs, you know."

"Oh, do I?"

"The insecurity that's masked with confidence, the superiority act—"

"That's not an act."

"I think you're scared," Hermione said.

"I think you're wrong," Bellatrix sassed.

"Am I?" Hermione paused, turning to look at the Slytherin as she held the vial in her hands.

There was no reply, Bella's eyes only dropped to the potion suspiciously. "What's that?"

"This," Hermione held it out to her patient, "is a healing potion. It'll help with the pain, help speed up the process of healing for those bruises. You should feel a lot better in a few hours after taking that. Now, how does the rest of your body feel?"

"My right leg hurts, my back aches, but that's just normal after six adult males twice the size of you beat you within an inch of your life," Bellatrix shot one of the guards a shitty look.

Hermione turned to him and, obviously seeing the rage in her eyes, he hurried to explain. "She put twelve of our men in the hospital before we could pin her down, Miss."

Hermione's eyes went back to Bellatrix and her eyebrows raised.

Bellatrix didn't say a word, she just took the potion from Hermione's hands and drank it. It tasted foul, but her face remained blank as she swallowed the liquid and held the bottle back out for Hermione to take.

The brunette took the bottle, placing it on the table next to them and turning back to the witch before her. "You seem to be moving okay, so I don't think your legs or back is broken, but I'll keep an eye on it. I'm ordering they bring you a bed and regular meals. Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone. As I said, if you harm anyone, I'll refuse to treat you and then you'll die here. It's your choice."

"I'm not stupid," Bellatrix muttered.

"Perhaps not," the Gryffindor taunted.

The dark witch raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips.

Hermione lifted her head from the Pensieve for the second time that night, sighing.

She didn't anticipate treating Bellatrix's physical wounds taking more than a couple of weeks, but it really depended on how the witch had managed to piece herself back together after Molly Weasley had obliterated her.

She also had a duty to tend to any patient's mental health if their injuries were a result of the war. She didn't quite know what category Bellatrix's injuries fell into, but she felt obliged to at least try to stabilise her.

Hermione wasn't sure what would become of Bellatrix after her treatment. They would likely interrogate her. Hermione believed it to be pointless, treating Prisoners of War only to torture them afterwards. Although, she had stabilised prisoners before to an extent that they were set free after a trial… but did Bellatrix deserve that second chance?

Now, three days after their first meeting, Hermione had managed to stabilise Bellatrix enough to go home. She thought everything would be perfectly fine, but the following morning, she came to realise that her faith had been misplaced.

Bellatrix was lying in a pool of her own blood when Hermione walked into her cell, the guards just standing at the sides engaging in normal conversation with each other as if their prisoner wasn't bleeding to death.

Hermione all but hissed at them and they glanced at her worriedly as the brunette dropped to her knees by Bella's body on the floor.

"I left for one night! What happened?" she demanded as she started using healing spells to reverse the effects of whatever wound Bellatrix had.

"She attacked us!"

"Yeah, tried to hit us! It was self defence!"

"Lies," Bellatrix croaked as she started to regain consciousness.

The guards looked to each other, then disregarded Bellatrix with a hand wave and a laugh.

Hermione ignored them and, once she'd managed to stabilise Bellatrix enough that she could open her eyes, came to realise that the dark witch had managed to sever her popliteal artery. Only, such a cut could only have been made by a knife sharp enough to get that deep and it wasn't in much of an accessible position.

Suddenly, the guards' story seemed very unlikely. If this had been self defence, the likelihood of the wound being below the waist was minimal. The guards were trained in duelling, not hand to hand combat. They wouldn't have known what to do without having some time to think about their move, which they wouldn't have had a chance to do if Bellatrix had really gone for them.

The Slytherin winced as Hermione hauled her onto her bed and turned her onto her side so she could get a better look at the wound. She cast a spell which would temporarily stop the bleeding and took a look.

Cautiously, she poked at it, only for Bellatrix to cry out.

"Merlin, mudblood! Don't you think you could give me something for the pain first?!"

"If you truly attacked them," Hermione didn't look up at the dark witch's face as she spoke and continued to poke at the wound to determine the best course of action, trying to ignore the blood purist's slur, "then you deserve it."

"They were taunting me, calling me names, trying to get a rise out of me," Bellatrix spat through gritted teeth as she began to shake, the pain making her vision cloud at the edges, "and all I did was shout back once. I did tell you I wasn't stupid. They came after me. They held me down…"

Hermione went to her case and rummaged around for a potion, and she used a pipet to extract a few drops from the bottle. The liquid was brown and thick and it smelt absolutely disgusting, but Hermione just leaned over Bellatrix and tilted her chin up.

"Lift up your tongue."

Bellatrix did as she was told and Hermione dropped three drops under the woman's tongue.

Immediately, Bellatrix began to relax and her eyelids drooped.

"Leave now," the brunette ordered the guards before she began to stitch up the wound, hoping it wouldn't get infected. "What did they say to you?" she asked after they'd left.

"Does it matter?" Bellatrix was clearly trying to sound intimidating but the effect of the potion was weighing heavily on her usual facade.

"Of course it does, Bellatrix," Hermione said nicely, threading a needle through her patient's flesh and carefully pulling the open wound together again, "because whatever they said obviously hurt you, and I'm here to make you better."

There was a quiet pause, but Hermione could practically hear Bellatrix overthinking, debating whether or not to open up.

"They called me Voldemort's whore, a batshit bitch, among other things… and I called them filthy traitors and then they both stunned me before holding me down and cutting the back of my knee. They told me I wouldn't be able to run back to the Dark Lord like that, then reminded me that he was dead anyway. So childish…" Bella explained carefully, but then her teeth gritted again, "and for them to insult my Lord!"

"Bellatrix, calm down," Hermione demanded. She had to admit, the whole ordeal was incredibly childish, and out of order. The guards shouldn't have said a word to Bellatrix. Prisoners of War were often fragile of mind and it was good practice not to send them on a spiral if they wanted the answers they wanted out of them.

The older woman relaxed, but clenched her jaw as she glanced back at the door.

The silence that followed was a lot like the silences between the two witches usually were: awkward and tense. There was a little Hermione could do to ease it, so she'd stopped trying, instead just attempting to engage her patient in what was definitely unwanted conversation.

"Tell me something about you," she said and, unsurprisingly, Bellatrix scoffed in reply. Hermione continued to probe.

"No, really," she glanced up at Bellatrix's face as she continued the stitch, "tell me something no one knows about you."

Bellatrix looked almost humorous when she replied. "Are you completely thick? There are reasons no one knows certain things about me."

"Nothing like that, I'm not a war spy, I'm a healer. All the information you disclose to me stays between us unless I believe you or another person may be in immediate danger."

Bellatrix watched Hermione carefully as the brunette concentrated on her current operation. She chewed on the inside of her lip, the dark witch noticed, when she was concentrating particularly hard. However, no amount of concentration could ever make Bellatrix consider actually opening up to her healer.

"Are you ready to tell me about your near-death experience yet?" the brunette asked as she began to finish off the stitches.

"Which one?" Bella chuckled.

"I'm being serious, Lestrange," the healer said harshly, but only received a sigh in return, followed by silence.

Bellatrix watched as Hermione closed the stitch and waved her wand over it as a final measure, securing it, and she tilted her head to one side as she looked at the Gryffindor, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

"What?" the young witch blinked.

"Just you, you and your… eagerness. It's amusing to watch anyone's attempts when they're in the vain, but yours are especially entertaining. It's fun. Come on, mudblood, psychoanalyse me. Make my day," Bella chuckled.

Hermione didn't rise to it, she just looked Bellatrix in the eyes and spoke levelly. "I'm only asking these questions to better understand your condition, and therefore be better able to treat you. Whatever information you withhold could be course-altering when it comes to your treatment, but if you're willing to be that offhanded with your second chance after fighting so hard for it, by all means, don't let me stop you."

Bellatrix's jaw tensed again, and Hermione braced herself for the Slytherin's snappy reply, but all she heard was a soft laugh and and quiet, "You play smart."

"I'm not playing, Bellatrix," Hermione sighed, packing up her equipment with a flick of her wand. "This is my job, the world isn't just one big soft-play centre."

"A what?"

"A soft-play centre, it's a muggle playground made for children, and all the furnishings are soft to prevent major injury."

"Pfft! Well, that's pathetic. That might even have one up on your efforts, mudblood."

"Healer," Hermione corrected.

"Mudblood."

The disrespect bothered Hermione, but she wasn't sure what she expected.

Walking from the room without another word, Hermione positioned the guards back inside with clear orders to only stun the dark witch should she become a problem. She also informed them that she would mention it to the Chief Healer, which neither of them looked particularly enamoured about.

So, with her head held high, she showed herself to the Chief Healer's office.

— — —

Appearing at the grand front door to the office – having gotten herself lost twice along the way – Hermione knocked.

"Come in," a familiar British voice sounded from the other side, and Hermione gently pushed the door open, stepping inside with a smile.

"Hermione Granger," the Chief Healer stood tall in her office, blonde hair cascading down her back in thick, luxurious curls. Her green eyes narrowed playfully and her tongue ran over her lips as she spied the Gryffindor in the doorway. "It's been a long, long time."

"It certainly has," Hermione nodded, holding the gaze. "And while we're here being so very friendly, Cass, I'd like to pick a bone with you about my male patient."

Cassandra Adelaide had been the year above Hermione in school, the two had met when Hermione left Hogwarts to go to school to develop her career as a healer, and needless to say they shared more than just a passion for medicine. There was a time during the War that the witches would work together every day, then spend their evenings enjoying the simple pleasures of each other's company. The War was a hard time for all of them, especially Cass, who lost her entire family to the final battle.

Cass laughed. "Don't hate me, 'Mione. I knew you'd never say yes if you knew it was Lestrange you were taking care of, but this woman could prove herself so useful to us, she could help us understand why the Dark Lord did what he did."

Cass' stance on the war had been a curious one. She didn't have a side, she had a job. Her job was to heal whoever was put in front of her, she didn't care who they were. She found the entire effort quite curious, actually. She wanted to understand why, to delve deep into how the dark side worked, despite Voldemort and his followers being the ones to kill everyone she loved – well, almost everyone.

"Hermione," she said, voice now soft, "I'm sorry, but I had a duty of care when they caught her."

"And now you've transferred that duty to me," Hermione sighed tiresomely, "which is why I'm asking you this now… I need you to remove all internal guards from Bellatrix's cell."

Cass's eyebrows practically knocked against her hairline as she stuttered. "You- you want me to what?"

"The guards beat her up. Now, while I know she's annoying and egotistical, I can't have anyone beating up my patient."

"I don't think you understand," Cass shook her head, "Ministry's orders state that someone needs to be with that woman at all times. So if you want to remove her guard, then I'll find you a bed to put in her room so you can sleep in there with her— wait."

Hermione watched as Cass smiled widely. "I have an idea."

— — —

Cass always had a way of getting Hermione to do what she wanted her to do. It vexed the brunette in ways she didn't know any person ever could. But, whenever Hermione promises to do something for her old friend, the blonde would smooth it over by promising her dinner and drinks, placing her hand a little too low on her back when they'd hug goodbye.

This idea, however, was batshit crazy.

Bellatrix watched as guards moved in and built Hermione a bed, which they put foot-to-foot with hers. "Moving in with me now, mudblood? A little forward, don't you think?

Hermione glowered at the dark witch, who was sitting up in her own bed as Hermione had ordered her to do to rest. "This is so that you can recover without being in danger of being butchered. Show a little gratitude."

The Slytherin only rolled her eyes, but while Hermione's move-in was taking place, the dark witch watched the healer with a curious expression.

Hermione had been told to only take the essentials into the cell with her; a change of clothes, any healing tools she had, some books to keep her busy in the evenings. A minimum of two guards were positioned outside the door at all times and Hermione was allowed to come and go as she pleased so she may use a private bathroom, get some clean clothes or get some fresh air. The caveat, however, was that Bellatrix could not be left alone for more than fifteen minutes at any time. If Hermione was going to be gone longer than fifteen minutes, she had to take Bellatrix with her.

Cass' idea had been a good one (a crazy one, but a good one), but Hermione wasn't about to risk her relationship with her patient and her patient's general health for anyone, chief, past lover or otherwise.

So, when everyone had left and Hermione settled down on her bed, and Bellatrix asked the brunette why she'd really moved into the cell with her, Hermione had been completely honest.

"The Chief of this institute wants me to persuade you to take part in a programme she's building. It offers prisoners of war houses, money, jobs… anything they need to get back on their feet."

"I don't suppose there's something your beloved Chief would want in return for such things?" Bellatrix's voice verged on sarcastic.

Both witches sat up in their beds facing each over. Bellatrix looked as if she was in a lot of pain, which was likely since the pain-numbing potion Hermione offered her a few hours ago had probably worn off, and her wounds were still sore.

"She wants information about Voldemort and the way he worked," Hermione shrugged. "I know you're not stupid, Bellatrix. If I tried to trick you into taking part, you'd be able to tell I was up to something."

"Why are you telling me this?" Bella asked.

"Because I have a duty to my patient," Hermione sighed. "It's another reason I've moved in here. Once you're better, you'll have to stand in all sorts of trials if you want your freedom, trials that you won't get through alive unless you can show some form of mental stability. Just sitting and smiling at them won't work, you need a report from your healer and to speak the truth in all your trials, which will mean speaking the truth about your… death. You might as well start with me, Lestrange, or you'll never see the outside of these walls."

Those words seemed to sink in and Bellatrix's already pale skin grew paler. She looked down at the two beds, pressed together at their feet, and opened her mouth to speak only to close it again, eyebrows furrowing deeply.

"You can talk to me, I'm still going to uphold patient confidentiality. Whatever you tell me, stays in this room between us, until you're ready for it to go beyond."

The quiet that followed made Hermione's shoulders sag and she gave up, lying down on the bed and facing out towards the open space of the cell. She didn't think Bellatrix would say anything.

"It was a spell that the Dark Lord himself taught me."

Hermione froze, scared to move incase she spooked Bellatrix back into silence, and she listened.

"It was a spell that granted the one who cast it immortality for a certain length of time. After the Weasley mother blew me into a thousand pieces, while you were too busy tending to your dead, my body… reassembled itself. I can't say anymore."

"Why not?" Hermione shifted slowly in her bed and sat up to look at Bella.

"I took an Unbreakable Vow. If I, in any way, tell anyone about how the spell is cast, I am to suffer a fate worse than death," Bellatrix slumped, looking into Hermione's eyes with only sincerity. "Are you happy now, mudblood?"

"That's… astonishing," the Gryffindor blinked. "I mean, it's groundbreaking, that type of magic is amazing!"

"It's also private. While I'm sure you and I could talk for hours about the ins and outs, I'm afraid we wouldn't be talking for long," the dark witch's smile was bitter.

Hermione understood, so she didn't push for more regarding the spell. Instead, she said, "Thank you."

Bellatrix's face contorted with confusion and she almost cringed at the words.

"For being honest," the healer explained, seeing her patient's expression. "I know it wasn't easy for you, but I appreciate it, and it'll help you later on, I promise."

The dark witch's voice turned disapproving. "I don't like people making promises to me."

"I only make the promises I know I can keep," Hermione reassured her, and for the first time, Bellatrix looked comfortable in Hermione's presence.

That comfort was fleeting at most. Bellatrix tested her limits the following day, doing everything from being rude to outright flirting, but Hermione refused to rise to it. She was professional, tried her best to keep her nose in her work and books, but still observed Bellatrix's behaviour from a psychological perspective, finding the dark witch's actions and attitudes towards being locked up amusing, to say the least.

She came up with theories regarding Bellatrix's mental state, whether she had a condition that needed to be treated, whether she'd ever be able to write a positive report to allow her back into society.

Her job was all about physical and mental rehabilitation, and she'd come to the conclusion that she wouldn't be doing her job correctly if she denied Bellatrix that opportunity, despite how many bad things the witch had done.

— — —

A week later, Hermione was convinced that Bellatrix's injuries were nearly completely healed, however, the dark witch still complained of aches and pains. Hermione racked her brains for hours regarding what the pain could be, trying out some different potions and lotions, but reluctant to try others in case they did more harm than good.

Ever since Hermione had moved into Bellatrix's cell, the two spent hours at night talking. They talked about healing, they talked about magic, they talked about school, they talked about pretty much everything and anything that didn't cross the unspoken boundary into their own personal lives.

Hermione found herself fascinated by Bellatrix and everything she had to say. The dark witch wasn't nearly as insane as she'd been depicted to be, despite the fact that she certainly had a wild side. It appeared to the healer that the Dark Lord's death had grounded her, brought her back into the reality she'd grown up in.

That wasn't to say that the first few days were easy. The first few days of the arrangement, Bellatrix's mood swings were a lot for Hermione to grasp. One moment, the dark witch was happy, the other she was not. Also, since Hermione was the only one present, she got the brunt of any bad mood Bellatrix's found herself in. It never extended past a grumpily mumbled "mudblood" or a vague death threat if Hermione weren't to be quiet, but it was enough to make Hermione depressingly turn to rereading an old book.

Besides finding her extraordinarily interesting and being her emotional punching bag, Hermione was beginning to find Bellatrix rather attractive. It was no secret that Hermione was attracted to women much more than men, as her dating history might suggest, and she supposed it should come as no surprise that someone as stunning as Bellatrix would cause that knot to pull in her lower abdomen…

Bellatrix, unlike Hermione, didn't get her own bathroom or new clothes. Instead, the dark witch asked Hermione – politely, for her standards – to get her clothes washed. Hermione complied, figuring it would help Bellatrix's mental state to be dressed in clean clothes. In the meantime, however, Bellatrix had to wear one of the blue patient gowns, which was practically see-through, and Hermione had to watch her every move while she was in it.

The dark witch chose her time away from her restrictive clothing to do exercises to keep her busy and active – which Hermione had also suggested – such as push ups and sit ups. Hermione had to watch the dark witch's gown get further and further more see-through with every bead of sweat that would break, until Bellatrix was exhausted and Hermione could see the Slytherin's nipples and the outline of her abdominal muscles through the wet, clingy fabric.

Bellatrix would then strip off the robe and step into the shower, draping her towel over the half-height stone wall next to the cubicle that surrounded the toilet and gave her minimal privacy while she relieved herself.

Hermione tried not to watch Bellatrix in the shower, but the older witch was just so beautiful…

"See something you like?" Bellatrix asked as she stepped out, steam rolling off her skin.

Hermione's eyes flickered away and she blushed a deep red. Over the past couple of days, Bellatrix had become a lot more playful with Hermione, and Hermione didn't quite know how to handle it.

There had been one occasion when Hermione had been examining the witch and Bellatrix had moved so close to the healer that the two could have kissed if they'd moved just an inch closer. On another occasion, Hermione had returned with Bellatrix's clean robes and the Slytherin had dropped the towel she'd been wearing agonisingly slowly, then getting dressed even slower, all the while watching Hermione watch her with hungry eyes.

Bellatrix stalked up to the Gryffindor where she was sitting on her bed without even grabbing her towel, water dripping all over the floor. "My thigh still hurts, healer. What are you going to do about it?"

As Hermione's eyes raked over Bellatrix's naked body in such close proximity, there were plenty of things she would have done. None of those things, however, coincided with the healer and patient code. Sexual relations with patients in a setting such as theirs was frowned upon, but Bellatrix continued to test Hermione. She knew what the younger girl was thinking about when her eyes fell between the woman's thighs and Hermione ran her tongue over her lips hungrily.

Bellatrix was just as bad. She couldn't deny that seeing Hermione look at her in such a way made her frustrated, but she really did enjoy teasing her healer. What she wasn't prepared for, however, was what Hermione did next.

The brunette placed her hand on Bellatrix's thigh, looking up from where she was sitting on the bed, and she shuffled forward so her legs were dangling over the edge and Bellatrix was standing between them.

Bella looked down at Hermione and saw how easy it would be for the Gryffindor to take one of her nipples in her mouth. Her breathing hitched as a result of the thought, and Hermione noticed.

Bellatrix stepped closer, so close that Hermione's chin touched Bella's breastbone and rested between her boobs as she looked up.

Hermione's nails dug into Bellatrix's thigh and she scraped them down to where the dark witch's knee began, then she ran her hand up the inside and stopped just before she reached Bella's core.

While this was the first time either party had touched each other in such a way, it was not the first time they'd had an overly sexualised stare-off or tried to taunt or tease the other. In fact, there was a lot of tension between them.

Slowly, Hermione's fingers dipped into Bellatrix, facing little resistance when she realised how wet the other woman was. She took her fingers away, slowly bringing them up to her mouth, where she sucked them clean, all the while maintaining complete eye contact with the woman in front of her.

Bellatrix's eyes flashed with desire and her jaw tensed.

"Something the matter?" Hermione raised an eyebrow as she pulled her fingers away from her mouth, her lips now wet with what had been on her fingers.

"You play an unfair game, mudblood," Bellatrix spat.

"I told you before," Hermione's eyes didn't leave the Slytherin's and the corner of her mouth twisted up into a smile, "I'm not playing any games. If you need something from me, all you need to do is ask."

Bellatrix's pride was on the line and Hermione knew it, she knew the gravity of the situation for Bellatrix, what it might mean if the witch were to give in and admit what she wanted. She never expected Bellatrix to be so forward…

"Take care of me, Healer," she grabbed Hermione's arms and pulled her up so she was standing, immediately kissing her.

It was demanding but soft, building slowly into something a lot more. Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her hand went back between Bellatrix's legs, her index finger running slowly over the older woman's clit.

The moan that slipped from Bella's lips was heavenly and Hermione instantly spun her around and pushed her down onto the bed. Bellatrix shuffled backwards, her back against the pillows, to allow Hermione room to crawl up between her legs.

Hermione wasted little time, not bothering to kiss Bella again but instead closing her teeth and lips around one of the woman's nipples. She ran her tongue over it, and with each flick of her tongue, it got harder and harder, and Bellatrix's moans got louder and louder.

The Slytherin's fingers laced themselves in Hermione's hair and started to push her head down. The brunette didn't need to be told twice. She kissed her way down Bella's stomach and licked up the insides of her thighs.

"Come on, muddy…" Bellatrix said through gritted teeth.

"What have I told you about being polite?" Hermione glanced up at the desperate look on the dark witch's face and smirked.

Bella hissed, but when Hermione only held her gaze, she threw her head back and bit her lip, growling in frustration. "Please."

Hermione stuck out her tongue and gently ran it over Bella's clit. The woman shivered beneath her, grasping at her hair tighter. The brunette slowly built up a faster pace and Bellatrix's moans came more broken and her breaths more ragged as time went on.

Hermione lifted one hand and ran two fingers over Bella's entrance, making her gasp loudly as she slipped them inside and began to fuck the ex death eater breathless while also keeping the rhythm with her tongue.

"Hermione…" Bellatrix moaned loudly, gasping for her next breath afterwards as she tightened around the brunette's fingers.

Hermione whimpered as she felt Bellatrix cum, the idea that she was causing the dark witch that much pleasure making her want all the same treatment. Bellatrix didn't disappoint.

With barely enough time to catch her breath, Bella pulled Hermione on top of her and sat her on her lap. The raven-haired witch caught Hermione's lips in a kiss and moaned against them when she discovered that they tasted of her.

Hermione was starting to become desperate and, without a second thought, she whipped out her wand and removed her clothes wordlessly, throwing her wand onto Bellatrix's bed so it was out of the way. She wasted no time, grinding down onto Bella's stomach needily and sitting up so she could grab at Bellatrix's breasts.

Bellatrix could feel how wet Hermione was against her skin and she bit her lip, slipping her hand between the young woman's legs and immediately putting two fingers inside, curling them harshly, making Hermione fall forward onto her and bury her face in the dark witch's neck.

"Bellatrix," Hermione managed through her moans. "Bellatrix…"

Bella's smirk was smug and she moved her fingers faster. The feel of Hermione's breath, hot against her skin, only fuelled her, making her build in speed until Hermione was a shaking, blubbering mess on top of her.

"Cum for me, dearie," Bellatrix whispered, slowing her thrusts just enough to make the speed agonising, taunting, as she aimed to drag out Hermione's orgasm.

Hermione's legs gave out underneath her and she all but sobbed into Bellatrix's ear as she slowly came undone. Despite it being slow, it was intense and long-lasting, and Hermione's head felt as if it had been filled with cotton wool. She collapsed afterwards, her head resting on Bellatrix's chest as the Slytherin brought her fingers up and ran them over the Gryffindor's lips. The brunette all too eagerly took the fingers in her mouth and sucked them clean.

The silence that followed was awkward and, as if someone had just flipped a light switch in Hermione's head, she climbed off of the woman she was straddling and groped for her wand on Bellatrix's bed.

Fashioning herself some clothes, she sat back down on her bed next to the dark witch and stared at the floor, the reality of what she'd just done hitting her like a moving train.

What had she done?

Sleeping with a patient…

What was she thinking?

She could lose her job…

She looked over at Bellatrix, who was watching her curiously, still naked, still sprawled out across the bed. Still, somehow, the dark witch managed to look elegant. It boggled Hermione's mind.

Trying to make herself sound as professional as possible, despite the constant breaks in her shaky voice, she said, "This is one of those things that stays between us. No one knows about this, no one hears about this and it most certainly doesn't happen again."

"Whatever you say, healer," Bellatrix's smirk widened and her eyes raked over Hermione's form.

"How's your leg?" Hermione immediately tried to change the subject.

"It hurts, but what's new?" the Slytherin shrugged, then followed up with, "How are you feeling?"

"How… how am I feeling?" Hermione stuttered, immediately looking away so that Bella couldn't see her blush. "I'm… I'm… I'm… I'm going to get your clothes, they should be clean by now."