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Hermione certainly hadn’t planned on spending her winter holiday at the Leaky Cauldron, and if asked, she certainly wouldn’t admit to it. Her misfortune was undoubtedly her fault, but that didn’t mean she was about to admit that slight fact to others. A significant amount of pride and stubbornness factored in, as well as a heaping dose of guilt.
She had assumed that she would receive her usual invitation to stay at the Burrow and had been planning on accepting, having not factored in the huge row she would have with Ron, and so she disappointed her parents and told them that she wouldn’t be home for the holidays, suggesting that they take the trip to Switzerland that they had been wanting to take without her. They had already made plans before she realized that she wouldn’t be spending Christmas at the Burrow, and by then it was far too late to change anything. She knew that if she told them, they’d want to cancel their plans to be with her, and even if she insisted they didn’t, it would still ruin their Christmas. She didn’t want them to feel guilty, so let them believe that she’d being going to the Burrow as planned.
When Harry asked where she would be spending the holidays after it was obvious she wouldn’t be going with the Weasleys (as her and Ron weren’t even speaking) she, without thinking, told him she was heading to Switzerland with her parents. That led her to her current predicament: nowhere to spend Christmas and no one to celebrate with. She considered momentarily getting a hotel room in the muggle world but tabled that thought almost immediately – in the Wizarding World she could at least get in some magic practice over the break. If her holiday would be boring it could at least be productive. So she booked a room at the leaky cauldron and ignored the pitying look from Tom when she checked in.
She spend the first few days cooped up in her room, catching up on a bit of light reading (and by that she meant reading the entirety of the 7th year NEWT transfiguration textbook). She ate whatever the Inn was offering that day and spend some quality time with Crookshanks. She told herself repeatedly that she was having a great time, that she didn’t miss the chaos of the Burrow or the slightly clueless but well meaning questioning she usually got from her parents. She was having a fine holiday and soon enough they would be back at Hogwarts. By Christmas day however, she was going slightly stir crazy, and decided to venture out into Diagon Alley.
She knew it was likely to be quiet, most witches and wizards would be home spending time with their families, but she still worried about seeing someone she recognized. Or maybe it was something else, but for whatever reason Hermione felt the need to disguise herself before she left that morning. It wasn’t a dramatic transformation by any means – her eyes became more hazel than brown, her eyebrows a bit thicker and her nose slightly thinner. Her lips became plumper and lost the slight unevenness that they had. She enhanced the natural honey highlights in her hair until she likened a dirty blond, and tamed her usually riotous curls into a soft wave. The changes in and of themselves were small, but put all together she was all but unrecognizable in the slightly smudged view of her bathroom mirror.
There were as few people out and about as she had expected – a few people here and there picking out very last minute Christmas gifts but otherwise the streets were mostly empty, a strange contrast to the usual busting activity. It was quiet, and every step of her boots on the slippery cobblestone seemed to echo in the empty street. She wandered awhile and ended up in a part of the alley that she had never visited before.
She wasn’t in Knockturn Alley – that she would have noticed, but the shops were less fancy, their window displays obscured by dirty glass and condensation from bad insulation. She had heard that there was an apothecary somewhere behind Diagon that sold more unique substances, nothing illegal but far from the typical textbook ingredients that were usually stocked in Diagon, and she wondered whether maybe it was here the store was located.
She walked a bit further but didn’t find it, the cool air beginning to bite at her exposed skin as the wind picked up and the sun sank down. She passed what looked like a small pub and stood outside for a moment, debating whether she should go inside, before shrugging to herself and giving it a go. It’d be better than being alone on Christmas, and she didn’t know if she could stomach another day of the Leaky’s steak and kidney pie.
The pub was nicer than she expected, if a bit small, and she looked around to find a place to sit. She debated one of the small booths but something about that seemed so lonely, and so she found a seat at the far end of the long wooden bar instead. It seemed clean enough and something smelled good, so she took off her warm outer robe and settled in. The bartender was a friendly, nondescript looking wizard and took her order quickly, not even blinking or questioning when she ordered a firewhiskey. She was of age but knew that she didn’t quite look it, though he clearly didn’t care one way or the other.
The drink burned her throat but she relished the feeling and the growing warmth that settled in the pit of her stomach and brought a flush to her cheeks, though she was still inexperienced enough with the wizarding alcohol that she coughed a bit after the first sip. The warmth of the room and the buzz from the alcohol filled her with a contentedness that she hadn’t felt it weeks and she sighed, letting go of her problems, just for the moment.
She barely noticed a woman sliding into the seat next to her until a clearing of a throat caught her attention. She looked up from her almost empty firewhiskey and had to hold back a gasp meeting the gaze of the woman sitting next to her. She was stunning, and immediately familiar in a way that Hermione couldn’t put her finger on because if she had met this woman before she surely would remember. The woman was wearing black robes, the monotone look and her smoky makeup contrasting harshly with her pale skin. She had sleek, pin straight black hair and reached far down her back and blood red lips that immediately drew Hermione’s attention. She was clearly older than Hermione herself but her exact age wasn’t easy to deduce, especially taking into account the longer lifespan of witches compared to muggles.
Hermione was so busy practically ogling the woman that she almost missed the words she spoke. The raised eyebrow and slight smirk let her know that her appreciation had not gone unnoticed, and she was thankful for the alcohol because if she hadn’t already been flushed she certainly would have been then.
‘How is it that someone like you ended up here, alone, on Christmas?’
The woman’s voice was low, sultry, and Hermione had a feeling she had intended it to be so. She may be young, and inexperienced, but despite popular opinion she was well aware of when she was being hit on, she just usually chose to ignore it versus address it, especially at school, finding it much easier that way.
She opened her mouth slightly, unsure of how to respond. She was flattered, if a bit taken aback, and completely baffled as to why a woman like that would be interested in her. She settled for a safe, if slightly generic response.
‘Someone like me?’
‘Mhmm...young, beautiful. Not a regular in this crowd.’
The woman stirred lazily at her drink, having received some complicated cocktail that was smoking slightly from the bartender. Hermione cocked her head, considering the woman. Just as it was clear Hermione herself didn’t fit in in this pub, it was equally clear that the woman didn’t either. Something about the way she held herself screamed wealth and privilege. Hermione may not have been in that tier of wizarding society because of her heritage, but her parents were wealthy muggles that came from money, and certain things, like manners, transcended the barrier between the worlds.
‘I daresay you’re off of your usual path yourself’.
The woman seemed pleased at the answer, not at all put off by Hermione’s evasiveness and avoidance of revealing anything about herself and why she was there.
‘Oh? What makes you think that?’
A new drink was slid in front of Hermione that she didn’t remember ordering but she took it, grateful for the moment to gather her thoughts. There was something very intriguing about this woman, besides Hermione’s obvious attraction to her, and she wanted… Well, she didn’t know quite what she wanted, but she knew she didn’t want to leave just yet.
‘Just a feeling, I suppose.’ Hermione paused, trying to think of another segway to conversation. ‘No Christmas plans?’
‘I was with family yesterday but had to work this morning. I...’ She paused then, something about what she was about to say making her grin in satisfaction, ‘finished a bit early and had a few hours to myself before my deadline. Figured I would find some way to amuse myself.’
The alcohol in her veins was making her braver, along with the way the woman was blatantly eyeing Hermione like she was a steak dinner.
‘Have you? Found a way to amuse yourself?’
The woman’s smirk turned into a grin. Her gaze grew even more hungry, and Hermione felt herself flush.
‘I certainly hope so.’
Things seemed to move very quickly after that. There was no mistaking what the woman wanted, and Hermione found herself wanting the same thing. When the woman placed a golden galleon, more than enough to cover both of their tabs, on the table and held out her hand, Hermione only considered it for a single moment before taking it. Her friends at school had no idea, but Hermione had had her fair share of adventures during the summers in the muggle world, and it wouldn’t be her first time sleeping with a stranger, or a woman for that matter.
It seemed like a very long walk back to her room at the Leakly Cauldron, followed by her new and mysterious companion. She had immediately offered that they go there – she was taking a risk but going to some stranger’s place seemed a step too far, and the woman had accepted without complaint. The tension rose as the climbed the rickedy staircase to her floor and the large iron key seemed unwieldy and too big to fit in the keyhole with her hands shaking in anticipation and hot breath against the back of her neck.
As soon as the door closed behind them she was unceremoniously grabbed by the shoulders and pinned against the wall, unfamiliar lips meeting hers in an absolutely filthy kiss. The woman tasted like rum and power and Hermione couldn’t help but love it. She returned the kiss enthusiastically, pressing her body into the older woman’s and bucking her hips. When she tried to begin undoing the woman’s robes she got a sharp nip to her lower lip in response and soon her wrists were being pinned above her head by a deceptively strong hand. She grinned into the kiss, having had pegged the woman correctly. She was about to be topped within an inch of her life. Happy Christmas to her.
A few hours and orgasms later, Hermione was lying sprawled out on the sheets, recovered enough that she was considering getting up and putting her clothes back on. Her movement spurred the other woman into action, and she also started gathering her things which had been strewed about the room in a haze of lust.
It wasn’t awkward, surprisingly, and Hermione took stock of the various hickeys that covered her torso as she covered them up. When they were both dressed, Hermione stared at the woman, not quite ready to say goodbye though she knew that it was time.
‘What’s your name?’
Hermione’s voice sounded much more breathless than she intended, though it seemed to please the woman, who chuckled and moved closer to kiss her firmly on the lips.
‘I’ll tell you – when you remove that nifty little glamour of yours so I can see what you really look like.’
Hermione was slightly taken aback, but realized that her skills weren’t yet perfect and the witch was obviously much older and more experienced, and so tried not to take offense. She simply grabbed her wand and let the glamour fade away, watching the woman’s face intently. Hermione knew it didn’t really matter what she thought – they’d likely never see each other again, but something made Hermione want to impress her.
As her true face was revealed the woman’s face split into a wide, Cheshire cat like grin, her arms never leaving where they were wrapped tightly around Hermione’s waist.
‘That’s much better. Happy Christmas to me.'
Hermione wrinkled her brown in confusion. Why would she...?
'My name is Bellatrix – though you can call me Bella.’
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat in her chest and her stomach dropped as she felt the tell tale pull of apparation overcome her.