Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with the pretty girls.
Post-Hogwarts Hermione, Post-Spike Drusilla
The moonlight shone in, sunshine bright. Old classical music tinkled around the room, volume increasing as Hermione shut the door. The room itself was lush, with deep dark colors. Hermione stopped for a second and inhaled the scent of burning candles and flaming rose petals.
Across the room a vampire sat, humming a counter-melody to herself and swaying off-beat to the time.
The vampire did not look up, and Hermione shook her head. In a corner sat a doll, blindfolded. The visions that the higher-ups of the Ministry demanded and ignored for the war would not come today. Every since she had been found in Voldemort’s not so tender care, they had been convinced the mad-seer was the key to winning. Hermione doubted it. She had researched the history of Drusilla. She was sure that if the tortures that the Dark Lord had inflicted upon her had not further distorted her, she would be bathing in blood.
Hermione sat in one of the chairs, and began to read, one of the few things that she regarded her apprenticeship to the Unspeakables good for, now that all research was directly controlled by the Ministry.
"Do you like me?"
Hermione stared. The sheer lucidity of the question caught her off balance. "I suppose,” she ventured. “You don't bother me; I'm more relaxed here then at work proper."
Dursilla swayed for a second, the sliver charms she had insisted upon sewing to the dress the night before chimed, then clapped her hands delighted. "Good... Mummy wants a new toy, something to dress and undress, to talk and play with. She's been a good girl, not eaten her cakes and pasties, saving for the sweet ruby-red brandy, heated by candlelight."
"A new doll?" questioned Hermione hesitantly, trying to untangle the the sentence about food... did she want dragon's blood again?
"No, I want to make and take a Dark Princess." A heartbeat later she was on Hermione's lap, holding her down, face was lowered to Hermione’s neck, which prickled at the feel of sharp ivory teeth, and a soft breath across her skin. "I want you, my clever little worm.”
Shock…disbelief/pain… p l e a s u r e