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Chapter Text

Hermione’s lungs were on fire, her muscles straining with every move, but she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t give up. A mad cackle followed her, clouds of dark smoke chasing after her and her friends through the rows of shelving. The construction behind her collapsing on itself and destroying everything around it like dominoes.

A gust of wind sped next to her, she threw a stunning spell at it and had to duck frantically as it got deflected back at her. It was Dolohov, he was following her ever since the chase began, hurling killing curses in her direction with not a second of hesitation.

A strobe of green light flew inches past her head as she diverted into another passage, desperately trying to outrun not only the dark wizard tailing her, but also the rain of prophecies that crumbled to the floor, overflowing the passages like a tsunami.

A scream echoed just a few meters from her, she recognized it to be Neville’s. It quickly turned out that she was right as she saw the dark haired witch from before standing over the boy with amusement. His body spasming on the ground as another wave of pain tore through his nervous system. Bellatrix Lestrange no doubt trying to finish what she started that night in the Longbottom household.

Without much thought Hermione did the only thing she could do to help her friend without risking to get caught by the man following her. She collided with the dark witch, sending her flying to the floor. The mad laughter immediately ceased as the toppled woman scrambled to her feet in anger. Her onyx eyes tracking the running form of the girl who had the audacity to ram into her like a bulldozer.

”You fucking mudblood! You will pay for this! Dolohov!” Lestrange bellowed, Dolohov momentarily materializing next to her. “Take care of Alice’s little boy, that bitch is mine!”

They say that hell is paved with good intentions. Being the helpless optimist she was, Hermione never considered that perhaps helping Neville escape the dark witch’s clutches wouldn’t end well for her. If running from Dolohov was bad, then trying to escape Bellatrix seemed like an impossible feat to achieve.

Even when Hermione attempted an extremely risky stunt, sliding to the nearby corridor at the last moment possible, the dark witch swirled through the air with no difficulty whatsoever, her outstretched hand missing Hermione’s hair by millimeters.

The Gryffindor felt seconds away from passing out, her heart pumping blood into her veins with ungodly speed. To say that physical education wasn’t something that wizards concerned themselves with would be an understatement. If Hermione wasn’t used to at least recreational running she would be dead by now.

And yet it gave her no advantage over the older woman, who bypassed the limitations of human body flying with grace and determination as they raced through the marble corridor leading Merlin knows where.

Her feet were getting gradually more tired, slipping on the smooth surface. For a second there she could swear that she felt the other witch’s warm breath on her neck. Her only hope being the darkened room at the end of the passageway. It’s entrance being only a few steps further, doors opening with a hastily cast spell as she stumbled inside, closing it behind herself and leaning her whole body weight on it.

”Please go away, please go away, please go away.” Mumbled frantically under her breath as she reinforced the wooden surface with every protective ward she knew. Breaking through it would prove a challenging thing to do even for an experienced wizard, but Hermione knew well that the woman chasing her with such vehemence was no ordinary witch, but the Brightest Witch of Her Age and a legendary one at that.

She waited with bated breath for any sign of an attempted breach or even a scratch on the wooden surface. Nothing. Perhaps Bellatrix has given up and went back to chasing after the prophecy. It was what mattered here the most after all, not her, not some ordinary mudblood.

When no sound came from the other side of the door for the next couple of minutes, Hermione decided that it was time to take a look around and then maybe even rejoin the battle and help her friends with the surprise advantage.

“Lumos” She whispered as if afraid that Lestrange might be listening for her on the other side of the door. The bluish glow illuminating her surroundings, revealing another set of shelves filled to the brim with various artifacts, some of them even labeled as extremely dangerous.

It was a good thing that Bellatrix hasn’t detonated the door as it would be impossible to predict what sort of mayhem would even a single spark of magic cause if it collided with these ominous objects. Curiosity taking the better of her as she took another step in the direction of the overstuffed shelves.

It was as if some magical force was calling out to her from the shadows, begging to be picked up and studied. Step after step she walked closer to the nearby rack. Green spark emanating from a crystal ball as soon as her hand hovered over it.

Her fingers reaching for it, bringing it closer to her face as she inspected the emerald glow trapped inside its glass confinement. Suddenly a dark eye appeared inside the ball. Hermione squinted to take a closer look at it and that’s when it hit her.

”Boo!” The crystal ball slipped through her fingers, crashing to the floor. The curvy silhouette of Bellatrix Lestrange bending over laughing on the other side of the shelf.

“Oh, muddy! You should have seen yourself!” Lestrange mocked, wiping the tears off her face as the younger woman before her crawled  away from the witch. Surprise and horror coloring her face.

”Wha…What’s that filth?” Bellatrix tried to catch her breath. “You thought you could run away from ME?!?”

In a flash of an eye Lestrange was upon her, dragging her to her feet by the hem of her shirt sticking out from under a jumper. A quiet crack could be heard next to them. Both of them thinking that it must have been one of the stitches on the Gryffindor’s muggle clothing.

”You little whore!” Bellatrix pinned her against a shelf, its edges painfully sticking into her sides. “How dare you stop my little talk with the Longbottom boy?!? Huh?!? Say something!” The shrilling voice in her ear making Hermione dizzy.

Another crack.

”Speechless? Where has all of this mudblood bravado go? Such pity, I like it when they put up a fight.” Hermione felt something poking at her cheek, probably Bellatrix’s wand, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes.

This time it was louder.

Loud enough to alarm the older woman apparently, as Bellatrix looked around frantically. Her hand still painfully clutching the Gryffindor’s collar, cutting off her air supply.

”What was that?!?” Lestrange drawled and Hermione couldn’t help but open one of her eyes to take a peek. Below their feet laid the crystal ball from before. The green light seeping through the cracks covering it.

Another one, this time longer and clearly visible as a weblike pattern slowly appeared on the glass surface.

”Was it always so… bright?” Hermione finally opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the ball shattered before their eyes. Its green glow becoming unbearable, immediately surrounding them from all sides.

”Shit.” Bellatrix whispered as the blast blew them against the door Hermione so diligently warded. Their bodies colliding with each other as everything turned white.

Thousands of images started flashing before their eyes, most of them indistinguishable. And then, as suddenly as they appeared, they stopped.

Hermione blinked a few times to get rid of the afterglow that hopefully wasn’t burned into her retinas. And that’s when she realized that they were no longer in a gloomy storage room. They weren’t even in the Department of Mysteries or the Ministry of Magic for that matter. They were… in a bed.

A very cosy one, nothing like the uncomfortable ones at St Mungo’s. But after such a blast, she surely must have ended up in an infirmary of some sorts. She tried moving around, but the weight on her back prevented her from shifting.

Bellatrix’s raven hair tickling her as pale arms pulled her closer. Wait! Why was she in one bed with Lestrange?!? Why was it so drafty?!?

She looked down and paled. They were naked.

She looked around. They were naked in some sort of mansion.

She looked at Bellatrix. Onyx eyes widening and instantly filling with hate and anger. Hands on the Gryffindor’s throat suddenly gripping it with enough force to leave bruises.

”YoU fuCkiNg FilThy SLuT!!!” Lestrange yelled, smashing Hermione’s head against the headboard. “What have you done?!?”

Smash. A dark storage room flickered before her eyes.

Smash. Bellatrix’s wild eyes boring into her as she squeezed the last particles of air from her lungs.

Smash. The same woman towering over her in the storage room. A piece of iron from the blasted shelving brushing against her hand. Lestrange’s gaze absent despite her clutching Hermione’s throat like a maniac.

Smash. “I’m gonna turn you into a bloody mush and serve it to the Weasel!”

Smash. Hermione grabbed the iron slab and with all of the strength she had left, she smacked it against the black mane of hair hovering above her.

Bellatrix fell to the floor next to her. Yes, they were on the ground, not in a bed! It must have been some sort of a twisted hallucination! Never in her worst nightmares would she lay naked in a bed with Bellatrix Lestrange! Never!

She grabbed her wand, removed the wards from the door and ran away from the room. The sounds of an ongoing fight echoing at the end of the dark corridor.

Everything hurt. Her head, her nose, her spine. Everything! A quick sweep of her tongue revealed drops of blood covering her rotten teeth. She opened her eyes with great effort only to find herself back at the pitiful storage room with artifacts littering the floor around her. The mudblood was gone, the open door on her right being enough of a proof for her.

She sat up, running over the ground with her hands, trying to get a grip on her gnarled wand before some deplorable auror barges through the door to arrest her. It didn’t take her long to find it among the rubble. She stood up and dusted herself off with a spell.

Voices echoed from the corridor to her right. This couldn’t mean anything good. Nonetheless, she had to get away from there somehow and the passageway was her only option.

The voices were getting nearer. She quickly cast a disillusionment spell on herself and hid behind the door in hopes that whoever was coming wouldn’t have enough intelligence to finite incantatem the room.

”Are you sure that this is the correct one?” A male voice asked.

”Of course,” A female one answered him. “Hermione was very specific in her descriptions. If we are on the right track here, then this should be the storage room she was talking about.”

The door opened with a loud creak.

”For fuck’s sake, couldn’t you be even louder? She probably knows we are coming! How could she not when your yapping could have been heard from miles away!” Another voice said.

”Don’t be silly, Arthur.” The other man, Bellatrix recognized him as Sirius, said. “My cousin isn’t some lost schoolgirl to be dumb enough to stay in here. If what Hermione said was true, then she probably is long gone by now.”

”And what if she’s not?” The Old Weasel groaned in fear.

”Then the Azkaban should have another cell ready. I’m sure Lucius wouldn’t be so keen on sharing his new apartment with the psycho.”

”Shhh.” The pink haired woman entered the room, her wand readied to strike at the smallest sign of danger. Bellatrix held her breath. “Look at this, she wasn’t lying.”

“Circe’s ass, they were lucky the blast hasn’t killed them on the spot.” Sirius whistled with admiration. “I have to say, even for Bellatrix this looks… Holy shit, look at that shelf, it's completely torn to pieces!”

”Why did I even bother taking you two with me?” The woman massaged the bridge of her nose.

”Right, you would rather go with Moony, ehh?” Sirius teased her.

”Don’t be silly, uncle. It’s not time for that, we have a job to do!” She replied as her wand started scanning the space before her. “Mr Weasley, could you please check the corner to the right?”

”Right.” Arthur said, walking closer and closer to Bellatrix. ”Finite…”

”Imperio.” The green eyes glazed over as the curse took over his body. “There is nothing here worthy of investigation. Tell them that you have to go back to your wife. I will follow you. Get me out of the Ministry and I will let you go back to your pitiful life.”

”There is nothing here.” Arthur said, looking at the empty corner. “I promised Molly to check on Ron. Can I leave you two here and get to him?”

”No problem, Arthur. Let’s face it, you wouldn’t be of much help to us if she was here anyway.” Sirius waved his hand dismissively.

”Uncle!” Andromeda’s bastard chastised him.

”Can I go then?” He asked weakly, his mind still trying to fight the curse.

”Of course, it really looks like she's gone and your presence might actually cheer Ron and the kids up.” The woman replied. “Go ahead.”

”Thank you, Nymphadora.” Arthur replied absentmindedly as he walked past her and into a dark corridor. Bellatrix following him with her wand raised.

It went swimmingly from there. She managed to floo herself back into the Death Eater meeting point and then apparated to the Malfoy Manor where she was greeted by the sight of crying Narcissa. With Lucius behind bars it wasn’t really surprising. Her sister always was too attached to the good for nothing moron.

Hearing the characteristic crack of the apparition, the Malfoy matriarch turned her gaze to her, sky blue eyes immediately lighting up.

”Bella!” She screamed, throwing herself at her sister. “I thought that they got you too!”

”Don’t be silly, Cissy. I’m not stupid enough to get caught by Dublefuck’s sheep like that fair haired idiot of yours. I would rather die then get back there.” Bellatrix drawled, patting Narcissa on the back. “Now, has anyone else got themselves snatched and was the Dark Lord asking for me?”

”Yes.” Narcissa wiped away the tears rolling down her face. “They hold meeting in the dining room. Everyone thinks you’re either dead or a traitor.”

”Of course they do, stupid cunts can only think of what they would have done. I’m sure that the Dark Lord doesn’t hold me in such low regard.” Bellatrix freed herself from her sister’s embrace and started walking towards the room full of Death Eaters.

The door to the dining room opened, everyone’s head turning in its direction as a bloodied silhouette of Bellatrix Lestrange casually strolled into the room. It was perhaps the final testament to her madness as no one else would even attempt acting so nonchalantly in the face of such humiliating defeat, no one but Bellatrix it turns out.

Even the Dark Lord seemed baffled when the witch pulled out a chair next to him, vis-a-vis to her a clearly shocked Severus Snape observed her with a mix of pity and confusion. Yaxley, who was in a middle of a report when she entered, opened his mouth to continue, but nothing came out of it. A few seats from him the Lestrange brothers exchanged conspiratorial glances, a vicious smirk appearing on Rodolophus's face. The first one to speak was Severus.

"Bellatrix, to what do we own this pleasure?" He drawled sourly.

"Oh, don't worry your greasy head with it, Snivellus. I was delayed by my blood-traitor cousin, but I bet you already know about it." She said nonchalantly. "Tell me, Professor, how come the Order appear so fast? Fast enough to arrest Lucius at least. You haven't told them anything, have you?"

The potions master snorted at the insinuation. "What a disgusting little theory! Especially coming from someone who conveniently disappeared just as the fighting began. Last seen in the company of Miss Granger if I recall correctly."

"Did your friends from the Order tell you that?" Bellatrix's lip curled into a devilish smirk.

"They didn't have to, Dolohov was just telling us about your spectacular chase." The rest of the Death Eaters burst out laughing.

"Considering that it took you so long to show your face here, it seems that the mudblood has bested you, dear wife." Rodolphus Lestrange cut in. His arm draped over his chair leisurely. Rabastan giggling beside him.

"Ever the pessimist. I will have to disappoint you, Rod, I was knocked out in a blast, the mudblood couldn't have injured me if she tried."

"And yet, the girl is safe and sound, while you look like shit. Not that it’s unusual for you.” Rodolphus snarled, his eyes following up and down his wife’s silhouette. The dark witch’s hand immediately going to her wand.

”Enough.” The snakelike voice whispered next to her. “All of you can go… except you, Bella.”

Rodolphus’s snarky grin was the last thing she saw before the doors closed, leaving her alone with the Dark Lord to accept her punishment.

With all of her confreres gone, the room plunged into an uncomfortable silence. The only thing breaking it being the thumping of her heart and the labored breath she was desperately trying to control.

The Dark Lord stood next to a window, looking out into the lush and well-kept garden where peacocks strutted lazily. His red eyes following them with a blank expression, totally indifferent to the woman patiently waiting for him to pass his judgment on her.

”Nagini.” He said and even though Bellatrix could barely hear his voice, the snake heard him from the other end of the room. Its reptile body sliding against the wooden table elegantly.

”My lord!” Bellatrix cried out as it was getting closer and closer to her.

”Do you know why I bothered breaking you out of that pitiful prison, Bellatrix?” One of the peacocks was nibbling on something in the grass. Nagini’s slimy body curling around Bellatrix’s form, pushing the air out of her lungs at a sluggish pace. Even if she could, Bellatrix knew better than to argue with her master.

”I did it because I thought that you had something in you that the rest of them sorely lacked - loyalty.” Red eyes centered on her. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

”My… lord…” Bellatrix spat, the serpent’s embrace slowly crushing her bones one by one.

”I remember asking you to help Lucius secure the prophecy for me. You knew very well that even if he failed miserably, it wouldn’t reflect badly on you, as you had another mission. Maybe you’ve forgotten that you were supposed to lure Harry Potter to me, it doesn’t matter.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t care that Lucius was caught, but Bellatrix, you disregarded every single one of my orders and for what? A FILTHY MUDBLOOD?!?”

There it was, the rage, it coursed through his veins with blood. Nagini reacting to it, tightening her hold on Lestrange to the point where she was on the edge of fainting. Images spinning in front of her eyes.

”That silly chase of yours cost us dearly! Everything that happened today is your fault! Not only have we wasted a perfect chance to get rid of the Potter boy once and for all, but we have also lost perhaps the only copy of the prophecy. Once again, Dumbledore is ten steps ahead of us!” Her eyes rolled into her skull.

“The prophecy.” Echoed in her mind. “Think about the prophecy.”

She opened her eyes with great effort and to her surprise, she was looking at the back of Lucius Malfoy’s head. Golden strands falling on his shoulders as he extended his hand towards  the Boy Who Lived. Bellatrix herself was pulling the hair of the Longbottom brat, her wand digging at his throat.

”I will make this simple for you, Potter. Give me the prophecy now or watch your friends die.”

“Don’t give it to him!” Longbottom yelled, causing the dark witch to yank his head back, shushing him.

Harry seemed to have been considering it and then finally passed the orb to the wizard. Suddenly the members of the order started appearing. Sirius delivering a crushing blow to Malfoy jaw, sending him falling to the floor, the prophecy slipping out of his hands.

”Accio!” Bellatrix screamed, the orb flying to her palm.

It spiraled down from there, the death of Sirius, Voldemort’s duel with Dumbledore and their meeting in the Malfoy Manor.

The prophecy lit up as soon as His hand touched the crystal ball. Female voice breaking silence, the Death Eaters listening to its prophetic words.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies....”

Murmurs erupted among those gathered around the table. The Dark Lord’s face distorted in a scowl, red eyes looking at Bellatrix with confusion. That’s when she realized that they were once again alone in the dining room. Their only witness being the beast strangling the life out of her.

”Nagini.” Voldemort mumbled and suddenly she could breathe again. She braced herself on the table, greedily sucking the air into her lungs.

”Where did you hear it?” Her lord’s slim figure towering over her, red eyes boring into the side of her face.

”The mudblood.” She said without thinking. Lie passing through her lips as if it was the truest of truths. “She heard it when Potter picked up the prophecy and I extracted it from her mind.”

”That can’t be true…” He seemed disappointed. “It’s completely useless…”

”My lord.”

”Get out!” He roared at her. Bellatrix stumbled out of her seat, hastily half crawling to the door. When she was on the other side of it, it dawned on her what she did and how many opportunities it created.

This strange power she possessed could finally help her create the life she always wanted. All she needed to do was to learn how to control it.

Chapter Text

It all happened in a flash. The locket, Ron, Luna’s father, the snatchers. If only they had been more careful. They should have known not to utter His name, especially not when they were carrying out such a dangerous and important operation. She thought about it as they were chasing them through the forest. Somehow she knew from the moment they showed up that no matter how fast they ran they would end up getting caught anyway. And they did.

Now when they were being led to the iron gate of Malfoy Manor, she felt that this was the most important moment in their journey. Bellatrix Lestrange’s joyous smile only confirming her gravest predictions.

”What do we have here?” The dark witch drawled, looking at them through the cold bars. “Finally. Get them inside!” She spoons around on her heel and opens the gate with the maddest cackle Hermione has ever heard. The symphony of her doom.

Bellatrix led them all the way into the drawing room. Her light step was rhythmic and cheerful as if she was dancing. It was careless almost. They could have very well escaped her there and she wouldn’t notice, waltzing through the gothic halls with complete disregard for her surroundings. Even Narcissa Malfoy seemed to be confused by her sudden good mood, lifting her eyebrow in silent question.

Standing next to her, Lucius Malfoy snapped his fingers rapidly. Momentarily a small house elf appeared.

”Go get Draco! Now!” The patriarch yelled at the creature making it disappear in a hurry, no  doubt carrying out his master’s order.

”That won’t be necessary, Lucy.” A devilish smile appeared on Lestrange’s face as she twirled around the room, her eyes locked on a particular muggleborn.”Call the Dark Lord instead. You’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

Lucius’s head snapped up with the speed of lightning, his teeth clenching as if he had to physically restrain himself from lashing out at her.

“Are you completely out of your mind, Bellatrix?”He growled out, trying to be as civil as possible in the face of such mockery. “Look at him!” He pointed at Harry’s swollen face. “What if it’s not him and we call for the Dark Lord? He will kill us all! That’s what will happen! I’m not going to take that risk. Draco WILL inspect him.”

”Oh, poor Lucy, this??? You’re concerned about this?” She drawled, harshly grabbing the hairs on the back of Harry’s head, pulling on it to get him to cry out. Her chest heaving with a quiet laugh. “This, you fucking moron, is a stinging jinx.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, pushing Harry head first into the marble floor. “You would know if only you have bothered to check her wand first!”

Suddenly everyone’s attention was on her. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, pushing her body further into the snatcher’s grip. The dark witch approaching her like a panther on a prowl, her head slightly turning from side to side as a mischievous glint sparked in her onyx eyes.

”Ohhhh, Twardowski, brother, greeting!” She recited dramatically, every step bringing Hermione’s sorry ass life closer to its end. “What’s that, did you not expect this meeting?”

They were inches apart. So close that Hermione could count the small wrinkles gathering on the edges of her eyes, she could smell the dark witch’s perfume, see every hole in her rotten teeth.

”Did you, muddy? Perhaps you were hoping for me to DIE in that storage room?” Her breath was washing over Hermione’s face, slowly eroding her mask of indifference. “Guess what, muddy! Vengeance, though you count upon her being late, at last strikes home. And I now arrest Your Honor - for this inn is named The Rome!”

It was pure madness. Her pupils were wide enough that only a thin line of onyx iris remained, lips curled into a triumphant grin, nostrils flaring, trying to keep up with the breakneck tempo her heart forced upon her lungs.

”What are you talking about, you crazy woman?” Left the Gryffindor’s mouth before she could stop it.

It earned her a strong hit to the back of her head from the snatcher looming above her. She fell to the floor, her mind already coming to terms with the fact that her face was about to crash on the stone surface, probably breaking nose or even suffering from a concussion. It never happened.

When the Golden Girl finally forced herself to pry one of her eyes open, she noticed that her body was safely hovering millimeters above ground. Bellatrix’s hand frantically clutching her crooked wand. Before she could even have a better look at the woman a body toppled next to her, the cold stench of death still clinging to its clothes. The snatcher.

”What in mercy’s name are you doing, Bellatrix?!?” Lucius Malfoy interrupted the show with a terrified expression on his face. A crude piece of wood hanging off his fingers in preparation for the worst of scenarios. “Enough of these riddles and dances! We need Potter, not her!”

”First of all, these aren’t riddles, it was a poem, one that a more cultured version of her would have recognized, a necessary diagnosis.” The dark witch replied with annoyance. “You see, the paradox here is that there is no way to Potter without her. Trust me when I say that I’ve been through it countless times and every time she was the key to stopping this impending tragedy that’s hanging above our heads like the sword of Damocles. It’s her, not him that you should be afraid of. The only way stop this is to get rid of her once and for all and then we could have the boy and…”

Lestrange suddenly froze mid sentence. Her gaze traveling over the silhouettes of the snatchers, searching for something. The cheerful attitude was gone in a flash, a terrorizing fear taking its place as Bellatrix stumbled through the room.

”Where is it?!?” She shrieked at one of the men, her wand raised in a threatening gesture. “Where is the damn sword?!?”

”A what?” The imbecile asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

”A sword! A pointy, long, thin piece of metal that could turn you into a man shaped lolli in a matter of seconds! That thing! Where. Is. It?” Bellatrix’s foot was stomping around impatiently.

”I don’t know, we haven’t found it.” The man answered nonchalantly.

”You haven’t… For fuck’s sake, did you check her bag?”

”Yes. Nothing sword shaped there.”

”You must have hit her! I told you not to fucking hurt her! Did I not?!?”

”You did and we haven’t.” He said with confidence.

”Then why the hell is there no fucking sword in your dirty fucking hands?” Bellatrix was livid. A second longer and Hermione was sure that she would start foaming at the mouth. Her hand shaking with pent up aggression as she started hurling curses left and right. Everywhere around her snatchers toppling dead to the floor. It seemed to have terrified even the ice queen herself as Narcissa Malfoy carefully maneuvered around the bodies to lay a calming hand on her sister’s shoulder.

”It’s okay, Bella, Lucius is right. We should focus on the Potter boy. Perhaps there was no sword after all.” She whispered into the dark witch’s ear.

”What do you mean there was no sword?”Bellatrix cried. “There always is one! The stupid mudblood is just playing with me!”

”Bella…”

”No, I will get it out of her one way or the other.” The older witch sneered. “Cissy, put the boys in the cellar…”

The doors to the room opened and a confused Draco Malfoy walked in. His eyes widening at the sight of the captured Gryffindors.

”Finally, took you long enough.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes as her pale hand snaked its way around Hermione’s bound body. “Go with your mother and help Wormtail. Make sure that those little scoundrels wouldn’t run away on us again! I would do it myself, but as you see: I have to have a little talk with this mudblood. Girl. To. Girl.”

This time there was no spell cast to save her from the touch of cold floor on her face. Thankfully they changed rooms and this one was not only smaller, but also better furnished than the tall hall they were in just seconds ago. Instead of marble she landed on wood with a precious rug on top of it.

A series of images started flashing before her eyes. It was a common occurrence at this point. Every time she would get badly hit this would happen. It started that night at the Ministry and spiraled down from there. Horrific visions chasing her last hopes of a peaceful sleep away at night. She thought she was going crazy, but the rumblings coming from the dark witch above her proved to her at least that she wasn’t the only one.

”Alright, filth, where is it? What have you done with the bloody sword?!?” Bellatrix straddled her with all of her weight pushing on the Gryffindor’s chest. ”Answer me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione cried out, trying to push the woman off of herself with little progress.

”Oh, don’t worry, I will help you refresh your memory a little.” She said and with a well placed punch sent Hermione straight into a dark forest.

She woke up in a tent, it was already light outside. She remembered arguing with Harry over the locket and then falling asleep as she was searching through the books, looking for a  solution before the cursed thing drove them into insanity.

”Hermione!” Harry’s screamed echoed through the clearing around their tent.

She was confused, she seemed to have remembered something about Bellatrix Lestrange. The bits and pieces of images of them getting snatched and taken to Malfoy Manor. Thinking that maybe it already happened, they escaped and the snatchers came back to get them, she ran outside, ready to kill whoever was threatening her friend with her bare hands if necessary.

What she saw was perhaps even more shocking than the images that buzzed in her head, turning into incomprehensible mush of memories. It was Ron, he came back after all the arguments they had.

”Hey.” He said, raising his hand in a greeting. His other hand clutching a backpack and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.

THE SWORD!

Her head started spinning, the face of an angry Bellatrix Lestrange looming over her flashing before her eyes. Her voice still ringing in her ears as if she was standing just inches apart.

“Where is the damn sword???” It screamed.  Now she knew what sword she was talking about.

”Ronald Weasley! You complete arse!” Hermione yelled as she punched the man with all of her might. “You crawl back here after weeks and weeks…” She rummaged her pockets in search of a wand. “Harry, give me back my wand, now!”

Insatiable anger was coursing through her veins as she started delivering punches. One of them collided with Harry’s protego, sending her sprawling to the ground.

”Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!!!” She yelled, rolling in the leaves as Harry and Ron were observing her with terrified expressions. “I swear Ron, I will kill you!”

”I believe I can help with that.” Suddenly a green lightning traveled above her head, hitting Ron in a chest. He collapsed on the ground. The sword of Gryffindor falling out of his cold hand.

Harry raised his wand immediately, his eyes searching wildly around the clearing, trying to at least catch a glimpse of their attacker. It was a futile attempt as another ray of light  rendered him unconscious in the matter of seconds.

Hermione knew who was causing this, she could almost feel her presence. The hairs on the back of her neck standing up, goosebumps appearing all over her skin. She was close, very close.

”Now you know what sword I was talking about?” Bellatrix Lestrange was standing over Harry’s body, the sword in question hanging off her pale fingers lazily. If even one digit slipped her friend would have been impaled like a kebab.

”How did you find me? This isn’t real! It never happened!” Hermione fisted her hair in desperation. Her head felt as if it was splitting open. One more bit of information and it would burst.

”I know, it’s beyond the comprehension of a filthy animal like yourself, but for Merlin’s sake, at least try to understand what is happening right now!” Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Her hand stretching leisurely above Hermione’s friend, threatening to let go of the deadly weapon.

”I’m trying! I swear! Just… please, let Harry go, I’m the one you want! You said it yourself.” Hermione cried.

”I could let him go, you know.” Bellatrix’s lip curled into a devilish smile. Her fingers letting go of the handle, sword hovering over Harry’s head as the dark witch sauntered closer to to the girl. Her hips swaying seductively with every step. She kneeled down besides Hermione, bending to carres her face gently.

“Oh, poow wittle mudbaby.” She mocked, stroking her cheek. “You don’t have to worry about him. Right here, whether he lives or dies is inconsequential… You see, here, I could let him live. Here I could even let him kill my master, but… I’m the woman of conviction. I tend to always choose the same options.”

”Noooo!” Hermione screamed as the sword impaled itself in her friend’s head.

”Noooo!!!” Bellatrix repeated as a mad cackle overtook her whole body in cheerful spasms. “Yes, muddy! Now tell me, what have you and your filthy Weasel boyfriend done with the sword? Speak up, or else we will pay a visit to mommy and daddy next!”

”You will never find them!”

”But I already did, many times in fact.” The dark witch chuckled. The shocked expression on Hermione’s face only fueling Bellatrix’s cruel rant. “They’re in Melbourne, but guess what, we don’t even have to go there. One more world jump and we could watch Yaxley having fun with them here in Britain, in your filthy muggle mud hut.”

”Please don’t!” The tears rolling down the Gryffindor’s face were slowly dripping onto the alabaster skin. Her tormentor’s thumb delicately wiping them away.

”I don’t know where the sword is, it was different in our world. We never found it.” Hermione sobbed, her chest heaving uncontrollably in a vain attempt to catch a breath. The hand on her cheek stilled. Claws digging into her skin painfully as onyx eyes filled with hatred.

“You filthy liar! Do you take me for a fool? If you never found it, then how come have you destroyed the locket, huh?” She spat, dragging her long nails along the younger woman’s face, blood seeping out of the scratches as realization appeared on Bellatrix’s complexion. “The locket. Where… Circe’s ass!”

Suddenly they were back in the manor. Frantic screams echoed in the marble halls. Bellatrix sprang to her feet, clutching her wand as she carefully approached the room’s door.

”I told them to keep an eye on the bastards! Is it really so hard to follow basic instructions? It’s a bloody house elf for fuck's sake!” Lestrange threw her hands in the air in outrage, defeated frown appearing on her face.

”Expelliarmus!” Harry’s voice came out of nowhere, disarming the witch in seconds. If it wasn’t for her quick reflexes, Bellatrix would have lost her head as well, wordlessly casting protego as Ron Weasley swung the sword of Gryffindor at her.

”Hermione! Let’s go!” Harry yelled, pulling her to her feet. “You won’t believe what happened to us.”

”You won’t believe what happened to ME!” The Golden Girl replied as she hurried to follow her friends and Dobby out of the ominous mansion. Bellatrix Lestrange running after them with a surprising amount of stamina for someone who has spent so much time of her life in Azkaban.

”Stop! Stop or I will murder your filthy muggle parents in every universe possible!” Lestrange bellowed at the tops of her lungs. “This wasn’t supposed to go that way! You’re cheating!”

In an act of desperation, she took out a silver, cursed dagger and threw it at the group just as the elf pulled them into an apparition. Killing the elf would have to be her only consolation prize for now. Two years of careful planning getting fucked up by a stupid sword not appearing in time. The wretched mudblood ruining her life once again.

Chapter Text

Hermione stirred in her sleep. When they finally escaped the manor and buried Dobby’s body, her exhaustion started to kick in. Her head was killing her, she couldn’t stop the thousands of voices constantly nagging on her, begging for her attention. Only the mind of a madman could process all of that information. Perhaps that was the reason why Bellatrix seemed so proficient at it.

Thinking that sleep will ease her pain at least a little bit, Hermione drifted off into a deep slumber. But she was wrong expecting the strange visions to let her rest, just as she closed her eyes, she was once again thrust into the grim halls of Malfoy Manor.

Dark eyes boring into her as the deranged witch straddled her hips. Silver dagger shining in her hand as she swiped its ragged edges against the otherwise unblemished skin of Hermione’s forearm.

”I’m gonna ask you one more time and if you don’t answer before you lose consciousness, I will let Greyback have his way with you. I bet the Weasel will be more talkative. Perhaps Fenrir will even let him watch.” She whispered into Hermione’s ear. “How. Did. You. Get. Into. My. Vault?” She punctuated each word with a slice of her knife.

”I have never been to your vault!” Hermione screamed as tears rolled down her reddened face.

”Of course you haven’t.” Her tormentor cooed. ”And the sword is what? A fake? Oh please, I’ve heard that before. Think, muddy, what else have you taken? Think carefully ‘cause I will not grant you the second chance!” Another precise cut tore her skin. She was clearly writing something, but from that angle Hermione couldn’t tell what it was and the pain was too ubiquitous for her to feel what letters the older woman was etching into her flesh.

”Nothing! I have taken nothing! I’ve never even been there!” Hermione sobbed.

”Wrong answer.” Bellatrix sneered. “Greyback!”

Hermione sat up quickly. Lestrange’s weight no longer holding her down. She was on the bed she fell asleep on, safe for the time being. Her hair and clothes were drenched in sweat, heart beating wildly in her chest. It was only a dream.

Well, maybe dream wasn’t the correct word for it, but what else should she call it? A vision? A glimpse into the other parallel world? It was too much for her exhausted brain.

And yet, even now, when she was on the edge of passing out, she couldn’t help but think about everything her and the other Bellatrix said. Was she really the key to defeating Voldemort? Was Bellatrix really traversing the different timelines for such a long time? How could she learn that power, how could she defeat someone so powerful? And above all: What was in that stupid vault?

She pondered on it for a bit and finally decided that it had to be one of the horcruxes or else the woman wouldn’t be as desperate as she sounded. But how was she supposed to fight against a person who could easily outmaneuver her by switching worlds? She couldn’t, it would be pointless. Not unless she herself could control her powers.

If only she could switch dimensions as easily as the older woman did, she would be able to find out what was hidden in that Gringotts vault.

That thought gave her an idea. When they were captured, Bellatrix did mention something about how it was imperative that Hermione couldn't get hurt by the snatchers. Perhaps it was one of the measures put in place in an attempt to stop her from accidentally switching worlds.

Thinking about it now, Hermione noticed that every time she did it, it was because she was either hurt in some way, or asleep. Since she couldn't just take a nap in the middle of a fight, trying to control her new power through violence seemed like a better idea.

She pushed herself off the bed and started looking around. She had to find a way to hurt herself enough to trigger the jump, but not enough to actually injure herself. It would have been really unfortunate if she managed to change worlds while her original body was bleeding out somewhere in her world.

Without much thought she stubbed her toe on the edge of the bed. Her eyes shutting in pain as she clutched her foot, jumping up and down like an idiot. This was not enough. She collapsed on the bed, trying to come up with a better solution.

It seemed to her that every time she unconsciously changed timelines before was caused by some sort of head trauma and somehow tied to her current worries and troubles. Back in the storage room the feeling of Lestrange’s body on top of hers catapulted her into a similar, although perhaps more disgusting scene. Then the whole sword debacle took her to the place where they actually had the thing.

A new thought arose inside her head that perhaps she shouldn’t be starting so large, maybe she should try to access one of the world’s she has frequented before.

Deciding to test her theory, the girl crawled closer to the headboard, holding her head slightly above it as she prayed for the incoming concussion to not be deadly. Just as an image of herself in the other timeline crystallized before her eyes, her head hit the headboard, successfully knocking her out.

Familiar sight greeted her in this alien world, Bellatrix Lestrange looming over her with wand drawn, no doubt ready to send her back into her own body, or maybe even straight to the afterlife.

”Please don’t! I will do whatever you want!” Hermione let out a terrified squeak, causing the older woman to hesitate mid spell. Onyx, hooded eyes looking at her with newfound interest.

”So you will help me?” The Death Eater asked.

This clearly wasn’t her Bellatrix. A quick glance behind the dark witch’s shoulder proving that they were in the Golden Trio’s tent. Two bodies covered with a bloodied sheet laying in the corner telling her that she indeed switched worlds. Her mind instantly filling with memories of her and Lestrange waking up in the forest, trying to figure out how did they get there and what exactly has happened to the boys.

She remembered Bellatrix falling to her knees as she realized that she has failed her master, killing Harry Potter and with a sword that should have been hidden in her vault at that.

At first she reacted with rage, trying to kill the muggleborn, blaming her for everything that happened, but then as the realization of her dire situation finally sank in she collapsed next to the Gryffindor with tears in her eyes.

And that’s when Hermione realized that the Bellatrix she knew had no care for the tragedies she was causing. The collateral damage devouring even the other versions of herself. Just as she had told Hermione before, everything that happened in the other worlds was inconsequential to her as it didn’t affect the timeline she was living in. The perfect timeline she was building.

”So which one is it, mudblood? Will you help me? Or would you rather die and be free of this madness?” The hoarse voice of the Lestrange currently towering over her brought her out of her musings.

The details of the dark witch’s proposal were still blurry in her head. A hastily put up plan to fool the Dark Lord, presenting Hermione as her friend’s murderer, trying to beg her way into his favor. She would take the blame and Bellatrix would claim her as her pet, promising to keep her unbothered for the rest of her pitiful life. A horrible deal, Hermione thought, but for the purpose of her newfound mission, a perfect one.

”I will.” She said, sitting up. Once again abandoning reason in favor of foolish curiosity.

”Good, pick up the sword, we need to deposit it in my vault first.” Bellatrix’s voice was commanding, but not as unpleasant as it usually was.

”How will I know that you won’t screw me over?” The Gryffindor asked, arching her brow.

Bellatrix smiled with malevolent charm and shrugged. “Nobile verbum I guess.”

She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t let that occasion pass. The thought that there was a universe somewhere where she made the deal with the devil and hasn’t checked how it ended wouldn’t let her sleep at night.

She slowly accepted the extended hand and before she knew it, they were standing in a narrow alleyway. Bellatrix looked around suspiciously before letting her hand go. Her gaze zeroed on Hermione and the girl couldn’t stop the shudder that came over her body as the onyx eyes scanned her from head to toe.

”I suppose you don’t have anything more… traditional in there?” She gestured to the Gryffindor’s beaded bag, a disgusted frown coloring her features.

”I don’t. The best I can do is a black turtleneck and a skirt.”

Bellatrix let out a long, exaggerated sight as she unclasped her own cloak, throwing it at the girl unceremoniously. Pale shoulders covering with goosebumps as the cold air swept through the alley. 

”Keep it, I don’t want your filth all over me.” Her nose scrunched in silent sniff as false revulsion disturbed her pretty face.

”Could you at least turn?” Hermione asked already unbuttoning her trousers.

Bellatrix’s ironic snort made her look up in outrage. The dark witch’s self satisfied smirk making her want to saunter closer to her and slap the smile off her face.

Suddenly, as if the older woman could hear her thoughts, she let out a mad cackle, her eyebrows rising comically in disbelief as she shook her head.

”What’s so funny? I don’t see you turning, perhaps…”

”Oh, spare me whatever embarrassing speech you have prepared, I don’t fancy your kind and I sure as hell won’t turn around because a mudblood commands me to do so.”

”I don’t command, I ask you to do it. There’s a difference in that.”

”Ehh, it’s a matter of principles then.” Bellatrix waved her hand dismissively.

”No, it’s a matter of basic human decency.” The Gryffindor stood her ground.

Before Hermione could say or do anything else she was violently pinned against the wall, Bellatrix’s elbow pushing on her throat as wild, dark eyes held her gaze in silent duel. It was a peculiar display of power as the dark witch had to stand on her toes to look down upon the terrified girl, but it sure was intimidating from Hermione’s perspective.

The gnarled wand rose to her eye level, moving slowly as Hermione’s muggle clothes disappeared and were replaced by the turtleneck and skirt combination she had prepared. Pale hand sneaking around her neck to clasp the cloak in place with a silver brooch depicting a writhing snake that curled around her throat delicately.

”There, problem solved. Next time I won’t be so… lenient.” Bellatrix drawled, staring at her with cold gaze that sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine. “So are you going to be a good little mudblood and do as I say from now on?” The Gryffindor nodded eagerly. “Good, let’s get going then.”

Stumbling into the crowded street Hermione pulled the hood of her cloak up, hugging it closer to her body to hide her face. She was just about to pull on Bellatrix’s sleeve and start arguing that the clothes surely weren’t enough to fool the meticulous security measures at the bank, when she spotted what she suspected to be her own reflection in one of the shops’ windows.

It was a subtle, but still very impressive work on Bellatrix’s part. Making her hair shorter and darker really gave Hermione’s face that extra edge. Earthy complexion, made her look more like a Death Eater straight out of the Azkaban. Even her cheeks looked hollower, but she figured that might actually be the effect of months spent on the run, living in a forest.

Compared to her Bellatrix seemed healthy almost. With her full lips, soft skin and lush hair, she was extremely beautiful. Momentarily a flash of memory passed before Hermione’s eyes. Their naked bodies sliding against each other on a soft bed. She blinked it away as a pinkish blush rose to her cheeks.

”Stop drooling over your own reflection and hurry up, if we take too long He will start suspecting something.” Bellatrix grabbed a handful of her shirt and started pulling her away from the window. The tall walls of Gringotts getting nearer as they walked through the parting crowd. So much for a quiet entry.

”Do keep up if you want to leave this place alive.” Bellatrix said ominously as she sped through the first security check without as much as stutter in her step. The two security guards flanking the entrance with golden probes didn’t even seem surprised by her blatant disregard for them.

Hermione really tried to keep up with the older woman, but it quickly turned out that her stride wasn’t as careless and swift as Bellatrix’s. It gave one of the wizards enough time to open his mouth. As if she had eyes on the back of her head, Bellatrix immediately stopped, her cold gaze causing the guard to swallow his objections as he turned back to the entrance. The clicking of the heels reassumed.

Goblins sitting behind their counters turning back to their books, pretending to be indifferent towards the whole situation taking place. Although the nervous glances they were stealing whenever they were sure that Lestrange has already walked pass their post proved that they were all terrified of her.

It made Hermione feel crazy in comparison, as once in her life she couldn’t help but feel completely unaffected by the dark witch’s presence. She knew that there was nothing unusual about it, considering that this whole situation was nothing more than an experiment for her.

This wasn’t her world, nor was it her Bellatrix. If anything goes wrong, she will just pop back into her own body and live her life without any long lasting consequences. And if she played her cards right, perhaps she could gain a better knowledge of what they were after and how to get it. To add to that, she was also genuinely curious whether or not Lestrange will honor their agreement.

Speaking of which, the older woman turned to her, extending her hand expectantly.

”The sword.” She growled through clenched teeth.

Hermione’s hands hesitantly reaching into her magically enlarged bag, but just as she managed to locate the sword’s hilt, it struck her what the dark witch was trying to do.

”You’re letting them deposit it for you? That’s unwise.” She whispered, walking closer to the older woman, pretending to be fumbling around in her bag.

”I don’t remember asking for your advice, filth.” Bellatrix sneered, her gaze never leaving the clerk who was writing something in his notebook.

”Think about it. If you give it to them you will have a dozen of witnesses knowing that you had conveniently brought it hours after Harry was murdered.” She whispered into the Death Eater’s ear, trying her best to sound convincing. “Besides, asking someone else to deposit it for you really turned out great the last time you did it.”

Lestrange’s lips tightened in a dissatisfied grimace. Her chest heaving with deep breaths, flinch of an eye announcing her coming to terms with the decision she had to make.

”I’ve changed my mind.” She said finally, immediately drawing the attention of the clerk back to her. “I want to enter my vault.”

”Of course, Madam.” The goblin replied already pushing off his high stool.

”Alone.” Bellatrix clarified. Black eyes warning him that there was no space for discussion.

The creature’s eyes widened comically. His small spectacles sliding off his nose a bit before a shaking hand adjusted their position.

”I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Madam.” He pronounced each word carefully, stealing a passing glance behind their backs, making sure that he wouldn’t be alone in case Bellatrix decided to do something violent.

Hermione followed his gaze, spotting a dozen of wizards coming their way, clutching their wands.

”And why is that?” Lestrange asked, barely restraining her anger.

She must have realized how vastly outnumbered they were, the clicking of the security guards’s boots bouncing off the marble walls. Only a barely visible twitch of Bellatrix’s lip and the dark glint in her onyx eyes betraying her agitation.

”A qualified employee is required to open the vault. Surely, you must know about it, considering you already witnessed the act countless times before, without much complaint may I add.”

The footsteps stopped abruptly a couple feet behind them, Bellatrix acknowledging it with a slight turn of her head. The tension in the room was palpable. Even other cashiers halted their scribbling and lifted their heads to watch the show. Praying to whoever was listening that they wouldn’t be the one Bellatrix will take her frustration out on.

A sudden snort made half of the people gathered jump in fear, it slowly transformed into a full blown cackle that gave Hermione chills despite it not being directed at her. The goblin looked startled, he had to hide his hands behind the counter to stop them from fidgeting so much.

”Dear me! Madam, If I have insulted you in any way…”

”Ohhh, don’t worry about it!” Bellatrix drawled, waving her hand dismissively, fake smile plastered all over her face. The hastily change of attitude spooking the banker even further.

“It’s just that… You remind me of a goblin I know. Annoying little brat and a LIAR too.” She paused, looking at him intently. “And he used to work here as a matter of fact.”

The goblin gulped as Bellatrix circled his podium, hips swaying seductively with every step. She was like a spider, slowly rolling its web around its victim, too caught up in the sticky trap to be able to fight her. “I gave him something of great value to be deposited IN MY VAULT and do you know what that bastard did?” She asked leaning closer to him.

”I’m afraid not, madam.” The goblin answered, turning on his high stool.

”He tried to swindle me!” She shrieked into his ear. If the poor creature was desperately clutching his counter, he would have fallen of his seat.

”I’m sorry to hear about that. Perhaps you would like to make a report, may I ask what his name is?” The clerk straightened his back, immediately pulling out an empty form, his quill hovering above it in anticipation.

”That won’t be necessary, he’s already been taken care of. Harder men than him have already lost their minds in my sister’s dungeons, Griphook won’t be an exception here. I will personally make sure of that.” The quill broke as soon as Bellatrix uttered the name.

”Madam Lestrange, I understand the trauma you have been through, as a part of our new partnership with the Ministry…” He said, glancing behind her back. “…we could provide you with a human employee qualified enough to open the vault.” Bellatrix’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose questioningly.

”Unfortunately, it won’t be possible until the next… Monday.” The goblin gulped audibly.

”Don’t trouble yourself, imp. I’ve changed my mind.” Bellatrix smiled devilishly. “Chatting with you made me feel the connection between us. I truly think that you’re an honest man. I would hate it if during our trip you would accidentally fall off a cart and snap your neck, that would truly be terrible.” She drawled ominously. “Does it happen very often in here?”

”Not quite.”

”Good, then we should get going. As pleasurable as our little chat has been, I would hate to waste any more time in this place.” She stepped back, letting him to release his breath. 

”Of course.” The goblin said, reaching for a leather bag full of metal rattles. “Come this way, please.”

He beckoned them out of the main hall, towards an old track. It took every ounce of composure she could muster for Hermione not to turn and steal a glance at the guards.

“I hate this wretched thing.” Bellatrix mumbled next to her as soon as a dilapidated cart emerged from the shadows. The banker quickly threw the leather bag inside, and turned his head in their direction expectantly.

Hermione was just about to get in the cart, when a slim, pale hand stopped her from going any farther. It traveled along her back, pulling the hood of Hermione’s coat up, covering her hair.

”Keep it up, it’s charmed.” Bellatrix whispered conspiratorially as she shielded her own curls with a thin layer of fabric hanging off the back of her dress.

They got into the cart, its old wheels creaking and rattling with every turn as it sped through the darkened tunnel barely avoiding derailment. When they were far enough from the surface for Hermione to no longer be able to see the ceiling, Bellatrix slowly, not to draw attention, reached into her holster, getting a good hold of her wand. It quickly dawned on Hermione what the cause for the Dark Lord’s lieutenant’s distress was - a silver waterfall washing over the tracks, an obvious trap waiting for those of impure intent.

Bellatrix gripped her crooked wand, pointing it at the goblin’s back, waiting for the water to fall on their heads, drenching their clothes in whatever magic it entailed. Hermione knew that if anything bad happened there their deal would be off and she would have been turned into a sacrificial goat for the dark witch to frame and deliver on Voldemort’s footstep. Thankfully, they zoomed through the water without any major accident as water splashed off her precious coat without soaking it.

With the track coming to an end they were greeted by a large, pale dragon mercilessly tugging on the chain hanging off its neck. The goblin opened the leather bag and took out two metal rattles, hesitating slightly when he gathered that there wasn’t enough for everyone. He stared at Hermione for a couple of seconds before passing the rattle to Bellatrix, the dark witch immediately pushing his hand away.

”Give the Clanker to her, I can manage on my own.” She said and jostled the man in front of herself, sending him a last warning glance as they started their descent deeper into the tunnel.

The pale beast roared at them, but backed away as soon as it heard the rattling noise. Wounds covering its translucent skin led Hermione to believe that it was conditioned to associate it with pain. Maybe that’s the reason why Bellatrix wasn’t afraid of it. Normally people would hesitate before hurting such majestic creature, but not Lestrange. She was always eager to torture and maim, undoubtedly certain that the dragon wouldn’t stand a chance against her.

“Put your filthy claw on the door and stand aside, I don’t want you to be wandering around my vault.” Bellatrix barked at the goblin when they finally left the beast behind. The banker quickly followed her instructions, vanishing the massive gate securing the vault’s entrance.

”Come along, pet.” Lestrange beckoned Hermione to follow her. Gnarled wand held in front of them emitting a cold, blue gleam, lightning up the corridor and shining off the stacks of golden coins.

When they were finally far enough for the goblin to not hear them, Bellatrix turned to her with expectant gaze, undoubtedly waiting for the sword. The blue glint coming from her wand, illuminating her regal cheekbones and creating an air of mystery around her.

Hesitantly Hermione opened her beaded bag, rummaging through it in search of the sword. Her fingers have just caught a glimpse of the hilt, when a peculiar object drew her attention. A couple of feet away from where Bellatrix was standing, atop an ancient looking shelf, stood a golden cup with two handles.

An image flashed before the Gryffindor’s eyes of her and the boys reaching for the object desperately as a flood of multiplied coins and goblets strangled them.

”What is this?” She asked absent-mindedly, temporarily forgetting that it wasn’t Harry or Ron that she was addressing. Onyx eyes followed the line of her sight, widening as they stopped on the artifact.

”None of your business, filth!” Bellatrix shrieked, pulling her closer by her clothes. Impatient arm reaching into Hermione’s bag, yanking the bloodied sword out of it. “Don’t you know that curiosity killed a cat?” She asked, swiping the tip of the blade along the girl’s collarbone.

Hermione ignored her threats, completely entranced and unaware of what was happening. “Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.” She whispered under her breath.

To her misfortune, it wasn’t quiet enough to escape Bellatrix’s keen ear. The next thing she knew she was on the ground, her head banging against the stone floor, back aching like crazy.

Everything got blurry, mixed together in an incomprehensible mess. One second she was sure she saw Harry and Ron hovering above her, the other it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

”Hermione!” Ron cried. As he held her in his arms. “It’s going to be okay, come back to us, please!”

”How do you know about the cup?!?” Bellatrix’s shrilling voice cut through his cries as a heeled boot landed on Hermione’s rib cage. The tip of Godric Gryffindor’s sword  hovering a few millimeters away from her face. “Who told you? Only me and the Dark Lord knew about it! Did you steal that information from my mind when you imperioed me?” Lestrange hissed, pushing on Hermione’s chest with her shoe.

”Bellatrix, please! I didn’t imperio you! I’m not sure I could, even if I tried!” The Gryffindor sobbed.

”What is she talking about!” Harry asked, concerned.

”Then how do you know what it is?” Bellatrix growled through clenched teeth.

”I saw a photo of it in a book!” Hermione lied.

”LIAR!!!” A foot collided with her solar plexus.

”Please, why would I imperio you to kill my friends?” She said, trying to at least drag herself to her knees. Another kick sent her sprawling back on the floor.

”Do something! She’s hurting!” Ron screamed.

She could feel the border between two worlds cracking before her very eyes.

”You. Filthy. Fucking. Liar!” Bellatrix punctuated every word with a kick. Hermione tried to cover her ribs with her arm, she tried to at least get to her knees, but the dark witch just wouldn’t let that happen. “I should have never trusted you! You played me like a fiddle, didn’t you? Think ‘bout it Bewwatwix… you dirty mudblood whore!”

The last thing she knew after that was the sight of Lestrange’s boot aimed at her face and then a cacophony of images rolled through her head. A prison cell, abandoned mansion, Hogwarts, the Ministry, Bellatrix, Bellatrix, Bellatrix, Ron?

”Blimey, ‘Mione, I thought we lost you.” Ron sobbed as he held her to his chest. Luna, Harry and Fleur looking at them with relief. “You were having seizures, screaming something about…”

”Bellatrix!” Hermione stumbled to her feet.

”Yes, exactly and also something about…” Ron’s eyes widened.

”Helga Hufflepuff’s cup!” 

”What about it?” Harry interrupted them with concerned expression on his face.

”She’s keeping it in her vault!” The look on Hermione’s face was pure madness. “Bellatrix Lestrange is keeping a bloody horcrux in her bloody vault.” She let out a hearty laugh. “And I know how to get it!”

”I think she might have hit her head a little bit too hard.” Ron whispered to Fleur.

Chapter Text

“Blimey, ‘Mione, this is madness!” Ron said, fastening his tie. “Harry, you can’t possibly believe this nonsense! We still have enough time to stop and go back to the cottage.”

”Shhh!” Harry elbowed him discretely. His hat pulled low to cover his features. An unnecessary precaution as they have already polyjuiced into the guards they snatched beforehand.

”Finally, we thought you would never arrive. Jack and the boys were getting restless there.” One of the guards holding a golden rod said to them as soon as he saw them. “What kept you so long anyway? Were you having that lunch in bloody Honolulu?”

”Lost track of time.” Harry blurted out. Hermione’s mouth closed as he beat her to it by a mere second.

”Oh, you have the nerve, boy! The goblins will probably have you fired for that… not that I care.” He stepped back raising his hands with a pitiful expression on his face. Watching  them carefully as they walked past him.

”Oiii, Jenkins!” He yelled suddenly. The heads of the goblins, working behind their counters, rising to look at them. The Golden Trio stopped abruptly, not yet turning as Harry’s grip tightened on the edge of the wand sticking out of his sleeve.

”Ron!” Hermione hissed. “He's talking to you! Say something!”

”Ekhh, yes?” Ron’s head turned towards the man.

”Fix your fucking tie, it’s a mess.” The guard snarled and went back to his post. The goblins following his example. Occasional eye turn showing how fed up they were with their human overseers and their bullshit.

Ron immediately straightened the knot, his heart pounding in his chest as his palms became sweaty. Hermione’s calming hand pulling him forward as they quietly passed Bogrod who didn’t even spare them a glance as he was talking to some hotshot pureblood.

“What now?” Ron whispered when they finally stopped in front of a giant hole in the ground. A series of rusty tracks running in various directions. You could see small carts speeding through them in the distance. Unfortunately for them, there was none even close enough for them to get into. “Are we supposed to jump or what?”

Hermione didn’t answer him as she put two fingers into her mouth and whistled. Instantly a wonky platform rolled up to them. The Golden Girl rummaged through her beaded bag, pulling out three enchanted raincoats and handing them to the boys.

”Remember, keep the hoods up. The water can’t touch you or else we are in trouble.” She said, getting into the cart and pulling the lever slowly. The wheels started rolling and soon they were descending at an ungodly rate.

Just as they were getting near the waterfall, a sudden gust of wind pulled down Harry’s hood. The momentum of the cart made it impossible for him to pull back up as his hand nervously fumbled with the slippery fabric.

If it wasn’t for Hermione’s quick thinking they would have been found out as she quickly pulled out her wand and with one swift movement cast protego just as they were passing under the waterfall. Water splashed all over her shield, but managed to avoid Harry, letting them continue their journey into the darkened tunnel.

”Shit, that was close.” Ron gasped as they finally arrived at the entrance to the most valuable vaults in the whole bank.

Before them a giant, pale dragon sniffed the air, crawling dangerously close to them, its chain pushed to its limits as the individual links strained, creaking ominously. But even for that Hermione was prepared. Three homemade imitations of the Clankers drew from her enchanted bag, landed in front of the boys as she forced the beast back into its lair.

As soon as the dragon was left behind, they hastened their steps. Impatience and nervousness taking over their minds and bodies as the main goal of their expedition was close at hand. The only thing separating them from the horcrux being the giant gate sealing the entrance to Bellatrix’s vault closed.

It used to be Hermione’s biggest concern at some point. Only a ‘qualified employee’ could open it, Bogrod told Bellatrix, forcing them to take him along. Fortunately for them, he let some important information slip out of his mouth- there was a human employee who rarely visited the bank, a perfect target for them to utilize.

Griphook’s words echoed in her mind once again. “You want to kidnap him? What for, you know you only need his hand, right?”

One well placed diffindo later and a bloodied hand emerged from Hermione’s bag. Disgust evident on her face as she put it on the door. She tried to lie to herself that they will bring it back to the guy and magic it into his arm somehow, but even in her idealistic daydreams she couldn’t believe that bullshit.

The door disappeared. A sea of golden coins almost spilling out of the vault as they stepped carefully not to step on anything. Hermione led the way with boys following her with their wands drawn and gloving.

“No! That’s impossible!” Hermione cried suddenly as a strange noise coming from the vault’s entrance made Harry and Ron turn around alarmed.

”What was that?” Harry asked, panic coloring his face.

”This isn’t happening!” Hermione continued, her eyes desperately searching the vault, head shaking in disbelief.

”Someone is coming, they know that we’re here.” Ron hissed.

Caution thrown out of the window, Harry jumped to Hermione’s side, clutching her shoulders in a strong grip. “‘Mione, get the cup, we have to get out of here.” He whispered urgently, but the absent look on his friend’s face told him that it wouldn’t be as easy as anticipated.

”It was here, I swear!” Hermione mumbled in disbelief. Her hazel eyes firmly fixed on the empty shelf where the cup of Helga Hufflepuff used to stand. “There, it should be there! Unless…” Pupils dilating as the realization hit her. “She took it.”

”Harry, hurry up! We have a problem!” Ron’s voice seemed to break her out of her stupor.

”We have a bigger problem here.” Harry answered.

”Harry, it was her! She took the cup, she had to! It’s not here!” Hermione said, pushing Harry’s hands aside as her rage filled body stumbled around the cluttered vault.

”Blimey, I told you! It was never here, she’s just crazy.” Ron hissed. “Get her, we have to leave now!”

”Hermione, he’s right, we have to leave.” Harry begged her, tugging on her clothes.

”Just… let me take a look around. Maybe it’s here somewhere.” Hermione fell to her knees, hands hovering above the heaps of golden coins.

Harry grabbed her forcefully, their eyes meeting in a desperate battle of wills. “You can’t touch anything, you said so yourself. Hermione, we have to go.”

”No, you go, I will keep searching.” She replied, pushing on his shoulders.

”Harry! Help me! There’s too many of them!” Ron’s voice made him hesitate, the sound of ongoing battle raging nearby filled his heart with anxiety.

”I will not leave ANY of you here!” Harry growled, releasing her from his grasp. “Hurry up!”

And with that he turned around and ran in the entrance’s direction. The light coming out of his wand disappearing behind a corner, leaving Hermione in dim shadows.

It was barely lit enough to see the edges of the various objects littering the floor, but definitely not enough to search for the cup. Hermione’s hand immediately went to her wand, only to find it missing.

”Shit!” She must have dropped it somewhere in all this madness. She should have expected it as nothing ever went according to plan. Frustration getting the better of her as she fisted her hair in anger. “For fuck’s sake, is a single spark of light too much to ask for?!?” She cried.

”How about a whole star?” A haunting voice whispered into her ear as strong arms engulfed her in a violent embrace. Before Hermione could as much as let out a horrified scream, her mouth was covered by a pale palm, long nails biting into her delicate skin. “Did you think that you could play me like that, mudblood? You really thought that it would be that easy? And to think that Draco considers you smart.” She tsked, pulling the Gryffindor’s body closer to her own.

Hermione desperately tried to free herself, trashing in older woman’s arms, but the iron grip the Death Eater had on her wouldn’t budge even one bit. Tears rolled down her flushed complexion, snot leaking out of her nose, making Bellatrix retrieve her hand in disgust as she pushed her to her knees.

”Harry!” The Golden Girl cried not sure whether it was supposed to summon her friend or send him away. Whichever one it was, it didn’t matter as another push sent her sprawling to the floor, drawing air from her lungs and stopping whatever she wanted to say next.

”Oh, let the Scarhead have a little fun of his own.” Bellatrix put her heeled boot on Hermione’s back, pinning her to the ground painfully. The pressure soon got unbearable as the dark witch crouched down to get closer to her. “I assure you that we will manage on our own, I want you all to myself.”

”Help.” A strangled cry left Hermione’s lips.

”You know, I kinda want them to hear you.” Bellatrix cooed into her ear, knee digging into Hermione’s spine. “To see them running here only to die by my hand. But this time I wouldn’t make it quick, oh no. I did that the last time and look what it taught you - nothing! This time I will make them suffer. And you will have to watch every second of it knowing that this is all because of you. Because for once in the worthless life of yours, you could stop yourself from fucking up my life and decided to do it anyway. Now I will fuck up yours.”

”What are you talking about?!?” The Gryffindor squeaked through clenched teeth, nails biting into the ground in an effort to distract herself from the pain. As it turned out, this wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to say as Bellatrix’s fingers scrapped the top of her head, pulling it back by the hair so that the girl could gaze into the blazing thunder in her eyes.

”Do you take me for a fool, mudblood? I showed you the power many people would envy, people who deserve it more than a useless vermin like yourself, and yet, you chose to use it in a worst way possible.” Hermione’s head was smashed on the floor without any warning, warm blood oozing out the broken nose, running down her face. She tried to scream, but it only hurt her more as swelling started to spread through her face, making it difficult to see.

Bellatrix didn’t even stop her tirade to admire the damage as she pulled Hermione’s head back and shrieked into her ear. “I gave you an infinite supply of worlds where you and your wretched buddies could have it your way! And what have you done? You decided to fuck up my perfect world!”

”I haven’t done anything yet!”

And that’s when the whole vault shook in its foundations, a piece of the stone ceiling falling on them, making Bellatrix release Hermione’s head to cast a shield above them. It was a small mercy, but enough for the young woman to take advantage of.

Without much thinking she grabbed a handful of golden coins from the heap next to her. It caused a small landslide that quickly escalated when the gold started multiplying itself.

”Finite incantatem!” Bellatrix screeched, but to no avail as the shower of golden coins fell on her head. Only the original caster could stop the curse now and it sure as hell wasn’t her.

A feral roar echoed from the other end of the cave, blending with Lestrange’s angry cry as Hermione wiggled herself from the Death Eater’s clutches and took off running.

”Harry!” She yelled, her feet slipping on gold, eyes squinting to see the exit. She could almost see it, she could smell the foul stench of sulfur surrounding the dragon’s lair and then she saw IT.

The pale dragon spreading its wings and starting to climb to the surface. She saw it once in another world and knew what it meant right away. The sound of her heart tearing in two was quickly overshadowed by a mad cackle following her.

”Bombarda maxima!” A sudden explosion tore hundreds of golden coins to pieces, blowing what was left of them out of the vault.

Hermione collapsed to her knees. There was no hope left.

”Awww, what’s that, muddy? Did your friends really just left you to die? How pathetic.” Bellatrix emerged from the golden tides, her crooked wand raised in front of her ready to punish the girl before her.

”Lestrange, please…”

“Look at you, filth! Did you really think that I wouldn’t learn of your little Gringotts stunt? About the pathetic deal you made with other me? You can beg all you want, there will not be any deal this time.”

”Let me go.”

”You wish.” A malevolent grin split her pale face, her rotten teeth on full display as her lips started mouthing a familiar curse. “C R U C I O”

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, her heart stopping for just a second as the dark witch punctuated each letter with precision and style that could only come from years of practice. Dark eyes shining with mirth as the young woman’s body hit the ground, tremors overtaking it.

She expected the pain to catapult her into another world, taking her away from the suffering, but none of that happened. It wasn’t like one of those hits to the head she practiced before the mission, this kind of pain was riveting, it anchored her to her body as if there was no way to escape it.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull, every nerve aching as if she was on fire. Every bone feeling as if it was shattering into pieces. Blood boiling in her veins. Bellatrix really perfected the curse, no wonder Longbottoms ended up in St Mungo’s.

Finally it stopped. Hermione opened her eyes to see Bellatrix watching her every reaction intently, drinking in her suffering, hanging on every hiss and moan as if it was the gospel.

”Now” She said smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “The fun begins.”

Chapter Text

“Does she have to be chained like that?” The cold blue eyes welcomed them in the drawing room. Narcissa Malfoy’s regal silhouette sitting leisurely in an ornate armchair, watching intently as Hermione was being dragged through her house like a common slave.

Hermione’s gaze lit up with hope.

”I don’t want her scratching my parquet.” The blonde added, turning back to her book. If she had any opinion about Hermione’s ragged look and bloodied face, she never let it slip.

”Don’t worry, Cissy, she’s not gonna be walking on parquets anytime soon.” Lestrange commented with a cruel grin on her face.

”Last time she was brought here you promised me that she wouldn’t walk at all after that and look where it got us.” Her nonchalant, bored tone of voice reminding Hermione of Snape somehow.

”And I remember you promising me to watch out for the boys and yet they managed to outsmart you and Draco.” Bellatrix’s nostril flared as Narcissa wiped the goofy smile off her face.

”Good point, but none of it would have happened if only you listened to me and Lucius and summoned the Dark Lord when they were still at our mercy.” The younger sister said, casually flipping the page.

”Cissy!” Bellatrix said, scandalized. “Could you stop arguing with me in front of the prisoner?”

”And pray tell, Bella, who is she going to tell?” The younger Black raised her eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you want to introduce her to anyone of importance. Well, other than those old skeletons in the dungeons, obviously.”

”Actually... I was thinking about the attic.” Bellatrix said with something that sounded suspiciously like nervousness.

Narcissa sucked in a sharp breath, her book closing rapidly with a loud crack. If everything they said before was only a part of their sisterly jostling, then this sudden response from the Malfoy matriarch was the first genuine reaction she has shown that day.

”Absolutely no!” She said with certainty. Dangerous glint in here eyes showcasing her no-nonsense attitude.

”But Cissy!” Bellatrix whined, stomping her foot like a petulant child. “The cellar is the first place they’re gonna check when they come to free her!”

”No.” Narcissa’s tone was firm and calm as she slowly licked the tip of her finger, dramatically opening the book and flipping through the pages to the place where she finished reading, completely impassive to Lestrange’s theatrics. “You have your own house, I’m sure Rodolphus wouldn’t mind.”

”Cissy, please, the Dark Lord can’t know about her!” Lestrange pleaded, her brow furrowing slightly. There was something urgent and perhaps even pathetic in the way she begged her sister to let Hermione stay. She was like a child, asking a parent to keep a pet they would find on the side of the road. “You know that Rodolphus is a sleazy bastard, he would snitch on me in no time!”

”Why?” That seemed to have captured Narcissa’s attention. Thin lips curling downwards in a somber scowl. “Please, tell me why exactly can’t the Dark Lord know about this?” Her pale blue eyes boring into her sister’s skull, unable to establish eye contact. “What are you playing at Bellatrix? And why do I feel like it’s going to bring us only trouble?”

”Trouble?!? If you haven’t married a useless, spineless oath we wouldn’t have any trouble! If only your equally idiotic son would have enough balls to kill Dumbledore we wouldn’t have any trouble! Instead, you forced me to make a deal with this… this slimy traitor Severus.” Bellatrix was livid. Nothing remaining of her pleading tone as she spat out every word in anger. “Now all I ask is to lock a goddamn mudblood in the goddamn attic and you accused me of bringing trouble to this home?”

”Take her and lock her in your own room for all I care!” Narcissa Malfoy clearly had enough of this. Petite body rising from the ornate chair, shaking almost as she snapped back at her ungrateful sister. Hermione could tell that she was seconds away from hurtling the book she was holding at Bellatrix. Perfectly manicured fingers slipping on its spine as she waved it around wildly, highlighting every word with a swing. “Do whatever you deem necessary, but don’t go pointing fingers afterwards, when your middle name is trouble!”

”And here I thought it was Druella.” The Death Eater sneered, shaking her head mockingly.

”Get her out of my sight!” Narcissa squeezed the bridge of her nose. This quarrel was already costing her a headache. “And for the love of God, silence the room, I don’t want to hear her stomping around all night, rattling those rusty chains or better yet: you torturing her. I’ve had enough of people screaming and trampling around my house for a lifetime. I deserve a vacation.”

”For what? Sitting on your ass all day and whining over Draco’s every move?” Bellatrix mumbled under her breath, already pulling Hermione away from the Malfoy matriarch.

”I heard it!”

”I. Don’t. Care.” Lestrange snarled, dragging the younger woman up the stairs.

Her fingers  digging into Hermione’s arm, shoulder rubbing on shoulder as they navigated the narrow staircase, careful not to slip on the stone surface. They were already a couple of floors up when a loud cry echoed through the mansion, making Hermione stop in her tracks.

”What was that?” She blurted without thinking. Bellatrix stumbling slightly on the stairs, her iron grip acting like an anchor, pulling her body back onto Hermione’s.

”What?!?” The older witch snapped, her onyx eyes widening slightly before narrowing in suspicion as she pretended to look around dramatically. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bellatrix shrugged, trying to pull her further up the stairs.

”No, no, I’m sure that I heard a baby crying.” Hermione insisted, her feet planted firmly between one step and the other as she listened for any more noises. Hearing nothing other than her own beating heart.

”Must have been the wind.” Bellatrix argued, looking her defiantly in the eye as if challenging her to continue.

”Wind? Indoors? I think I know how a human baby sounds.” Hermione replied, sizing the other woman up.

”Don’t be daft, mudblood, move your feet, or I will help you!” Lestrange growled, brandishing her wand dangerously. It seemed to have convinced the Gryffindor who decided to continue their ascent.

Bellatrix brought her to a small, cluttered room. It was full of dusty furniture and vintage ornaments, items of everyday use rolling around with their every step. A series of wooden pillars supporting the leaky roof, here and there sticking out of the rubble.

With one move of her wand, Bellatrix tidied up the room, clearing out a small space in the middle. She threw the Gryffindor at one of the pillars, attaching her chain to the structure to make sure she wouldn’t run away.

”Here, all nice and tight.” Lestrange mocked her, checking the lock.

Hermione couldn’t bare to look at her, to see the cruel glint in her eyes, the sadistic smile on her face. Instead she dragged her gaze through her prison cell, only marginally better than what she imagined the Azkaban must be like.

It was a terrible feeling to fall so low just as everything was about to take a turn for the better. How short and violent was her road to Calvary. Only yesterday she was full of hope, she was sure that she was finally given an opportunity to end this foolish war… and yet, Bellatrix Lestrange murdered her dreams in a matter of seconds.

”I never thought I would die in somebody’s lumber room.” Hermione sighed, earning a chuckle from the older woman.

”Oh no, if you think that I’ve gone through all this effort to kill you now, you haven’t been paying attention, muddy.” Lestrange patted her cheek playfully. It was humiliating, Hermione was like a dog to her. To be at the mercy of such horrible person was as good as death to her.

”Then why am I here?” Hermione asked dryly, her eyes lifting to meet the other woman’s amused gaze. Intensity of the dark, wild eyes sending a shiver down her spine. “I assure you, I don’t know anything that would be of use to you."

"You will be of use to me." Bellatrix cackled, a nasty smile creeping onto her face as she leaned closer to the bound girl. Hermione stiffening momentarily. "The only reason you are still here and not 6ft under is because you will be... useful to me.” She stumbled over the word, unable to utter it without her gag reflex kicking in.

”Me? A mudblood? Being useful to the mighty Bellatrix Lestrange? I doubt that.” Hermione mocked, every word dripping with malice. Bellatrix’s palm wiping the cheeky grin off her face.

”I know just the way to teach you manners, vermin." Bellatrix growled, smoothing the reddening skin with her pale thumb. "It's better to bite your tongue when needed, than to be left with no tongue at all." Seeing the terrified expression on Hermione's face, she took her hand back and stood up, towering over the girl like a skyscraper. "Don't worry, Mudblood, I will only punish you if you act naughty. Be a good little pet and you might even get a reward.” Elegant eyebrow rising knowingly.

”A longer chain?” Hermione asked dryly.

Bellatrix let out a genuine laugh, her skin wrinkling around her eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over her chapped lips. Hermione couldn't decide if she was more afraid of her when she was angry or playful.

”Ah ah, you will have to be complaisant to find out.” She said, taking out her crooked wand and tracing its tip over the younger woman's face. "And if you don't... well, I wouldn't complain either."

”You can’t crucio me forever." Hermione sneered at her, pushing the wand off her face.

”Hmmm, do you really hold me in such low regard to suggest that my repertoire is limited to a single curse?" She cooed, but her expression showed a hint of hurt. "Trust me when I say that when it comes to punishing you, I will not lack creativity, you have my word.”

Hermione chuckled despite herself. “You said there will be no deals this time and yet that sounded a lot like nobile verbum to me.”

”Silly mudbaby, nobile verbum is for those of purer blood than yours. Promising something to you is akin to promising it to a dog.”

”You’re right, it was silly of me to assume that you had any honor whatsoever." Hermione continued her assault, emboldened by the lack of punishment. She will not be treated like a dog, even if she has to suffer for standing up to the crazy woman. Taking a deep breath, she decided to deal the final blow. "You lie even to your beloved master.”

One well placed hit destroyed what little was left of her nose, sending blood flying in all directions. Hermione cried out in pain, gasping in futile attempt to catch some air, fighting desperately not to pass out.

”You have quite the dirty mouth, don’t you? Rest assured, I will beat it out of you.” Bellatrix yanked her head back by the hair to look the girl in the eye one last time. “Until then, try not to ruin Narcissa’s precious rug with your dirty blood, I figure she won’t be as nice to you as she was today.”

Hermione wanted to spit the blood in her face, she wanted to tell the woman to go to hell, but she was suddenly overcome with such dizziness that she couldn’t stop her eyes from closing and when she opened them, Bellatrix was no longer in the attic. Her mad cackle still echoing through the cluttered room.

Hermione lowered her head as another wave of nausea rattled her brain. Below her a small puddle of blood was seeping into an antique rug. If she had a choice, she would rather have Narcissa Malfoy murdering her than that deranged sister of hers. She imagined it being quicker, less painful, more elegant as the Malfoy matriarch herself.

As far as she knew, she had only two options now. One being death (preferably by Narcissa’s hand), the other - spectacular escape. Unfortunately for her no one has ever escaped anything with their feet bolted to the pillar and she was no David Copperfield to free herself of those shackles without doing something as foolish as breaking her ankles.

Leaning against the wooden beam, she closed her eyes once again, wishing that instead of running around in the woods she could have finished her education and hopefully learned how to properly use wandless magic. Being the insufferable know-it-all she was, Hermione already knew the basics of it, even managing to cast something now and then. But to escape her current predicament she knew that she needed something more reliable. The timing had to be right! She couldn’t just free herself and walk out the front door casually, right?

But hope is the mother of fools as they say and so Hermione had to check if she would be able to do anything with her chain. Her wrist flickering as a quiet spell left her mouth, eyes never leaving the locked door of her cell, watching out for Bellatrix’s return. Nothing happened.

She tried again. And then again. Finally, forgetting about the door, her wrist arching painfully as she performed the spell in hopes of at least producing a spark, but nothing came out of her fingers. A new wave of dread washed over her as she slumped against the pillar, defeat coloring her features. If only she could get some rest, perhaps then she could gather enough strength to cast at least a warming spell on herself. Her eyes closed on their own accord as her breath became shallow, mind drifting out of consciousness.

”Wake up, Miss Granger!” A sudden hit to the head stirred her awake, shrilling voice making her jump in her seat. “That will be 20 points taken from the Gryffindor. I see that Mr Weasley’s influence rubs off on even the most annoying of you.”

Points? She opened her eyes revealing the DADA classroom before her. A quick look around telling her that she was in fact in the middle of a class, sitting in her chair, taking notes as Harry and Ron gazed at her with concern.

”Psst, ‘Mione, are you ok?” Ron whispered quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. Immediately a stinging jinx collided with his arm. Onyx eyes staring at him with irritation and something that was hard for him to decipher.

”No talking! That’s another 5 points gone, Mr Weasley. Even Dumbledore’s yearly deus ex machina won’t help you now.” That voice! Those eyes! It couldn’t be.

”Blimey.” Ron cursed under his breath, massaging his still aching hand.

Hermione bolted from her chair, wild eyes roaming the room until they met the onyx ones cold and collected.

“Lestrange!” The Gryffindor cried, her legs shaking under her as she stumbled through the classroom. Her world was shattering before her eyes once again, sudden pain in her nose reminding her of her previous injury. Where was she exactly? Did she follow her? Was this some sort of a sick joke?

”Has she fallen asleep in the library again?” Lestrange addressed Harry as her brow furrowed. A hint of concern shadowing her features. “Dreaming about convicted criminals can’t be healthy for you, Miss Granger, you’re bleeding.” Pale hand pointing to Hermione’s abused nose.

Indeed she was, her fingers were drenched in the warm, red liquid. Narcissa’s rug must have been ruined by now, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when there was a Death Eater standing before her, teaching the children at Hogwarts what? Defense Against the Dark Arts? What a joke.

”Professor, could I…” Ron wanted to volunteer, knowing that his friend might have been in a need of medical attention was unbearable to him and he knew how heartless Professor Black was. Unfortunately for him, the woman wouldn’t have it.

“Potter, get her to the infirmary at once.” Bellatrix said dryly, throwing an embroidered handkerchief  at the bleeding girl. Hermione immediately pressed it to her nose stopping the blood from flowing onto her lips. “And be careful, can’t have my students falling off the stairs during the class, Severus would be jealous. Miss Granger seems to be his favorite student.”

A couple of Slytherin students snickering in the corner as Bellatrix turned on her heel and marched to the front of the classroom, throwing the inkwell off a random Gryffindor’s desk in the process. ‘Wandless magic’ was the topic plastered all over the board. Hermione’s breath hitched.

Memories started flooding her brain.

”It’s not in the curriculum.” She could hear Harry saying.

”I’m sorry, I forgot that Mr Potter only wants things that are handed to him on a silver platter. Is using your magic the way people all over the world do too much for the Chose One?” Bellatrix cooed, her lips forming into a petty pout. And to Hermione’s shock, her other self thought she looked… cute?

”Hermione!” Harry’s voice brought her back to the present. They were sitting in the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey hovering over her with a concerned gaze. “What’s wrong with her? She was still alright just a moment ago.”

”I see no injuries that could be the cause of this.” The older woman said, handing her a piece of cloth to wipe away the blood. Bellatrix’s handkerchief nowhere to be seen. Something inside Hermione was screaming at her to look for it. “Perhaps it’s from exertion. Were you under stress recently, Miss Granger?”

”Of course she was.” Harry answered for her, his eyes welling up with anger. “How could she not when she’s being constantly bullied by Professor Black!”

”Harry, I’m not sure...” She finally spoke, her voice wavering slightly. 

”’Mione, please, you always keep defending her! I don’t understand it.” Harry said, shaking his head disapprovingly. He realized of course how talented of an academic the woman was, he knew that if it was any other teacher, there wouldn’t be much of a problem with that, but his friend’s  obsession with such a cruel person clearly wasn’t healthy for her. “She treats you like dirt for Salazar’s sake!”

Hermione could only stare at him blankly. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined herself idolizing Bellatrix Lestrange in any way. It was one thing to admire her skills, and another thing entirely to obsess over her.

And yet, something kept stirring in her at every mention of that cursed name. It led her to believe that perhaps Harry wasn’t exaggerating when he accused her other self of fawning over the teacher. It really was curious how suddenly she was able to consume those foreign emotions, merging them with her own.

Heavy was the burden that was thrust upon her so carelessly by the fates. It filled her with fear, but also with an insatiable hunger for knowledge. Her head was pounding with a tumult of questions forming at the mere thought of everything she has witnessed so far.

Was Lestrange able to control these emotions or did she embrace it? Perhaps she was impervious to them, so used to visiting worlds similar to her own, where all she would feel was hate and anger. All this was making Hermione nauseous. Eyes fluttering shut as she ran her hand over her forehead, massaging it lightly.

”Oh dear.” Madam Pomfrey must have realized her distress. The stories about Professor Black were legendary at this point. Even she knew about the woman’s dark deeds. She couldn’t even remember a day when at least one of the dark witch’s students wouldn’t have to visit the infirmary, seeking medical attention. Wanting to ease the tension at least a little bit, she turned back to the  bleeding girl, looking at her with warmth and  reassurance. “Maybe a calming drought will help you then, give me a second.” The woman said and disappeared behind the corner.

”I doubt it.” Hermione sneered, feeling the headache transform into an unbearable pain concentrated in the middle of her face, her eyes rolling back into her skull as she fell on the bed. Madam Pomfrey running to her side immediately.

”Now, it should be better.” Someone reassured her as the horrible pain started receding. The swelling disappearing with a simple move of a wand. “Can you speak?”

Hermione’s eyelids lifting slowly as if the smallest ray of light could burnout her retinas. A regal figure looming over her, delicate fingers closing over the metal hilt of a perfectly crafted, dark weapon. Her silhouette being shadowed by the light highlighting her from above, only her pale eyes standing out from the rest of her shadowed face.

Elegant wand, blue eyes, Narcissa Malfoy.

”Yes…” Hermione said cautiously, raising her hand to check the current states of her abused nose.

“Don’t touch it, it’s not fully healed yet.” The Malfoy matriarch chastised her. ”You seemed far away there. Are you aware of your predicament now?”

”Yes.” Hermione drawled, putting her hand back on the floor.

”Good.” Narcissa said matter-of-factly. “I stopped the bleeding, it will still hurt for a bit.”

”Thank you?” The Gryffindor hesitated, bracing her sore back against the wooden pillar.

”Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Granger. I only did it to save my rug.” She said pointing at the dried bloody mess below her ass. “Although I do appreciate your good manners. My sister always had a problem with those.”

”That’s an understatement.” Hermione replied dryly. Eyes darting over the older woman’s face, looking for the smallest clue to why she was suddenly so kind to her. “Why are you here, Madam?” Her voice felt so small that she was surprised that Narcissa even managed to catch it.

”Isn’t it obvious? Information.” Mrs Malfoy explained, casually vanishing the blood off the carpet and kneeling next to her. Her piercing blue eyes and calm, yet stern tone of voice sending a shiver down the Gryffindor’s spine. “I want to know what Bellatrix is up to. Why is she keeping you here like royalty instead of handing you to the Dark Lord or torturing you to death?”

”Frankly? I would like to know it myself.” Hermione straightened her back, the sudden proximity of the regal woman making her feel anxious. “She said that she needs me for something, but apparently forgot to mention what it was.”

”But why? What is so useful about a common…” Narcissa’s brow furrowed.

”Mudblood?” The Gryffindor’s voice cuts in.

”I was going to say ‘schoolgirl’, but I guess it’s befitting as well.” Narcissa replied, sending her a deadly glare so cold that she could practically feel its icy touch on her skin.

”And why should I tell you? Not being tortured to death suits me fine.” There must have been a reason why Bellatrix haven’t told her sister about their powers yet. And if the dark witch deemed it necessary to be that way, then she was to question her judgment. After all, if anyone in this world knew Narcissa better than her own husband, it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her sudden change in attitude must have angered the older woman, her jaw clenching underneath the delicate skin, muscles stiffening.

”Have it your way then.” She said,  pushing Hermione back, against the pillar and rising to her feet gracefully. “I will come back once my sister beats some sense into you.” Her gown’s hem twirling as she turned on her heel dramatically, ready to leave the room.

”Madam Malfoy.” She stopped. “Do you know anything about my friends?”

”I don’t.” She replied dryly, but didn’t move a muscle. Clearly she was considering something. “But perhaps if you had a change of heart, I could ask Severus if he knew anything of use.”

”I will think about it then.” Hermione’s eyes lit up with hope. If only she could be sure that her friends were safe and sound, everything would be easier to bear.

”Good.” The clicking of heels resumed. “And Miss Granger, try not to sully my rug further. Scourgify can only do so much.”

And with that she disappeared behind the closed door. As short as their encounter was, it was a pleasant surprise to Hermione, who didn’t expect such civil conversation with anyone in that cursed mansion. With her nose at least partially healed she could finally think freely, closing her eyes in hopes of falling asleep before Lestrange decides to show her annoying face.

When she opened them next she was back at the infirmary. The dim light of the moon coming through windows and illuminating   Madam Pomfrey’s features. She shifted slightly in her chair, snoring in her sleep on the other end of the room. Carefully not to wake her, Hermione slid off the bed, taking her robe and shoes into her hand as she tiptoed to the door.

The hallways were empty, a typical sign of a curfew starting. She sneaked through the darkened halls, swiftly avoiding Filch and the ghosts haunting it, always eager to snitch on the students unlucky enough to get caught by them.

Finally, Hermione entered the ominous dungeons. It looked as if the Slytherins were already in their beds and so she had no trouble in traversing the corridors without alarming anyone, the only problem being - she didn’t know where to go.

”Shit.” She cursed quietly, chastising herself for not bothering to go back to the Gryffindor dorm for Harry’s map. Without it, she had no idea where Bellatrix’s private quarters were.

”Swearing AND sneaking into the dungeons in the middle of the night?” A low voice chimes in suddenly, making Hermione jump in panic. A pair of strong hands immediately landing on her shoulders, stopping her from going anywhere. She was caught red handed.

“Miss Granger, you’ve just earned a week of detention, as well as another 20 points deduction for your house.” The female voice practically purred into her ear… or perhaps it was only her imagination working overtime. “Are you trying to break some sort of personal record by any chance?”

She finally gathered enough courage to turn around, knowing well enough already who will she see standing behind her. Her heart having a field day in her chest as it frantically pumped hectoliters of blood straight through her veins. No matter how prepared she was to meet those cruel, onyx eyes, she still couldn’t stop the air from leaving her lungs all at once, their gazes meeting in the dimly lit dungeons.

The dark witch loomed over her, twirling her crooked wand lazily. Amused grin splitting her face. It must have been her lucky day, usually Granger was insufferably boring, she had to actually come up with new ways to torment her, but today the mouse came to the cat.

”P… Professor, I just… wanted to ask you something about today’s lesson.” Hermione stumbled over her words. Her heartbeat echoing in her ears, making it impossible to think clearly.

”Of course you did. What else could have possibly forced such horrible know-it-all to ambush me in the middle of the night.” Bellatrix chuckled, staring at her through the slope of her nose.

”Me? Ambushing you?” Hermione could help but gale. Hazel eyes scanning over her beautiful face, widening at the sight of a familiar, sadistic grin. “Never mind, It’s not that important actually. I think I’m going to simply ask Professor Snape tomorrow, good night Professor.” She said, turning around to go back to her dorm.

Pale hand stopping her in her tracks. “Wait a minute, Granger.” Bellatrix drawled, looking at her with something akin to concern and maybe… jealousy??? “Snivellus is hardly qualified to answer any of your questions. You haven’t gone through all this trouble to simply give up now, have you?”

Hermione opened her mouth hesitantly. “I was wondering… Well, I mean, I know I’m capable of using wandless magic, I’ve done it before, but… I have been in some pain lately and it just refuses to work. Not even a spark gets out. I’m completely stumped and what’s the point of knowing how to use it if it’s so unreliable?” She took a long, deep breath. The last part practically spilling from her mouth. Lestrange must have been having the best time of her life seeing her so distressed.

”Ok, it seems to me that you’re having problems with channeling your magic because of… the pain?” Bellatrix’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “But what you fail to realize is that pain can be a perfect catalyst in some instances, especially in the life and death situations when you have trouble with controlling your reactions.”

Wait? What was that? No taunting? No insults? That sounded almost like a reasonable advice. Heat creeping onto her cheeks, coloring her face with pink blush. Was Lestrange lulling her into a false sense of security? Was she playing with her?

”That… actually helps a lot, thank you, Professor.” Hermione scratched her head awkwardly. She wasn’t expecting Bellatrix to help her right away. It felt quite refreshing actually, to finally have a competent teacher for once in her life. A highly suspicious one, but still better than Lockhart for all she knew.

”Wipe that smile off your face, Granger. You will still have detention tomorrow, so better get back to bed before Filch finds you.” With that, the dark witch pushed past her and disappeared around the corner just as swiftly as she has arrived.

Hermione didn’t waste her time on going back to her dorm, jumping worlds instantly and getting up from Narcissa’s precious rug. She was alone in the Malfoys’ attic, surrounded by old furniture. A quick glance at the partially covered mirror and she saw her still slightly swollen face.

She extended her hand, pointing it the shackles chaining her to the pillar and focused completely on the pain radiating from her broken nose.

”Alohomora.”

The lock opened, freeing one of her legs, blood rushing to the sore limb as Hermione stretched it delicately before securing the shackle back on. New hope coursing through her body, filling her with joy. Lestrange won’t have it easy with her.

Speaking of the devil, the door blasted open, hitting the wall with enough force to leave cracks in the paint.

”Pull your trousers back on, mudblood, we’re going on an adventure!” The shrilling voice announced happily.

Chapter Text

“Did you miss me, filth?” Bellatrix nudged her with her foot. Toothy grin showing every rotten crevice as she pulled Hermione up by the scruff of her neck.

”Hardly.” The Gryffindor sneered. “It feels as if we just met.”

Lestrange’s smile immediately faltered, onyx eyes scanning every inch of Hermione’s face with visible discontent. Foregoing the younger woman’s collar for a better hold on her face. She studied it carefully, watching it from every angle.

”I see my sister has been keeping you company. A quick advice for you, mudblood: don’t try anything funny. I will find you wherever you go.” Her hands retreated, letting Hermione step back. Chains rattling behind her. “And if you dare take advantage of Narcissa’s good heart, I will be ruthless like you have never seen me before.”

Every muscle in her face corroborated that statement and for the first time in a while Hermione was genuinely terrified of her. Her skin breaking out in goose bumps as the older woman circled her slowly.

”You said that we are going on an adventure, right?” Hermione opted for the change of topic. “Judging by the chain still hanging from my ankles, it’s not going to be a physical one.”

”Oh no, can’t have a mudblood parading next to me, can I? Even as pretty maggot as yourself, filth.” She chuckled darkly, taking out her wand. Hermione flinched, preparing herself for the incoming torture. Imagine her shock when the words Bellatrix uttered next were as harmless as “Accio quill and notebook.”

Immediately an enchanted quill and a beautiful leather bound notebook appeared at her side, the quill standing readily to write down anything she says.

”And what is this for?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to describe my murder in a memoir of sorts?”

”If I was going to murder you, vermin, you would already be dead by now. This is for documentation, the first rule of every scientific experiment.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes dramatically.

It rendered Hermione speechless, her gaze rapidly switching from the dark witch to the notebook. What surprised her even more was the fact that the prop in question was strategically opened at the end, loose cards and highlights peaking from the part that was already overwritten with text. Was she documenting every single jump? For the last two years?!?

No wonder the woman was a professor back in the other world.

”What is going on here, Lestrange?” She finally managed to mumble. “Last week you wanted to kill me, claiming that the only way to get Harry was to put me down and now suddenly you want to… what? Experiment on me?!?”

”The last time…I might have made a small… fatal miscalculation.” Onyx eyes shone with some mischievous glint that Hermione couldn’t fully comprehend. “Before I kill you I will have to… figure that out, so there are no further incidents. I simply can’t afford them, especially not after your little Gringotts stunt.”

”But you stopped… wait a minute, you mean?”

”Yes, I went there after she killed you.” Bellatrix’s eyes lost their mirth, something was making her nervous and Hermione wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what it was. Unfortunately for her, it was too important to be left unasked.

”May I ask what you found there that was so interesting for you to let me live?” She queried carefully.

”Well, well, well. Wouldn’t you like to know, little mudscientist? You may not.” The dark witch pushed her against the pillar, her gorgeous curls shaking in a throaty chuckle. “I know mudbloods generally aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, but you were supposed to be the smart one. You’re not supposed to be the one asking questions, that’s my job. Yours is to follow my orders blindly and reporting back - nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded her head slowly, which surprisingly only angered the older witch further.

”Speak, girl! I want to hear it.” She spat, invading the Gryffindor’s personal space.

”I do understand!” Hermione snapped. Her broken nose almost touching Bellatrix’s as she sized her up defiantly. Here it was again. Her stomach playing jokes on her. She couldn’t help, but thank the older woman mentally for breaking her nose. Her face was so red and swollen that something as simple as a blush wasn’t visible among the damage. “There, can we start now?” She said impatiently, not wanting Lestrange to notice anything.

Next thing she knew she was sprawled on the floor, the back of her head aching from the violent fall. Bellatrix stood over her, hatred evident in her wild eyes as she bent down to have a better look at the girl.

”You insolent brat, I see that talking to my sister made you forget your place. And to think that I actually wanted to go easy on you.” She sighed dramatically. “Thankfully that’s no longer an option. Open up.”

Hermione wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but it soon became evident as a nagging feeling at the back of her neck alarmed her of someone trying to break into her mind. Being the insufferable know-it-all she was, Hermione many times asked Harry to teach her Occulumency, even going as far as sneaking into the restricted section of the library, so the concept wasn’t that foreign to her. At some point she even felt so confident that she was sure that she had the best mental shields a Hogwarts student could have. It all shattered like glass the moment she felt Bellatrix Lestrange invade her mind without any difficulty whatsoever.

She tried fighting her. She tried creating invisible walls, spamming her with useless memories, locking her in a memory loop - all the strategies she has read about. It was all for naught as the older woman bypassed every single one of her barricades effortlessly, her iconic cackle echoing in Hermione’s head, mocking her flimsy defenses as horrible pain tore the Gryffindor’s head apart.

Memories that she has long forgotten about now cascading in front of her, useless information swarming her head like bees, buzzing with trivialities. And then suddenly it all stopped. She opened her eyes carefully, afraid that it would start all over again. She must have closed them at some point, probably because of the pain, but now that it has ceased completely there was no reason to keep them that way.

She was still on the floor, her back firmly planted on Narcissa Malfoy’s precious rug. Glazed over onyx eyes watching her attentively as she pulled herself to a sitting position, bracing her body against the pillar. Something was off about all this. Her body felt off. As if she was in some kind of a video game. It felt like a constant deja vu. 

She raised her hand to look at it and noticed the significant delay in her reactions. Adding it up to the nagging feeling of a foreign presence in her head could only mean one thing: Bellatrix was still in her head and currently watching the world through her eyes, probably hearing her every thought.

”Not that stupid after all.” The silky voice in her head drawled. It sounded a lot like Bellatrix’s, but the witch’s lips weren’t moving.

”Get out of my head.” Hermione sneered, fisting her hair in desperation.

”Nah, I think I’m gonna chill here a little bit more.” Lestrange pulled a dusty rag off an ornate armchair nearby and dragged it to the pillar, flopping onto it inelegantly and inspecting her nails.

It struck Hermione that the older woman wasn’t even maintaining eye contact with her and yet their connection stayed uninterrupted. She was like a pork tapeworm sucking into her flesh and attaching herself to her with its little hooks. A parasite.

”Ohhh, what a lovely comparison, muddy. I have been called many things, but never… well… THAT!” Bellatrix snorted, chuckling slightly. “Gross!”

Hermione had to stop herself from even thinking about a retort because she knew that it would have ended badly for her. Instead, she decided to focus on one point and avoid thinking altogether. Let Bellatrix have her fun and then get back to the task ahead when she’s bored and done.

”You’re no fun. What a shame.” The Death Eater let out an exaggerated sight and started rolling up her sleeve, a hefty dagger held leisurely between her fingers.

Hazel eyes widened in shock, pulse quickening as Hermione slid behind the pillar, using it as a makeshift cover. “What are you doing? You’re not calling him, are you?”

”Would I keep you here and go through all that trouble to just call him over?” Bellatrix’s brow arched. “And what would I tell him when he arrived? That I’ve been keeping Harry Potter’s closest friend in my sister’s mansion? Without him knowing? And while I’m at it, might as well mention that said mudblood and me too have superpowers and actually had them for years now, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled! And then we will all sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair. Get your head out of your arse muddy and start thinking!”

”Then what’s with the sleeve?” Hermione said, looking at the pale forearm on display. The Dark Mark proudly standing out from the scarred skin around it. There were a couple of new scratches in the mix, but mostly all scars seemed to be old. What stood out the most was the angry ring around her slender wrist.

’Azkaban memento’ Hermione thought.

“They shrink the more you move, you know? The shackles in Azkaban I mean. It’s really ingenious, at some point you just give up and lay around all day. I didn’t though.” A crazy smile split her face from ear to ear, madness dancing in her eyes as she slid down her chair and crawled closer to the Gryffindor.

“Tell me, muddy…” She cooed, carefully caressing Hermione’s engorged  face with the flat side of her cursed blade. “Would you like me to help you jump, or do you have other ways to do it?” The enchanted quill momentarily jumped as if anticipating that it was time to start writing everything down.

”I’m guessing that you won’t let me just fall asleep, right?” Hermione asked sourly. A glint of interest lighting up the dark eyes staring at her.

”It happens to you then? It never happened to me, but I don’t dream either. Another memento I got courtesy of the Azkaban Prison.” A strange look crossed her features, it seemed out of character, almost too human for the notorious Death Eater, and yet it fascinated Hermione to no end. Oh, what would she give for the opportunity to reverse their connection and peek into the older woman’s thoughts, even though she was slightly afraid of what she might have found there.

For a second there Bellatrix was frozen in silent contemplation, that was until she realized who she was talking to. Shaking herself out of the stupor, she raised her dagger, sliding it across her alabaster skin. It was a dazzling sight to witness. The red, warm liquid contrasting with her deathly pale complexion, as if trying to prove that she was still human, that she was still alive.

Hermione was so captivated by the display that she never anticipated the thrust that pierced her hand, pinning it to the floor as she cried in pain. She desperately wanted to get it out, but Bellatrix’s cold gaze stopped her from doing so. Merlin only knew where that dagger could end up next.

”Focus on the job.” Bellatrix spat. “3…2…”

”Wait, but you haven’t even told me what…”

The twist of the blade made the world spin before her eyes. Unable to take it any longer, she closed them and when she finally lifted her eyelids, she was in a cold, wet cell.

She could hear the waves hitting rocks outside as well as someone’s incomprehensible screams. Something zoomed past her barred window. She moved closer to see what it was, chains clanking with every move of her feet. Shackles biting into her ankles and wrists. Her breath visible in the cold air. Why was it so cold?

Again. Something zoomed past her window again. She was now only a few steps away from the bars, from clear air devoid of the foul moldy stench that surrounded her at the moment. Few more steps and she would be close enough to touch the bars, but just as she was reaching out to do so, a haunting scream echoed in her head.

”No! Don’t you dare!” The voice howled, filling her body with uncontrollable fear that wasn’t even her own. A black hooded figure drifting through the air in her direction and freezing the shackles binding her. She closed her eyes bracing for its icy breath and when she opened them, she was suddenly somewhere completely different. Her hand was red and hot to the touch despite no other sign of injury.

Beside her a panting woman clutching a wooden table frantically. Onyx eyes turning to her filth burning hatred, recycling the fear into the only emotion she knew - anger.

”I swear on Salazar’s grave, if you try anything even remotely similar I will stab you somewhere where it will hurt more!” The dark witch bellowed, clutching the lapels of Hermione’s suit. Wait… a suit?

Her gaze drifting over the room they were in, taking in the horrified faces of a dozen of men sitting around the table. Their hands slowly crawling to their wands, eyes fixed on Bellatrix’s iron grip.

”Minister?” One of the men interrupted. Hermione recognized him as Yaxley, one of the  Dark Lord’s most prominent supporters. A quick scan of the other faces revealingly a strange mix of Death Eaters and members of the Order of Phoenix looking at her expectantly.

”Minister?” Bellatrix repeated in confusion. Her eyes widening at the sight of her colleagues and enemies surrounding her, patiently waiting for an order to put her down. Pale fingers relaxing, letting her shirt and suit go, going as far as straightening the crinkled fabric as a loud cackle echoed in the room.

”Oh Minister, please forgive me, I never intended on saying it aloud!” She said jovially, happily patting Hermione’s shoulder like an old friend. “Silly old me!”

Yexley’s face relaxed a bit, but his eyes were still carefully observing the older woman’s every move. If Hermione wanted to dissolve the tension she had to move fast. Merlin only knows what Bellatrix will do next.

”It’s okay, Yaxley.” She said assuringly to a man who not so long ago tried to kill her. Now she was bossing him around like the Dark Lord himself.

”Don’t let it go to your head, muddy.” Bellatrix whispered, smiling cheerfully at the rest of them. “As better as it is than the Azkaban cell you brought us to last, we can’t stay here. It’s too crowded.”

”Agreed, but don’t you dare stabbing me one more time or I will take you somewhere you wouldn’t like.” Hermione hissed back at her. “And trust me when I say that dying in this state is just as unpleasant as it probably is in real life.”

”I see that you’re finally learning how to play, mudblood. I won’t stab you, but the next place you’re taking us is somewhere more private, somewhere safe.” She growled ominously, clenching her teeth in a silent threat.

”I will try.” She said and closed her eyes, concentrating on the pain already tearing her body apart. It worked, her surroundings changing right before her eyes.

Where was she exactly? She couldn’t tell from first glance, but it looked like some sort of mansion. It was bigger than Malfoy Manor, but also more rundown. There was dust everywhere around her, books littering the floor making it hard to find an empty space to walk on. It didn’t look like an aftermath of a duel though, it seemed that there was simply not enough shelves to house all of the hefty tomes.

The whole mansion looked neglected, which immediately alarmed Hermione, who knew that people usually living in this sort of housing had elves to do all the dirty work for them. It left a couple of options to consider. The first one being that the owner of this place was a careless muddler, who wasn’t bothered by the ever present mess in their home. But then again, why would the house elves let it come to this and most importantly what was Hermione doing there? She was supposed to get them somewhere safe.

The other option took that all into consideration, assuming that the building was probably abandoned and that the Gryffindor was just hiding there. If that was the case, it would have been reasonable for her to not waste her time on cleaning as it might attract unnecessary attention to the premise.

”Good thinking, muddy.” The voice in her head praised. “Which one do you think it is?” And Hermione couldn’t tell if the other witch was genuinely interested or just laying a trap for her.

How much would she given at that moment to be able to see Bellatrix’s face, to be able to read her better, anticipated what was to come next. Suspicious by nature, she hesitated, deciding that there was indeed something off about the enthusiastic way she grabbed onto her deductions.

”You already know where we are, don’t you?” She spoke slowly. Nothing but an empty room around her to hear.

”Maybe.” Ah-ha! That sounded a lot more sour, which could only mean that there was a trap.

”If you know where we are, then I certainly wouldn’t be hiding here.” She continued, thousands of scenarios rushing through her head.

”Don’t be so sure, pet.” Bellatrix’s silky voice warned her.

The wheels in her head were spinning at an ungodly rate. She shifted closer to one of the shelves, a smudge in the dust drawing her attention to one of the books. An old, thick tome on… the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black?

“This is your house, isn’t it?” She whispered quietly as if it could save her from the other witch’s rage. Or whatever she had in store for her.

”Bingo!” Her head spun around so quickly that it was a miracle her neck didn’t snap. Bellatrix’s voice was too foreign to be coming out of her own mind. Oh no, she was there, leaning casually on an old fireplace with a cheeky grin. 

Seeing the Gryffindor’s puzzled expression she sauntered closer, pinching the younger woman’s cheeks like a good old auntie would. “You cracked it, muddy! You did! I thought I had you at first, but you figured that out. Perhaps a little weird world to choose, for a jump, but to hell with it, everything is better than Azkaban.”

She let go of Hermione’s cheeks, but didn’t step back, looking her straight in the eye with that wicked smile of hers. “About that, I meant what I said there, if you take me there one more time, it will be your last. Do you understand?”

”Yes.” Hermione answered immediately remembering Lestrange’s previous fixation on verbal responses.

”Good.” Bellatrix said, taking a step back. And reaching for her weapon, causing Hermione’s eyes to bulge in fear. 

”But I don’t understand one thing.” She said hurriedly. “What’s with all the books? Couldn’t you let a house elf do something about it?”

”Frankly? I don’t trust the rascals, they're too shifty. All that magic and they let us treat them like common slaves?” Bellatrix replied, arching an elegant eyebrow. “I would rather have a pretty Mudblood like you servicing me. At least then I would be sure that they really are scheming against me.”

The choice of wording was concerning to put it mildly, Hermione’s heart thrumming in her chest nervously. Bellatrix watching her reactions with a deranged smile on her face.

”What happens now?” The Gryffindor asked foolishly, trying to change the subject.

”Now?” Bellatrix shrugged, casually taking out her wand and pointing it at the girl. “Now I will kill you.”

Hermione raised her hands in defense. “Wait…”

”Avada Kedavra.”

And everything turned to black. She could feel the life slipping away from her cold body as Bellatrix’s foot nudged her head to check if she was dead already.

”You fucking bitch!” She lashed out as soon as she regained her consciousness in Narcissa Malfoy’s lumber room.

Bellatrix’s cruel cackle ringing in her ears as the other woman clutched her shaking sides. It infuriated her, her heart pumping with every wave of hatred as Hermione sprang to her feet, throwing herself at the unsuspecting Death Eater.

She was millimeters away from her target, the heavy chain at her feet, making her fall face first to the floor, no doubt reopening the wound in her barely healed nose. She rolled onto her back only to find Bellatrix Lestrange looming over her with an amused expression on her face.

”Oh, muddy, you’re so silly.” The older witch cooed sweetly, crouching down next to her. “You keep injuring yourself like a dumb little muggle. Keep in mind, Cissy won’t patch you up every time you fall on your face like a five year old.” Dexterous digit delicately wiping the blood from under her nose. “I’m afraid I will have to punish you next time you try something as foolish as that little leap of faith of yours.”

”And what will you do?” Hermione spat, droplets of blood catapulting off her mouth and falling on the alabaster skin. “You just murdered me, psycho! Is there anything worse you could possibly do?”

“Of course there is, silly.”  Bellatrix’s eyes lit up with mischief. “If you keep acting up I will have to pay mommy and daddy a visit, oh they love me so much at this point.”

”What did you say?” Hermione stumbled over her words. If her face was red because of the swelling just seconds ago, then now it was pale as a sheet. She gulped loudly, trying to stop herself from crying out as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Bellatrix on the other hand seemed oblivious to her, as she scratched her head casually and continued her tirade. “I mean, they have enough problems of their own right now, you wouldn’t want to bother them with yours too, would you?” She looked at the muggleborn expectantly, but seeing the girl’s terrified look, she decided to continue. “You know, the business is not booming sadly. Monica, I know it’s not her real name, is devastated. And the costs of everything are skyrocketing, you know! Last week they had to finally raise their prices.”

”No.” Hermione whispered, shaking her head.

”Oh yesss!” The dark witch continued with mock empathy. “Recession and such, you know how it is, the common folk just can’t afford porcelain crowns anymore, or at least that’s what she told me.”

”Recession? Crowns? You know what that is?” Hermione blurted unconsciously, causing a low chuckled to escape the older woman. Madness dancing in the onyx eyes as devilish grin split her beautiful features in half.

”Of course I do, silly! Did your stupid mudblood brain think that I would go there without any fucking reason whatsoever?” She burst out laughing maniacally.

Hermione gasped. Even the enchanted quill at Bellatrix’s side stopped abruptly in the middle of a word as if it was too afraid to continue.  To the Gryffindor’s shock, upon closer inspection Bellatrix’s teeth really looked nicer than they used to back in the Department of Mysteries, although it might have been her imagination playing tricks on her. Whichever it was, Hermione had to bite her lip to refrain from saying something that she would later regret as her heart hammered in her chest.

When she was finally done laughing Bellatrix leaned closer to the Gryffindor with a conspiratorial look on her face.

“I have to hand it to you, muddy, your parents are really proficient at causing pain.” She whispered into her ear, barely holding back a giggle. “And to think that at some point I thought they were boring!” She sighed dramatically as her gaze ventured around the room casually. “I mean, there was a time when I would just burst through their front door and murder them without any resistance whatsoever, they would scream and beg for their pathetic, boring lives. Sometimes they would stop to criticize my teeth, which by the way - RUDE!!! But then they showed me the drill. Oh muddy, if I had that drill, little old Ollivander would have spilled the beans in no time!”

”But you know that they usually give you the anesthetic before the procedure, right?” Hermione said unconsciously, apparently too shocked to think before opening her mouth.

“Oh, I never take it. Why would I? It takes away the fun!” Bellatrix cackled like a lunatic.

”You are sick.” Hermione spat, her every word dripping with malice. “A sick, sadistic braggart.”

“You’re right,” Bellatrix snorted darkly. “but those are only few of my best qualities. For example, I’m feeling rather merciful today.” She said, gently pushing Hermione’s unruly curls out of her face and behind her ear.

“While it is true that you may be of use to me yet, maggot, your filthy muggle parents are not. If we’re going to continue this experiment, I can’t have you pulling off shit like that little stunt of yours just minutes ago.”

Her long nails biting into Hermione’s abused hand, causing the younger woman to howl in pain. Rising to her feet, Bellatrix dusted off her black dress, looking at the girl below her with something akin to pity.

“Now, I will give you time to let that conversation sink in before we restart our experiment. Use that time well, because if that doesn’t teach you to behave a quick trip to Australia surely will.”

Hermione could only gape, clutching her bloodied palm as the older woman turned on her heel and walked away. The door slamming after her with enough speed to smash the enchanted quill following her into a mangled mess.

”I sure as hell will use that time well, I swear.” Hermione growled, looking at the door. She knew that if she wanted to free herself from the older witch, she had to step up her dueling  game and she knew just the way to do it.

Chapter Text

Bellatrix was true to her word when she promised to give her time. What she forgot to mention however was that Hermione won’t be given any food. It infuriated her at first. She felt humiliated being at the mercy of such horrible monster, having to starve while the other woman was walking around freely, doing Merlin only knows what. It simply wasn’t fair.

Hermione knew that she had to do something to even the field and so she came up with a simple plan. During the nights she would carefully remove her chains, walking around the room and peaking under the dusty sheets covering Malfoys’ old furniture. She was hoping to find some old, forgotten artifact, hidden away for generations only to be uncovered at the most crucial of times. Unfortunately, it quickly turned out that there was nothing of such kind in the lumber room, burying her hopes in the ever present dust surrounding her.

But there still was one thing keeping her sane, the one thing she was looking forward to everyday as she laid down to sleep. It was the reason why she wouldn’t sleep at night anymore, why she forced herself to drift off only as the morning sun rose above the horizon, peaking through the small boarded window in the attic - the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

Who said that Bellatrix was the only one who could experiment with their newfound powers. The thought that the deranged witch could be better at something than Hermione would be too unbearable for the girl. And so she decided to do a little prodding of her own.

Everyday she would close her eyes in the old storage room and open them in the Gryffindor dormitory. She would spend her days with Harry, Ron and Ginny, having fun and attending classes, sometimes even going to the library and stealing the heavy tomes about wandless magic, polishing her skills for when the right time would come.

But the highlight of her day would always be the Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with Professor Black. It was astonishing how different the woman could be from the sadistic lunatic threatening Hermione’s parents and keeping her locked up in the boring storage room. And as weird as it sounded, Hermione couldn’t help, but admire the woman, who had the most extraordinary talent of casting the hardest spells possible with effortless grace and unmatched skill. No wonder that the other Hermione had a crush on her.

It boggled Hermione’s mind whenever Bellatrix would wave her hand lazily and conjure up something so elaborate, she wasn’t sure if she could replicate it if she tried. There were of course similarities between Professor Black and the Death Eater bearing her features. For example, she had a tendency to shamelessly favor the Slytherin students, bullying Gryffindors at every chance possible, but then again, it wasn’t anything Professor Snape wouldn’t do.

Other than that she had the same dance like walk, the same sing-a-song voice as the other woman, but while Lestrange’s rendition of those was only amplifying the ever present feeling of madness, Black’s qualities were only making her more charming. It was ridiculous to the point where Hermione couldn’t stop herself from wondering what has gone so horribly wrong in her life to turn Lestrange into the monster everyone grew to hate.

Perhaps they were actually the same, Black was definitely capable enough to successfully hide her real face under the disguise of an ambitious teacher. If Quirrell and Lockhart could do it, then why would she be any worse? For all she knew, Black could be the Dark Lord’s spy, in which case she would be much more dangerous that Snape ever was. Unfortunately for her, Hermione couldn’t waste any more time looking for clues, so any fact about this timeline that wasn’t mentioned to her by her friends had to just stay covered for the time being. Frankly, she preferred it that way, too scared to uncover something she wasn’t ready for.

Time was probably the resource that she was missing the most. She could only guess how long this silent treatment Lestrange was giving her would last and she had to be ready by the time it would happen. Her initial plan wasn’t flawless. Spending so much time in Hogwarts might have been therapeutic, but essentially, it was mostly wasted on useless classes such as Divination, while all she wanted was to learn more about dueling.

Oh yes, the time was taking its toll on her. Not only could she now see the splitting of the worlds whenever she would close her eyes, but she could also feel the hunger from her own world transferring into the other one, making her weaker and more desperate with each passing hour.

By the end of the second day she was already so hungry that she couldn’t even focus in her most unchallenging classes. No matter how much food she would stuff herself with, it did nothing to appease her hunger.

And so she traversed the castle’s crowded halls on an empty stomach, trying to push past the people blocking her way to the seventh floor, where the dueling club was just having its weekly meeting. If there was anything in school that she feared more than getting bad grades, it was getting late. Unfortunately for her, late in this case was already an understatement.

She opened the door to the Room of Requirement in the middle of an ongoing duel, making everyone present turn to her with questioning gazes. Onyx eyes darted across the room, meeting hazel ones as a pink blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks. At that point, even the dueling pair has ceased their battle, looking at her from the makeshift platform.

”Has the Weasel managed to shrink your brain, McLaggen? Or have you always been too stupid to take advantage of your opponent gaping like a dimwitted orangutan?” The shrilling scream took the heat off Hermione as the duel reassumed. Five seconds later, Ron was picking himself off the floor, causing an uproar of laughter to erupt around the room.

”Silence. The next person who laughs will be my new sparring partner for the rest of the school year.” Bellatrix stated, prowling around the hall like a panther ready to pounce. “The same goes to those who stop their duel even though I never ordered them to. The exercise stops ONLY when one of you is on the ground or when I say so. Otherwise, not even the building collapsing in on itself will excuse your insubordination.”

The room was gravely silent. If you stood close enough you could easily hear the ragged breaths of the two boys standing on the platform, waiting to be excused. Not a single person was stupid enough to clown their way into the sparing partner position. Bellatrix seemed visibly disappointed by that.

”What’s this? No one wants to try their skill against me? Come on, I swear I don’t bite.” Black circled the stage slowly, occasionally stopping in front of a student, looking them up and down carefully, only to finally turn on her heal and stand face to face with Hermione Granger of all people.

”Miss Granger, you came in last. I bet you don’t have a sparing partner hidden somewhere in that beaded bag of yours.” Hermione’s hand immediately traveled to the bag hidden under her outer robe. She was sure that she disillusioned it earlier this morning, there was no way the older woman could spot it. And yet she did somehow and for what reason? A small bragging session? Maybe Professor Black wasn’t so different from Lestrange after all.

”No ma’am, I don’t.” Hermione mumbled, seeing the other witch’s expectant gaze.

”Well, that is most fortunate!” Bellatrix’s eyes shone with mirth. “McLaggen, Weasley, move! Miss Granger wants to show us what she’s capable of.” She said barely turning her head.

”Right now?” Hermione asked terrified.

”Naturally, everyone has already been through this. How else am I supposed to help you improve if I don’t even know what you’re bad and good at?” Professor Black said jumping onto the makeshift stage. Her robes billowing behind her as pulled her sleeves up and retrieved her wand. Hermione’s eyes immediately drifted to the pale skin on display, looking for any sign of the Dark Mark.

No tattoos, no scars, no signs of Azkaban imprisonment visible, only unblemished, ivory skin. It felt surreal, unnatural almost.

”Are my arms really that interesting, Granger, that you couldn’t even haul your ass to the podium?”

”I’m sorry, Professor, I got a little distracted.” Hermione drawled, her cheeks burning red like  Fawkes’s feathers.

As instructed, she crossed the distance between herself and the makeshift stage in strides, scrambling onto it awkwardly and readying her wand. Professor Black stood gracefully in a proper dueling stance, something that Hermione wouldn’t expect from the normally chaotic witch.

She was even dressed more formally, forgoing the iconic dress and corset combination for a more classic look of white shirt, black riding pants and a dark robe. Her dark curls leisurely put in a loose updo, white, perfect teeth on full display as she stood there staring at her with the most showstopping smile Hermione has ever seen.

Wait, what was she waiting for? Certainly not for Hermione to finish her leering.

”I realized he was waiting for something, a bow, he made me bow to him.” Harry’s words echoed in her head. “There shouldn’t ever be a duel without a bow.”

So Hermione raised her wand in front of her face and bowed gracefully, expecting the older woman to reciprocate the gesture. But Bellatrix’s hand wouldn’t budge, only the slight nod of her head acknowledging the Gryffindor’s greeting, her elegant eyebrow arched intrigued. Hermione understood that she was giving her a head start.

Everyone was waiting, but Hermione was in quite the pickle. She never considered herself much of a dueler, preferring to perfect her pronunciation and execution of spells, rather than use it in a real fight. Years spent on fighting Voldemort’s goons not changing much in this regard. Usually there was always someone else to aid her in battle. Whether it be Harry or Ron, she always felt safe knowing that one of them had her back. Now on the other hand, Hermione found herself standing opposite from one of the most fiercest duelers in the entirety of Britain, ALONE.

More than that, the woman in front of her was expecting her to actually put up a fight instead of just protecting herself from incoming attacks, she expected her to start. Hermione had to think and to do it fast as the crowd around her was already starting to get restless. Without further thought, she decided to play safe and silently cast the only spell she could think of at the moment, Harry’s favorite- “Expelliarmus.”

One perfectly timed pirouette later and her own wand was flying out of her grasp, onyx eyes following it with a dangerously familiar glint.

”Disappointing.” Bellatrix sneered, deep scowl distorting her features as she dusted off her robe and was ready to exit the stage. She only managed to turn her back on the Gryffindor when a powerful spell collided with her shield, making the audience gasp in shock at Hermione’s dirty move. It sure was unlike her, to break the rules, but the truth was that she wasn’t breaking anything.

”You said that the duel will end only if one of us is lying on the ground or when you say so.” She clarified quickly.

”Indeed.” The older woman grinned with malevolent charm, relaxing her posture and starting her dance. “I just didn’t think you would stoop so low as to shoot me in the back.”

”You’re speaking as if you weren’t anticipating  this, Professor.” Hermione accioed her wand.

”Perhaps I just wanted to see if your wandless magic has improved.” A simple to parry curse flew in the Gryffindor’s direction. “Tell me, Granger, are you in a lot of pain right now?”

”You wouldn’t even believe the half of it, Professor.” Hermione focused on the pain and hunger tormenting her body from within, channeling her magic and molding it into a powerful spell that shattered the older woman’s hastily put up shield, pushing her a couple of feet further.

A mad cackle escaped the blood red lips as gnarled wand started hurtling curses at her, leaving Hermione no time to catch her breath as she dodged and parried blow after blow. Her chest heaving with exertion, muscles straining with every block. Bellatrix on the other hand seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing maniacally whenever a particularly nasty hex would pass by Hermione’s head by mere millimeters.

”You know, I’ve been watching you carefully these past few days. You have to admit that your latest behavior was a little bit unusual, to put it mildly.” Bellatrix drawled, her hand never ceasing its onslaught.

”Funny of you to mention that, Lestrange.” It was an accident. Hermione didn’t mean to say it, it slipped out on its own. One way or the other, it was a horrible mistake, one that cost her the duel.

It happened in a flash, too fast for Hermione to even comprehend. She saw Bellatrix casting a spell and by the mad look on her face, she could already guess that it will be a painfully strong one. She did the only thing she could do and minimized the size of her magic shield in exchange for more sturdiness. She knew her defensive spells well enough to know, that it was a common practice among even the most experienced duelers. But the woman before her managed to outshine every single one of those fools with a simple move of a hand, at the last moment changing the trajectory of the spell. Hermione could only stand and watch as the bolt of light circumvented her shield and hit her straight in the chest.

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor below the makeshift stage, Ron and Harry looking at her with alarmed gazes.

”Blimey, Hermione, are you alright?” Ron asked, kneeling down next to her.

She ignored his concerned cries, sitting up slowly as her eyes darted across the room in search of the onyx ones. Nothing spelled disappointment as distinctly as the cold gaze that met her when she finally locked eyes with the older woman. There was no sadistic smile present, no sign of amusement, only a sad look that for some unfathomable reason made Hermione’s heart clutch in shame.

”Take Miss Granger to the infirmary, I don’t want to see her for today’s detention. I don’t want to see her at all today.” Blood red lips lifted, uncovering pearly white teeth as the woman growled out the orders at the two boys helping Hermione to her feet.

”That won’t be necessary.” The Gryffindor said, pushing Harry and Ron’s hands away as she strode to the edge of the stage, looking up at her Professor defiantly. “I’m perfectly capable of walking AND knowing whenever my presence is not appreciated, especially by someone of your… breeding.” And with that she turned on her heel and strode to the door.

”Of my… What does that suppose to mean?!?” Professor Black shrieked after her, but all Hermione could think of was the unbearable shame that she has brought upon herself. Once again her foolishness cost her her only chance at being able to survive Lestrange far more dangerous than a single, angry professor.

She opened her eyes in the middle of the Malfoys’ storage room, tears immediately rushing to the corners of her eyes as she fisted her hair in desperation. She will never get away from here if she keeps fucking up so royally. The churning of her stomach only fueling her rage filled meltdown.

Enough is enough, if Bellatrix expected her to just lay there and starve, she couldn’t be more wrong. Hermione sprang to her feet, a swift move of a hand releasing her of her chains. It was still dark outside, so if she wanted to get herself something to eat, or maybe even find her way out of the mansion, now was the time.

She pushed herself off the pillar, sauntering closer to the door. She put her hand on the handle, fully expecting it to be locked, only to find out that Bellatrix was so careless or maybe so shortsighted that she left it completely unlocked. If it wasn’t for a fear of someone hearing her, she would have burst out laughing on the spot. Instead, she leaned her head out of the room carefully, taking a quick look at the darkened hallway outside.

Thankfully for her, it was empty. She took her first step outside, expecting some sort of magical alarm to go off, but once again, nothing of the sort ever happened. Was Bellatrix really this neglectful? If she knew about that earlier she would have been gone ages ago!

A few minutes of careful tiptoeing later and Hermione was already at the bottom of the grand staircase, snooping around the ground floor in search of the kitchen. A particularly small and boring set of doors immediately drew her attention with its rough appearance so uncharacteristic of the otherwise stylish interior.

She hit the jackpot. The kitchen was almost empty, only a single house elf working quietly in one of its corners. As soon as she entered it turned to her, covering in fear under a nearby table. She tried to calm the creature, but it wouldn’t let her touch itself, teleporting back and forth and hitting its head on the surrounding furniture.

Obliviating it wandlessly was much too risky to try and so she decided to leave it alone, deciding to at least loot the pantry before someone comes to lock her away. When she was already full, she grabbed a couple of extras in case Bellatrix decides to keep her starving for the rest of the week and started her journey back the stairs.

She didn’t manage to get very far, when suddenly a shrilling cry tore through the silent night like an arrow passing next to her ear. It was the same cry she heard the first time when Bellatrix was dragging her to the attic, a baby’s cry. She remembered the way the older woman tried to brush it aside as her mishearing something, while it was quite obvious that she herself was hearing the same cry.

Without any further thought Hermione ran up the stairs and unlocked the mysterious room with a spell, but to her complete shock, she didn’t find a baby locked inside, the room was completely devoid of any living creatures. The only thing standing out in its weird decorations being the solitary cradle standing next to a boarded window.

Was she going crazy all of a sudden? Perhaps Bellatrix’s madness was already rubbing off on her. She cast a simple human detection spell just to be sure, but the humans it detected weren’t the ones she was looking for. Someone was coming, they were so close that she could already hear their hushed whispers echoing in the empty hallway. Momentarily she jumped to the door, closing it to the point where there was only a small gap big enough for her to see what was going on.

”Severus, please, you have to do something.” Narcissa Malfoy whispered with such desperation that Hermione had to double check if it was really her. “Every day she’s descending further into madness. First, it was the child, then when Potter and his friends escaped, she started mumbling out some unreasonable nonsense. Ever since the Department of Mysteries it has been getting worse and worse! I won’t let her end up like our mother!”

”What do you expect me to do, Narcissa? I’m not her nanny, Bellatrix will have to fend for herself or else he will replace her with someone like Dolohov and you will have all the time in the world to worry about her mental health.” Professor Snape answered dryly.

”You know as well as I do that it would break her!” Narcissa grabbed the edge of his robe, pulling him closer as she fell to her knees. Silver tears silently falling onto the harsh material of his dress. “Severus, you’re a good man, you helped Draco. Couldn’t you save her too? If not for her, do it for me!”

”Don’t be ridiculous, Narcissa. Draco was a only a child!” He snapped at her. “Bellatrix is a fully grown woman, one that has committed horrible crimes before may I add. Why should I help her? She never did anything for me, she doesn’t even call me by my name! And you… you can’t keep pushing your own burdens onto my back forever. Let. Her. Go.” He said and tore his robe from Narcissa’s hands, making her scramble to her feet ungracefully.

”Severus! Severus! Don’t you dare walk away from me!” She yelled after him. “Get back here this moment or I will tell everyone what was the real nature of your deal with Dumbledore!”

Hermione couldn’t stop a gasp, momentarily putting a palm on her mouth as if she could force it back inside.

”You foolish woman!” Snape hissed, pulling out his wand. “Who do you have listening to this conversation?!?”

”No one, I swear, Lucius is at the Ministry and I haven’t seen Bella since this morning! There is no one here apart from us and…” Narcissa’s eyes widened in realization.

”Homenum revelio.” The headmaster mumbled, waving his wand. A second later the door to a nearby room flied of its hinges trapping a small terrified body under its weight. Snape ventured nearer, putting one foot on the wooden surface, squeezing the last gust of air from the Gryffindor’s lungs.

Looking down he froze. Narcissa observed his reaction slowly reaching for her own wand as Snape straightened his back and took a single steadying breath to calm his nerves.

”For the love of God, Narcissa, what is the missing mudblood doing in your manor?” He drawled, his foot retreating as he pulled shivering Hermione  from under the ruined door.

”If only I knew.” The Malfoy matriarch answered, raising her wand at them with a shaking hand. “If only I knew.”

”Are you trying to tell me that your unhinged sister kidnapped Potter’s closest friend without as much as a suggestion from the Dark Lord, then put her inside your house and forgot to tell you WHY she did it?” Severus pulled the girl closer to himself, his hand hovering over her shoulder, ready to parry whatever attack Narcissa had in store.

“Can’t you see?!?” The woman cried. “This is exactly what I was talking about! I don’t recognize her anymore! And the mudblood, the mudblood is in on it! She doesn’t want to tell me anything!”

”Narcissa.” His expression softened. “You can’t possibly keep her here forever. Let me take her and all of your problems will be gone.”

”No! He will punish her!” She screamed.

”It’s only a matter of time. Bellatrix had it coming for a long time now. She has no friends at the Ministry, everyone, even Lucius would rather see her dead than in power. Let her go. Let us go. And everything will be like it used to be… before the prophecy.”

”And what will happen when she gets back? Will you kill her? Or will you let her murder me and my family just to get rid of another pureblood pawn? I can’t let that happen, Severus. The mudblood stays here!” Narcissa snapped.

”Pray tell, Narcissa, where is your beloved sister right now? I heard that people at the Ministry are looking for her, so she isn’t on any official business. I wonder, how many more burdens will she thrust upon you before you open your eyes.” Snape said, taking another step back, slowly pulling Hermione in the direction of the stairs.

It seemed to have caught the older woman off guard, her wand lowering slightly as she opened her mouth in shock, stumbling over her words.

”I… I thought he gave her another mission.” She was shaking her head in disbelief. “Why… why else would she go to Australia for?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, her feet giving up from under her just in time to see Mrs Malfoy’s wand flying through the air, Snape’s hands encircling her immediately, stopping her from falling. She could hear them talking, but couldn’t distinguish one word from the other, it was all blabber to her.

She saw Snape raising his wand at Narcissa, the beginning of an incantation already forming on his tongue. She couldn’t let it happen, she couldn’t let him take her, not when that monster was murdering her parents. Bellatrix had to pay, but it had to be done by her hand, not some noseless lunatic’s.

“Stop!” She screamed, pulling on the headmaster's sleeve, making him miss his shot. “Mrs Malfoy is right, I can’t leave this place now. I’m the only person who can stop this lunacy, but to be able to do it, I need Bellatrix not to be expecting anything. And this is exactly why you will fix this door, leave this place and forget that you ever saw me here.”

”Mrs Granger, I don’t think you realize what sort of person Bellatrix Lestrange is.” Snape dusted off his robes, staring at her with his cold eyes. If they were at Hogwarts this would be the moment when he would deduct points from the Gryffindor. Thankfully, it wasn’t and so Hermione met him with a challenging gaze, fed up with all the drama following her that day.

”Professor, stop, I promise to you that there is not a single person in this world who understands what sort of person Bellatrix is better than I do.” She decided to fix the door herself, waving her hand leisurely as if it was natural to her as she continued speaking. “In a few minutes I will be back in my cell, chained to the pillar. It will be better for you if you are gone before Bellatrix arrives. If you’re afraid of Narcissa telling the Dark Lord about your two faced nature, you will hate what Lestrange would have to add to that. And trust me, she knows everything.”

”Everything?” He asked, arching his eyebrow.

”Everything. Always.” Hermione drawled, looking him directly in the eye.

It seemed to have spooked the man a little as he let out a defeated sight and turned back to the stairs. His dark robes billowing behind him as he left the manor, leaving Hermione alone with terrified Narcissa Malfoy, who still couldn’t wrap her head around why would her sister illegally travel to Australia for.

Chapter Text

Life was great. Or so Bellatrix thought as she was leaving her sister’s manor after a day full of torture and interrogations. She couldn’t help but smile thinking about yesterday's experiment with that little brat. She always knew that the girl would be delightful to torment, but the way her eyes widened in terror as the older witch cast the killing curse on her was simply exquisite.

Not to mention the look on her face when Bellatrix mentioned her filthy muggle parents. Priceless.

In all honesty, Bellatrix had no actual intention of hurting her parents. Not only would it be too boring for her at this point, but also quite unnecessary. After two years of persecuting these poor muggles she kind of grew attached to them, especially since she started her undercover surveillance a few months ago.

Hermione’s mother, currently known as Monica  Wilkins, was a very warm and sociable woman. Even though Bellatrix would never initiate a single conversation with the woman, she would constantly tell her stories about her friends and coworkers, complaining about the economy and telling her about all the different “tv shows” she’s been watching.

At first it would annoy the Death Eater who thought that listening to all of this muggle drama was below her level, but then as she slowly started to understand who was who and  whom they were dating, she found herself interested in what Mrs Granger had to say. It snowballed from there, quickly becoming her guilty pleasure that she would indulge in weekly.

With the horrific state of her teeth, she had no trouble coming up with excuses to visit Wilkins’ office, kick back and listen to the newest wave of gossip as Mrs Granger took care of her “pearly whites”. It felt liberating, it felt good. No Dark Lords or Harry Potters to worry about, only Debrah from reception being a bitch unworthy of Monica’s friendship.

Not only was it great for relaxing, but most importantly for tormenting the Mudblood, who couldn’t possibly know about her sudden interest in Australian, muggle social circles. Pure perfection indeed.

She was just about to stop waiting and go check on the girl in question, when she felt a familiar prickly feeling on her left forearm- the Dark Mark.

Of all the moments he could choose, he decided to call her just as she was getting ready to play with her new pet. Great. But being the faithful servant that she was, Bellatrix apparated to the Ministry right away and hastened her steps, crossing the marble lobby in strides.

She wasn’t the first one to arrive, but she wasn’t the last one either. She immediately took her usual place at the table, opposite from Snape and was pretty surprised when an unusual individual sat down next to her.

It was that coward Yaxley. Bile rose to her throat as she regarded his slimy figure with disgust.

Usually he was smart enough to keep away from her, intuitively sensing that she wasn’t fond of him. And oh Merlin, she wasn’t.

Bellatrix hated the man with a passion reserved only for slimy gits like him. It wasn’t that he had done anything in particular to annoy her, she was bothered by the mere fact of him being how he was.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a warrior and a fierce and fearless one at that. For her feeling disgust whenever meeting these Ministry rats was only natural and Yaxley was the worst type of a Ministry rat. He was one of the Death Eaters specializing in the Imperius curse.

Like Mulciber before him, Yaxley even in his school years was known for terrorizing people, forcing them to do despicable things for his own amusement. It used to be entertaining for her at the time to watch various mudbloods get humiliated, but the mere thought that someone as disgusting as Yaxley could one day use this spell to control her was abhorrent to put it mildly.

Mulciber died early enough to rid the world of his foul influence and he somehow managed to it in a praiseworthy fashion. His dedication to the cause turned out to be admirable, Bellatrix had to give him that.

However Yaxley on the other hand refused to die and lied his way out of Azkaban, which already put him on Bellatrix’s top 10 Ministry rats list.

To add to that, he recently regained his influence among the Death Eaters when he performed the “unbelievable” feat of imperioing Scrimgeour’s right hand man and future Minister of Magic - Pius Thicknesse.

Somehow this mundane task that even a half-wit such as her husband, Rodolphus, could perform, was met with an outstanding admiration among Voldemort’s closest circle. With Dolohov going so far as to congratulate the man personally.

If Bellatrix knew how easy it was to impress these morons, she would have never gone to Azkaban for the bloody 14 years.

Some insane individual might misread her hatred towards the man as jealousy, but she thought that there was nothing to be jealous of, only repulsed.

Having said that, you could probably imagine her joyous surprise when Corban Yaxley put his slimy ass in a sit next to her - the Dark Lord’s most faithful follower.

14 years. She spent 14 years in Azkaban. Half of her life of service and devotion only to be seated next to the motherfucking Corban Yaxley. It felt like a joke. As if somebody spat in her face.

Speaking of which, Yaxley seemed oddly interested in her today, looking her up and down with a self righteous grin on his face, not even pretending to be discreet. He was about to open his stupid mouth and say something to her, when the doors opened, revealing the Dark Lord himself along with Lucius and the Lestrange brothers. Whatever it was he wanted to communicate, it would have to wait till the meeting was over.

Bellatrix immediately established eye contact with Malfoy. Her angry eyes questioning him silently where the hell has he been when she needed him most. Compared to Yaxley’s, even Lucius’s company seemed bearable.

The meeting proceeded as usual with the Dark Lord quizzing his subjects on their homework and condemning them if they managed to screw something up. Watching Rodolphus Lestrange desperately trying to explain why he failed to find the missing mudblood, who according to him must have vanished into thin air, was the highlight of her day.

Being the good wife she was, she couldn’t pass on the opportunity to mock him for not being able to find a schoolgirl, goading the Dark Lord on as he admonished him mercilessly. Rodolphus paid her back with the nastiest glare he could muster, but it only doubled her amusement, making her completely forget about the blond vermin next to her, ready to pounce.

It finally happened when she was leaving the room. Yaxley had the audacity to pull her by the hand, leading her away from the prying eyes into a dark, empty corridor. A Ministry rat always knows where to go apparently.

”Madam Lestrange, I was wondering about something fairly unusual.” He started, smoothing his greasy hair nervously.

”I don’t have time to listen to your useless thoughts, Yaxley.” Bellatrix recoiled in disgust and turned to go, but his grip proved too much to simply shrug away.

”If I was you I would listen very carefully to what I have to say. Please, it will only take a couple of minutes.” He smiled devilishly, raising his eyebrows.

”Alright.” She agreed reluctantly. “But the moment I decide it’s pointless blabber, you will take your stinky hand away and let me go.”

”Oh, I assure you, it is a matter of utmost importance to you.” He said, releasing his hold on her. “Tell me, Madam, are you aware of the Ministry ban on international travel. Surely you do, we discussed it a few months ago at a meeting just like the one we just held.”

”I do.” Bellatrix replied suspiciously. What was this scoundrel playing at?

”Great.” His smile widened. “It so happens that as the head of the Magical Law Enforcement I am personally responsible for investigating all of the unauthorized attempts of crossing the border.” He paused dramatically, looking her straight in the eye with a glint that could only mean trouble. “That being said, you must imagine my surprise when I learned from one of the smugglers we caught that no other than Bellatrix Lestrange has for the last few months been illegally traveling outside the country for reasons undisclosed in the Ministry documents.”

Bellatrix gulped. Her white skin paling further making her look like a living corpse. Sweat slowly rising on the furrowed brow.

“Now, being a diligent man I am, I naturally decided to investigate the claim and even assigned two agents to follow the impostor whenever she will visit our smuggler again.” His smile faltered. “Except it wasn’t an impostor, was it? It really was you. Every week of every month, going to Australia to visit a dentist’s office.”

Onyx eyes welled up anger. ”You fool, you dare to put a tailing order on me?!?” She snapped at him.

Yaxley flinching and taking a cautious step back, too afraid of what she might do next.

”Madam, please, at the time I didn’t think it was possible for it to be you.” He raised his hands trying to placate her.

”And what is this? Are you going to arrest me? Blackmail me? You must be out of your mind if you think that I will let it slide, Yaxley!” Bellatrix was livid, fire dancing in her dark eyes, lighting up her gaunt face and filling the headauror’s heart with fear. “Wait till the Dark Lord hears about this! You do realize that I have a complete freedom of choice when it comes to me missions, don’t you?”

”Arrest you? Noo, I simply wanted to know what you had to say about all this. I wouldn’t dare questioning the Dark Lord’s orders, I’m however confused of why you haven’t simply filed for a travel permit if that was the case.” He desperately tried to retain the image of having everything under control.

”Do I look like a person who asks Ministry bureaucrats for permission to do anything?” Her jaw straining with every word.

Yaxley’s mouth hung open for a second there, before he finally managed to gather enough courage to continue his questioning.

“But why?” He asked, anxiously.

”Why what?” Bellatrix growled, inching forward to the man.

”Why did you do it?” He asked, flinching slightly. It wasn’t that hard of a question. There were literally millions of reasons why someone might have traveled to a foreign country. Visiting a dentist sure as hell was a weird one, but that could be easily countered with a right explanation.

However, from Bellatrix’s point of view the whole thing wasn’t as easy as it seemed to Yaxley. Having only a split second to make a decision, she had to take whatever course came to mind first. It might have been the most ridiculous moment in her life, but she sure as hell would not be going back to prison for the Mudblood’s sake and if Yaxley reported it to anyone she would end up in Azkaban, probably in the same cell as before.

Her fingers brushed against the smooth wooden surface of her wand, hidden inside her cloak. It would be so easy to just bash this rat’s head with a well placed spell and try to get rid of the evidence, but Merlin only knew how many people he had told already. Instead, she decided to bite the bullet, giving  him the fakest smile she could muster.

”You see, Corban, this is exactly why I’m the Dark Lord’s right hand and you’re just the imperio guy.” She patted his arm playfully. Yaxley’s back immediately stiffening at her belittling tone.

“Tell me, what do you know about the Mudblood’s parents?” His expression turned sour.

”The Grangers?” He asked, visibly puzzled.

”Yes, the dentists.” She nodded her head slowly, looking at him intently as if waiting for him to catch her drift.

”But I thought… Why would they be in Australia?” Corban couldn’t hide how confused he was, scratching his head nervously. Probably trying to figure out how come has the mad Bellatrix managed to do his job for him and found the Grangers on the other side of the world.

”She sent them there, naturally. And this is exactly why I spent so much time in there.”

”You were waiting…”

”For her to appear, exactly.” Bellatrix explained with a wide grin on her face.

”But she has been missing for only a few days now.”

”But before she has been on the run!” Bellatrix practically yelled into his ear. “Don’t be so daft, Yaxley, if not for yours then for the Dark Lord’s sake!”

”Madam, I don’t know what to say.” He shook his head in disbelief. “This is groundbreaking discovery! I will have to report it right away! They need to be arrested immediately!”

Bellatrix’s hold on his his arm immediately tightened as if she wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t just run away and report it now. If she wanted to turn this thing around, she needed to be the first one to reach the Mudblood’s parents. The first one to leave this goddamn building.

”Do what you want with them.” She said with false indifference, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m done dealing with these filthy muggles. Now excuse me, I have an urgent meeting that I have to attend and my sister doesn’t tolerate tardiness. Good day to you, Yaxley.” She spat through gritted teeth.

”Good day to you too… But Madam, we would need your… help.” Yaxley tried stopping her, but Bellatrix was already too far away for him to catch.

Deciding that other things were more urgent than getting the demented woman to participate, he took off in the direction of his little office. If Lestrange wasn’t keen to take responsibility for the whole operation, he wouldn’t be so opposed to claiming the credit as his own.

Narcissa was reading a book in the manor’s library when loud footsteps on the staircase threw her out of the action. Taking a deep, calming breath, she closed the book and stood up, opening the door to the hallway and barely missing Bellatrix’s face as her sister sped through the narrow corridor without any regard for her surroundings.

”Stop right there!” Narcissa screamed. “What are you doing with that vase?” Her eyes widening as soon as she spotted Bellatrix touching her antique, gilded, French vase from the 19th century that was part of her mother’s inheritance.

”Cissy, please, I don’t have time to argue.” Bellatrix whined, pulling the vase off its pedestal. “There’s a portkey hidden inside this thing, I need it to get to France.”

”Why would you go to France? Isn’t it illegal to leave the country without the Ministry’s permission?” Narcissa’s brow furrowed.

”I need to go to France to get to Australia, ok?” Bellatrix said as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “It’s too complicated for me to explain.”

Her heels clicking on the marble surface as she ran up the stairs. Narcissa, who was chasing her the whole time stopped at the foot of the staircase, looking at Bellatrix from below with a confused expression on her face.

”Australia??? But… No, wait, forget I asked! I don’t want to know.” She threw her hands in the air too fed up with her sister’s bullshit to willingly get herself in even more trouble.

“The less you know, the longer you live.” Bellatrix said with a smile, lifting the precious vase over her head with clear intentions.

”Bellatrix Druella Black! Did you say “inside” the vase?!?” Narcissa finally grasped the meaning of her sister’s words, too late to do anything other than stepping back as her precious family heirloom collided with the floor a few steps from her, breaking into a million pieces.

Blue eyes met onyx ones as Bellatrix jumped over the bannister, landing on the shattered remains.

If Narcissa had any more time she would have murdered her on the spot. Unfortunately for her, by the time she woke up from the shock, Bellatrix was already clutching the portkey, disappearing into thin air.

”I hate this family. I hate it with all my heart.” Narcissa mumbled, taking out her wand and casting a quick reparo on the thing. It didn’t work. Typical.

When they left Britain the Grangers had practically nothing more than a house put on sale, their bags and a strange wish to settle down on the other side of the world.

Their new beginnings were humble, but when both you and your husband are practicing dentists, it is only a matter of time before you get to buy your own office.

But somehow, no matter how successful they got or how many friends they made, something was always bothering them late at night when the office was closed.

A nagging feeling telling them that they were missing something… someone.

It was unbearable, forcing Mrs Granger to convince her husband that perhaps it would be more beneficial to build the office in their new house just in case someone was looking for them.

A small house it was, bought under a fake name, a name that even to the charmed Grangers seemed foreign.

But they waited nonetheless, they never lost faith, always treating their customers like the members of their own family. After all, one of them could always be the person they were waiting for.

It happened eventually, or at least that’s what Mrs Granger thought when the doorway to their office was crossed by a strange looking, middle aged lady.

She was rude, chaotic and terrifying, but there was also something vaguely familiar about her, something that the Grangers felt they should have remembered.

A hazy memory of an old newspaper lying on the kitchen table, a photo screaming on the cover. If only Monica could remember the words, she would have known that the person she has invited to their new home and grew fond of was actually none other than the notorious murderer and Death Eater - Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was a particularly quiet day when the doors to the office blew open, causing the grumpy receptionist to look up from her computer screen. An unfinished game of Solitaire reflecting in her glasses. Seeing who has just entered the room, the woman sighed dramatically.

“You didn’t have an appointment, Margaret. I told you a million times…”

“Obliviate.” She had no chance to finish her sentence as panting Bellatrix Lestrange strode past her desk, stopping only to finish the job. “Go home, find a new job, never mention working here, never mention me or anyone else you saw in her.”

”Who are you?” The woman asked, puzzled.

”Doesn’t matter.”

”Who am I?” An elegantly styled eyebrow arched.

Bellatrix pinched the bridge of her nose, quickly counting to ten. The last thing she needed was for Yaxley to find a dead muggle in the Grangers’ lobby.

”Think, vermin! Think before you speak!” She replied, pointing to the nameplate standing on the woman’s desk with “Debrah Jones” written on it.

”Ohhh.” The woman sighed in relief and started gathering her belongings, ready to leave work and never come back.

Bellatrix ignored her, rushing to the office door and kicking it opened. A muggle lady squeaked at the sight of her. Mrs Granger had to put a hand on her chest to keep her in place. The patient’s eyes were glassy as if she was already under the Imperius curse. Lestrange stared at her with confusion coloring her pale features.

”What is wrong with her?” She asked, not bothering to say hello.

”Hello to you too, Margaret. She’s under anesthesia.” Mrs Granger explained. “What is going on? What’s this?” She asked, pointing at Bellatrix’s drawn wand, eyes widening as if she could remember something.

”It’s a wand, Monica.” Bella said, shaking the curled piece of wood. “Imperio.”

The sweetest voice she has ever heard echoed in Monica’s mind, telling her to send the patient away and start packing. She tried to fight it for a bit, suspicious of its soothing tone, but it quickly overpowered her, making her unconsciously follow every instruction.

”Stupid Yaxley, who’s going to congratulate me? Hard work my ass.” The dark witch mumbled, pulling the screaming muggle customer off the chair, apparatus still hanging from the woman’s opened mouth. “Now you listen to me, filth. Nothing of this actually happened. I’m just a hallucination. Go back home and don’t tell anyone about this or I will comeback to haunt your every dream, got it?”

The drugged woman nodded her head enthusiastically. Somehow even in her hazy state she knew that no one would believe her anyway.

Before Monica could even open her mouth, Bellatrix was already in the second office, waving her stick at her husband. It was pure madness.

Somewhere in the lobby, their computer exploded, its parts flying everywhere as the person she knew as Margaret Granger, an oddly familiar name, I know, started destroying everything in her line of sight.

Pieces of wood, paper and metal flying in the air as solid objects got shredded into pieces in the matter of seconds. She wanted to say something, stop Margaret from burglarizing her home, but the voice in her head told her not to.

Instead, she decided to go upstairs and pack her bag, her husband already standing in the hallway with his, looking in terror at the destruction of everything they held dear.

When she arrived back in the lobby Bellatrix beckoned her and her husband outside, leaving everything in shambles as the building broke out in flames.

Never in her life has Monica seen anything quite like this. The flames spread so quickly that one would think that an already full blown fire just appeared out of thin air in the middle of their house, swallowing it completely. The woman accompanying them stopping for a second to enjoy its wild, destructive powers.

”Where are we going to live now?” Mr Granger cried, staring at his property going up in flames.

That actually was a good question. Bellatrix hadn’t actually had time to think through yet. The Mudblood’s parents needed to be taken out of the country before Yaxley could get to them, but where exactly should they go? That was a very good question.

Death Eaters had their agents even in Europe’s most obscure countries and she had to have them close by to have some leverage over her little captive. Central Europe seemed to be the best choice as in most of the Visengrad countries the statute of secrecy was virtually nonexistent.

However Dolohov had way too many contacts in the region for Bellatrix to risk putting them there, let alone further in the east.

The only option left would be to put them in the Western Europe. Option seemingly unreasonable, considering that France and Germany were countries with a huge percentage of pureblood families closely related to Voldemort’s supporters.

However, in France’s case while it was true that those families held power in the Ministry and in the Wizarding part of Paris, there were places in the country that openly defied the Ministry’s power.

At some point Marseille became a hot topic among the Death Eaters. A lot of its inhabitants being from halfblood and immigrant families created a sort of counter culture to powerful lineages.

Following the Kama tragedy Lestranges became a target of ridicule among the wizards of Marseille, it soon spread to all of those who associated with the Death Eaters, resulting in a tragic murder of some of Voldemort’s supporters visiting the city.

And so Marseille became a place most dangerous for those of pure blood households, making them avoid the city like fire. If there was a good place in the West to hide Hermione’s parents, it was Marseille.

There was a reason why Louis XIV decided to turn the city’s canons inwards. The people of Marseille were never fond of despots trying to influence their lives and after so many centuries it seems that nothing had changed.

Bellatrix already had a working portkey to France with her, the only thing that would be left to do would be to apparate them to the city and get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

And so, without as much as asking them if they could speak French, Bellatrix abandoned the Grangers in the middle of Marseille, leaving them at the Saint-Charles station as if they had just arrived by train.

When Corban Yaxley finally arrived in Melbourne, he got there just in time to watch the muggle authorities securing the charred remains of what used to be Grangers’ office.

Once again, Mudblood’s parents have slipped away from his grasp at the last moment possible.

Something wasn’t right here and as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he had a duty to find out what it was and who was playing tricks on him.

And now he knew that Bellatrix was somehow involved in all this. He only needed to figure out how and why.

Chapter Text

Narcissa, Lucius and Draco were sitting around the table, eating breakfast in blissful silence when the door to the dining room burst open. It happened so suddenly that Draco’s spoon slipped out of his grasp, falling into his bowl of soup and splashing it all over the boy and the ornate table. Dark liquid seeping into Narcissa Malfoy’s favorite tablecloth.

Bellatrix Lestrange appeared in the doorway, whistling a cheerful song as she waltzed into the room and flopped onto her chair. Lucius Malfoy looking at her with disgust, putting down his spoon as if the mere thought of eating in her company was making him too nauseous to eat.

”Pray tell where all this… happiness comes from, dear Bella.” He sneered, the word ‘happiness’ tasting like poison in his mouth. “Last time I checked you were rather sad, having to speak with Yaxley. Was it his spell that turned you into this volcano of joy?”

”Don’t be disgusting, Lucy.” Bellatrix said, putting her muddied boots on the table. Narcissa’s eye twitching slightly as she placed her spoon down unable to eat. “I would rather chug a barrel full of broken glass than talk to this slimy git ever again. Even you look fuckable in comparison.”

”Bellatrix!” Narcissa covered her lips in shock.

”What? That was a compliment for once.” Lestrange shrugged, biting into the fruit a small house elf brought to the table. Her eyes following the elf’s every move warily as the little creature exited the room silently.

”I feel flattered.” Lucius growled, reaching for an apple. “But really, Bella, what got you in such a good mood?” His eyes narrowing in suspicion.

”Nothing in particular, is it so unusual to just feel happy for once? This family might actually take note. The three of you are as stiff as my dear aunt Walburga, and she’s been dead for quite some time now.” Bellatrix snorted at her own joke. Walburga was her favorite relative. She held an unprecedented hatred for the mudbloods, it made Bella miss her somehow.

”Perhaps, and you may find this interesting, it is YOU that is driving this family to despair, Bellatrix. Have you ever thought about that?” Lucius’s elegant eyebrow arched as the malicious words left his thin lips.

”Lucius!” Narcissa fixed him with a glare.

”Nah, I don’t think so.” Bellatrix waved her hand dismissively. “Perhaps if the lord of the house grew some balls and took out the stick from his arse, this family would actually have it easier. Yes, that might be it.”

”Bella!” Blue eyes switching from husband to sister in a matter of seconds.

”How is it then, that everyone else has already vacated our house, leaving us to live our happy lives in peace and harmony, while you hang around like a parasite?” It must have been brewing in him for some time now. His nostrils flaring as he spat venom at her.

”Lucius!”

”Oh no, Narcissa! I won’t mince my words anymore!” He finally screamed, pushing his seat back as he rose to his feet in anger.

“Why do I have to suffer her presence everyday while she owns 7 mansions in Britain alone? While she has a husband of her own to argue with? What would you call someone like that, Draco?” He turned to his son, but didn’t wait for him to answer as he banged his fist on the table, spilling the soup. “A parasite, that’s it! You are a damn parasite, leaching on this family’s happiness like a bloody dementor, sucking the life out of us!”

”Merlin’s beard, Lucy, if you didn’t want me here all you had to do was speak. Now you’re starting to sound like…” Bellatrix said nonchalantly, but hesitated slightly at the end.

”Like who?” The Malfoy patriarch just wouldn’t let that slide. “Speak, Bellatrix, I know you can. Who do I sound like?”

”Like a mudblood! There! Happy?” Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

”Like a mudblood or the Mudblood?” He shook his head disapprovingly. Bellatrix’s eyes widened as she looked up at him with surprise evident in her onyx eyes. “Contrary to what you think, I’m not a fool, Bellatrix! I know exactly what is happening in MY house.”

”Cissy!” Bellatrix gaped.

”Oh, don’t bring her into this. You’re always bringing her into our fights because she is too kind to tell you that you’re no longer welcome here. In fact she is so kind that she wouldn’t tell me nothing about our little guest, you did, genius!” He stalked closer to her, making her pivot in her chair. “Let’s see what we have here, a week after your little tête-à-tête the Mudblood breaks into your vault and woosh she disappears into the thin air. No one knows where she is, not even the pitiful remains of the Order of Phoenix and yet the person completely unbothered by the whole break in is you. And what about now? Just yesterday I heard Yaxley bragging about you knowing where the Mudblood’s parents are and then I suddenly hear about him coming back with nothing. Turns out their office burned and guess what, woosh they vanished into thin air, sounds familiar? And where were you yesterday? Certainly not at the Ministry where everyone was searching for you. You weren’t here either as you haven’t dragged your ass here to spoil my dinner when I came back. And now you waltz in here with a giant smile on your face, telling me that I’m the problem! It’s insulting!”

”Wow.” Bellatrix blinked, staring at him blankly. “You’re telling me that you came up with all this by yourself? You’re wasting yourself at the Ministry, you should be writing these muggle detective stories, Sherlock.”

”Tell me I’m wrong, Narcissa.” Lucius said, turning to his wife, who was staring at the ruined tablecloth, too uncertain of her reactions to raise her gaze even for a second. “There you go, as good as an admission.”

The tears started rolling down poor Narcissa’s face.

”Congratulations, husband of the year, you made her cry.” Bellatrix shook her head in disbelief.

”I made her cry?!? The only reason why I haven’t denounced you yet is because I know that it would break her heart.” Lucius hissed. “Do us all a favor and do it yourself or better yet, disappear altogether so that you don’t bring any more shame to this family. And take your mudblood whore with you!”

”Ohhh, you wish!” Bellatrix chuckled darkly, looking into his eyes as she scrambled to her feet. “Guess I will go upstairs now, can’t keep my mudblood whore waiting, not after I snatched up her filthy parents. Say hi to Yaxley when you’re going to snitch on me, squealer. I’m sure that the Dark Lord will be merciful once he learns how you didn’t know anything about Potter’s little friend hanging out in your attic. Oh, what a joke of a man you’ve married, Narcissa.” She said and bolted out of the room, leaving only a half eaten apple on the table.

Draco was speechless. If he thought that his family was mentally unstable just minutes ago, now he was 100% sure that they were all crazy beyond repair. At times like these he wished he was born a muggle.

“Wake up.” Hermione stirred awake, slowly leaving her Transfiguration class as she opened her eyes to a terrifying sight of Bellatrix Lestrange kneeling next to her.

“Finally, I thought I would have to conjure up a bucket of cold water to bring you back. Up!” Bellatrix rolled her dark eyes, gesturing for the younger woman to get to her feet.

Without much thinking, Hermione slid up along the pillar, noticing that her ankles were no longer bound by metal. Her mouth opened in shock, thoughts rushing through her head that perhaps she has forgotten to put the shackles back on, but upon noticing that the other woman wasn’t angry at her, she decided to calm down.

Carefully, not to jinx it, she took a step away from the pillar to see if the Death Eater would react. She didn’t. That’s good.

Their eyes met as trillions of different scenarios echoed in her mind. What was all of this about? Was she going to lead her outside only to murder her in front of an empty grave like they did in those gangster movies?

”What? Why would you think that? And what are these gangster fellows? Muggle music seems to revolve around them nowadays.” Bellatrix sneered, looking at her with confusion coloring her features.

”You listen to muggle music?” Hermione asked with a horrified expression on her face.

”Don’t be silly, muddy, I own a radio. It takes a bit to get to the wizarding channels.” Bellatrix looked at her as if she grew a second head. “Anyway, we can talk about it later, I need to get out of this cursed mansion.”

”So you are going to kill me.” Hermione gulped.

”No! I told you that already! Is no one listening to me? I’m taking you on a walk, you should be grateful at least.” She sighed dramatically. “And I assure you, if I was going to kill you I wouldn’t bother taking you anywhere. First of all: I’m a witch, I could just vanish your corpse afterwards, no need to dig a bloody grave in the woods. Second of all: I could have Narcissa’s house elf dispose of your body, trust me, it wouldn’t be the first time.” Bellatrix said winking at her.

”Gross.” Hermione commented, but felt excited at the thought of leaving the manor even if only temporarily. “But didn’t you say that you couldn’t have a maggot like me parading around with you?”

”I did, but… wait a minute.” Bellatrix said coming up to the door and opening it, sticking her head through the gap and yelling. “Since everyone already knows you’re here, there won’t be any problem with parading you around!”

”I swear, Narcissa, I’m going to kill her one day!” An angry voice from downstairs answered. It amused Bellatrix to no end as she broke out in laughter, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing for Hermione to come closer.

”Wait a minute, muddy.” She said, blocking the exit with her arms just as the younger woman approached the doorway. Onyx eyes leering over her as a filthy grin appeared on the dark witch’s face.

“As much as I would love to annoy blondie even further, I simply can’t have you go out like that. You wouldn’t be able to escape me, obviously, but chasing after you would simply ruin my day and my shoes.” She said, gesturing to her black leather boots.

”I don’t think I understand…” Hermione started saying, looking up into the deep, wild eyes.

”Oh, you will, pet.” Bellatrix said, flicking her wand and transfiguring the chain and shackles lying on the ground into a leather leash and a collar. Before Hermione could even start protesting, it wrapped itself around her slender neck cutting off her air supply completely.

”I can’t…”

”What was that?” Bellatrix said, leaning closer. “You can’t what?”

”Breathe!” Hermione managed to choke out.

”Ohhh, right.” Bellatrix drawled, but sauntered closer anyway, pulling on the leather collar and loosening it.

”Done.” She said finally, stepping back and opening the door further to let her pass. “Hurry up, muddy, I don’t have a whole week.” She added, pulling the leash as if she was walking a particularly unruly dog.

Hermione hesitated for a bit, her feet digging into the floor, trying to stop Bellatrix from pulling her along, but it quickly turned out to be a futile effort. Finally, she stopped fighting and joined the other woman in the hallway. It all felt surreal, like a trap. She could already imagine Bellatrix cackling at her, telling her that this was a joke and that she will have to die.

But the witch in question looked too deflated to be in a mood for such trickery, she looked sad almost. Her feet stomping on the marble floor like a petulant child who didn’t get the toy they wanted. She badly wanted to know what was wrong with the witch, but she didn’t want to ruin the chance she was given.

She managed to hold it in long enough for them to go down the stairs and into the garden, with its beautiful peacocks strutting around them. Bellatrix didn’t seem to enjoy the view as she stared into the horizon with an uncharacteristically depressing expression on her face.

”Are you going to tell me what got you so beaten down?” She asked finally, capturing the older woman’s attention.

”Oh, right, it was Lucius. You might not know it, but he’s a particularly nasty jerk. Don’t let the Prince Charming façade fool you, he’s evil incarnate.” Bellatrix said, nudging a stone with her boot.

”Really? You don’t have to tell me that. For years me and my friends were telling everyone that he is a Death Eater. Nobody ever listened.” Hermione replied sourly.

That actually managed to cheer the woman up a bit. Wide smile appearing on her face as she looked at Hermione with amusement dancing in her dark eyes.

”Can you blame them? Calling him that feels like a sacrilege.” Lestrange snorted. “Hell, they're calling everyone Death Eater nowadays, all of the Yaxleys, Rookwoods and Malfoys. Cowards! That’s what they are! Mulciber died fighting, he almost took Mad-Eye with him as he let out his dying breath. That’s a Death Eater! Not… them. Ministry rats.”

”You say those things, but you didn’t die for Him like Mulciber did. I always wondered why.” Hermione blurted out. Thankfully, Bellatrix didn’t look outraged as she answered.

”That’s  because I knew he would come back. I guess back then I didn’t see a point in fighting.” She shrugged, kicking the stone away.

”Surely, if that was the truth then you must have realized that you would be of more use to him walking freely, than rotting in a cell.”

”Easy for you to say. No one has told me that it will take him 14 years to comeback! I would have picked a better company to be arrested with. Having to stomach Rodolphus’s nonstop whining for 14 years was worse than the prison itself. At least Siri got out early. His crazy mumbling about the Potter boy was keeping me awake all night.”

Ignoring the last comment Hermione continued her onslaught. ”Still, no fighting? I would have expected the great Bellatrix Lestrange to at least go down in a blaze of glory.”

”I would too, pet. But losing the only person who ever cared for you is a horrible thing. I wasn’t in the mood for showing off.” Bellatrix sighed. “It was already bad enough that I went to the Longbottoms, I think that the world got the message just right.”

”So you really love him then?” Hermione couldn’t stop herself. Her heart hammering in her chest wildly. It happens when people are nervous, right? Why else would she be so eager to hear Bellatrix’s answer?

”Merlin, are you writing a book or what? Sorry to spoil it to you, but soon mudbloods won’t be able to publish anything.” Bellatrix sneered. “I thought we were supposed to talk about Lucius, not me! Find another topic to bother me about!”

”Where were you when you weren’t visiting me?” Hermione scrambled to ask. Ever since her meeting with Snape, she couldn’t stop thinking about her parents. She was sure that Bellatrix would come back bragging about killing or torturing them, but when no such thing happened, she became even more concerned.

”Nice try, pet, try something different.”

”Were you expecting me to starve to death?” 

”What? No! Why… Ohhhh.” Bellatrix’s eyes widened. “Ohhhhh. Yeah, it was planned. Such filth like you doesn’t deserve a meal, that’s all.”

”Are you sure? Narcissa was certain that it was a simple oversight. Something about you being wary of the house elves.” Hermione continued her attack.

”Are you questioning my honesty, mudblood?!?” Bellatrix snapped at her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Hermione screeched hastily, she didn’t want the older woman to go back to her usual sadistic persona.

”Good, ‘cause I’ve had enough arguing for one day.” Bellatrix brushed it off, eager to change subjects. “It’s my turn asking questions anyway! Tell me, muddy, when you fall asleep, what world are you traveling to?”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed rapidly. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Bellatrix anything about her other life, she was just starting to enjoy it. If there ever was a first rule of the dueling club, which she wouldn’t know since got there late, it would be to never talk about the dueling club with Bellatrix bloody Lestrange!

”Come on, muddy, it’s not like I care enough to find it and murder everyone. I just hope that it’s not one of these ‘everyone is a muggle’ worlds.”

”There are worlds like that?” Hermione’s eyes wide with wonder.

”A fuck load of them. They are terribly daunting, so I never spent longer than a minute in those. Can you imagine me being a muggle? That’s preposterous. Ewww.” Bellatrix’s face scrunched up in disgust.

”They’re not that bad. Very sociable and kind.”

”And this is exactly what a mudblood would say.” Bellatrix brushed it off. “The muggles aren’t kind, they are constantly talking shit about each other and causing drama that would be unheard of in any pureblood household.”

”And you learned that in a single minute spent in their world?” Hermione’s eyebrow arched in suspicion.

”No, they get very talkative when you point a wand at them. I wouldn’t talk to that filth even if my life depended on it.” She took a deep breath. There was something about the way her eyes shone that made Hermione believe that she was lying. Sensing her little slip, Bellatrix tried to steer the conversation back to its tracks. “So where are you drifting off to? I promise I won’t laugh, I mean, it’s not like you’re going back to school or something, right?” The smile fell from her lips.

”Right?” She repeated, seeing Hermione’s horrified expression.

The girl stiffened. It felt as if all of Hermione’s blood gathered in her reddening cheeks, leaving the rest of her body pale and rigid.

”Why are you blushing? This has to be a joke! I don’t believe it! You had infinite universes to choose from and yet you decided to go back to school?” Hermione was speechless. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t like being mocked, but in that moment it was way safer to stomach the taunts than to risk Bellatrix finding out what exactly she has been doing there.

”I can’t believe it!” Bellatrix burst out laughing, clutching her sides as she braced herself on a nearby alcove. Her maniacal cackle scaring away the peacocks. “Why would you chose to go there? Is there like a handsome teacher you try to seduce?” She choked out in between the snorts.

Hermione’s eyes widened so much that she was wondering how come her eyeballs didn’t just fall off her head. Bellatrix immediately ceasing her mockery, blood red lips opening slightly in disbelief as she studied the younger woman’s reaction.

”Oh lord, there is one, isn’t there?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

”That’s why you are blushing!”

The victorious grin spreading on Bellatrix’s face stopped Hermione’s raging heart for a split second. This is it, she knows. She will kill her on the spot for trying to outsmart her and then she will vanish her body just as she described.

”Is it Snape or McGonagall?”

Hermione had to blink herself back into reality. Were her ears deceiving her?

”Oh no, it’s Snape, isn’t it?” Bellatrix started gagging dramatically. “I always knew he liked to roll around in the mud. You might actually be his type, muddy. Ugh, disgusting.” She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to stop that thought from going any further.

”What?” Hermione’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

”I should have anticipated that. First a Weasel and now Butterhead. Merlin, pet, you should have picked McGonagall!” Bellatrix just kept going, ignoring her altogether. “She has that bossy attitude I always liked about her. I even had a dream about her once…”

”It’s not like that!” Hermione finally found her tongue, quickly realizing her mistake. “I want to go back now.” She whispered quietly.

“Riiiiight. And what exactly puts you in such a hurry?” Bellatrix laughed. “Are you late for your DADA lesson?” Onyx eyes welled up with tears of joy, Bellatrix’s usually pale face coming alive with colors as she scrambled to catch her breath.

”I am, as a matter of fact. I have detention to serve. With my DADA teacher.” Hermione decided to have a laugh of her own for once.

”And you would rather scrub Severus’s toilet than spent time away from your cell? Mudbloods are so ungrateful.” Bellatrix shook her head in mock outrage. Suddenly a painful expression has crossed her face, Hermione was sure that she would lash out at her, but instead the older woman rolled up her sleeve, uncovering a swollen, red tattoo. She knew what that meant.

”I guess it’s your lucky day, pet. It’s back to the doghouse for you.” Lestrange said and pulled on her leash, dragging her to the mansion.

Hermione ran all the way to the tower where the DADA classroom was situated. Her feet slipping on the stone steps as she barely avoided falling to her death. Here and there, enchanted brooms were mopping the floors after a day of heavy use.

She burst through the classroom door ready to apologize for being late, when the sight of irritated Bellatrix Black sucked the air out of her lungs. The woman was standing at the top of the staircase leading up to her small office, casually leaning on the railing as her angry eyes sent shivers down the Gryffindor’s spine. It meant trouble.

”Miss Granger, how kind of you to show up to your detention. I was afraid that you wouldn’t grant me this pleasure.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, heels clicking as she descended down the stairs.

She wore a loose, white shirt nonchalantly buttoned up low enough to show off her slender neck adorned with her silver raven skull necklace and just a hint of cleavage. Black, tightly tied corset obscuring the junction between her shirt and long, black skirt, showcasing her killer waistline and wide hips. Wild curls tucked into a messy bun at the top of her head.

”Tell me, Miss Granger, are all muggleborns this tardy or where you reluctant to show up because of my unfortunate breeding?” The older woman sneered, showing her white teeth ready to draw blood.

“I… Actually, I wanted to apologize, Professor. Not only for being late, but mostly for yesterday’s comment. It was abhorrent behavior on my part and I’m really sorry about it.” Hermione said confidently, straightening her back.

Ever since her little meltdown, she has been preparing a speech, even going as far as coming up with a B plan in case of the older woman not accepting her apology. It mainly consisted of begging and crying, so she would rather avoid the situation coming to that.

Bellatrix regarded her in silence, looking her up and down with a cold gaze. Perhaps begging really was necessary. “Your detention has started 10 minutes ago and you still haven’t done anything of use.” She sneered, snapping her fingers.

Hermione had to jump aside as all furniture started sliding across the classroom, moving closer to the walls and clearing down the middle.

”Oh, right, I will go get the broom.” The girl’s shoulders slumped, body already turning to leave the classroom.

”What for, Miss Granger?” Bellatrix’s unusually calm voice stopped her in her tracks.

”To clean. That’s what detentions are for. Some Professor ask their students to clean and some ask them to check younger students’ exams.” Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion.

”Is that so? How inefficient. And boring too.” Was the only thing her professor said before turning and conjuring up a wooden practice dummy. “And here I always thought that students should actually LEARN from their mistakes.”

”But they are doing that, detention is a punishment it’s supposed to be boring.” The younger witch argued.

”Well, I prefer it the other way around.” Bellatrix drawled, brandishing her wand. “I would rather have my students actually learn something than some bullshit moral mambo jumbo, a punishment - some joke!” She scoffed at that. “Anyway, get ready, yesterday’s match has revealed some glaring inadequacies in your dueling skills.”

”Inadequacies? I managed to withstand more than any other student of yours would.” The older woman managed to get on Hermione’s nerve. Inadequate evaluation has always been a touchy subject to her. “I’m curious to learn what exactly could I’ve done better.”

Professor Black snorted with laughter. “And what exactly have you done right, girl?” She asked, arching her eyebrow. “Your defense was barely adequate, movement unsure, attacks slow, predictable and plainly boring. The closest you ever got to actually touching me was when you tried to shoot me in the back. Expelliarmus? Disgusting. You do display some talent regarding the use of wandless magic, but the first rule of every fight is not to let your opponent disarm you and once again- you failed miserably.”

Hermione could only gape at that, words dying in her throat, unable to form even a bleak parody of a word. She knew she wasn’t even close to Bellatrix’s level when it came to dueling, but the older witch’s diagnosis was more than harsh, it was cruel and cruel in the worst way.

After years spent on listening to Malfoy and his friends mocking her for her muggle parents, she was already used to the spiteful comments so casually thrown her way by Bellatrix Lestrange. Filth, vermin, mudblood - she knew all of those by heart to the point where they were nothing more than a comma in a sentence most of the times.

This Bellatrix however ironically was way more cruel in her choice of words, knowing well where to cut to draw blood. Instead of a bunch of random insults being thrown her way, Hermione had to face something much more dangerous - an attack on her pride and ambitions.

Wand in hand she took a step forward, situating herself in front of the dummy. Her head held high, feet poised in a perfect stance she saw in a fighting manual and arm bent slightly at the elbow, ready to wreak havoc. She was positively pissed off and impatient to show the older woman what she was capable of.

”Oh no no, can’t have you injuring yourself, pet.” Professor Black cooed. The words were so familiar that for a second there Hermione thought that she was talking to her captor. She was so entranced that she didn’t have time to spot a fencing sword flying her way. “Here, I found it in the lumber room. No wands for today.”

”But how am I supposed to practice without my wand?” Hermione argued.

Bellatrix’s annoyed expression conveyed the message as good as any word would. Despite that, the older woman apparently decided to humor her. ”Don’t be daft, Miss Granger, we need to start on the principles first. Let’s see how you walk and then I will consider letting you use your wand next time.”

”What’s so difficult about walking?” Hermione was confused, especially seeing the amused look on her professor’s face. The older woman sitting leisurely on one of the students’ desk, twirling a sword in her hand.

”I don’t know, Miss Granger, but I’m sure that after today you will be able to enlighten me.” The mischievous glint in her eyes couldn’t mean anything good for the Gryffindor. “Let’s start with walking forward. Remember not to lose balance, treat it like a dance.”

Hermione raised the sword in front of herself and adjusted her stance, waiting for the command.

”Front! Un deux trois. Un deux trois.Un deux trois. Faster!” Hermione picked up the pace.

”Un deux trois. Faster! Un deux trois. Backwards.” Bellatrix commanded as the Gryffindor’s foil touched the dummy’s chest.

As it turns out walking fast backwards while also maintaining the stance proves more challenging than it sounds, especially with the older woman constantly demanding her to pick up the pace. Even when she was trying her hardest, Hermione just couldn’t get the hold of it enough to please the dark witch.

Disappointed sight echoed in the room as Bellatrix pushed off the desk and landed elegantly on her high heeled boots. The sword swinging in her grasp as she strode to Hermione’s side, standing in front of her and pointing the tip of the blade at the younger woman and taking a step forward.

If Hermione hasn’t reacted on time, the foil would surely touch her and God only knows if the tip was blunt or sharp. One more step forward and the Gryffindor had to speed up not to find out.

”Un deux trois. Un deux trois. Un deux trois.“ Bellatrix recited ‘causing the girl to move away rapidly. Before Hermione could do anything she felt her back touch the cold stone wall of the classroom. Her sword instinctively pushing Bellatrix’s blade aside.

A deep red flush immediately appearing on her  face as she realized that she was quite enjoying the thought of Bellatrix pining her against the wall.

”Tag. Try to keep up, Miss Granger.” The Professor smiled and took two steps back.

Hermione knew it was her cue to start attacking so she took two steps forward. Nothing, Bellatrix was out of reach. She picked up the pace, tried extending her arm mid step and even jumping, but the other woman always remained out of reach. Finally, the wall was getting nearer. Sensing her chance Hermione thrust her sword and once against came out with nothing. The blade bending as it collided with the stone surface.

”Good one.” Bellatrix commented. “Before this lesson is over I require you to be able to do all that, but ten times faster and on a plank.”

”On a plank?” Hermione asked barely able to catch her breath.

”Oh yes.” The older woman grinned ominously, pointing at a piece of wood not wider than Hermione’s foot. “Don’t fall and I will let you use your wand tomorrow.”

A challenge. Hermione loved a good challenge.

Meanwhile, in the grim halls of Grimmauld Place 12, Sirius Black was just getting ready to read the evening edition of the Times when a familiar name on the front cover captured his attention.

”THE MIRACLE REAPPEARANCE: A BRITISH COUPLE FOUND IN MARSEILLE” The headline read, but it was the description of the front page photo that made his heart skip a beat.

”Harry! What was your friend’s name again? The smart one.” He asked his godson sitting next to him.

”Granger, Hermione Granger.” Harry answered ceasing the conversation he had with Ron.

”Oh, this is getting very interesting.” Sirius said, folding the newspaper and throwing it at the boy. “Very interesting indeed.”

Chapter Text

The day was starting pretty peacefully. After his trip to Australia Yaxley decided to give himself a chance to recuperate, sleeping longer than usual. There wasn’t much to do anyway as everyone has already been assigned to a case and they would have alerted him if there was an emergency at the office.

With that thought in mind Yaxley stretched his arms leisurely, brushed his teeth and sat down for an uneventful breakfast prepared for him by an unreasonably skinny house elf. Except this time it wasn’t as uneventful as usual.

He was just flipping through some muggle newspapers, monitoring muggles was a part of his job, when he spotted something that made him pause in the middle of a tasty sandwich. On the front page of one of the newspapers were three photos that he knew by heart at this point. The Mudblood and her parents.

“Yesterday the maire of Marseille has informed the public of a very unusual situation that occurred in the French, costal city, where a pair of British citizens were miraculously found after a year of being considered missing by the British authorities. The curious case of the Grangers’ disappearance was once a very hot topic for the press. With the mysterious circumstances of their disappearance, many were quick to come up with their own explanations of what might have happened to the ordinary pair of dentists.

Some went as far as to suggest that Mr and Mrs Granger were abducted by the government or in some cases even the aliens. A few months later and instead of answers we get a new wave of conspiracy theories coming our way as the couple gets discovered in the most unusual circumstances.

Yesterday a team of local policemen were casually patrolling the city’s most frequented train station in Marseille when a pair of, what looked to be tourists, approached the officers. The couple had difficulty communicating with the policemen as they could only speak English. Upon closer inspection it turned out that they had no papers or anything that could explain where they were coming from.

After a quick interview, the officers decided to contact the Australian consulate in hopes of providing the tourists with help. However, Australian authorities have firmly denied the existence of people known as Monica and Wendell Wilkins, who would match the desperation provided by the French police.

New technologies allowed the police to compare the couple’s photos with those of the persons missing which proved fruitful, revealing the real identity of the confused dentists.

The Grangers were presumed missing for almost a year now, before surfacing up in the French coastal town of Marseille. To make the whole story even more confusing, the people in question couldn’t remember who they actually were or even the fact that they had a 18 years old daughter Hermione, who as of today hasn’t been found yet.

The couple has been hospitalized and diagnosed with a peculiar case of amnesia. The British minister of foreign affairs has already announced that it's a matter of days before they will be transported back to England where the full spectrum of tests will be conducted, after which the pair will finally be given time to recuperate.” The Daily Mail reported.

Yaxley’s tasty sandwich laid half eaten on his plate, completely forgotten.

When Bellatrix arrived at the meeting almost everyone was already present. She opened the door and almost fainted. Her seat was already taken and by Yaxley of all people. That blond rat was whispering something to the Dark Lord, while eyeing her warily. Something was very wrong and she didn’t like it, not one bit.

”Ahh, Bella,” The Dark Lord drawled, seeing her enter. “take a seat, we need to begin at once.”

”Of course, my lord.” She replied and waltzed to the only seat that was left vacant, the person next to her snorting in disbelief, pulling their chair further away from her.

He had dark hair, reaching to his broad shoulders, black beard adding a dangerous glint to his grim persona. He wasn’t an ugly man, quite the opposite actually, but Bellatrix couldn’t help the nagging feeling of revulsion as soon as she saw him.

”So many years and look where it brought you.” The person chuckled darkly, looking at her from underneath his hooded eyelids. “Back to me. How ironic.”

”Oh, sweet Roddy, I know that my presence, especially in such close quarters, is exhilarating, but please keep your hands on the table, you can jerk off after the meeting is over.” Bellatrix replied, Lucius Malfoy shaking his head judgmentally on the other side of the table. Rodolphus on the other hand was far too amused to let the conversation end.

”I would rather swallow a jar full of razors than even think about touching my dick with you sitting next to me.” He commented. “Oh, how I miss the good old brick wall separating us in Azkaban. 14 years without having to look at your ugly face.”

”The feeling is mutual.” She replied, leaning forward and looking at the man sitting next to her husband. “Rab! Why is Yaxley sitting in my fucking chair?” She hissed.

”I don’t know, but he was accompanying the Dark Lord when he entered, so something urgent must have happened.” Rabastan answered.

”I suppose you don’t know anything about the subject, dear wife?” Rodolphus’s brow arched.

”Why would I?” Bellatrix asked casually.

”Because you tend to attract trouble and just yesterdays half of the Ministry was looking for you to no avail.” Rodolphus drawled. “How could I not suspect you?”

”Boohooo, poor Rodolphus, 16 years and you’re still being salty about the Longbottoms. Tsk tsk, how petty.” Bellatrix cooed.

”Silence.” The Dark Lord’s snakelike voice stopped their bickering. “As you might have noticed, we’ve gathered here in some very unusual circumstances. It has come to my attention that the pair of muggle maggots known as the Grangers have recently been found in Marseille, France. Corban, would you like to continue?”

’Oh, so it’s Corban now.’ Bellatrix thought, deep frown appearing on her face as she observed the blond man reaching into his coat and taking out a crumpled newspaper.

”Yes, my lord.” Yaxley started. “As you might remember, the Grangers are the parents of Harry Potter’s missing Mudblood. We have been looking for them for quite some time now, mostly to no avail. But yesterday a breakthrough occurred! I have been informed…”

Yaxley haven’t even glanced her way.

”… that all this time they have been hiding in Australia, working under a fake name, healing other muggles’ teeth. Immediately we attempted to arrest the fugitives, but unfortunately, they somehow managed to slip out of our grasp, burning their own house and disappearing without a single clue where they might be going.” Bellatrix had to school her features to stop her smile from spreading. Yaxley continued.

“I was already preparing myself for another year of chasing the shadows, when a muggle newspaper landed on my desk.” He threw the paper on the table. It landed suspiciously close to where Bella was sitting. He was onto her.

”Yaxley can read? Since when?” Rodolphus whispered to his brother who started snickering. If Bellatrix wasn’t so nervous she would have felt like a schoolgirl again.

“The article on its front page describes how yesterday they were found in the middle of Marseille with no papers, knowledge of the language and memory of who they were. It seemed as if someone has purged their memories of everything that happened before their trip to Australia. It turns out that we weren’t the only ones looking for them as the muggle authorities immediately picked up the case.”

Bellatrix could feel the sweat dripping down her temple. Her sharp fingernails digging into the wooden table, leaving scratches in its wake. How could she be so stupid? She hasn’t even wiped their memories. If Yaxley finds them, he will know everything about her, Grangers’ escape and her supposed ‘surveillance’ she told Yaxley about. To say it was bad would be an understatement.

”In two days they will be transported to the UK, where muggle authorities will start interrogating them. We can’t let that happen as it might start a war that we are not ready for yet. That’s why we need a small team to infiltrate the hospital they are kept in and bring them here for questioning of our own.” Yaxley finished, relaxing in his chair.

Bellatrix could physically feel Snape’s, Lucius’s and Yaxley’s eyes on her. Was it so obvious that it was all her doing?

”And who will be stupid enough to travel to Marseille of all places?” Rodolphus Lestrange chuckled, exchanging amused glances with his brother sitting next to him.

”You will, Rodolphus.” The Dark Lord said matter-of-factly. “You and your brother to be exact.”

”My lord, this can’t be right! There is a price on our heads  there, you’re signing our death warrant!” Rodolphus protested, bolting out of his chair.

”Sit down, Rod! I never considered you a coward before.” Lucius Malfoy snorted.

”We will talk when it’s your family that is being targeted by these people.” The brunette growled, banging his fist on the table. His brother pulling on his robes to make him sit. Normally Bellatrix would have been amused beyond measure, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to even smile in that moment.

”Rodolphus, if you are afraid that the two of you won’t be enough to extract a pair of filthy muggles from a hospital, then you can take someone more… competent with you.” Snape interrupted the discussion. “Myself perhaps?” The headmaster turned his head to the Dark Lord expectantly.

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by Bellatrix.

”My lord! If anyone should accompany my pitiful husband and his silly brother, it should be me. It has always been me and if this city is as dangerous as Rodolphus claims, a seasoned warrior might be a better choice than a measly potions master.”

”Dear Bella…” Voldemort started saying.

”With all due respect, this is a matter of utmost importance. It requires careful planning and discretion. As for Bellatrix, I think all of us would agree that she’s far from discreet, my lord.” Snape wouldn’t let it slide.

”Severus…”

”I would like to inform, Mr Snape, that there is no way one could be discreet when parading around with the Lestrange brothers. Even a filthy rat like himself wouldn’t manage that.”

”Enough!” The Dark Lord raised his voice. Rodolphus immediately flopped onto his chair. “I won’t tolerate such abhorrent behavior! Severus, you already have been tasked with an important job that requires your presence. I think that we could all agree that Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan have the best knowledge of French language and culture out of all of us. With Bella’s unusual dueling talent they shall have no problem delivering these muggles to us.”

The devilishly evil smile that appeared on Bellatrix’s face as the dark witch turned in the headmaster’s direction was downright obscene. Snape couldn’t help but purse his lips in spiteful grimace.

Yaxley was watching the whole discussion with bated breath. Both Snape’s and Bellatrix’s reactions were extremely suspicious. The way they didn’t even hesitate before interrupting the Dark Lord was outrageous to put it mildly. At this moment he already knew that the two of them were somehow involved in the Granger case. Something that he will have to investigate further.

”Great.” Rodolphus mumbled under his breath. “We’re as good as dead now.”

Hermione’s legs were killing her. Yesterday she would practice her footwork for hours, long past the usual length of a detention. She waltzed left and right through the classroom, even falling off a plank a couple of times. If it wasn’t for Professor Black’s quick reflexes, she would have broken a bone or two. She had to ingest a handful of potions to even be able to walk properly.

None of it has crumbled her resolve and so the next day when her time for detention came she was patiently waiting for Professor Black to open the classroom as she has intentionally came 10 minutes earlier to compensate for yesterday’s blunder. If Bellatrix was surprised to see her so early, she refrained from commenting on it, preparing the classroom momentarily for them to resume their work.

As promised Hermione was finally allowed to use a wand as they were about to work on her casting and choice of spells. She couldn’t get over the fact that Bellatrix perceived her casting as slow and boring and was adamant to change that as fast as possible.

To her surprise, Professor Black seemed to have enjoyed their previous lesson as much as the Gryffindor did. Without further ado she hoisted the plank into the air and made it hover, jumping onto the wood with grace and stability of a professional gymnast, watching as Hermione climbed onto it clumsily.

A couple meters away from them, enchanted chalk started scribbling something on the board. A list of basic entry level spells such as wingardium leviosa, incendio and diffindo as well as some defensive ones.

“Tell me, Miss Granger, would you like to play a game?” Bellatrix asked with a mischievous smile. Hermione could smell a trap from miles away at this point, not that the older woman ever tried hiding it anyhow.

“Of what sorts?” The Gryffindor asked cautiously anyway.

“Oh, it will be foolishly simple, as you can see, a first grader would be able to perform it if only he had enough intellect and cleverness.” Bellatrix said, gesturing to the aforementioned board. “I will be defending myself using ONLY the spells written there and your task would be to defeat me, using ONLY the spells written there. The last one standing on the plank wins. As you can see - foolishly simple.”

“There has to be a catch there somewhere.” Hermione kept nagging.

“No catch whatsoever. I will even give you 3 attempts to make it even.” The way Black was looking at her was unnerving, she was definitely up to something, but Hermione couldn’t prove it yet.

“You call that even? And how are you going to throw me off the plank if you can only use defensive spells?”

“That’s banal, I will let gravity do all the dirty work for me.”

“You expect me to fall on my own accord?”

“You know what they say, twice the pride, double the fall. Are you in?”

Hermione couldn’t help but find herself interested in this jovial task. She knew that despite her professor’s assurances, there was a catch somewhere in this game, but it would have to be discovered in practice. She has already lost track of times she has made a deal with the dark witch and this time her potential losses’ consequences would be virtually nonexistent.

“I’m in.” She replied confidently.

“Good.” The dark witch replied, bowing curtly before her.

Her loose shirt parting, uncovering a wonderful view at the woman’s bosom. Hermione had to avert her eyes as she returned the favor. Strange feeling taking over her body and mind. Where did it come from?

Bellatrix had to clear her throat to get the girl to focus on the task. Pink flush appearing on Hermione’s beautiful face.

She cast the first spell wordlessly, magic smashing on Bellatrix’s shield, dealing her no damage and rebounding at Hermione who had to abruptly jump back.

It was enough for her to lose balance, arms waving in the air in a futile attempt to stop herself from falling, it wasn’t enough. Her world has tilted rapidly, eyes closing in preparation for the incoming impact, but it didn’t happen. A fist full of her shirt keeping her on the plank, onyx eyes boring into her.

“That’s one chance gone.” Bellatrix said, pulling her upright. “It’s really not that hard, pet.”

Intellect and cleverness my ass.

She tried another time, reminding herself constantly that the task was about clever use of the easiest of spells, but once again she was pushed back by other woman’s perfectly timed shield.

“That’s two strikes now. Do you want to disappoint me, Miss Granger?” Elegantly shaped eyebrow rose questioningly.

Hermione felt as if she would die if she wasn’t able to perform this task. Her gaze traveled back to the board in a desperate attempt to come up with a plan, immediately one of the spells caught her eye. A sticking charm.

Without further delay, she glued her feet to the plank and looked up at the other woman victoriously. The smile on her face was so wide that one would think that she has just won the world championship instead of simply gluing her shoes to a piece of wood like a five year old. No wonder Bellatrix was starring at her as if she has grown a second head.

“An interesting start, but you still have to throw me off the plank, you know?”

“Oh, that was just a beginning.” Hermione said, and swiped her wand in front of her.

As per usual Bellatrix momentarily raised her shield… unnecessarily. The swift diffindo wasn’t even pointed at her, but at the wooden plank beneath her feet. She took a step back, but to no avail, the wood broke, making her fall down to the floor. Hermione’s feet still firmly planted on the plank.

Professor Black looking at her from the floor, leaning on her elbows. A devilish smile slowly creeping onto her face as she accepted Hermione’s hand, the Gryffindor hoisting her to her feet with one firm tug. Perhaps a bit too firmly as the other woman ended up way too close to her.

She instantly felt grateful for the slight flush already covering her skin from all of the exertion or else Professor Black might have realized how affected she was by their sudden proximity.

It didn’t help that the older witch decided that it was a good moment to congratulate Hermione on the job well done, putting an arm around her shoulders and patting the Gryffindor’s back playfully.

“Finally, Granger! Took you long enough.” She said with a charming smile on her face. “For a solid second there I honestly thought you wouldn’t do it.”

“I was a bit too nervous at first, couldn’t think straight.” Hermione cleared her throat, trying to get a hold on herself.

”Ok, enough of the pleasantries. You won fair and square, so you deserve a reward and then we will work on your tempo and reflexes.” Bellatrix said, brushing the broken wood aside and accioing a dummy. “Any ideas?”

”Actually, I wanted to ask you about the thing you did back at the room of requirement. What was it and could you perhaps…” She hesitated timidly. “Teach me how to do it?”

Bellatrix’s complexion was unreadable as she considered her options carefully.

The trick she used seemed very handy in a fight and would give Hermione huge advantage over her opponents, not to mention the surprise factor in a potential duel against Lestrange. The mere shock of a mudblood using her own methods against her would probably put the dark witch in a comma.

”It’s not that hard actually.” Professor Black’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “I created the spell when I was around your age. It wasn’t particularly hard as it does basically the same things every other stunning spell does, but what’s really interesting about it is its structure. It is very susceptible to manipulation to the point where normally it would have been considered useless, too sensitive to the wand movement. But that’s actually the most important part of the trick.” She said, twirling her wand nonchalantly.

The tip of her gnarled wand immediately lit up with magic, following the every move of her hand like a silver thread, leaving a barely visible afterglow in the air.

“You have to cast the spell quickly and then as you’re about to release it at the enemy, literally at the last moment, you have to bend your wrist inwards adding a slight rotation to the spell.” She said, demonstrating the technique on the dummy. The strobe of light flying through the air in an arch like pattern, hitting the dummy straight in the chest. “I figured it might be useful considering how many wizards didn’t bother to protect their sides at all times.”

”You created that?” The Gryffindor’s mouth hung low in admiration.

”Yes, it’s not that hard, the incantation is collido inflexio.” Bellatrix said, straightening her back.

Hermione didn’t wait long before swirling her wand, trying to replicate what the older witch has just done. It really was tricky to perform as one had to perfectly time every twirl and then correctly predict the trajectory of the spell.

The girl was struggling with the right tempo, which didn’t go unnoticed. She was just murmuring the incantation when she felt a warm body press against her back. She momentarily froze mid swirl, only managing to utter the last syllable of the curse. Pale hand sneaking its way over her petite one, angling her wrist and casting the spell perfectly.

If Hermione was in her right mind, she would have rejoiced that moment. Unfortunately for her, the delicious weight pressing on her back was rendering her completely mindless. A deep scent of parchment and vanilla invading her abused nose. The touch of her delicate hand, so firm and warm, her milky skin on display. All of this was making Hermione dizzy.

She knew she shouldn’t feel this was. The woman was more than twice her age, she was her teacher and occasionally a homicidal psycho keeping her in her sister’s attic. She knew all that and yet one charming smile or a simple praise coming from the older woman and she was suddenly utterly useless.

The fingers that mere seconds ago were burning holes in her soft hand receded, sliding higher up her arm only to finally break apart completely, leaving her disappointed at the loss of contact.

”Try again, Miss Granger.” The silky voice whispered into her ear, her hand moving on its own accord eager to carry out the order. The spell left her wand at the right time, but the rotation wasn’t big enough, making the older woman tut in disapproval.

Normally it would have unnerved Hermione, but at that moment she had bigger problems on her mind.

”That wasn’t perfect, but with enough practice you will get a hold of it.” Bellatrix said, pulling back and walking to sit on one of the desks in a corner. “Now get into position, I promised you that we will work on your casting today and I intend on keeping that promise.”

And so, just like that, the moment was over. For the next hour and a half Hermione had to practice throwing spells at the breakneck speed her professor has imposed. But deep in her head, she just couldn’t help but recall the wonderful warmth that still tingled her spine. 

The portkey took them exactly where the Grangers were found- at the foot of the great staircase leading up to the St Charles station. Around them a crowd of muggles rushed to and from the station, no doubt carrying out their mundane muggle business. Rodolphus looked around, searching for something, then took off in the direction of a small kiosk no more than 10 meters from them. Bellatrix and Rabastan following him reluctantly.

When they finally managed to push through the crowd, Rodolphus has already had a huge map opened on top of some poor muggle’s car trunk. Green eyes staring at the paper full of roads and places with concentration worthy of the stoutest minds. His brow furrowing as he was trying to figure out which direction to take.

”Wouldn’t it be easier to locate them with a spell?” Bellatrix asked, enjoying the show in front of her.

”Right, I’m going to take out my wand and wave it around as if my face wasn’t enough of a glowing target here.” Rodolphus scoffed, folding the map in two.

”Ohh, of course, these muggles really do look like they were about to murder you.” Bellatrix mocked him. “Stop being such a coward Rod and get on with it. Unlike you two imbeciles, I’ve got places to be, things to do.”

”She’s right, you know.” Rabastan interrupted them. “Not the imbecile part, the one about the muggles. These people hardly look like a threat to us, brother.”

”Why thank you, Rab.” Bellatrix chuckled. “I always knew you were the smart one.” She said patting his back playfully.

”Quiet! I need to focus!” Rodolphus bellowed. “We should go… this way!” He pointed in the direction of a quiet street going further down the hill.

A couple of cars were parked along the sidewalk, shielding them from the busy road as they followed him obediently, snickering from time to time. It was obvious that Rodolphus wasn’t the best at using maps, his annoyed grunts only confirming that for all the people watching them with pity as for the fifth time that day they managed to circle the hill without no progress whatsoever.

”I don’t know what is going on.” Rodolphus mumbled, looking at the map spread in front of him on another muggle’s car.

”Perhaps you could listen to me for once and use your magic.” Bellatrix commented through clenched teeth, too annoyed to enjoy her husband’s pitiful geography skills.

”Oh noo, not going to happen!” Rodolphus released a hearty laugh. “The last time I listened to you we ended up in Azkaban. It’s a miracle we don’t have to deal with that lunatic Crouch this time since they already paired us up with you.”

”Too bad, Barty was actually way smarter than you, if he was here we would already be in this bloody hospital instead of walking around like a bunch of morons.” Bellatrix sneered, sizing him up defiantly.

“Rod!”

”How dare you! I have wasted 14 years of my life because of you and that Ravenclaw freak!” Rodolphus stood his ground, towering over his wife like a skyscraper.

”Rod, enough!” Rabastan pushed himself between them, butting Bellatrix aside. “This time she might be right. The faster you cast the spell, the faster we are going get out of here.”

”I thought that these people weren’t a threat to us. Which one is it then, brother?” Rodolphus replied angrily, too caught up to notice the incoming motorbike speeding in their direction.

It stopped abruptly, raising on its front wheel as the driver pulled out an automatic rifle, strapped loosely to his back, angling it at the arguing pair.

Bellatrix immediately ducked behind a nearby car, leaving the brothers alone as bullets started flying in their direction. One empty clip later and the motorcycle took off with its tires screeching.

”Rabastan!” A frantic scream echoed. Muggles around them running away like headless chickens, bumping into each other in panic. “Rabastan!”

Bellatrix chanced a glance over the car’s hood. Rabastan was lying partially on the road, Rodolphus kneeling next to him covered in blood, crying as he tried to shake his brother alive.

The roaring sound getting nearer alarmed Bellatrix of the incoming trouble. It seemed that killing poor Rabastan wasn’t enough for their would-be assassin as the white bike burst out from around the corner ready to murder the rest of the group.

”Bellatrix!” Rodolphus cried, clutching his dead brother’s corpse as he raised his shield to protect himself from the attacker. “Do something you cunt! Do something!!!”

Bellatrix lowered her head, hiding behind the car as the motorcycle stopped meters away from her husband. The rider aiming his gun at the older brother. The moment his head turned Bellatrix was already sliding over the hood, wand in hand. He only managed to fire a few shots before a powerful wave of magic threw him off his bike and into the air as if he was no heavier than a sack of potatoes.

Bellatrix blew hair out of her face lazily. Her heels clicking on the asphalt as she sauntered closer to the assassin stirring awake. Seeing her, he momentarily reached for his machine-gun, changing the clip with shaking hands. He angled his weapon at Bellatrix’s head as she stood over him observing his every move.

“Mort aux Lestrange!” 

Click. He pulled the trigger, cursing as the barrel jammed.

”Interesting!” Bellatrix chuckled. “Tsk…Mine doesn’t do that.” She said cursing the man into oblivion.

”Bellatrix! You bloody wench!” Came the screeching cry of Rodolphus Lestrange. “It’s all your fault! You killed him!”

The older Lestrange was lying on the pavement, blood gushing out of his arm and leg, his wand broken lying next to him. Bellatrix couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight.

”You idiot! You really tried using protego against muggle weapons? Oh, Rabastan would have been so amused…” She paused, frowning. “If he wasn’t dead!” Her mad cackle echoing in the narrow street.

”I swear! I swear that I’m going to strangle you to death the moment I get out of this cursed city!” Rodolphus shrieked, rolling on the ground, blood pooling around him and seeping into his clothes.

”And how are you going to go about it without your wand?” Bellatrix sauntered closer, bending down to his eye level and taking something out of Rabastan’s pocket. “Here, I will help you, take this.”

A piece of wood collided with his forehead - Rabastan’s wand. He picked it up hastily, causing a huge flame to burst out of it almost burning him alive.

”Or maybe not.” Bellatrix said, knocking the wand out of his grasp. “How am I supposed to find the Mudblood’s parents with you being no better than a muggle? Huh? Give me a moment, I need to think.”

”Heal! Heal me!” Rodolphus whined.

”Wait, a muggle! That’s it!” Bellatrix snapped her fingers triumphantly. On the other side of the street, the machine-gun strapped to a deadman’s back started rattling on the asphalt, trying to free itself. It flew straight to the dark witch’s extended hand. “Take this instead. You already are as stupid as a muggle, might as well fight like one.”

”Heal. Me. Now.” Rodolphus growled, pointing the gun at her.

”And you already speak like them! Bravo!” Bellatrix twirled her wand, causing the wound on her husband’s arm to heal itself. However, when she tried to do the same with the one on his leg, Rodolphus let out a haunting howl.

”Shit! I think there is something stuck in it!” Rodolphus hissed, pushing on the injury.

”Tsk. I heard that Mad-Eye had one just like this and they had to cut off his leg. Guess you will have to live with it.” The Death Eater shrugged and started walking down the street.

”Where are you going? Don’t leave me here, Bella! This is my mission! You will not survive without me!” He screamed, scrambling to his feet and limping after her.

”Oh my, what will I do without such a fearless warrior?” Bellatrix chuckled, bouncing blissfully. “Move along, pirate, we have some sailors to abduct.”

”But how do you know we’re walking in the right direction?”

”Oh, I cast the spell 30 minutes ago, I was just fucking with you this whole time.” She said nonchalantly, leaving Rodolphus gaping on the side of the road.

”Severus, what is the meaning of this?” Narcissa Malfoy stood in front of the mansion’s gate, her hand shaking as she opened it for her friend.

”I need to talk to Miss Granger.” The headmaster said. “There has been a new development that she will like to hear about.”

”You know as well as I do that she won’t listen to you as long as…” Narcissa started saying.

”As long as Bellatrix is keeping her parents hostage. But I know for a fact that right now…” He paused dramatically. “She doesn’t.”

”Right this way.” Narcissa gestured to the entrance, Snape’s robe fluttering in the wind as he rushed after her. He knew that Bellatrix had no chance capturing the Grangers with half of the Wizarding and Muggle Marseille chasing after her.

He knew that because he was the one who notified the Mob of her arrival. And if all goes well, the Dark Lord will soon lose three of his most dangerous followers.

Chapter Text

“Let’s make this perfectly clear. She abandoned them in the middle of a French city, with no documents and no knowledge of the country’s language?” Hermione was pacing around the cluttered room like a lunatic.

”Quite right.” Snape replied, sitting leisurely in his armchair.

”And there were policemen around? Who does she take them for? Commissar Gibert?”

”Honestly, Miss Granger, I wouldn’t expect anything else from Bella. She barely knows anything about muggleborns, how was she supposed to understand muggle police and bureaucracy?”

”But how is it possible, Professor?” Hermione fisted her hair in desperation. “She’s a war criminal, there must have been at least a single instance where muggle police forces arrived to stop one of your raids!”

”They never did, the Ministry would rather have dead muggles to worry about than their authorities interfering in our affairs.” Severus Snape replied in his monotonous voice. “Although even if they had, Bella has no interest in such trivialities. She would have cut them down without even noticing who they were.”

”Oh God, this isn’t happening, it can’t be!” The Gryffindor massaged her template in a futile attempt to stop the incoming headache. The headmaster took this opportunity to get a better look at her still slightly swollen face, raising his wand and healing the bridge of her nose until there were no more signs of injury.

”I assure you, Miss Granger, you needn’t worry about your parents, it has all been taken care of. You on the other hand have to finally address the risk you’re taking with not only your own health, but also the whole cause.” The dark wizard said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “As insufferable as you are, you are also the only semi-intelligent person out of the three of you. Potter is like a lost dog right now, spending all of his time on coming up with foolish plans to rescue you.”

”I’m sorry, Professor, but I’m not sure if I can do anything about it. I don’t think that Bellatrix intends to kill me anytime soon and I can’t just leave without the knowledge that my parents are safe and sound.” Hermione hid her face in her shaking hands. “As crazy as it sounds, sticking with Bellatrix is more reasonable than once again becoming her prey.”

”That would be quite foolish thing to do, but if that’s your final decision, I’m not going to keep convincing you. I don’t have the time.” Snape said, standing up from his chair. “Just know one thing, tomorrow your parents will be safe and there’s nothing Bellatrix will be able to do about it. The only reason I’m here isn’t because I care about you or your filthy parents, but because Potter is useless without you. He keeps blaming himself for your capture. Do you want to risk your death burdening his conscience for the rest of his pitiful life? Think about it, I give you time till she comes back. If she comes back. Narcissa will summon me if needed.”

He said, leaving Hermione with a dilemma that she feared wasn’t something she could solve in a couple of hours.

“Bellatrix! Bellatrix!” Rodolphus yelled after her, limping pathetically as the gun swung on his arm dangerously. Muggles running away from them in panic. “Bellatrix, I don’t even know how to use this thing!”

The hand on his throat stopped him from saying anything else. His wife pushing him inside a let down residential building. His still frail shoulder aching as his back hit the shabby wall.

”You moron, your yelling will only attract attention, not to mention you walking around with that… thing on full display! You’re a wizard for fuck’s sake, at least try to obscure it wandlessly, you’re old enough to know how to do it.” She hissed, cutting off his air supply.

”So what? You want me to die anyway!” He snapped at her.

”I do, but I also want to do this job without any further complications so shut your bloody gob or I will do it for you.” Rodolphus's eyes traveled to the crooked wand digging into his neck.

”But I need to be able to protect myself.” He said calmly.

”Fine!” Bellatrix snatched the machine gun from his hands, closing her eyes in concentration. She focused on the pain that was always in her, the bitterness and hatred that was coursing through her body, but most importantly, she focused on the cold piece of metal she was holding.

Her eyes opened after a minute or so, when she was finally sure that she has consumed enough of her other selves’ memories to feel confident with the foreign weapon.

”Here, do this, look through this and pull this to shoot. That’s enough for you, let’s get goi…” She froze mid sentence, noticing that Rodolphus was missing. She looked around for him, but everything led her to believe that her husband must have left the building without her.

She was just about to exit it the way they entered, when she spotted the tip of a muggle shoe peaking through the empty doorway. Someone was waiting for her outside. Swinging the gun behind her back, she slowly started retreating into the shadows, climbing the stairs and passing the doors to various flats located in the building.

Murmurs started outside as her would be captors argued whether or not they should enter the premise and search for her.

”Et pourquoi c’est si long?” An unfamiliar voice said. “Vous restez ici et je vais aller vérifier.“

She could hear his footsteps echoing in the narrow staircase. A black clad figure entered, holding a rifle with one hand and pulling on the nearby door handles with the other. The witch was observing him patiently from above, waiting for the right moment to fire. Before he could react Bellatrix already sent a strobe of light his way. His body lifelessly falling on the stairs, the sound of metal hitting the ground spreading through the whole building.

They must have heard it as suddenly a group of similarly dressed people ran up to the body, guns firing blindly in her general direction. A lesser witch would have fallen for the same trap Rodolphus did, but Bellatrix knew well that using protego against bullets was virtually useless.

She pushed herself off the railing, stepping back with her wand raised. She waited for the first man to appear in her line of sight and cursed him into oblivion. His corpse sliding down, toppling two more henchmen on its way there. This was a perfect opportunity to strike, she strode closer, firing spells at them until most of the attackers were lying on the ground either dead or unconscious.

The few that were left guarded the front entrance in formation with two of them kneeling in front of the rest. A tall man, which looked as if he was commanding them held a gun to Rodolphus’s head, ready to blow his brains out.

Bellatrix turned into a cloud of smoke and fell on the two men kneeling, killing them on the spot. As expected the rest of them opened fire on her. You can only imagine how shocked they were when they found out that the bullets inside their rifles turned into small grains of sand, jamming the whole mechanism. A nifty trick inspired by Dumbledore’s impressive display of magic. Although somehow she knew that what she’s done was way easier than transfiguring thousands of small pieces of glass.

She made a quick work of them, until only the tall one was still standing, threatening to kill Rodolphus with a knife. If only he would have dragged the blade along her husband’s skin, Bellatrix would be the happiest woman in the world. Instead, he distracted her from the mysterious wizard who apparated behind her, knocking the wand out of Bellatrix’s hand.

Bellatrix Lestrange getting disarmed by a random wizard? Unthinkable!

She swung the machine gun over her arm and fired on the enemy. Just as she anticipated, he was too stupid to do what she did, casting the weakest protego she has ever seen and getting stuffed with lead.

Her victory however spectacular was cut short by the hit to the head that sent her sprawling to the ground unconscious. The tall man pulling Rodolphus along with him to check her pulse.

Hermione couldn’t wait for detention anymore, she had no time to waste. She was sitting in an empty class, 20 minutes before the schedule, waiting for Professor Black to arrive. Defense Against the Dark Arts no longer was her favorite part of the day, there were way too many people around for her liking. Too many students for Bellatrix to address her the way she did during their daily meetings.

Every time the woman would let somebody else answer her question, praise that someone, Hermione’s stomach was doing somersaults. Her heart clenching painfully as a sudden wave of anger filled her body. It was unbearable. And to think that only a few days ago she was still looking at the older woman with fear, seeing only Lestrange.

Oh, how quickly her perspective has changed. It was alarming, pathetic even. To think that this woman had control over her not only in her world, but in this one as well. And a different type of control at that, the more scary one. The more carnal one.

She tried convincing herself that she couldn’t wait anymore, because she had to decide, but deep down she knew that Snape’s arguments simply weren’t enough. Lestrange was too unpredictable for her to be able to make that decision. How was she supposed to decide when she had no reasons to believe that Bellatrix will fail the task given to her by the Dark Lord himself, that she would let a random thug murder her.

The truth was that she was no longer that afraid of the Dark Lord’s most faithful lieutenant, her new abilities making her gain confidence and the other woman’s lenient behavior only corroborating what she already knew. That there was a third option that she hasn’t taken into consideration earlier. Instead of dying or escaping she could just lay low, learn everything that Professor Black had to offer and when the time was right attack Bellatrix when she least expected it.

Now, Professor Snape wouldn’t understand it as he continuously viewed her as a prisoner in the ominous halls of Malfoy Manor. But the truth was that Hermione stopped being that the day she learned how to free herself. Narcissa knew about it and she didn’t tell her sister. Hermione had this nagging feeling that it was mainly because she wanted her to escape, to disappear out of her house.

But all that wasn’t really that important to Hermione right now. Perhaps the real reason why she refused to take the headmaster’s help was because she wanted to stay close to the dark witch she grew to admire.

And so, she was sitting there like a complete fool, starving for the older woman’s attention. How did it come to that? When has she become this needy? This obsessed?

”Granger? What are you doing here so early?”

All of her doubts disappearing at a breakneck speed, eyes snapping up to meet the dark orbs so wild and full of fire that she couldn’t even stop the flush coloring her complexion red. Her heart fluttering in her chest like a bird trying to break free.

”Yes… umm Professor…” Think about something goddamn it! “I was wondering about the paper you assigned…” She managed to choke out.

“What about it?” Dark, elegant eyebrow rose questioningly.

“I was wondering if ummm… if perhaps I could write about one of the Unforgivables.” She gulped audibly.

Of all the last minute saves she has managed over the years, this one was by far the clumsiest. Bellatrix starring at her blankly, frozen in place.

”Which one exactly are you considering, Miss Granger?” The tone of her voice cold and dry, but Hermione was sure that she could hear something else in there also.

It suddenly became unbearable to gaze into the onyx eyes, to see the spark of disappointment in them. And here she thought that she finally found a perfect way to understand the woman. Using one Bellatrix against the other was so easy. Professor might have been more civil than the Death Eater she knew, but Hermione realized that deep down they were extremely similar. She knew it because every time the older woman picked up her wand, every time she would challenge Hermione during their training sessions, she could see the same mad determination that to this day strikes fear in Lestrange’s enemies’s hearts. After all, could a simple turn of events really change someone that much?

”Well, I was thinking about the Cruciatus curse.” As soon as these words left her mouth Hermione knew that she fucked up.

She could see it in the subtle things like the way the other woman’s chest would rise slowly, eye twitching. She saw that before, every time she would accidentally call her Lestrange.

This wasn’t supposed to go this way. The cruciatus curse was a fairly complicated spell, for centuries it has been the subject of taboo. Scholars avoiding it like fire not to cast suspicion on themselves. The only books left on it were hundreds years old, the knowledge long expired, the method insufficient.

It was in dire need of new, modern styled research and who better to do it than the person who by the time she turned 18 has already witnessed it countless times, suffered from it even.

And she thought that it would impress the teacher! After all, you couldn’t find a more renowned connoisseur of the spell than Bellatrix Lestrange. If she had to spend time with the madwoman, she might as well use her knowledge for something useful for once.

”I’m afraid that the sources available even in the forbidden section of the library are insufficient to write anything that wouldn’t be… redundant. And I don’t want my students even thinking about experimenting with such vile spells.” Professor Black replied, putting her things on her desk and starting to prepare the classroom. Enchanted chalk scratching on the smooth surface, causing a series of quiet squeaky sounds.

Hermione’s heart clenched painfully. Her stupid mouth has knocked her three steps behind once again. She wanted to say something, to make it better. Bellatrix’s indifference cutting her deeper than the dagger she dreamt of occasionally.

Her pink lips parted, ready to apologize, when the doors to the classroom opened, a group of Slytherins stumbling into the room, looking at Hermione with surprise evident on their faces.

”Look at this, Draco, the Mudblood is already here! You owe me ten galleons it seems.” Pansy Parkinson chuckled, nudging Malfoy with an elbow. Immediately, the rest of the pack started howling in laughter, pushing Hermione further into misery.

”Has she been bothering you again, Auntie Bella?” The blonde boy asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

His friends snickering behind their palms, trying desperately to hide their amusement from the dark witch’s watchful eyes. The scratching on the board stopped completely. Professor Black turning on her heel to face the group.

”Mister Malfoy, I thought that I made myself perfectly clear the last time I told you to address me with due honors.” The look in those fierce, onyx eyes was enough to silence the room. “Perhaps you should take example from Miss Granger and sit down - quietly. You wouldn’t lose 50 points for throwing slurs at her.”

”Whatever.” Draco waved his hand dismissively, taking a seat. His friends mumbling something along the lines of ‘I told you she is a mudblood lover.’

If Bellatrix heard it, she didn’t say anything. It was too late already for a pointless quarrel like that as students from all houses started flowing through the open door. Ron and Harry immediately taking their places next to the bushy-haired girl.

”Has Black really just taken points from her beloved pupils?” The redhead said, pulling out his books.

”I guess so.” Hermione replied somberly. She was so caught up in her earlier humiliation that she hadn’t even noticed anything that was happening around her. The letters on the board spelling out the word “DIVINATION”.

”Awww, man, not her too.” Ron whined quietly.

Divination has been their biggest curse so far, the first of their own batch of Egyptian plagues. Hermione herself couldn’t stand the thing, taking the course solely to better her grades. Not only was it dubiously scientific, but also extremely infuriating and dangerous. The only proof necessary here was the scar on Harry’s forehead.

”Which one of you will enlighten me what are 2 major dangers of divination?” Bellatrix’s velvet voice cut through the clamor, drawing everybody’s attention.

And like always, Hermione’s hand was the first one to shot up. Onyx eyes darting over her face, a barely visible twitch of the blood red lip being the only proof of her hesitation. “Mr Potter perhaps?”

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, her hand falling to her side, shock evident on her pinkish face. Next to her Harry looked as much shocked as she was, staring at the professor with a vacant expression.

”Come on, Mr Potter, we don’t have all day.” Bellatrix said dryly, raising a single finger to conduct the swift movements of the enchanted chalk already standing at attention. “I’m sure that the Chosen One has drawn at least a single intelligent conclusion from all of this nonsense. What was so dangerous about the prophecy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted so badly to possess?”

”It was self fulfilling.” Harry mumbled under his breath. The sound barely reaching Hermione’s ears, let alone the teacher’s.

"What was that?" Bellatrix took a step closer, stopping in front of their desk, just within arm's reach from Hermione.

"It's self fulfilling, the prophecy, I mean. He started all this by coming to kill me. If there was no prophecy or if he actually ignored it,  he wouldn't have died. My parents would be alive." Harry explained, a sad expression appearing on his face.

”That is quite right, thank you, Mr Potter. You may breath now.” She gave him a pleasant smile, but it never reached her eyes, Hermione noticed.

”Who knows the other one?” Bellatrix continued her questioning. Once again, the bushy-haired girl raised her hand only to be ignored.

”Someone can wrongly assume that the prophecy concerns him.” Pansy Parkinson said, not bothering to as much as lift her hand off her desk. Hermione sent her her most filthy of glares.

”Correct.” It hurt. It fucking hurt. She must have been gripping her quill too hard, because Harry noticed and gave her a concerned look. “The prophecies are usually vaguely worded and can be easily misinterpreted. Sometimes ruining the lives of those who they were incorrectly attributed to.”

”She’s speaking from experience here.” Hermione heard one of the Slytherins mumble.

Momentarily, the temperature in the room fell to the point where only Bellatrix’s fiery gaze could heat it up. A prophecy? That was interesting. Was Lestrange too a subject of one, or was it only relevant to this one world?

”Thank you, Mr Zabini, as a matter of fact I do.” The dark witch sneered, waving her wand sharply. The board standing next to her desk started spinning, stopping only when the few paragraphs of text were revealed.

The time comes to unveil the truth

Born from explosion a star will arise

Corrupting worlds like a rotten tooth

Brimming with madnesses are her onyx eyes

As one will rise, another falls

Strange, angry tides bring her ashore

A solemn captive in the ancient halls

Her sudden loss will unleash war

“An example.” She continued dryly. “This prophecy was revealed to my father by one of his colleagues visiting our house. I was no older than you are now when it happened. This of course is but a beginning of the prophecy. What’s so interesting about it is the description of two women. One of which was supposed to be me.”

Onyx eyes met the hazel ones, but Hermione wasn’t really present anymore. Her mind was racing at ungodly speeds, unimaginable to mere mortals, heart barely avoiding leaping out of her open mouth.

”As in many other cases this prophecy was WRONGLY attributed to me, causing a series of… unfortunate events.” She finished, looking unusually beat down. Hermione was unable to do anything other than gape.

The lesson proceeded as usual, but she couldn’t know it, as the only thought rushing through her head was that this wrongly attributed prophecy wasn’t about Professor Black, but about her and Lestrange. Something was very not right.

Her eyelids were unusually heavy, head aching as if a herd of horses trampled over her. She could hear Rodolphus’s frantic screams as unknown people bustled around the room. A cold, large hand lifted her head delicately, straightening it.

She opened her eyes rapidly and was immediately blinded by all the lights in the room. A well-build, elegant man with dark skin and a warm smile was kneeling before her, looking her over intently as two thugs pointed their guns at her head.

”Well, well, well. Bellatrix l’étrange, how befitting.” The stylish man mocked her, causing the rest of thugs to explode in laughter. “You certainly are the strange one.”

He was a wizard, Bellatrix gathered. His long coat was partially obscuring his expensive suit.

Ignoring his stupid comment Bellatrix looked around the room, cold, white walls were stained with blood. It was most prevalent in the corner where Rodolphus’s body was strapped to a chair. Another man pulling his fingernails off one by one, making Bellatrix’s husband howl in pain.

”You stuffed my peoples’ rifles with sand. Génial.” The elegant man continued speaking, disassembling the weapon right in front of her face and showing her the little, yellow grains spilling from its inside. “Tell me, Bella, do you know who I am?”

Onyx eyes met brown ones in hateful stand off.

“Expensive attire, strong French accent and unreasonable hatred for my husband and his wretched family…” Bellatrix spat the blood out of her mouth. Images flashing in front of her eyes, name echoing in her ears as her lips lifted in a nasty smirk. “Considering that you look nothing like my uncle Orion, you must be one of the Kamas. Didier most probably.”

”Oh la la, unbelievable! Enchanté, Madame!” The man sprang to his feet, took off his hat and bowed courtly.

Another man snorted next to her. “If she keeps going like that, she might actually guess the whole OM set up for today’s match.”

”I wouldn’t be as cruel as to bother a beautiful lady like her with such trivialities.” Kama replied, throwing him an amused glance.

Rodolphus screeching in the background as two men were beating him mercilessly.

“You must forgive my accomplice, Madame! Le Milieu isn’t exactly known for their good manners.” said Didier, rolling his eyes theatrically as he sat down next to her.

”Consorting with the muggles, how low has your family fallen, Kama?” Bellatrix hissed, spitting at his feet. The only reaction she got in return was his comically raised eyebrow.

”A necessary measure when one strives to enact vengeance. It really is a low price to pay, considering that you wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for them.” He shrugged nonchalantly, staring at Rodolphus’s mangled body.

”And you think that torturing my joke of a husband is a suitable revenge?” Her ironic snort successfully wiped the smile off his lips.

“Lestranges destroyed my family, it is only fair that somebody does the same thing to them. Yosuf might have been too compassionate to do it, but I’m not.”

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, proving to Bellatrix that this man was determined to do whatever was necessary to avenge his family. Furrowing his brow thoughtfully, he leaned closer to her, looking her up and down.

“I thought you of all people would appreciate the sentiment.”

”What’s that supposed to mean?” She jerked her head away from his wandering fingers.

”From what I’ve heard you too have been burdened by this family. Such a powerful witch kept on such a short leash. How pitiful.” He whispered into her ear like a devil trying to coax a sinner into signing off his soul. “I would like to propose a deal. Let me kill your lovely husband and I will let you leave in peace.”

A few meters from them Rodolphus started thrashing in his chair, the gag in his mouth muffling his screams as he was desperately trying to free himself. He must have realized how easy of a choice it was for her. How could he not when killing each other was the only thing they talked nowadays.

And he was right, for Bellatrix getting rid of that ulcer would benefit not only her, but the Dark Lord too. No one would have to listen to his pathetic rumblings during their meetings. It really was a perfect deal, perhaps a little too perfect.

”Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?” She asked cautiously, observing the Frenchmen intently, looking out for any sign of deception.

”Nothing, Madame!” He put a hand on his heart in a dramatic gesture of supposed good faith. “I’m proposing it out of pure respect. Besides, you already have enough  enemies of your own, I would hate to do what Leta Lestrange did and take away their opportunity for revenge.”

”You are a noble man, Didier.” Bellatrix snorted. Meeting someone so frank felt refreshing after months spent in the company of dull, spineless people.  “I accept your offer. Although, I do think that exchanging his life for mine is a bit of an insult. He isn’t worthy of my shoe, let alone my whole existence.”

The loud thud echoed in the room, Rodolphus Lestrange wiggling on the floor, a heavy wooden chair pushing on his back as one of the muggles kicked him in the stomach.

”I knew you weren’t as crazy as they told me.” Kama’s face lit up with a sly grin. A swift move of his hand released her from her bonds, the ropes receding as he helped her to her feet. “A pleasure doing business with you, Madame. I wish you luck on your mission. A little birdie told me that Mrs and Mr Granger are being kept in a hospital not far from here. Unfortunately, what is left of the local ministry officials are already onto them, you will have to hurry up. One of our men can point you in the right direction.”

”That won’t be necessary.” Bellatrix replied, taking a hold of her wand and inspecting it carefully from all sides, as if expecting him to trick her somehow. “Before the day is over all three of us will be back in Britain, nothing they can do about it.”

”Ah yes, you seem very confident in your skill.” Kama said, appraising the woman with a concerned grimace. Forcing a timid smile, he bowed at her one more time and opened the door to let her out. “In that case, there is nothing more for me to add other than a simple: Bonne chance, Madame.”

Heading to the exit, Bellatrix suddenly hesitated, turning back to the elegant man with an unreadable look on her face. 

”Actually, there is this one last thing…” She said, watching him through the slope of her nose. “You see, as much as I could agree with you to let little Rodolphus stay here for whatever vile shit you have in store, you had the audacity to call me pitiful and I don’t take kindly to that.”

”I don’t think I understand.” He replied,  reaching for his wand - too late. Bellatrix’s wrist was already slashing the air,  throwing his body at the two men torturing Rodolphus.

Before anyone in the room could as much as lift their finger against her, the dark witch unleashed the full power of her curved wand, releasing a blinding light so bright that she immediately managed to bring them all to their knees. The rest was a matter of seconds as spell after spell collided with the armless men, putting them out of their misery. Mad cackle accompanying their terrified screams as their souls left their bodies in most horrid ways possible.

”But, you’ve agreed…” Didier Kama managed to choke out seconds before Bellatrix’s hold on his throat tightened to the point where he was unable to say anything.

”Did you really think that I would make a deal with a worthless scoundrel who associates himself with those filthy muggles? After you had the audacity to threaten and abduct me?” She replied, squeezing his neck with further, her knuckles white from all the clenching. “Me! You should have listened to the bloody friends of yours when they warned you about me. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be such delusional, worthless fool you are now.”

The desperate hands trying to push her back have suddenly ceased their fight completely as the last gust of air escaped Didier’s open mouth. Bellatrix checked his pulse just to be sure, and then walked over to the chair bound Rodolphus, slowly drowning himself in the puddle of his own blood.

She slowly pulled the gag out of his mouth, rolling him onto his back.

”Be done with it, Bellatrix, we all know what’s going to happen now.” Rodolphus spoke with a steady, calm voice.

”Do we really?” Her eyes shone with mirth as a mischievous smile distorted her features. “No begging? No insults? Nothing?”

”I won’t give you the satisfaction.” He sneered.

”I think I liked you more when you were a jerk.” Bellatrix replied, pointing her gnarled wand in his face. “Avada Kedavra.”

Turning on her heel, she stepped over the pile of bodies still clutching their funny weapons with not a single bullet fired. Muggles were strange creatures indeed.

“Charles Turpin, I’m supposed to take care of the British folks.” A lanky figure approached the counter, receptionist casting a single glance at his badge before looking back down at her crossword puzzle.

”5th floor, turn right, room 246.” She said, waving him off.

”Merlin.” Turpin interrupted her once again.

”I beg your pardon?” The receptionist looked at him, visibly annoyed.

”6 across, 'medieval mage, friend of the legendary king Arthur' - Merlin.” He smiled at her warmly and pushed his arms off the counter, toppling to the floor as somebody collided with him.

”I’m so sorry.” He muttered quickly, gathering himself off the floor, but the person who smashed into him seemed to be long gone already. He could only see an edge of a black skirt  disappearing behind the corner as he rose to his feet, dusting off his navy blue jacket.

“What a city.” Turpin shook his head disapprovingly, reassuming his walk with a rather sour mood.

The crowded streets of Marseille, however beautiful, weren’t a friendly environment for a Parisian like himself, especially not during the most important night in France’s football - Le Classique.

Even though Turpin was the sort of man who couldn’t name a single football player if his life depended on it, even he knew how important the match was for football fans all across the world. On a night such as this, it was really no surprise that his Parisian accent was successfully robbing him of any pleasantries coming from the locals.

“Excusez-moi, Monsieur, pouvez-vous m'attendre?” He yelled, seeing the elevator door starting to close. A curiously dressed man looking at him from underneath lidded eyes, not even moving a muscle as Turpin ran in his direction.

Beep. The door closed right in his face.

What a day.

Knowing that the time was of the essence, he took off in the direction of the staircase running up the stairs all the way to the 5th floor. The hallway was already full of people, most of them policemen, others aurors like himself, talking in hushed voices and looking out for any sign of trouble.

”Thank God you’re here!” One of the few wizards present immediately ambushed him. “The rumor has it that Bellatrix Lestrange is in town! If that’s true it will only be a matter of time before she comes for them. The Ministry has introduced a state of emergency, even the muggle police forces are on the lookout.”

”Bellatrix Lestrange? Aren’t you guys a little bit too paranoid?” Turpin patted him on the back playfully. “I’m sure there is nothing to worry about, even if it really was her who accompanied the Lestrange brothers, it’s not like Kama will simply let her walk away.”

”I don’t know, Charles. We have orders to secure the whole floor, with even muggle authorities being on high alert, Merlin only knows what might just happen.” The wizard replied.

”Haven’t you heard? It’s Le Classique night, it’s only normal for the Muggles to get agitated.” 

A sudden ding of an elevator causing most of the policemen present to flinch, scrambling to their positions with rifles ready. The wizard talking to Turpin just a few seconds ago, now barely avoiding falling on his ass as he jumped to the space right in front of the elevator door, raising his hand in command.

”Steady!” He said as the door started opening. “Who’s there?”

Not a single sound coming from the inside.

”Take aim!” He ordered, swiping the sweat off his brow with a shaking hand.

It was impossible for Turpin to keep a straight face as a whole police platoon stood around the entrance to the elevator, aiming their guns at… a dog?

The door to the staircase he just climbed slammed open, hitting the wall. Everyone turning in its direction just in time to see a black clad woman raising a piece of wood in her hand.

”Fire! For the love of God, fire!” The wizard cried. His eyes wide with fear, knees shaking.

Turpin couldn’t believe what he’s got himself into this time.

A FEW HOURS EARLIER 

“You have balls to show up here after everything you’ve done.” Sirius spat out, opening the door.

”I don’t have time for pointless drivels.” The headmaster replied, pushing past him with a somber expression on his gaunt face.

”Pointless dri… You killed Dumbledore!” His hand collided with Severus’s pale skin.

”And why would you care? He left you to rot in Azkaban, knowing full well that you were innocent.” Snape snapped back at him, clutching his aching face. “Besides, Albus was well aware that I will be the one to kill him.”

”Well, aren’t you a little Judas Iscariot, huh?”

”As I said, I don’t have time for this.” Snape sat down in a nearby armchair. “If you want your foolish godson and his equally foolish friend to stop wasting their time with a silly rescue mission, you will listen to what I have to say.”

”Oh, so this is about the Grangers…” Sirius’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Don’t bother, I already know that muggles have them.”

”But what you probably don’t know is that the Dark Lord has delegated Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers to take care of them. Or that Mr Kama and the Corsican mafia already know where and when they are going to arrive.” Severus said, straightening his back. The candle flames reflecting in his dark eyes. “Capturing Miss Granger’s parents will be nothing more than a formality.”

”And let me guess, you want ME to go there and do your dirty work for you? No fucking way. Not a chance of that happening, Snivellus! Get your ass out of my brother’s chair and get back to torturing some poor 11 year olds!” Sirius was fuming. How dare he come to him? After so many years? Just as he was trying to get his life back on the right track. “Forget it, I won’t do it.”

Snape looked at him blankly, clearly not believing the other man’s fake resolve.

”What more do you want to hear?” Black barked at him, baring his yellow teeth. “Has all the grease from your head clogged your ears? I told you to get out off here, I won’t do it.”

”I will.” A soft voice announced.

The two of them momentarily whipping their heads around.

“I promised Hermione I wouldn’t leave her and I will not rest until she and her parents are safe here with us.” Harry said confidently, daring them to oppose him.

”Harry, please! You don’t know what you're agreeing to.” In a matter of seconds Sirius was by his side. “You’ve been through so much already, you don’t own anyone anything.”

”I will do it.” Harry repeated surely. “With your help or without it.”

”Don’t you see what he’s doing, Harry?” Sirius begged, gesturing to the silent murderer sitting casually in the room. “The only reason he's asking me to go there is because he knows that a bunch of thugs wouldn’t stand a chance against my cousin! He’s sending me there to die!”

”I assure you, having you lose to that horrible woman is the furthest thing from my mind. I believe that with all the cards stacked in your favor, you might be able to defeat her. All that I’m asking is that you think about it, Black.” Snape’s silky voice interrupted them as the dark wizard rose to his feet, dramatically smoothing out his robes.

A small rock fell out of his pocket and rolled all the way to Harry’s boot, sharp eyes following its path attentively. “I’ve done my job, now it’s up to you.”

”Typical. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Stop coming to my house and messing with my godson’s head or your lord will hear about this.” Sirius yelled after him, watching the headmaster go.

If only he had turned a second later, he wouldn’t have noticed   Harry bending down and pocketing the small stone.

”What are you doing?!?” He strode to his godson’s side, pulling the boy’s hand out of his pocket. “A portkey? Trust Snivellus to endanger an innocent child’s life! Truly a worthy replacement for the headmaster seat.”

”Sirius, please, I have to go. If that woman gets to Hermione’s parents, she will never forgive me knowing that I could have saved them. I can’t let that happen.” Harry’s eyes were welling up with tears. He has already sacrificed so much, he couldn’t stand losing his friends too.

Sirius knew that as well as he did, carefully watching him in silent contemplation.

”Alright.” He said finally, his shoulders slumping at the thought of what can be waiting for them in this foreign city. “But whatever happens, you leave Bellatrix to me without question!”

”Bellatrix? You don’t even know if she’s still alive, let alone if she will be there.” Harry smiled at him warmly, happy that he wouldn’t have to do it alone or endanger Ron’s life.

”Oh, I know she will.” Sirius replied ominously.

🔷🔷🔷

They landed near the Saint-Charles station, pausing when they saw the sheer amount of policemen securing the street below the hill. Something was telling them that Bellatrix was already there. They shouldn’t be surprised actually considering how well versed with a wand Voldemort’s most faithful supporter was.

It was already getting dark when they arrived. Not knowing the city, they decided to take the first cab available, acting like tourists would. Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t a single car in sight, the police blockade probably stopping anyone with half a brain from getting near the cursed station.

Just as they were about to look for other means of transportation, a white Peugeot 407 sped past them, halting unexpectedly a couple feet from where they were standing. A man in a police uniform stumbled out of it, falling to his knees and puking, barely making it to the nearby bin.

“Where would you like to go?” A friendly looking man asked them, lowering the tinted window.

”St Benezet hospital.” Sirius replied, exchanging glances with Harry.

”Get in, we’ll be there in a matter of minutes.” The man said, pushing on some strange looking buttons.

🔷🔷🔷

”Here.” Sirius said, taking out his golden pocket watch and handing it to the driver. “For your trouble.”

”No need, really.” The man protested. “I was just heading to the stadium, it’s on the way. I’m sorry for how long the ride took, but it’s  Le Classique night, so there is more traffic than usual.”

”Right, have it your way then.” Sirius flashed the stranger his most charming smile and opened the door, walking into the crowded hospital with Harry following him under his magic cloak.

They walked into the lobby, overhearing a police officer talking about Hermione’s parents and decided to direct their steps to the elevator. A dark haired, lanky man running after them, begging them to stop the lift.

They couldn’t risk it.

Noises on the other side of the metal door alerting them of the police forces scrambling on the other side, readying their weapons. Without much thought Sirius assumed his canine form, transforming into a black, shabby looking dog.

“Fire! For the love of God, fire!” The terrified wizard cried, Bellatrix sending him in the air with one swish of her wand. Another flick and the ground beneath the policemen disappeared, making them fall to the lower floor, guns shooting blindly, injuring the remaining soldiers.

One of the aurors stepped forward, crossing Bellatrix’s path. She barely looked at him as the roaring flames of fiendfyre exploded from the end of her wand. The fire in a shape of a snake devoured the whole corridor, chasing after those who survived the initial attack. Only one man now stood in her way - the auror that she walked into in the hospital’s lobby.

Flames parting around him as his shield withstood the heat. He didn’t last long, after a quick exchange of spells, Bellatrix conjured up a whip, wrapping it around the man’s legs, toppling him to the ground.

The crowd outside the hospital roaring, Marseille 1:0 Paris.

She stepped over him, red light emerging from her wand as she looked around the corridor in search of another victim. And she sure as hell found one.

In front of the nearby elevator, a large, black dog was sitting on its ass, calmly watching the show as if waiting for his turn.

”And what the hell are you doing here?” Bellatrix asked with one eyebrow raised, fierce eyes welling up with anger as she watched the animal transform back into a human.

She made a show of sniffing the air, her face twisted in a disgusted scowl.

“How interesting, I smell only one cur in the air. Have your werewolf boyfriend really abandoned you for my filthy niece?” Bellatrix mocked, walking closer to him, hips swaying as she began her dance. “You must be sooo lonely, Siri. Sitting in that big house, knowing that the love of your life prefers a wretched halfblood over you.”

Sirius chuckled darkly. He kinda missed their verbal jostling. Bellatrix’s sharp tongue always getting a laugh out of him.

“Don’t be petty, Bella. I’m not the one who had to kidnap an underage girl to sate a twisted obsession.”

The dark witch gasped. “Who told you that?!?”

”No one, I always thought the way you were eyefucking Mulciber’s sister was highly suspicious.” He replied matter of factly, starting to circle his opponent.

”Not that! The Mudblood thing! And she's 19, just for the record.” Bellatrix screeched impatiently, stomping her feet on the ground like a petulant child. “Wait a minute… Cissy!”

”No no, Bella, I promise it wasn’t her.” Sirius could no longer stop the grin from spreading on his face as he realized that he managed to get on his cousin’s nerves so soon.

”LIAR!” Bellatrix yelled, casting the first spell of the match. Sirius deflected it with ease.

”Really, Bella, what’s the deal with the Mudblood actually about? Were you unable of finding someone your age? Is this like a mid life crisis for you?” He threw his own punch at her. Bellatrix ducked it with grace and confidence.

”Stop being so disgusting. She’s a prisoner, nothing else. Besides, even if I told you the whole truth your microscopic brain wouldn’t be able to understand half of it.” A series of curses flew past his head, sweat gathering on his brow as Bellatrix kept pushing him closer to the wall.

”I would make a deal with you, if I wasn’t sure that you would stab me in the back anyway. You have no honor, no love in your life and that’s why you will lose, dear cousin.” He said, somersaulting to the other side of the room, dogging another curse in the process.

”You? Win?” Bellatrix cackled madly. “I have defeated you so many times now that I’ve already lost count. I love killing you, watching the tears gather in Potter’s eyes as he sees you fall. It’s therapeutic almost.”

”What are you talking about? Potter has nothing to do with this.” Sirius parried the dark witch’s attack, his muscles shaking in exertion. Since his escape he rarely had time to practice his dueling skills, let alone against someone as talented as Bellatrix was.

”Don’t worry, Siri, this time I won’t let you die.” The Death Eater announced casually. “I’ve realized that there is a worse fate than death for you. When I’m done here you’ll be going straight back to Azkaban.”

”Oh, do shut up already.” He replied, slashing his wand in the air, trying to gain some more ground. It was a very bad idea, something that Bellatrix was no doubt waiting for as she knocked the wood out of his hand with a well placed spell. Sirius losing his balance among the bodies littering the floor and toppling to the ground.

”Stay here for a moment, I have to take care of something.” The dark witch drawled, putting him under a body binding spell.

She stepped into the small hospital room with the number 246 written on the door. It was empty. Her mouth hanging low as she scanned the chamber in desperation.

”Sirius!” She shrieked, running back to the hallway just in time to see a hand peeking out from under an invisibility cloak.

She didn’t have to see him to know who was under it. Sirius’s hand closed around the small stone and before she could do anything, both of them were gone.

That little rascal Potter made a fool out of her, sneaking past the dueling pair and stealing Hermione’s parents. The Dark Lord will punish her severely for this, but perhaps it was for the better. With Narcissa and Lucius being the treacherous snakes they were, she couldn’t risk sheltering the couple in Malfoy Manor.

Let the boy have this one win for the time being, she will find a way to get to him and snatch it from his cold hands anyway.

”What do we have here?” A female voice asked, its owner crossing the devastated hall in strides.

”10 deaths, 5 people wounded, millions of francs of equipment melted and a giant hole in the floor.” A male one answered her. “This no longer looks like gang feuds to me.”

”Certainly. Have you seen the motorcyclist killed in the middle of the busy street? He had no bullet wounds whatsoever. Same with a dozen of corpses left in that residential building. Guess what, I checked their weapons, they were full of sand.” The woman replied, kneeling down next to the massive crater where pristine white tiles used to be.

”I hate sand, it gets everywhere.” He stretched his arms leisurely. ”Are you sure that it was all done by the same person?”

”Quite sure, the recordings all show the same woman dressed in black and somehow I have a feeling that she’s the one who’s been terrorizing Britain for the last two decades.”

”The Black Death?” He asked, shaking his head in disbelief. ”It’s about time Interpol takes notice then.”

”About bloody time.” She said, pocketing her notebook with two golden initials imprinted on its cover.

P. L.

Chapter Text

"Wake the fuck up, Bellatrix!” The firm grip on her arm shook her into awareness. Lucius Malfoy’s cold, blue eyes staring down at her.

Her head was still pounding after a night full of drinking. It all started with her coming back from Marseille… empty handed. You can imagine the Dark Lord wasn’t very thrilled about it, torturing her for almost an hour.

Talking about the hairdryer treatment, damn. After all this how could she not go back home and drink herself into unconsciousness?

”Wake up, damn it!” Lucius cried, pushing her off the library couch. “I’m giving you 10 fucking minutes to get a hold of yourself and dress appropriately! I’m not going to be late because of your drunk arse!”

”Get lost, Andy…” Bellatrix rolled onto her stomach, forming the nearby rug into a makeshift pillow.

”Bellatrix, I swear, if you fuck this up I’m gonna string your mudblood whore up on a goddamn lantern.” Malfoy hissed, pulling her to her feet with great effort.

”What’s all this about?” Narcissa asked, barging into the room. Dressed impeccably in a long, black dress. Her eyes snapping from Lucius to Bella frantically. “Why in Salazar’s name isn’t she ready yet?”

”I’m sorry, Narcissa, I tried. I really did, but your sister is something else entirely!” The Malfoy patriarch argued desperately. “Look at her! She’s completely drunk!”

”Shut up, Andy! I’m… sleep.” Bellatrix murmured and started pushing on Lucius’s face, ruffling his perfect hair.

”Well, summon the elf then. We don’t have time for pointless drivels like this.” Narcissa let out an exaggerated sight. Why was she the only competent member of this family?

”Elf?!?” Bellatrix’s eyes snapped open, searching the room in pure terror. “No elves! What is going on? Why is your wretched husband manhandling me?”

Lucius Malfoy couldn’t help but flinch at the foul stench of alcohol coming from his sister in law’s mouth.

”Funeral!” He growled at her, pushing the tipsy woman aside. “Get. Dressed. Now.”

”What? Who died?” Bellatrix blanked, her knees bending under her, making her brace herself on the couch she was only minutes ago occupying. “Wait! Don’t tell me it was Yaxley! I would have ordered something expensive and cheerful to wear.”

”Bella, darling, don’t you remember what happened last night?” Narcissa kneeled down in front of her, reaching out and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Yaxley managed to retrieve Rod and Rab’s corpses. We need to go to the funeral. They’ll be expecting you to give a speech.”

Finally, the events of yesterday started resurfacing in Bellatrix’s mind, machine gun shots echoing in her ears. Rodolphus’s howls begging her to do something and the irritated look in his eyes when he finally realized what’s going to happen to him. And then… Sirius!

Her body erupted in goosebumps as if it could still remember the strength of the Dark Lord’s cruciatus. She could almost hear Yaxley whining about the bodies the muggles strung up and displayed on a street until the authorities came and cut them off. From there it was easy. The French Ministry took over and sent the bodies back to England.

Although, to even call them bodies would be incorrect considering that Rodolphus’s corpse looked more like mince meat than anything else.

”We really need to hurry. Our position is low enough already, we can’t give Yaxley and the rest of them any more reason to doubt us, don’t you think?” Narcissa asked calmly, reassuringly squeezing her sister’s hand.

”I guess so.” The dark witch whispered quietly.

To her own ears it sounded ridiculous, like a lie almost.

Why should she care about THEM doubting her dedication to the cause? Who were they? Nothing more than a bunch of opportunists switching directions like a flag in the wind and they dare to question her loyalty? Ridiculous.

Bellatrix would never let someone as vile as Yaxley take away her position at the Dark Lord’s side. She would rather die. But here and now, Narcissa’s voice sounded so kind that even the dark witch’s hazy mind knew what to say to calm her sister down.

”Good. Now clean yourself up and dress appropriately.” The younger sister pleaded, dragging herself to her feet. “Me and Lucius will cover for you as long as we can.”

And with that Narcissa Malfoy left the room, leaving Bellatrix alone in the manor, completely shit faced.

One does not often find out that she is a subject of a prophecy. Never in a million years would Hermione expect that person to be her. Perhaps it was her humble nature or the nagging feeling that everything everywhere always revolves around Harry that left her completely perplexed at this new discovery, but somehow, she would have never anticipated something like this happening to her. Ever!

Right off the bat, there was a couple of things she has figured out by herself even before the class was truly over. It didn’t stop her from bolting out of her seat and running all the way to the library as soon as she had the chance to do so though.

She could practically feel the onyx eyes following her retreating figure with concern, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she sped through the castle, going as far as pushing people aside.

One thing was certain, this prophecy was about her and Lestrange and not about anyone form the world she was currently in. She remembered Professor Black even admitting that the prophecy was once wrongly attributed to her, which only corroborated that. What was left unsaid however were perhaps the parts Hermione was most interested in.

Questions such as: What’s the rest of the prophecy about? What happened to Bellatrix to have her life ruined as she suggested? Why, oh why, hasn’t Hermione try to research the woman earlier???

All of this had to wait as the young Gryffindor finally approached the library.

”No running.” Madam Pince’s stern voice chimes in as Hermione’s steps slow down from a jog to a moderate stride. Drawing unnecessary attention to herself clearly wasn’t reasonable in this case.

And so, she casually walked over to one of the shelves consisting of various wizarding history books, including her favorite - Batilda Bagshot’s ‘Hogwarts: A History’. Unfortunately, she knew it wouldn’t be of use to her today as she was in need of something more detail oriented and focused on the correct time period. Her eyes scanning the shelf in search of the massive ‘History of the First Wizarding War’ - nothing.

”Professor Binns has the third year students polishing their I war knowledge, they borrowed every copy we had.” Madam Pince drawled from behind her counter. “If you’re interested in that period I’m afraid the only books that would be of use to you are in the restricted area.”

Normally Hermione would have gone to Professor McGonagall’s office to get the permission form signed, but considering that any more delay would surely make her head explode, she had to come up with a different way in.

Waiting for Madam Pince to turn back to her book, she tiptoed closer to the back of the library and then just as the older woman looked down, she slid into the restricted section, hiding behind the rows of shelves.

”There has to be something of use to me here.” She mumbled, searching through the ornate spines of thick and ominous looking tomes. Finding books there wasn’t as easy as in the rest of the library. Usually it was the job of a librarian to fetch students the books they ordered, but Hermione has already spent there quite a lot of time searching for anything about the horcruxes, and so she had a rough idea of what she was looking for.

”Ah ha!” A black tome caught her eye, silver lettering spelling out the title: ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and His Followers’. She couldn’t believe her luck, this book was even more promising than the one about the war and considering that it was placed in the forbidden part of the library, it probably consisted of a lot more juicy and dangerous details. Just what she was looking for!

Without further thought she snapped the book open, flipping through the pages to the part containing information about the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. She skipped the pages talking about Orion and Cygnus’s involvement expecting the information about Cygnus’s daughters to come up soon. Imagine her shock when the only thing she found were the shredded remains of torn out pages.

Someone was trying their best to hide the truth and there was no way that she would have it!

Deciding that her business there was finished for now, Hermione snuck out of the library and into the Great Hall just in time for dinner. Her friends were there already, munching on their food like a bunch of barbarians. The moment they spotted her, Ron waved at her to come over. There was quite a lot of people seating at their table and that was exactly what Hermione needed.

”You wouldn’t believe what happened!” She said, taking her seat next to Harry.

”Does it have anything to do with Professor Black?” He asked perceptively, exchanging conspiratorial glances with the rest of the group.

”No, I mean, yes!” Hermione stumbled over her words too excited to even care. “I’m just coming back from the library…”

”Typical.” Ron commented, chuckling like an  arse he was.

”Ronald Weasley, I say, don’t you dare interrupt me!” The coldness of her glare seemed to have worked quite well as the redhead momentarily stopped joking around. “I went there, because I wanted to check what all the fuss surrounding Professor Black’s prophecy was about and guess what! Somebody tore all of the pages from the only book that was available!”

Everyone at the table flinched instantly. It was a sort of taboo in the British wizarding community. No one dared to talk about the prophecy when Bellatrix Black was so close to them… currently sitting at the teachers’ table, watching them attentively.

Hermione turned sideways so that the woman wouldn’t be able to see her face and started talking in a hushed tone. “You guys know something! What is it?”

”Oh, we really shouldn’t.” Ron said, shaking his head. “Especially not in front of Neville.” He added quietly.

Hermione’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be. She knew they were similar, but for the dark witch to perform the same vile act as in her world and then to be allowed to teach at Hogwarts? Unthinkable!

”Did she do something to… to his parents?” Hermione whispered back at him. Her brow furrowing in discontent and nervousness. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say.

”Ohhh no! She didn’t, why would you think that?” Ron seemed confused. “It’s just, his parents were very close to Black’s sister. They were the ones who found her body and Neville was there to see it all.”

”Body? In what sense?”

”Body- dead, deceased, lifeless body.” Ron deadpanned, rolling his eyes at her sudden lack of knowledge.

”What? Narcissa Malfoy is dead?!?” Hermione yelled uncontrollably, her hand at the last moment clamping over her mouth. A couple of nearby students looking at her as if she was crazy.

”Blimey, ‘Mione, keep your voice down and don’t interrupt me.” Ron hissed. “Not that sister, the other one.”

”Andromeda.” Hermione choked out.

She’s never met the woman, but Harry always had so much good to say about her. But something still wasn’t adding up.

“What does it have to do with the prophecy?”

”It has everything to do with the prophecy.” Lavender Brown of all people decided to join the conversation. “Don’t you know that she would be Lestrange’s wife if it wasn’t for the whole scandal surrounding it?”

”Yes, exactly.” Ron continued. “When the Lestranges learned about the prophecy, they decided to cut the marriage deal they had with Black’s parents. Instead of marrying her, Rodolphus Lestrange married her sister - Andromeda. But then she tried to run away with a muggleborn and Rodolphus along with his brother murdered her. They ended up in Azkaban for it.”

”Ohhh…” Hermione didn’t know what to say. It all happened because of the damn prophecy… because of her and Lestrange. Once again she has underestimated the invisible strings tying her to the other worlds, to the other versions of herself.

”It doesn’t matter what happens here, it’s inconsequential.” Bellatrix’s twisted words echoed in her mind. She used to think that it was just another manifestation of the moral callousness the dark witch was so well known for. But lately she started to think that maybe it was a natural reaction coming from years of experience and numerous world jumps.

If the mere fact that the twist of fate put them in this situation, gave them these unnatural powers, ruined the life of Bellatrix Black, then what was the point of even trying to be civil in these worlds? If even in a world where she is a victim, Lestrange would still unwittingly be the perpetrator, then why should she restrain herself?

”Do you know what was the prophecy about?” Hermione asked timidly, her eyes slowly drifting to the long table at the end of the room, where Professor Black sat next to Snape, no doubt exchanging “pleasantries”.

She must have sensed her staring, turning her head slightly and catching Hermione red handed. A pleasant shudder traveled through her body, concentrating in her lower abdomen. A strange feeling of butterflies fluttering their tiny wings inside her. Is this how guilt feels like?

”Oii, ‘Mione, are you still with us?” Ron’s hand waving in front of her face cutting off the invisible ties pulling her towards the onyx eyes. “I said that no one genuinely knows what it was all about. Only Lestrange and Black’s relatives do. Otherwise it’s all very hush hush.”

”Is this all you know then?” The girl asked, looking around her friends, most of them already back to stuffing their faces with food.

”Pretty much, but I did hear a rumor once that after all this she landed in the St Mungo’s psychiatric ward for quite some time.” Ron added, practically salivating over a chicken leg that he had to put down on his plate in order to answer her. “It’s a shame they let her out if you ask me. Ouch!”

His head whirled around, reproachfully staring at the friend sitting at his side.

”What was that one for, Harry?”

”She’s watching us, you moron.” The dark-haired boy sneered. “I don’t know about you two, but I don’t need any more heat during the DADA lessons. It’s already the most stressful class in the week, no need to make it even scarier.”

They argued like that for a minute, but Hermione’s mind was long gone, processing all the information she managed to acquire.

If Hermione knew one thing, it would be that she had to know exactly what this prophecy was all about, and she was determined to find out the truth, one way or the other. Even if she had to storm the bloody Azkaban all by herself and drag the truth out of Rodolphus’s cold, dead body.

When Bellatrix arrived in the Diagon Alley, she was shocked to see a massive crowd of people, looking up at the grand, marble podium where Voldemort’s supporters were currently sitting. Below the podium two gilded coffins were displayed, with tens of wreaths flooding them with the deluge of flowers.

Only Rabastan’s coffin was opened, the bullet holes hastily covered by a slowly fading glamour. It didn’t surprise her that they decided to keep Rodolphus’s lid shut as she was probably one of the few people who actually knew how much of a mess he was when Yaxley brought him back. It appears that the French were still angry about Didier. Too bad for them.

An insufferable moralizer would probably admonish her for being so indifferent to her husband’s death. Some people in the pureblood community would rather see her throwing herself at his funeral pyre than walking around, having a good time. Frankly, she couldn’t bring herself to care about those people. Rodolphus Lestrange was a disgusting, slimy asshole and nothing they could say about him wouldn’t change that truth.

It quickly turned out that it was foolish of her to believe such a thing. Pushing through the crowd, she couldn’t help but listen to the tearful speeches delivered by a flock of lachrymose “Death Eaters”. The range of those pitiful fables went all the way from mildly distasteful lies to extremely outrageous bullshit.

The best example of the latter being the Ministry rat she could swore she has never seen before, who for literal hours talked about his experience with Bellatrix’s husband.

“Rodolphus Lestrange was a true hero of mine. I still remember the conversations we had during our imprisonment.” The man spoke in pompous tone, clutching his chest as if his heart was breaking in two. Bellatrix’s throat filled up with bile at the pathetic display. “I was a very sickly fellow at the time. I couldn’t even stand up, let alone leave my cell when the guards would release prisoners to roam the yard. One day I thought that the death was near, and I could feel it on my skin, covering it like a premature shroud. And that’s when Rodolphus Lestrange picked me up and carried me to the yard on his own back nonetheless! What he’s done for me that day, even if he wouldn’t have done anything else in his life, should be enough for us to build him a statue!”

Disgusting.

Bellatrix took a sit next to Lucius, quietly watching the rest of the speakers express their gratitude for things that Rodolphus would have never in his life done. The biggest trend among the outrageously false sob stories were those lies concerning his time spent in Azkaban. Being the Ministry rats they were, all they could do was to come up with some imaginary prisoners who upon their release told them about the good deeds of Bellatrix’s husband.

How he always held his head high, continuously believing that the day will come when his lord will come back for him. How he always helped those in need, supposedly donating astronomical sums of money to those pureblooded families who have fallen into poverty. It all only infuriated Bellatrix further, alcohol in her veins burning like fuel to the point where she wasn’t sure if she could stomach anything more than that.

The speakers came and went, providing her with even more brooding material.

Lucius Malfoy praising Rodolphus as a good husband? Here you go. Yaxley exalting over his honesty? Sure thing, Corban.

What a joke!

She was just about to stand up and leave this circus behind, when a hand on her elbow brought her attention back to Lucius’s stern expression.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

”Home.” She replied, pushing his bony fingers off her delicate arm.

”Oh no, you’re not. You’re next in line! It is expected for a good wife to speak at her husband’s funeral.” The blonde man sneered. His beautiful face distorted in an ugly scowl.

”Don’t worry, Cissy will surely have something nice to say about you when you die. When it comes to Rodolphus and me, I believe that what I have to say won’t be appreciated by the likes of you. But then again, I’m not the good wife.” She hissed back at him, ready to disappear into the crowd.

”And now, please welcome our last speaker for today, Rodolphus’s dear and lovely wife - Bellatrix Lestrange.” Yaxley’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

Turning around so fast that Yaxley barely had time to duck away from her path, Bellatrix strode to the platform, sizing him up with her wild eyes.

”I had to.” Corban mumbled through clenched teeth, shaking as he squeezed past her.

Bellatrix didn’t waste time on answering him. He has been nothing but troublesome lately. A time will come when she would simply get rid of that little louse and she could bet her ass that no one would have anything nice to say about him either.

For the record, Bellatrix has been restraining herself for hours now, listening to all this made up bullshit with patience of a Buddhist monk. She wanted to leave the podium only because she didn’t want to embarrass Narcissa or any member of her wretched family for that. But low and  behold, she was forced to speak anyway and now everything that she was about to say would be on Yaxley.

”I was sitting there, listening to all the nice things you had to say about my husband.” Bellatrix began her speech pointing at the empty chair next to Lucius Malfoy. “How courageous and noble and good of a friend he was… but the problem is… that he hated each and every single one of you. Especially you, Corban.”

Murmurs started among the Death Eaters, everyone looking at Yaxley who had a look of pure bewilderment on his face. A few of the previous speakers rising to their feet and leaving the podium, probably afraid what the dark witch might say about them.

“It really is astounding how interested all of you suddenly are in the Azkaban stories! I mean, where were you in 1981? You could have gone there and have all of these adventures yourself!” Bellatrix’s ironic remarks and no nonsense attitude causing a stir up among the crowd gathered in the Alley. “Most of them made up, may I add. Rodolphus never left his cell and certainly never knew itty bitty wittle Anton Russel.”

The Ministry rat’s body started rapidly shrinking as he desperately tried to sneak his way off the podium, amused crowd pushing him back.

“You talk about my husband as if he was a saint of some sort, like one of those muggle hermits who didn’t wash themselves and lived on trees. The only thing Rodolphus had in common with them is that he reeked like a rotten body. Otherwise, he was a sarcastic old drunkard.” At this point the people gathered below the podium didn’t know what to do. “Do you know WHY he was a drunkard?”

”Stop this madness right now, Bellatrix!” Lucius Malfoy hissed at her, pulling on the hem of her dress, but she refused to listen to his pleas, purposefully stepping on his hand without as much as a stutter.

“Because he spent 14 years in Azkaban! Fourteen!” She continued, anger evident in her onyx eyes. “Some of you think that you know what it’s like, because you spent a week or a month there. Take a look at Lucius Malfoy for example. He looks as if he had spent half of his life in Azkaban, while actually he spent most of his life lying and playing the victim.”

”That’s enough!” Yaxley growled, casting concerned glances at Lucius Malfoy who was painfully clutching his cane. His knuckles white, devoid of blood.

“I don’t get it Yaxley, you wanted me to say something nice about my husband and when I’m finally ready to do so, you want me to stop?” She let out an ominous chuckle. “The truth is that the only nice thing I can say about Rodolphus is that not even for a second during his trial did he think about lying to get himself freed. That’s it. I bet it’s not something you wanted me to say, but at least it’s the truth.”

”This is going to cost you dearly, Lestrange!” Yaxley sprang to his feet. “This was the last straw and you pulled it like a lunatic!”

”Boohooo, poor me.” Bellatrix mocked, pushing past him. “Herr comically-short-ponytail is going to put me in a jail. Oii, don’t forget to lock me in the same cell as the Mudblood and her parents… when you find them, that is.” Her mad cackle stirring the crowd further, causing an uproar.

“You won’t be laughing when I haul your ass back to Azkaban!”

”You won’t be either, I will kill you first.”

”Bellatrix!”

She stopped suddenly, almost crashing into  a wizard standing in front of her. Perhaps coming there completely shitfaced wasn’t that good of an idea after all, but the only reason she regretted anything she said was because of those crystal blue eyes staring at her with such sadness. Tears gathering in their corners, threatening to break free and ruin her perfect makeup. Narcissa didn’t deserve it.

And then it hit her like a tone of bricks. This sadness, it was different somehow. She should know, she’s seen the same look of disappointment countless times already and this wasn’t it.

Narcissa was apologizing.

Bellatrix’s gaze drifted through the empty podium. Lucius and Yaxley nowhere to be seen.

She has been betrayed!

The door to the DADA classroom burst open,  hitting the wall behind it with velocity high enough to smash an antique skeleton to pieces. Professor Black momentarily getting to her feet and looking out of her office to see who had the audacity to do something so barbaric.

”Granger?” She spat, apparating next to the bushy-haired girl. “What are you doing here? It’s too early for your detention. What in Salazar’s name are you wearing?”

To be fair, she might have gotten a little bit carried away with this stuff. Running all the way to the classroom dressed in the muggle clothes instead of her uniform surely got her a couple of passing glances here and there. Most people probably thought that she has lost her mind, which at this point might have been exactly what happened to her.

To hell with it, she’s not going to storm the Department of Mysteries with her bloody school uniform on!

”There’s no time for explanations, Professor! I need to know the full version of the prophecy. It’s really urgent!” She managed to mumble in between pants. Her chest heaving rapidly as her body finally started relaxing from the Olympic sprint she has just pulled off.

”You really are an insufferable know-it-all, aren’t you? I do hope that you haven’t been ambushing Professor Snape the same way you’re haunting me.” The older witch growled at her. “Destruction of school’s property, barging into a classroom without permission, wearing inappropriate clothing. All these shenanigans will set you back by at least 100 points.”

”It’s inconsequential as you once said, all I need now is answers.” Hermione stood her ground. “I have checked every book in this wretched school and all I could find was a bunch of torn out pages.” She said, throwing the book she found earlier at the nearby desk.

Bellatrix’s eyes widened, her initial shock quickly subsiding, replaced by an angry frown. “Snooping around the restricted area, weren’t we? I would hate to brake it to you, but nothing that ever was in this book would give you answers you seek.”

”So you don’t deny that it was you who destroyed it?” Hermione immediately pointed out. A victorious smirk spreading on her face.

”I don’t, I was a schoolgirl when it happened so it’s way past the statute of limitations by this point, but as I said. There was nothing of interest there.” Her voice was firm and stern,  it made Hermione believe that she was actually telling the truth. Recently she has found out that Bellatrix wasn’t the type of person who constantly lied, if anything, she was a bit sloppy in that regard. Why should she be any better at it when no one was stupid enough to confront her about it. She was untouchable, too cocky to bother.

”Why would you destroy it if it was so uninteresting then?”

”Perhaps I wouldn’t like to read lies about my family? My sister just died, it was a sensitive subject at the time.”

”What was the prophecy about?”

”I don’t know actually, the end of the world, ruin of House Black, another wizarding war or something like that. My father kept it all hush hush, so much that he took it to his grave. Good luck interrogating him about it.”

”What do you mean you don’t know? You have the first two paragraphs, surely you need to know the whole thing.”

”Miss Granger!” She yelled in outrage. Delicate hand dramatically rising to her chest. “I would have never expect you to be so… unprepared! The first two parts are what that pitiful seer put in his letter to the Daily Prophet’s editorial office to convince them that he had a real political dynamite on him. Unfortunately for the poor man, my father was never fond of whistleblowers.”

”So… the man is…”

”Dead, just like my father. That’s two corpses for you to bother instead of pestering me about things I do not wish to talk about.”

”What about Lestrange?”

She could practically see the way Bellatrix’s teeth ground onto each other inside her regal jaw. “What about him?”

”Didn’t he learn about the prophecy? I was told…”

”Oh, I know exactly what the Weasel told you. Typical of him not to know that something as trivial as the mere existence of a prophecy in our circle is enough to break an engagement.” Bellatrix sneered. “Is this enough for you? Can I have my break now? Or would you like to know the details of my St Mungos stay?”

That seemed to have shaken Hermione up a little. The questioning has clearly steered off track by now and into a dangerous territory. Hurting the older woman’s feelings, reopening old wounds was never a part of the plan.

”I’m sorry…” She mumbled, biting her lower lip in distress. “I really am, but I also need to know what’s in this prophecy. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t so important, of that you can be sure.”

Bellatrix hummed, deep in thought. No doubt deciding whether or not she was being genuine. “I don’t recognize you anymore, Granger. You are different somehow, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open.

”All I want to know is why, oh why, is it so important to know what this prophecy is about?”

A simple question, it would be so easy to lie. She could come up with a thousand reasons why it could be of use to her, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to lie. Not when those dark, practically black eyes were drilling her to her very soul. Not when she was staring at her with such disappointment.

”It’s about me.” She whispered. Her lips forming the words before her brain could even realize what was happening. It was as if she was imperiod to do so.

Unconscious, unstoppable.

Professor Black tsked sadly, her brows meeting in discontent. “Silly girl, haven’t you been paying attention? You may think that it’s all about you now, but it can only lead to a tragedy. It isn’t worth it.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, her body shaking slightly. The stress of all this was finally talking its toll on her. As soon as a first wet streak started sliding down her cheek, warm arms encased her in a tight embrace. Pale hand sneaking its way to her bushy hair, caressing her while she kept sobbing on the older witch’s shoulder.

”Professor… please… I know it’s about me.” She cried. “I know the other person too, I know about the war it mentions. It's all about me and I can prove it.”

The hand in her hair froze, dark-haired witch looking at her in disbelief.

“How are you going to do that, Miss Granger?”

”I… There has to be a record of it in the Ministry.” She said, wiping off her tears. “You must know where it is since you’re so sure that it’s not yours. Only those who are the subject of the prophecy can pick it up. I think you tried and failed. That’s how you know.”

”Even if what you’re saying is right, why would I help you break into the Department of Mysteries? I don’t care what it says anyway.” Her voice was low and hoarse. Hermione couldn’t stop the shiver from running down her spine.

”Oh, I think you do. You want to know what was the reason your sister died. You want to know what has ruined your life. The secret forever locked in your father’s grave.” Pale hands falling off her shoulders as Bellatrix has taken a step back.

”Who are you?” She whispered, staring at her in terror. “This sudden interest in dueling, in the cruciatus curse and now this… Who. Are. You?” She asked, backing off and brandishing her wand at her.

Hermione couldn’t leave it without reply, her own wand pointing at the dark witch as she readied her stance.

“Please, Professor, I only want to know what the prophecy is about, nothing more. Wouldn’t you like to know as well?”

”Maybe, but at what cost?” Onyx eyes sparking with an ominous glint.

”I will do it. With or without you. Might as well keep your hand on the pulse.” Hermione argued.

She didn’t want to fight the woman, knowing full well that she wouldn’t stand a chance against her... Not yet at least.

Recently she has been practicing a lot using the good, old, handy time turner, but she highly doubted that she would ever be able to beat Lestrange without a proper surprise advantage. If she could only talk Professor Black into letting it slide, she could listen to the prophecy and then go back to her world without anything tragic happening.

The last thing she needed now was a trip to Azkaban or worse, Dumbledore getting a whiff of it all.

”Professor, please, it will only take a second.” She poured everything she got into this, hoping that a bit of honesty will sway the older woman to her side. It seemed to have worked, curled wood lowering as the older woman advanced on her, pushing her against a wall. It was a familiar feeling by now, getting wall-pinned by Bellatrix wasn’t frightening to her anymore.

”I will go with you, but the moment it turns out it isn’t yours we will go and never talk about it ever again!” She growled through clenched teeth, staring at Hermione with such ferocity that the Gryffindor was sure that her heart skipped a bit or two.

Here she was, walking through the empty corridors of the Department of Mysteries. Side by side with an exact copy of Bellatrix Lestrange. Currently just as pissed off as the original.

Her life has come full fucking circle.

If only Black was right and the prophecy wasn’t about her. If only she could wake up tomorrow in her dorm and find out that it was all a one big nightmare and that there never was a strange looking green orb waiting to blow up in her face. That Malfoy Manor never happened.

She would be so grateful that she would stop correcting Ron’s pronunciations. Hell, she would stop correcting everyone. Then she would complete her education and get a job at the Ministry, hoping to one day become the Minister of Magic.

Yeah, a shortlived dream it was.

”This is it.” Bellatrix’s voice reached her ears. She was a couple steps in front of her, staring at a shelf stocked with thousands of glass spheres, diligently lined up one next to the other.

One of the yellow labels said:

L.L. To C. B. III

Bellatrix Black (?) and (???)

”I would give it a try, but there is a spell causing madness put on it and I don’t want to have to deal with that ever again.” Professor Black explained. “There is still time for us to leave this damn prophecy alone and go back to Hogwarts. It’s not worth it, pet.”

“Whatever the curse is, I doubt it will make me any more crazy than I already am.” Hermione replied, her hand reaching for the orb without hesitation.

Bellatrix gasped the moment her fingers lifted it off its small pedestal, deep, gravelly voice echoing in the room, no doubt alarming everyone of their presence.

“The time comes to unveil the truth

Born from explosion a star will arise

Corrupting worlds like a rotten tooth

Brimming with madnesses are her onyx eyes

As one will rise, another falls

Strange, angry tides bring her ashore

A solemn captive in the ancient halls

Her sudden loss will unleash a war

Tied by a series of elusive threads

The void that follows causing thousand deaths

Together they are day and night

Forever stuck in their timeless fight

But dawn will come, purging their beliefs

For neither can die as another lives

A roaring thunder they’ll bring to the world

A disaster most sudden starting to unfold”

”You were right.” Bellatrix broke the silence. Her voice barely above a whisper, dripping with sadness. “You are the one it refers to. Are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted?”

”I… I don’t know what to say.” Hermione stuttered.

It was extremely hard focusing while her head was buzzing with thoughts. Thoughts that weren’t her own and yet they sounded so bloody familiar. The prophecy, it was everywhere. Not only in this world, but in all of them. She could feel it. She knew it.

She was so engrossed in her musings that she hasn’t even noticed the crooked wand raised at her. She couldn’t hear the incantation if  there even ever was one and yet somehow, mechanically she has deflected the shot. It exploded on the floor, cracking it a little bit. It was a spell powerful enough to blow her head off.

”What are you doing?” She snapped at the older woman. This wasn’t how she imagined it.  This was the moment she should teleport back to her world and leave this Hermione to live her normal life.

”What do you think should I do? Allow you to walk away and live with the knowledge that I let the world die because of you?” Bellatrix growled, trying desperately to hold back tears. Her throat constricting painfully as she stifled a sob. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger, I’ve lost one sister already, I’m not losing another.”

”No! You don’t understand!” Hermione cried, reflecting another curse aimed at her. “It’s not about this world, It’s about my world. I’m not from here.”

But before the other woman could react, the spell rebound, striking one of the nearby shelves, ruining it completely. The prophecies falling on their heads, knocking Bellatrix unconscious.

This was bad. She tried using rennervate, but it didn’t work.

Weird. Stay calm, she’s just unconscious, that’s it. Nothing to worry about. When she wakes up Hermione will just obliviate her and pretend like nothing has ever happened.

A black hole in the ground appeared out of nowhere.

Why is it there? What the hell is happening?

Hermione’s terrified squeak would be enough to wake up a dead man, what it wasn’t capable of doing however was to stop a bloody wormhole  from swallowing Bellatrix’s body. And it kept spreading in her direction.

It spread like it had a purpose, as if it was targeting her specifically. Is this what Bellatrix was trying to research? Does it happen every time one of them causes the other’s death? Was this black hole in the ground calling out to her?

Hermione wanted to ponder these things, but unfortunately for her, the orbs kept falling and the hole kept spreading until there was no room to maneuver anymore. She felt her body being sucked into the thing, strange feeling overcoming her as the wormhole closed around her, pulling the young Gryfindor into a dark void. Soon, everything went still.

For a second she couldn't do anything. Couldn’t breathe, couldn't open her eyes.

She could only float in this mysterious void, hoping that she wouldn’t get stuck here forever.

And just as she was convinced that she would get strangled to death, her eyes opened and she was in the lumber room again. Chained to the bloody pillar.

Chain. Pillar. Door.

She counted the things she was certain that were real.

Rug. Furniture. Window.

”This way!” A distorted voice said, getting nearer and nearer.

It clearly wasn’t Lestrange. Neither was it Narcissa or even Professor Snape, which could only indicate trouble.

“I promise you, Corban, I had nothing to do with this! It was all Bellatrix’s fault.”

”Does she have the dentists too?” Another voice chimed in.

”No, she spoke the truth. Sirius really did beat her to it. You know how easily distracted she gets.” The first man replied. Now they were close enough for Hermione to recognize him as Lucius Malfoy.

Momentarily she sprang to her feet. She knew they were coming for her, and she had to think fast.

”You can claim all of this for yourself. Just, please, don’t mention where you found her.” The Malfoy patriarch begged. Hermione could easily imagine his distinguished face bending into a pleading expression. The man already looked like he’s been through hell so it wasn’t that hard to imagine him stoop even lower.

”I will think about it, Lucius. No harm will come to you or your family…” The other man said. “Well, except of course…”

The door swings open.

”Bellatrix.” He finished. The name dying in his mouth, tasting like a rotten bird. “Where is she? I thought she was supposed to be chained to the wooden beam!”

”She was just here!” Lucius’s bloodshot eyes widened comically. “Narcissa checked on her this morning, I swear. She couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.”

”That’s right, she couldn’t.” Yaxley said, clutching his wand. “She’s got to be here somewhere, hiding from us.”

”Well in that case.” Lucius Malfoy replied, pulling his own wand from his cane. “It will be as easy as casting a simple homenum…” It flew out of his hand before he could finish the spell.

”Revelio.” Hermione mocked him, emerging out of nowhere. The two men exchanging surprised glances as Yaxley started hurtling hexes at her. Narcissa Malfoy’s lumber room lit up with red.

“Give up, Mudblood, you’ve got nowhere to go.” Yaxley cried, barely ducking a rebound curse.

”Oh, I’m planning to go right through you.” She replied, curving the end of her wand just enough to make the spell fly past him, knocking Lucius Malfoy into the wall.

It made her wonder, was Bellatrix’s gnarled wand making it harder or easier to perform this technique?

It didn’t matter at the moment. She still had one wizard to take care of and Yaxley clearly wasn’t throwing in the towel. As old and pathetic as he looked, he was quite an agile man, which she has learned first hand when he was chasing her through the whole Ministry of Magic. No wonder that he was crowned the headauror.

Although his movements lacked Bellatrix’s swiftness and fluidity, he compensated it with some really deceitful shots. In one instance he tried to hit her with a rebound spell, using a mirror situated behind her.

Trust a politician to stab you in the back.

How could she not respond in similar fashion? She wouldn’t be Bellatrix’s student if she decided to stick to the boring spells. She raked her mind for a useful one.

Confringo was out of the question, too much wooden furniture for that. Narcissa Malfoy would have found her to kill her herself if she burned down her house.

She could try cutting a hole in the floor around Yaxley, hopefully sending him crashing to the lower floor, but she couldn’t be sure if it would actually work. With Death Eaters being able to transform into that smoke cloud thing, it would be pretty much a useless move.

Suddenly, a perfect opportunity presented itself. Stumbling around the room, Yaxley stepped on Narcissa’s precious rug, Hermione’s trusty companion for the last week or so. It gave her an idea. In one book she read there was a spell that hundreds of years earlier wizards would use on regular carpets to make them fly. It has long since come out of use with the ministerial ban on flying carpet, officials deeming it too dangerous.

A quick swish of a hand later and Yaxley was falling on his ass, the rug coming alive under him and toppling him as a result. Corban haven’t even been able to process what was happening to him as suddenly he discovered that he was unable to move his hands and legs. His mouth sewing shut to keep him from casting a counter spell.

”Not bad, muddy.” The smugness in that sultry voice was exhilarating. That was until Hermione realized that it wasn’t her Professor who was praising her, but the very woman she grew to despise.

“Did Snivellus teach you that?” Lestrange asked, kicking Yaxley’s head, rendering him unconscious. Hermione noticed that there was an uncharacteristic clumsiness to that move, Bellatrix seemed a bit shaky today.

”Actually, you did.” She decided to bite the bullet, adding a little insult to the injury could only make it spicier. It earned her a devilish cackle, the dark witch squinting her eyes playfully as she sauntered closer.

”Oh, I thought I was missing a thread.”

Hermione wanted to slap that smug smile so badly, but she knew that Lucius’s wand wasn’t enough for her to withstand Bellatrix’s superior dueling skills even for a minute.

“Now I know who you were drooling over. Very naughty may I add.” The Death Eater cooed. “Was killing her a turn on for you?”

”Disgusting.” Hermione spat. “It was an accident.”

”That’s a shame. It always gives me joy to put you out of your misery. Recently that joy has been taken away from me sadly. The black void keeps swooping in just as my favorite part begins.” The dark witch said, nonchalantly dangling her wand between her fingers.

”Did you know about the prophecy too?” Hermione tiptoed closer to the window. Even though it was partially boarded, she could use bombarda maxima to have it opened. Then she will worry about what to do next.

”A prophecy? That’s new. But even if I did, frankly, I don’t believe in divination.” Bellatrix seemed impervious to her plan, casually leaning against one of the pillars. “I may look like it, but really, I’m only enjoying the show.” She commented, chuckling darkly at her.

It couldn’t be.

”You know, bombarda maxima is a solid start. Then you could use the magic rug since you already made it fly.” Bellatrix pointed at the carpet swishing through the air above their heads. “But I would just disenchant it in midair and that would leave you with something more than just a stupid broken nose. Which by the way healed nicely in such a short time. Was Snivellus visiting you the whole time?”

What to do, what to do, what to do.

”How about trying to throw me out of your head for starters?” Bellatrix uncrossed her hands dramatically. “Really, it should be the first thing you do when entering a duel. Making sure that the other person is not actively reading your mind. Also, that window is like 15 meters off the ground you will end up paralyzed if you don’t know how to fly… and I bet Professor Goody-two-shoes didn’t teach you that.”

”She didn’t.” Hermione replied, not knowing what else to do. The older woman’s cheeky attitude was rubbing her the wrong way and she couldn’t to anything about it.

”Which one did you pick? The one with a dead sister or the one who murdered her husband?”

”The first one.”

”Ehh, boring. The ones with a murdered husband are always spicier. There is a fuckload of them actually. Guess me hating Rodolphus is a universal thing then.” Bellatrix pushed herself off the pillar, stretching her back leisurely. “Come on, pet, we have to go. Do you want to fight or what?”

”Bombarda maxima!” Hermione yelled, rising her wand at the window. The boards covering it exploded into thousands of little splinters, crashing on her shield. She didn’t waste any time, summoning the flying carpet, thinking that if anything went haywire she could just cast arresto momentum and continue her run on foot.

”You stupid Mudblood! I told you not to do it!” Bellatrix bellowed.

Evidently the dark witch had other ideas, hitting the rug with a spell just before it had the opportunity to reach Hermione. It crashed into the girl and started rolling itself up, trapping the Gryffindor inside.

Victorious Death Eater cheerfully waltzed to where she was laying, rolling Hermione to her back so she could bask in Bella’s triumphant expression.

”Oh, pet, I’m so sorry.” She cooed, delicately caressing Hermione’s reddened cheek. “What kind of owner am I to make you want to kill yourself in such a foolish way? You haven’t done anything wrong, actually, I quite enjoyed the way you took care of that rat Yaxley. Unfortunately for you though, my treacherous sister has betrayed my trust, so sadly we don’t have any more time to play.”

”Fuck you!” Hermione spat, the belittling monologue making blood rush to her head.

”Oh, I bet you would!” Bellatrix let out a devilish chuckle. “However, I must upset you here, muddy. I don’t do those things with filthy mudbloods!”

And with that she caught a fistful of Hermione’s bushy hair and the whole world started spinning.

Chapter Text

Bellatrix Lestrange had no respect for anyone else’s dignity but her own. Hermione learned that the hard way, when she was unceremoniously rolled out of Narcissa's antique, bloodied rug, ending up on a cold, marble floor of a mansion she has never seen before.

“Why, hello there my pretty, young slave."Bellatrix cooed, staring at her from above with a joyous expression on her face. "How was your trip?” Her cheerful tone of voice determined to add insult to injury.

”I. Am. Not. Your. Slave!” Hermione growled back at her, pushing herself to her feet.

Ignoring the disappointed look on Bellatrix's face, she patted the dust off her crumpled clothes and turned around, admiring the luxurious space surrounding them.

The entrance room to the mansion was huge, decorated with style and extravagance typical for the members of the Sacred 28. It did however look uncharacteristically run down, with boards breaking here and there and massive spider webs hanging from the high ceiling. In the middle of the room a giant staircase led to at least 3 more floors, its golden railing booming with beautiful and vibrant depictions of magical creatures and plant life, all sculpted in the precious metal.

On the other end of the entrance hall, a small sitting corner was situated. Gorgeous Slytherin-green sofa stood in front of an enchanted fireplace, charmed to always keep the fire going. Above the mantel a huge cartouche was carved in stone, depicting a way too familiar crest.

The House of Black.

Wasn't this the house Bellatrix took her to doing their little experiment? Perhaps she has been there before.

”You can call it however you like: my prisoner, my involuntary guest, tomato tomato. To me it's all the same, although I do prefer calling you a slave. It suits you better I guess.” The dark-haired witch cackled madly, drawing Hermione's attention back to her.

At first glance, one could think that there was nothing wrong with the Golden Girl's famously demented captor. Sure, the dress she wore might have been a little less distressed than usual, accentuating her voluptuous curves better than the iconic combination she usually wore, but it was no reason to alarm anyone... well, anyone but Hermione. She saw all the miniscule details: the way Bellatrix spoke, her raven curls looking slightly less wild as she tilted her head back in the bliss of her mirthful laughing fit. Something was definitely amiss here. Bellatrix was somehow too happy considering what has just happened to her.

Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew Corban Yaxley couldn't possibly know where she was without somebody telling him about her. And the way he spoke with Lucius Malfoy led her to believe that Narcissa might have had something to do with all this. Not everyday was someone like Bellatrix betrayed by her younger sister. Especially not when said sister was the only person she thought she could trust. Bellatrix should be teeming with rage, and yet instead of throwing crucios left and right, she was pouncing around the room, laughing maniacally as if nothing has happened. Has she finally lost her mind? Was The Brightest Witch of Her Age actually at the mercy of a madwoman?

”What's even the point of keeping me here, Bellatrix?" Hermione asked suddenly, apparently surprising even the dark witch herself, as she looked at her blankly, probably trying to decipher what the bushy-haired woman was talking about. "You already have most if not all the horcruxes locked Merlin only knows where. I wouldn’t find them if I tried." The dark mane of curls tilting curiously at the angry tone of voice travelling through the empty halls as Bellatrix checked the room for damages. "Why keep me here? Why risk furhter disgracing yourself in the Dark Lord's eyes? Is this really what you want?”

Bellatrix chuckled, whirling around to meet her eyes. The slight stutter in her step not escaping the Gryfindor's attention as she sauntered closer to her.

”Poor muddy, I have you exactly where I want you.” The dark witch cooed almost charmingly. “My lord might indeed be a little cross with me right now, but at least he’s still alive. Which wouldn’t be such a certainty with you lot around.” Bellatrix explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “As long as I have you locked up here, everything will stay as it should be. And who knows, perhaps those stupid friends of yours would be foolish enough to pay us a visit. One could only hope.”

The cruel smile on her face was everything Hermione despised about this horrible woman. With disgust, she turned to spare herself the sight, but Bellatrix was far from finished.

“If anything, you should be grateful that from now on you will be able to roam my mansion practically undisturbed." She spoke slowly and certainly, lifting her brows in mock outrage. "That is unless you actually liked being chained to a wall like an animal." Another mad cackle echoed through the mansion. Pink tongue peeking from the blood-red lips, tracing the line of her upper teeth. Hermione’s hazel eyes following the movement unconsciously.

"Tell me, pet," Bellatrix drawled, swaying her hips seductively as she sauntered closer to the puzzled girl. "Did Professor Black tie you up like a naughty girl you are?”

Ignoring her crude comments, Hermione took a step back, forcing on the most courageous face she could muster.

”Forgive my lack of understanding, but how on earth are you planning on keeping me here? No chains? No shackles? For Salazar’s sake, the main door is not even there!” She said, pointing at the wooden surface hanging from one of its still intact hinges.

Bellatrix turned leisurely, staring at the damaged door with indifference.

“Oh this? Don’t be such a muggle, pet. The doors are there only for show. It’s the magic that’s holding this place together.” She drawled casually. “Although now that you mention it, I will take your advice to heart and instal a couple of new security measures.” Bellatrix added, waving her wand and fixing the broken hinge in an instant.

”Great. It will only make it more satisfying to break them.” Hermione's teeth grinding on each other in helplessness. Not only was the older woman belittling her, but she had a complete disregard for Hermione’s skills and knowledge. Did she not see the threat she posed to her?

”You think this is funny? Let the poor, stupid Mudblood walk around freely, perhaps she will touch something cursed and die?"  The girl yelled, waving a threatening finger in front of the other woman’s pale face. "I swear to you, Bellatrix, whatever this trickery is about, I will find out... I will free myself."

”Trickery?” Bellatrix asked amused. “There is no trickery, how else are you suppose to take care of the house? I certainly won’t do it and may I remind you - there are no house elves in my mansion, so unless you want to do it with an iron chain strapped to those frail, little ankles, be my guest.”

”This is madness! You want me to toil for you like a slave? What exactly is your problem with house elves?!?” Hermione growled, shaking her finger menacingly. 

”Is the fact that one of them tried to drop a chandelier on my head not enough for you?” Bellatrix lost her patience. Inching closer to the younger woman and pushing her hand aside as she slowly walked Hermione into a corner. “Weren’t you the one claiming to oppose the use of elves in the first place?” The words were barely a whisper at this point. Hermione could feel them on her skin rather than hear what was actually being said.

One of the pale, cold hands traveled to the back of her head, gripping it by the hair as Bellatrix made her look into her burning eyes.

”Don’t treat me like a fool, Lestrange! I know you well enough to be sure that what you’re doing has nothing to do with morality and everything to do with humiliating me!” She practically spat in the older witch’s face. It didn’t faze Bella at all as she pushed the Gryffindor further against the wall, leaning so close to her that their noses were almost touching.

Tsking disapprovingly, the older woman looked down at her with false pity.

”Humiliating you? How hypocritical. If you’re not ready to make that sacrifice, how are you going to force pureblood families who rely on the use of house elves to make theirs?”

She was now so close to her that Hermione could feel her hot breath on her face and neck. It sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, but also lit up her eyes with anger as realization hit her.

”You’re drunk!” She yelled, pushing the woman away. “You reek like a bloody distillery!”

”Stop sounding like Lucius, it’s dizzying.” Bellatrix barely caught balance, pinching the bridge of her nose painfully as the headache splitting her head apart only worsened. “I might have had a couple of drinks earlier, but after a day full of funeral speeches the only thing that’s left from that is a fucking hangover.”

„Funeral speeches? Who died?” Hermione’s eyes widened.

As an avid reader and a person who always was on the look out for what was happening in the Wizarding world, Hermione knew that Bellatrix Lestrange rarely showed up on any kind of official events. Since the Ministry take over she has partaken in only one celebration and Hermione suspected that the only reason she did was because the Dark Lord asked her to. The fact that the older woman took part in a funeral of all things could only mean a death of someone very important.

”Don’t get your knickers in a twist, muddy. Rodolphus and his brother got themselves killed by the French Mob, nothing big.” Lestrange gave her a dramatic eye roll before ungratefully flopping onto the nearby sofa. “I do not wish to continue this conversation. I’ve had a rough day, so get lost.”

”Get lost? And what am I supposed to do here? Work?!?” Hermione hovered over the older witch, sending her her nastiest glare. “If you really think that I will…”

“Silencio.”

Whatever she was about to say got stuck in Hermione’s throat as Bellatrix waved her wand lazily and silenced the girl completely.

”Finally.” Lestrange let out a satisfied chuckle, smiling smugly as watched the Gryffindor’s lips moving silently.

The sight was amusing to put it mildly. Bellatrix barely could stifle a laugh, forcing herself to look at the fire roaring instead.

“Less talking, more working." She clapped her hands playfully, beckoning the girl to go away. "I bet your muggle sow of a mother taught you how to clean, chop chop!”

A single snap of her fingers later and momentarily a mop and bucket appeared next to Hermione, ready to be used. The Gryffindor hasn’t spared it a single glance, turning on her heel and  running out of the room, leaving the older woman alone in the huge entrance hall.

This was too much. Hermione knew her own value and being reduced to a slave was categorically out of the question! If only yesterday she was still reluctant to leave her gilded cage, now that the cage turned into a bloody gulag, she was finally ready to jump the ship. The only problem being - she no longer knew how.

For a while now, she’s been interested in the topic of blood wards and wards in general, so she knew perfectly well how ridiculous the security was in most of these pureblood mansions. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black couldn’t be an exception here.

Wiping off her tears, she walked through the ominous corridors full of rats and all kind of vermin. She vanished the mess wandlessly, slowly making her way through the mansion, putting extra effort in eradicating all the giant spiders sitting on their cozy webs, threatening to fall on her head. Occasionally, she would peek inside the various rooms adjacent to the corridor she was in, hoping to find herself a place to rest.

It took some time before she finally found anything of value. A small library with an equally small chimney and a cosy atmosphere. It clearly wasn’t the room she visited in the other world, which she was quite thankful for. The last thing she needed now was a remainder of the other woman casually killing her.

Upon closer inspection the library turned out to be a really interesting find. A lot of the books had colorful, ornate spines, bearing the names of various children stories every young wizard ought to recognize. It might not have been as useful in her current predicament as Hermione would have liked, but somehow the lack of the dark arts was a pleasant change from all of the darkness surrounding her at all times.

One of the corners was apparently entirely devoted to Hogwarts textbooks. Consisting of everything a diligent student would need in the course of their education. A thought came to her mind involuntary, she simply couldn’t stop it.

Was one of these books used by Bellatrix or her sisters? Perhaps if she opened them, she would have found the dark-haired witch’s notes and doodles. Or maybe she would find nothing at all. With such strict parents, scribbling in an antique book would certainly be frowned upon, if not physically punished.

Being too curious for her own sake, Hermione couldn’t stop her hand from venturing closer to the dusty tomes. Her fingers have barely managed to brush over the gilded spine when the curtains covering a small painting next to her parted, its inhabitant looking at the muggleborn with horrified expression.

”What do you think you’re doing?” The man asked in pretentious tone of voice. “I know you! You’re the one constantly following the moronic relatives of mine. You were the one who trapped me in that handbag of yours! The Mudblood! What are you doing in the house of my forebears, filth? Keep your dirty hands to yourself, simple girl! I’m not going to let you blindfold me again!” He said and started receding further into the painting.

Hermione momentarily recognized him as Phineas Nigellus Black - perhaps the most hated headmaster in the Hogwarts history. He looked a bit younger that on the rest of the portraits she saw, but the haughty smile and aristocratic cheekbones could only belong to the wretched man. 

”Please, don’t go, Professor! I’m not going to hurt you.” She hurriedly shouted, afraid that a perfect opportunity to contact her friends would slip through her fingers.

The headmaster ignored her pleading, looking around himself in search of an exit. Apparently he has been resting there for so long that he no longer remembered how to leave his portrait. It gave the Gryffindor few more seconds to reason with him.

“Professor, please! I need your help.” She yelled before Phineas could go anywhere.

The man snorted ironically, but stopped, no doubt curious of what the girl had to say.

”How befitting of a Mudblood to beg a nobleman.” He sneered, pretending to be completely indifferent to what might come out of her mouth next. “But go ahead girl, say what you have to.”

This was her chance. With a few well formulated sentences she could outsmart the pompous man, getting one step closer to freeing herself.

”Tell me, Professor, do you know where we are?” She asked cautiously, narrowing her eyes.

”Of course I do, silly girl, this is my house! The crown jewel of my family’s wealth. You’re standing in the Black Manor.” He said proudly, carefully emphasizing each syllable. His dark, small eyes fixed on a wall behind her head as if he was refusing to establish eye contact with her. “The real question should be: What are YOU doing here?”

Hermione’s shaky hand ran through her bushy hair. Phineas Nigellus was a man fanatically obsessed with his ancient lineage, but he was also a perfect way for her to communicate with the headmaster. The problem was that the moment he will catch a drift of how important the message is, he will snitch her out to Bellatrix. She needed to be very careful when talking to him. Tell him only what he needed to know and nothing more.

”Bellatrix has brought me here to do her dirty work.” She replied reluctantly, knowing that he would learn the truth sooner or later. Lying to him now might have ruined her chance to talk to him later.

Phineas burst out laughing, clutching his shaking sides with pale hands as he finally decided to look at her with triumphant mirth coloring his aristocratic visage.

“Let's not mince words here, Mudblood." Phineas commented, smirking devilishly.  "She’s turned you into a regular slave! I have to admit, I always liked that sneaky girl.”

”I’m nobody’s slave!” Hermione argued, her face reddening as her hazel eyes welled up with anger.

”Well, then I’m not in a mood to talk with you.” He said, turning his back on her yet again.

”Wait!” The Gryffindor cried perhaps too desperately. “Could you at least pass a message to the headmaster for me?”

”What kind of message?” Phineas asked warily, stroking his beard in contemplation.

”Just tell him that I’m ok.” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. “Normally I would ask you to pass the message directly to Harry, but considering that I took your portrait with me, Professor Snape will have to do.”

”Serves you right! Shouldn’t have touched what isn’t yours. Stupid mudbloods, always stealing everything you let them touch...” His voice drifted off into a quiet mumble.

Never before had she seen a man his age sulk like a little child. Unfortunately for her, the man in question was her only hope right now and so insulting him was out of the question.

”Professor, please. I don’t want my friends to worry about me. Haven’t they suffered enough already?”

Even though he always acted like an arrogant, heartless bastard, Hermione knew that Phineas wasn’t actually THAT bad. Talking to him was always pretty tricky, but once you actually managed to catch his interest, he could be of great help to you. To add onto that, the man was practically obsessed with Snape being the first Slytherin headmaster after him, which somehow made Hermione think that he wouldn’t object passing a message to him.

”Alright, Mudblood, I will help you just this once. But I doubt that the headmaster would even care about anything you have to say.” He said, regarding her one last time through the slope of his aristocratic nose. Fumbling with the nearby curtain he finally found the hidden door allowing him to travel between the paintings and before Hermione could ask him for any more favors, he was already stumbling through it, eager to inform Snape of his unexpected findings.

”Thank you, sir. You really are a noble man.” Hermione replied, forcing herself to sound as grateful as possible.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hermione pulled the curtains closed and let out a relieved sight. It was now only a matter of time before Snape figures out where Phineas got the news. The Black patriarch  might as well outright tell him where she was. Now all she had to do was find a way to get out of there.

Bellatrix’s head felt so heavy that she was convinced someone must have transfigured it into a ball of lead. It required tremendous effort from her to be able to get her ass off the couch and up the stairs. The person designing this torture device clearly wasn’t thinking about the house’s inhabitants, or perhaps he was a goddamn sadistic bastard. Either way, Bellatrix wanted to snatch his head off and turn it into an ashtray.

It’s good that the Mudblood wasn’t there to see her. She would have had a good laugh at the sight of the proud Death Eater stumbling over her own legs and Bellatrix would have no other option but to punish her for it.

It would be a mercy really. Not for the Mudblood, but for Bella. Recently she has grown slightly accustomed to having her around. It put her at ease somehow. She couldn’t help but feel appalled at her own feelings betraying her.

It wasn’t just THIS Mudblood! It was the whole infinity of them pestering her everywhere she went. Sometimes she wondered if it had anything to do with their accident in the Department of Mysteries storage room, or if it was the fate itself always drawing them nearer as if they were tied by this thin, invisible thread.

She grunted in discontent at the mere thought of having anything in common with the girl, but the truth was that they already had so much in common that denying it was practically impossible. The girl was smart, talented, a fast learner. If it wasn’t for her dirty blood, the Death Eater would have to admit that in more ways than one the bushy-haired girl reminded her of her younger self.

Apart from all that, now there was also the prophecy to worry about. Another piece of puzzle linking them together as if they weren't entangled enough already. She needed to learn more about the prophecy, but asking the girl was definitely out of question at the moment. She would rather pry the information from Hermione's defenseless mind than ask the brat for anything.

They might have been in the same boat, but they sure as hell weren’t allies. Asking for anything might accidentally send Muddy the wrong message. Oh no, Bellatrix couldn’t chance that happening. She will just have to find out everything on her own. Nihil novi. At this point in her life, she could achieve anything by herself… Well, apparently except climbing these goddamn stairs.

The book Hermione was reading was thick and heavy. It slowly bent her fingers, slipping out of her grasp and falling onto the small desk she was leaning on. Hermione found the thing in one of the rooms she walked past earlier. The book was tucked neatly among old dresses stuffed inside a wooden chest. Clearly, someone was trying to hide it from prying eyes, probably Andromeda considering that the book was certainly muggle. And since she still has been waiting for Phineas's return, Hermione decide to give it a go, spreading the tome on a nearby desk and following the text with her weary eyes. The desk wasn't the most comfortable thing to read on, but she quickly found herself drifting into a blissful slumber. Her heavy eyelids fallingclosed, plunging her into hustle and bustle of the Ministry of Magic.

She was in some kind of meeting. Lucius Malfoy carefully reading a piece of paper handed to him by an odd looking man she's never seen before.

Dressed in a very muggle suit, the strange fellow looked at him with expectantly raised eyebrow, patiently waiting for the Death Eater to finish reading whatever he handed to him earlier.

”Surely, the Prime Minister can’t expect us to agree to this.” Lucius Malfoy said finally. His blonde mane of hair shaking disapprovingly as he pushed the paper back to the mysterious man. “Agreeing to this would be synonymous with breaking the Statute of Secrecy." He leaned back in his chair, looking completely baffled. "You can’t possibly force us to sign this.”

”I’m afraid that the Prime Minister wouldn’t take it lightly.” The other man spoke slowly, dispassionately. Studying them through lidded eyes. “We’re not asking for much here. All we need is information. What is so terrible in that?”

”Clearly, you don’t understand, we simply cannot help you in any way. We’re wizards for Salazar’s sake! I bet you have enough spies of your own to figure it out by yourself.” Lucius argued. A nervous finger tapping on the silver end of his cane.

”We do.” The man replied through gritted teeth, obviously running out of patience. “However, we believed that your help would speed the whole thing up, possibly saving hundreds of lives." He took a deep, dramatic breath and started buttoning up his jacket. "I'm sorry, I was told that this government will be more… friendly towards our kind, but as it turns out - I was lied to.” He rose from his seat, straightening his suit and tie.

A slight twitch of an eye being the only sight of unbearable rage brewing in the Malfoy patriarch as he forced a pleasant smile and said: “I’m sorry to have disappointed you, sir. Unfortunately, our hands are tied.” He presented his open palms to him as if the bonds were actually there.

”In that case, I will have to bid you farewell.” The man said, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor as he inches closer to the door.

”Minister. Mr Malfoy.” He nodded his head and disappeared behind the heavy, mahogany door.

Lucius Malfoy bolting from his seat as soon as he was gone.

“What a bloody wanker!" He growled, shrugging off the ornate coat he wore. "I hope he slips and breaks his feeble neck. The audacity! Have you ever seen anything like that?”

Hermione’s mouth hung low as she realized that he was talking that way in front of her. More than that, he was expecting her to cheer him on, to answer him!

Before she could embarrass herself with some idiotic reply, he cut her off, probably annoyed by her sudden inability to speak.

”I’m glad that’s the last meeting today, I would bare any more of this stupid people ruining my day even further.”He said, stretching his back and hissing as it popped, making Hermione cringe at their sudden familiarity.

“I was starting to get terribly hungry.” Lucius continued, turning back to her with expectant gaze.

As if on cue, Hermione’s stomach started rumbling, reminding her that she hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning.

”I see that you’re not faring any better. I guess it’s good that you’re eating dinner with us today.”

”Dinner?” Her eyes widened.

”Yes, did you forget again?” Lucius’s perfectly shaped brow arched. “I swear, sometimes I think that you have memory capacity of a particularly dull goldfish. Narcissa has poured so much heart into this. Surely, a little appreciation wouldn't hurt your feeble ego.”

”Narcissa Malfoy invited me to dine with her?”

”Yes, stop repeating everything I say. " Lucius said, gathering his things as if he wasn't casually insulting her. "Merlin, you have only a few more minutes to regain your brain functions or else the whole evening will be ruined.”

Not knowing what to say to that Hermione sat there awkwardly, blankly staring at a bunch of loose documents littering the desk. If she hadn’t been there before with Lestrange, she would have thought that this was all some sort of a fever dream.

”Leave the papers as they are, we will tidy up tomorrow." The blonde man sneered, draping his wrinkled coat over his arm and tapping his foot anxiously as he waited for her to get up from her seat. "Come on, we have to go or else we're gonna be late and I’m the one Narcissa is going to blame for that.”

Unable to find a single reason why she shouldn't follow him, Hermione stood, letting the man grab her arm and whisk her away before she could as much as protest.

As soon as they’ve arrived in the Malfoy Manor the iron gate opened before them. Hermione gave it a quick, nervous side glance. The memory of the snatchers pushing them through that thing still fresh in her mind.

She was soon brought back to reality by a terrifying sight of angry Narcissa Malfoy waiting for them in the foyer. She was exquisite. Her light blue eyes were nicely accentuated be the silver dress she wore. It hit Hermione like a tone of bricks. Compared to the older woman standing before her, she looked severely underdressed. Her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as Narcissa leaned down for the air kisses.

”Mrs Malfoy” She started. “I have to apologize. I’ve completely forgotten about this dinner, hence the unfortunate choice of clothing you will have to suffer for the rest of the night.”

”Oh, don’t worry about it, Minister.” Narcissa said, leading her to the table. “I fully realize how easy it must be to forget about such trivialities when one has half of the Wizengamot constantly knocking on her door.”

”Yes, they can be quite annoying, don’t they?” Lucius Malfoy cut in, taking a seat next to his son.

”I hardly mind it.” Hermione answered passionately. Being the Minister for Magic has long been a dream of hers. One that she wasn’t sure if she'll ever be able to accomplish and yet here she was. “It is their right to do so and my job to humor them. However foolish some of their objections might be.”

A small house elf appeared at her side setting the table with porcelain plates and silver cutlery. Her eyes darting across the table to Lucius’s panicked expression. He must have realized the blunder as soon as it happened, his mouth moving slightly as he tried to come up with a no doubt pitiful excuse, when thankfully for him, Draco came to the rescue.

”And humor them you do, Granger.” He drawled lazily. His thumb fidgeting with the ring on his index finger as he looked at her through hooded eyes. “The other day I heard two warlocks discussing your new magical creatures manifesto. They looked pretty amused if you ask me.”

”Draco.” Lucius hissed, sending Hermione an apologetic smile. It dawned on him that perhaps his son wasn’t the savior he expected him to be in this situation.

”I’m really sorry, Minister. My son has the most twisted sense of humor. I'm sure he wasn’t trying to insult you.” Narcissa’s velvet voice chimed in. Her smile seemed warm and genuine, although there was a hint of desperation hidden somewhere in that sentence. The way she referred to her as the Minister felt almost too formal, alarming Hermione to the fact that this wasn’t a casual friendly dinner. This was a business meeting.

Suddenly, Hermione became painfully aware of the place she was sitting in. With Narcissa's pleasant smile and the whole house elf catastrophe, it took her a bit to realize that all this time she wasn’t sitting at a normal dinner table, in a place anyone could take. Oh no, she was sitting in His place and all the warm smiles and pleasantries she received were a part of a mechanism that the Malfoy family has perfected over the years, except that in her world it wouldn’t be directed at her. She wouldn't be even allowed to be in there. In fact, considering who she was currently sharing table with, the only person missing for a full set was…

A shiver ran through her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. She knew she was there before she even appeared. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat as an anxious feeling started brewing in her chest.

”Oh, I’m sure he was trying to insult her.” The husky voice cooed as the clicking of heels announced the arrival of a new guest, one that Hermione didn’t have to see to know who she was. “My nephew is just an asshole, that’s all.” Bellatrix added, settling on Hermione’s right hand side as if she owned the place.

And she did. Honestly, if in that moment she turned to Hermione and called her her slave, the girl wouldn’t even mind. Bellatrix’s look was simply that beautiful. The dark, tightly fitting dress looked great on her cinched waistline. Silver necklace and earring drawing attention to the deliciously pale throat on full display. A wolfish grin appeared on the hair-framed face as she took in Hermione’s dumbfounded expression.

”Careful now, Minister, or you will catch phoenix shit.” The dark witch drawled, snatching the silverware from the shaking elf’s hands. Immediately scaring the creature away with her piercing eyes.

Hermione was so enthralled by the whole display that she hasn’t even realized that other people have entered the room, taking up the empty spaces far away from them. It wasn’t until a brutish man cleared his throat that she finally noticed his ominous presence.

He was tall, dark haired and oozing with this dismissive attitude, clearly not happy that he had to drag his ass all the way to Narcissa’s home that day. His eyes were fixed on the Minister, burning holes in the side of her head with their hateful intensity. Next to him a slightly shorter copy of himself was staring at her with undisguised curiosity. She knew who they were - the Lestrange brothers, nothing more than two rotten corpses in her world.

”What was that, Roddy?” Bellatrix’s eyes drifted to them, eyebrow arching questioningly.

It made him scoff and look away, his face scrunched up in a condescending grimace. “I said that your mudloving sister didn’t show up this time, but I see that they’ve found a… suitable replacement already.”

Narcissa Malfoy was pale as a sheet, her face loosing color at an astounding pace as Bellatrix’s cackle echoed in her ears. The dinner was ruined already, and it hasn’t even started properly.

”Oh, please don’t worry about my mentally challenged husband. He seems to be permanently upset because he didn’t get the Ministry job he wanted.” Bellatrix practically purred into her ear, sending Rodolphus a pitiful glance. Her elbow casually leaning on the backrest of the Gryffindor’s chair. Hermione was suddenly very aware of their shared proximity. The strong smell of the older woman’s perfumes filling her lungs with every gust of air she inhaled. “I did warn him that with his grades he wouldn’t get anywhere above a janitor, but at the time he simply refused to listen to me.”

”Cut the shit, Bella, we both know what’s the real reason why I didn’t get the job.” He spat viciously, smashing his fist on the table. His dark eyes never leaving Hermione’s hazel ones.

”What does that suppose to mean?” The Gryffindor challenges him. Right next to her she could feel Bellatrix stiffen, the blood red lips pursed in a silent warning as Rodolphus opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a cautious Narcissa Malfoy.

”Draco told us about your exquisite grades, Minister. I swear, there was a time when he would come back home and rant for hours about you beating him at everything.” She said hurriedly, the pleasant smile not leaving her face even for a second as she single-handedly prevented an incoming tragedy.

”That’s hardly the truth, mother.” Draco’s snarky voice chimed in. “I did manage to beat her at Potions.” A self-satisfied smirk plastered all over his face. The sudden change of topic successfully discouraged Rodolphus Lestrange who promptly decided to turn back to his plate, brooding silently for the rest of the night.

”The only reason for that was Professor Snape’s blatant favoritism, nothing else." Hermione argued.

”Nope, keep telling yourself that.” He wiggled his brows playfully, earning a chuckle from the rest of them.

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears, her competitive streak completely taking over as she leaned down, carefully articulating every word. “He literally gave Pansy Parkinson ‘Outstanding’ for brewing a Babbling Beverage. In my second year I brew a polyjuice potion and all Snape would give me if he ever found out would be a month of detention.”

”Well, you weren’t doing any better when Slughorn took over.” Draco countered.

“At least he invited me to the Club, I didn’t had to lie my way in.”

”You were a member of the Slug Club?” Lucius asked, clearly fascinated. “I didn’t realize that was still a thing. As a matter of fact, I myself was a member once.” He added proudly.

”Oh, I bet you were.” Bellatrix snorted. “I’m sorry, pet, but it’s usually the biggest losers he attracts. People like Lucius, constantly starving for praise and attention.”

”Then how come you weren’t one. I thought you were describing yourself for a second there.” Lucius retorted, cutting through a piece of juicy steak. “Shame. I bet you wasn't even invited.”

”He did invite me. Many times actually. Me, Cissy and Andy had to turn his offers down after every lesson.” The dark witch replied, almost as proud of herself as her interlocutor was. “Honestly, I wouldn’t let any of my sisters at an arm's length to this guy. It always seemed like the easiest way to get molested.”

”Now, don’t be jealous Bella. You missed out on an experience. You really don’t have to take it out on the old man.” Lucius drawled.

”Right, that’s what you call it. An experience. It must have been so fun when you were all sitting in a circle, boasting about your family’s achievements.” She let out a small, ironic laugh, clearing her throat in preparation for the best Slughorn impression she could manage. “Miss Black could you tell us how is your father’s Ministry job going? Swimmingly, Professor. He comes back every night drunk as piss and terrorizes the whole family, thank you for asking.”

Narcissa almost spat out a mouthful of wine. Lucius’s eyes widening at the comment.

”Well, this is exactly why he didn’t invite you.” He said chuckling to himself.

His wife clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention. “Forgive my sister’s crude sense of humor, Minister. I assure you, our father was not an alcoholic.”

”My bad,” Bellatrix raised her hands in defeat. Hermione’s eyes never leaving her for a second. “He had a minor inkling towards alcoholic beverages. Or at least that’s what he called it.”

”He had a very difficult job at the Ministry. It was understandable.” Narcissa’s blue eyes were spitting fire at her older sibling. The other witch ignoring her completely as she locked eyes with the Minister, mouthing something to the younger woman. Narcissa could only assume what kind of obscene remark had she shared with the Minister, observing the Gryffindor’s cheeks covering with a light pink blush.

”Speaking of jobs, how did the meeting with the muggle go?” She asked, trying to change the subject. Usually, she was great at loosening the tension among the guests, but today’s ensemble proved to be difficult even for her.

”Horribly.” Hermione answered, barely peeling her eyes away from the dark witch. “The Prime Minister wants us to spy on some terrorist organization. Obviously we declined the offer. I think it will take a really hard work to normalize our relations with the muggle government, but I believe that it’s the right thing to do.”

”Terrorists? It’s good that we don’t have those. With the current state of our auror office a threat like that is the last thing we need.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

”Aren’t you the one who’s in charge of the department?” Hermione asked confused.

”You wouldn’t believe what kind of morons they want me to train! Most of them are barely out of Hogwarts, no offense Draco, and those who aren’t are ancient and extremely cranky. I swear, the sound of Moody’s eye spinning is engraved in my mind at this point. They’re all insufferable.” She ran a hand through her curly hair in exasperation, Hermione studying her every move intently.

The rest of the evening passed in the blink of an eye. It’s funny how the time tends to speed up when you’re in such a pleasant company. Before Hermione realized how late it was, Bellatrix was already accompanying her to the gate. Cold wind sweeping through them, making her shiver in her Ministry suit. The dark witch on the other hand seemed completely unaffected, casually smoking a cigarette in her strapless dress. Alabaster skin on full display.

One swipe of a wand later and the iron gate was reduced to mist, leaving the path open. Hermione was just about to bid her farewell when the older woman’s hand landed on her arm.

”Granger, wait.” Hermione flinched out of habit. Her whole arm immediately covering in goosebumps. “I was wondering if we could grab a lunch together.” There was this strange glint in her eyes that Hermione couldn’t fully understand.

Why would Lestrange want to have lunch with her? Probably some business stuff, she assumed, suspecting that the whole dinner thing was already a set up to pity her into offering Draco a job at the Ministry.

”I'll see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything.” She said, brushing off the strange feeling in her stomach.

”Great.” A beaming smile crept onto Bella’s face, bringing the younger woman’s attention to the pearly white set of teeth. She could be so charming when she wanted to. It was a shame that HER Bellatrix couldn’t be this nice. “And don’t worry about Rodolphus’s comments, he’s always this rude, no matter who he’s talking to. Today it just happened to be you.”

For some unfathomable reason Hermione felt a surge of jealousy. Spending so much time with Professor Black must have permanently  messed up her brain, because she had no reason to envy the man… well, other than…

”Goodnight to you, Mrs Lestrange.” She blurted out hastily, leaving the older woman gaping as she made her exit, hoping that she didn’t had a chance to catch her very embarrassing blush.

”Goodnight, Minister.” The older woman whispered quietly, the cigaret long forgotten, burning out in her hand, ash falling on her dress. Onyx eyes never leaving the spot where only a couple seconds ago Hermione used to stand.

Yaxley groaned, putting a bag of ice to his swollen face. Who would have thought that a single girl with no wand could easily defeat two adult Death Eaters. Then again, who would have guess that Bellatrix Lestrange of all people would have the audacity to betray the Dark Lord like that. No one.

He didn’t want to be the one breaking the news to the man. He didn’t have a suicidal streak in him, but some things simply had to be done, no matter how unpleasant they were. It would be best for the Dark Lord the hear the news from him or else his reputation as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be completely tarnished.

Stretching his aching back, he stumbled into his office, wanting nothing more than to collect his paperwork and head home, when a shrilling sound attracted his attention.

”What is that?” He asked, eyeing a bizarre red thing spewing out demonic noises that only induced his headache.

”It’s that muggle garbage you wanted us to bring from the Minister’s office. It’s been like this for hours now.” Dolohov answered, flipping a page of his newspaper. Earplugs sticking out of his ears as he tried his best to ignore the ear drilling sound.

Yaxley put down the bag of ice, discarding it on the other man’s desk as he sauntered closer to the wretched thing, hovering his palm over what looked to be a handle. Carefully, not to set off anything he pulled the top part, happily noting that the horrible sound stopped completely.

”Hello, can you hear me?” His eyes widened comically as a human voice started coming from the handle thing. Was there a wizard trapped inside this thing? What have these muggles done to him?

”This is the Prime Minister speaking. I’m trying to reach the Minister for Magic. Is he there?” The mysterious voice momentarily added.

Exchanging a terrified glance with Dolohov, Yaxley put the thing to his ear and cleared his throat. “Speaking.”

”Oh, thank God.” The other man said. “I’m afraid we have a big trouble with the Interpol, one that cannot be discussed over the phone. It really is urgent.”

The receiver slipped from Yaxley’s hand, crashing on the ground.

Could this day get any worse than that?

Chapter Text

She has woken up to the sounds of metal pots hitting the ground.

”Fuck…”

Hermione opened her eyes, hearing Lestrange’s strangled cry. Her hopes of going back to sleep dwindling with every second as clattering noises echoed through the otherwise quiet mansion, bouncing off of the marble walls.

Covering her head with a pillow, she rolled onto her side, praying for just a few more minutes of sleep.

”Shit!”

Silencio! She could just silence the room, forget about all the clamor and doze off. Except she couldn’t.

Reluctantly Hermione sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching her legs lazily. What has she done to the universe to merit this? Why for once in her life she couldn’t just mind her own business and ignore everything else?

A shrilling roar engulfed the whole mansion in Bellatrix’s deranged cries. Pinching the bridge of her nose Hermione pushed herself off the bed and started following the clutter all the way to its source.

Sure enough, not long after, she found Bellatrix sitting in a burglarized kitchen. Metal pots littering the floor, ancient looking stove blasted to pieces as the perpetrator sat quietly munching on cold ragout, sloppily pulled out of something that Hermione suspected used to be a can. Now it was nothing more than a bunch of metal scraps sticking out from the metal lid. Hermione’s eyes widened at the horrifying sight in front of her.

A thin trail of blood leading all the way from the broken can to the bloodied hand currently holding a spoon. Hooded onyx eyes observing her with the intensity of a wounded jaguar and one that has been trough hell at that.

The bloodied hand shook slightly, lifting the spoon to her gaunt face as a terrifying scream tore through the room. The spoon falling to the floor, spilling the food all over the tiles. Bellatrix’s green, silk bathrobe barely avoiding the mush.

”Fuck!” Bellatrix howled in pain, clutching her left forearm as if her life depended on it. Teeth digging into her soft, lipstickless lip, coloring it with scarlet liquid.

Shaking herself out of the stupor, Hermione carefully approached the howling beast. ”Good morning to you too, Bellatrix.” Getting only an acknowledging hum in return.

Immediately she noticed two things that were quite unsettling, suggesting that perhaps she shouldn’t risk coming any nearer or else she might lose a finger or two.

First thing was the raised, angry dark mark, looking unusual even for the cursed tattoo’s standards. Not only was the older woman clutching her arm fanatically, but there were also pulsing veins surrounding the mark, making it look badly inflamed.

The second thing were the dark circles under Lestrange’s eyes leading Hermione to believe that she didn’t manage to catch even a glimpse of sleep that night.

A broken can of cold ragout, sleepless night and a swollen forearm could only mean one thing.

”He just keeps summoning me.” Bellatrix growled, stuffing her face with a spoonful of ragout. “I can’t do anything with that hand, it’s practically useless.”

”Well, couldn’t you just take a numbing potion?” Hermione asked, curiously eyeing the inflamed tattoo, observing the visible effects of Voldemort’s impressive spell work. Something within that image moving under Bellatrix’s skin compelled her to touch it, run her fingers over the reddened skin and cool it down. She wasn’t sure if it was part of the spell or just her own fascination talking, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she would be able to feel it move. Would Bellatrix shiver under the delicate touch?

”A numbing potion?” The Death Eater in question cried out in anguish, bringing Hermione back to reality. “And where am I supposed to find that?”

”How about you get it the same way you obtained this muggle pulp you’re eating. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize my own supplies when I see them?”

“Aren’t you a shrewd little maggot?” Bellatrix hissed through gritted teeth, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly in a half smile of sorts. “I bet you would want me to give you your beaded sack back, wouldn’t you pet? I will save you the trouble - don’t even think about it. I’m not stupid enough to give you back that bottomless pit of Merlin only knows what and you won’t be able to find it on your own. Not unless your magic stealing ass manages to get past MY blood wards, good fucking luck.”

Hermione could barely contain the urge to roll her eyes. ”Right, because you’re currently doing such a good job with my supplies.” She said, pointing at the shredded remains of a can still covered in Bellatrix’s blood.

”I might be a little indisposed today.” Bellatrix shrugged, causing her elegant bathrobe to slowly slide down her otherwise naked shoulder, leaving a sea of milky skin on display. Hermione cursed herself internally for following the fabric’s movement with her eyes.

”Did you at least multiply it before you tore the can to pieces?” She asked raising a questioning eyebrow.

”Why would I? I’m not gonna live on this thing forever, I have a slave to keep me fed.” The dark witch retorted bearing her teeth in a wolfish grin. “Which by the way reminds me, I saw what you’ve done to the hallways already. A good start, but I expect you to at least finish tidying up the lower floor before the end of the day. An edible dinner would be great too.” She said, pushing the cold remains of her half eaten food in Hermione’s direction and standing up.

The Gryffindor didn’t even spare the bowl of food a passing glance as she sized the other woman up, looking straight into her onyx eyes glazed over with pain.

”Forget it.” She snarled, her nose practically touching the other woman’s as their eyes met in a fierce battle of wills. “I’ve told you this already, but perhaps I need to repeat it one more time for your inbred brain to process the words. I. AM. NOT. YOUR. SLAVE!”

A bad idea. Before she could even think of turning around and going back to her room, Lestrange pushed her body against the wall, pinning her with her whole weight. Their bodies pressing against each other, constricting Hermione’s ability to breathe properly.

Something sharp bit into her collarbone, puncturing the skin there. It was a metal shard Bellatrix has somehow managed to grab, while slamming into her. Their blood mixed together as the older woman squeezed the razor sharp metal in her hand, injuring it further.

“You’ve become quite insolent recently, haven’t you filth?” Bellatrix hissed into her ear, her tongue wiping off the blood running down the younger woman’s throat. Sharp teeth inches from the Gryffindor’s ear. “Perhaps I should cut you open like a pig. We would see if I’m really the parasite you take me for.”

The shard traveling all the way down Hermione’s jugular and further down her body, where it it was poking at her taut stomach. She was desperately trying not to breathe as she looked into the onyx eyes shining with madness, completely glazed over with lust for blood.

A loud clutter brought her attention back to the jagged blade that was now lying on the floor, covered in blood that Hermione realized must have mostly been Lestrange’s. A deep throaty growl was what followed next as the older woman hid her face in the crook of Hermione’s neck.

She wasn’t expecting that, neither did she say expect the surge of warmth overtaking her pinned to the wall body as Bellatrix braced her hand against the wall, pushing herself off the younger woman. Panting slightly, the Gryffindor observed the Death Eater who’s face was twisted with pain. Heeled boot kicking the abandoned blade away in anger.

”Stop summoning me, you fucking…” The curse died in her throat as she realized who she was talking about. Sending Hermione one last hateful glance, Bellatrix took off and disappeared in the hallway, leaving the younger woman alone in a burglarized kitchen.

Taking a deep breath Hermione rolled up her sleeves and started tidying up the place by hand. Living in such a horrible mess would be too much for her to withstand.

When she finally had some time to visit the small library, she found the day before, Phineas Nigellus was already sitting leisurely in his wooden, painted chair, watching her with undisguised amusement. Seeing him, Hermione stopped in her tracks.

”Greetings Professor, are there any news you would like to share with me?” She said, trying to purge any sign of excitement from her voice and expression.

”I wouldn’t go as far as calling it news.” The man drawled, sucking on his pipe. “I’ve passed your message to Professor Snape and just as I thought he seemed completely indifferent to your predicament.”

Hermione stiffened, her jaw clenching in anguish. What was she expecting? Clearly, the man has been nothing but cold hearted all his life. He probably wanted her to leave Malfoy Manor solely for Narcissa’s sake. Yes, that must have been the case, once a coward always a coward. He would sell her out to the Death Eaters as soon as they left the premise. But then again, why would he mention Harry?

”I even told him about your current status and all he said was ‘Let the Mudblood rot in that cursed mansion like the others before her’ or something along those lines.” Phineas added, grinning malevolently as he basked in Hermione’s distress.

The choice of words seemed peculiar to her. Professor Snape had a preference to keep his sentences short and concise. Was Phineas Nigellus lying to get a reaction out of her. Her eyes snapped back to the elderly Professor, partially disappearing in clouds of smoke stuck in the picture frame. If he wanted a reaction, let him have one.

”Oh, Professor, it can’t be, why would he say something like that?” Her eyebrows raising in concern as her voice quivered pitifully.

”You really are a simpleton, girl.” Phineas released a hearty laugh. “In the old times it used to be a sign of wealth to own not only elves but mudbloods too. Being the richest of all the families, House Black has long had the biggest number of impure servants in the whole of Britain. If you still have any hopes of escaping this manor, get ride of them at once. You are not going anywhere. It’s impossible.”

It hit her like a tone of bricks that Professor Snape’s words weren’t just a simple insult, it was a warning.

If the Black family had owned muggleborn slaves they might have put additional security measures in place to not only keep people out of their premises but also to keep the servants in.

Bellatrix’s words echoing in her mind. So this is why the witch wasn’t bothered by her lack of chains or even by the partially destroyed door - she knew that no matter what, the blood wards would be able to keep Hermione in the manor. If that was true, she really was doomed.

But she refused to accept it as it was, she was called the Brightest Witch of Her Age for a reason, goddamnit! If she couldn’t figure it out, no one could!

Hermione knew the advantage she might have against this most ancient and dark magic. Unlike the muggleborns locked in there before her, she was extremely well educated and had infinity of dimensions at her disposal. Not even a strongest curse could withstand such force.

”Thank you for enlightening me, Professor.” She said to the snarky headmaster, who was staring at her from behind the clouds of smoke. If he expected her to argue, he had to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t get a single fucking sight out of her.

Without waiting for his response, Hermione bolted out of the room, searching for some peace and quiet. She had legal research to do.

It quickly turned out that her timing wasn’t exactly right. She anticipated that all she would have to do would be to come up with an excuse to check the archival documents concerning the declared wards of the Black Manor. Instead, for the last 30 minutes she had been stuck in a boring meeting with all of her subjects. Pestering her about some failed burglary attempt.

Apparently someone was stupid enough to almost get themselves caught while sneaking into the Department of Mysteries. Most of her subjects immediately brushed it off as a childish prank, suggesting only to adjust the security of the place. Knowing well how wanky the security there really was, Hermione agreed to the additional measures. She did it despite Bellatrix’s protestations. Which frankly, she shouldn’t even take into account, considering that the older witch came in 20 minutes late, just in time stir some shit up.

As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Lestrange advocated for a more sneaky approach. Believing that the attempted break in must have been a serious danger to the Wizarding Society, she proposed to put up a quiet trap that would immediately alarm her and the rest of the aurors whenever the wards were breached, agreeing to oversee it personally if needed.

Sadly, Hermione had to refuse. From her perspective the time for silent alarms was over, the Department needed a permanent solution that would ensure its safety and it needed it now!

She was just packing her bag, ready to leave the meeting and head to the archive when she felt a delicate hand on her shoulder. It was Bellatrix.

Shit.

”I hope you haven’t forgotten about our lunch date, Minister.”

She did.

”Of course not, how could I?” Hermione replied hurriedly, the older woman staring at her strangely.

“You just looked like you were in a hurry.” She stated, her red lip curling into a timid smile.

”Oh, it wasn’t anything important. I just wanted to check something quickly before our meeting.” Hermione replied, watching the smile fade from the other woman’s lips. Did she say something wrong?

Pale hand slipping from her shoulder, Hermione momentarily missing the contact. ”A meeting? How very formal.”

”How else am I supposed to call it?” The Gryffindor’s brow furrowed.

”Nevermind.” Bellatrix replied, her face devoid of emotion.

Sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, Hermione decided to change the subject. Her little trip to the archives would have to wait.

”Where are we going anyway?” She asked, opening the door for Lestrange.

”Ohhh…” Bellatrix yelped quietly.

”Oh?” Hermione’s eyes carefully studying the other witch.

”Well, I know how much you hate leaving the Ministry, but unfortunately I’m quite hungry and the lunch I swear I packed earlier this morning has magically disappeared, sooo…” Lestrange seemed pretty nervous for someone offering a simple lunch. This definitely had something to do with her nephew’s career, Hermione concluded.

“I wouldn’t like to attract attention, those lunches just never…”

”I know, that’s why we’re going to a muggle restaurant nearby, nothing fancy, I swear, and I doubt there would be any wizards there.” Lestrange really was insistent on this stupid luncheon. Of all the people in the Ministry, Hermione certainly wouldn’t suspect her of coming up with such an idea. Bellatrix Lestrange in a muggle restaurant? Preposterous.

But she really wanted to see how it ends. What was the reason so important that the older woman was willing to humiliate herself like that?

And so she followed the dark witch to the muggle London, watching the dark mane of hair traversing the crowded streets with ease. Soon, they were standing in front of a small pub, practically devoid of people. Above the counter a small tv hung from the wall, displaying a rerun of a recent Chelsea match.

”A pub? You do realize we’re technically on duty, right?” She asked the other woman, raising her eyebrow.

”Relax, pet, I’m not my father. I don’t drink before noon.” Lestrange rolled her eyes dramatically. “Not unless you want me to at least.”

They’ve ordered simple meals consisting of mainly chips and burgers, Hermione occasionally cracking a joke about an unforgettable luncheon and something that she called the steamed hams, but Bella didn’t know what she was talking about. Laughing only because the younger woman had a very contagious laugh and very pretty at that.

Hermione, on the other hand, was still trying to figure out what was the whole deal with this meeting. They switched subjects quite a few times already and still the subject of Draco Malfoy’s career wasn’t brought up, not even hinted at. Finally, not being able to bear the charade any longer, she decided to bite the bullet and take things into her own hands.

”So, Draco still doesn’t have a job, does he?” She asked conversationally. Nothing strange here, am I right?

”Draco? What does he got to do with anything?” Lestrange’s brows met in a confused grimace. Her slender hands reaching for a pack of cigarettes, offering Hermione one a she lazily lit up her own smoke.

Suddenly, she froze mid drag, staring at the younger woman with terrified expression. “Has Lucius been pestering you about this thing? I swear my family just doesn’t know when to shut up.”

”Oh no, God forbid, no!” Hermione hurriedly countered, realizing that she must have misread the dark witch’s intentions. Apparently, she must have spoken a bit too hastily as Lestrange regarded her with shocked expression on her face.

”A meeting… Merlin, you thought I was going to try to sell you the lad?!?” She cried, taking another drag from her cigarette. The look of pure bewilderment never leaving her features. “I’m the head of the Magical Law Enforcement,  don’t you think that if I wanted someone to hire him I would have done so myself?”

”I thought that maybe you didn’t want it to look like a blatant nepotism.” Hermione argued, her cheeks reddening with a deep, embarrassed blush.

”Have you taken a look at the Ministry of Magic recently? Nepotism is kinda the theme there!” Bellatrix’s words echoed in her ears, but she couldn’t fully comprehend them. Right there, with the angry look in her eyes, in a dimly lit muggle pub, her face framed by the clouds of cigarette smoke, the dark witch seemed more beautiful than ever. She was absolutely striking.

Oblivious to her musings the dark witch continued her tirade, bringing the Gryffindor back to reality. “Even I am where I am solely because I’m the member of House Black and don’t even get me started on the rest of the silly fools working in the Ministry. If it wasn’t for their families, they would be sweeping Diagon Alley. They would be unemployable.”

Now this was the claim Hermione simply couldn’t allow. If the other version of herself put Lestrange in charge of the Magical Law Enforcement she had to deem her the best candidate and it wasn’t that hard to realize why.

Even her animosities with the other Bella couldn’t stop her from admitting that the woman has always impressed her. One does not simply become the Dark Lord’s right hand by being average. Oh no, you couldn’t call Bellatrix that, she was ambitious, extremely talented and creative beyond reason. Always ready to pick up a fight, always ready to win.

So the moment Lestrange practically called herself a nepobaby, Hermione took the claim quite personally.

”I don’t care about the other purebloods at the Ministry, but you’re terribly wrong if you really think that I hired you because of your fancy lineage.” She hissed at the other witch, leaving her absolutely perplexed. “Don’t you dare ever say things like that! It’s not only insulting to you, but to me as well!”

Not thinking much, Hermione slid her hands to the other side of the table, taking Bellatrix’s hands and cradling them in her own grasp. Hazel eyes meeting the onyx orbs with such an intensity that there was no room left to doubt the younger woman’s honesty.

”You are a beautiful, talented, smart, unpredictable and formidable witch. I would have to be a damn fool not to hire you as my headauror. I would have done so even if you were a muggleborn, or a Weasley, it simply doesn’t matter to me.” She finally stopped her monologue, her chest heaving slightly as she took in the stunned expression coloring Lestrange’s features. “Do close your mouth Bella, we wouldn’t like you to catch any phoenix shit, would we?”

Bella. The name slipped out so easily, caressing her tongue as something swelled in her chest, her heart pumping blood at an ungodly speed.

The blood red lips drew together, quickly transforming into a charming smile that later turned into a chuckle. It was nothing like the mad cackle Hermione was so used to at this point, it was soft and genuine, sending a shiver down the Gryffindor’s spine as she watched the older woman recover.

”Wow! That was…” Lestrange had to take a deep breath to steady her galloping heart. “We really need to do this more often.”

”Arguing? Thank you very much, I already have quite enough of that.” Hermione gambled, trying to bring that wonderful smile back. It worked.

”Noo, I meant having lunch together, pet. Draco was right, you really are insufferable at times.” Bellatrix shook her head in false disapproval.

”Careful now, Madam Lestrange, one more meeting and people will start talking that you’re taking me out on dates.”

”Would it really be so terrible if it was a date?”  An elegant eyebrow rising questioningly as Bellatrix’s jaw stiffened, teeth grinding on teeth nervously. “And don’t call me that or I will be forced to keep calling you Minister and I know how it thrills you.”

“Well, I do have to admit that if it was a date…” Hermione started carefully. “… then perhaps I wouldn’t be opposed to another one.” She could feel her pulse pumping in her throat, hear every beat of her heart, it was mind numbing.

”Great.” Bellatrix replied, rising from her seat and helping Hermione out of her own. “Next week then. I guess it really would be suspicious to meet every single day. Although a quick lunch at the Ministry wouldn't hurt either, right?”

It certainly wouldn’t, not in the usual circumstances, but in Hermione’s world it clearly did as she managed to completely forget about her trip to the archives, too excited to worry about such a thing as blood wards.

And so, as soon as she came back from her little rendezvous she waltzed back to her office and locked the doors behind her, looking for so private space to shamelessly obsess over the date. Sadly, a peace and quiet was not what was granted to her.

Opening her eyes in the Black Manor, she immediately noticed that something wasn’t right. A pair of black piercing orbs boring a hole in her side as she slowly stirred awake in the small bed she claimed.

”Oh shit.” What she presumed to be a glass bottle must have slipped from the older witch’s grasp, smashing on the floor and making Hermione’s body momentarily snap in her direction.

”What are you doing here?” She cried, sitting up, thunder roaring in her hazel eyes as she observed Bellatrix’s slumped silhouette draped over the small armchair that she must have dragged from the other room or transfigured from something.

”I was feeling a bit queasy.” The dark witch murmured, looking really beat down. “You’re the only other person in this fucking mansion. I guess my survival instinct decided to kick in.”

”Merlin, did you mix potions with alcohol?” Hermione’s brow furrowed, the familiar stench of liquor reaching her nostrils.

”A numbing potion can only do so much.” Bellatrix threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I had to somehow get rid of his bloody voice from my bloody head, didn’t I?”

”And you thought that I would what? Help you? Why should I?”

”Because your a very smart little vermin.” Bellatrix chuckled drunkly, draping an arm over her eyes. “If I die, you will have no means of ever leaving this place. I counted on your pragmatism.”

”Go to hell.” Hermione spat, turning her back on the woman. She certainly had no will to wrangle with the drunk witch. “Drink yourself into oblivion for all I care. I will manage.”

”Yeah, right.” Bellatrix laughed. “You will manage by going back to whatever world you’ve been visiting lately. Newsflash - it always ends badly. You can trust me on that one.”

Hermione immediately bolted up, sliding her legs to the edge of the bed, her eyes staring daggers as she regarded Bellatrix’s disheveled appearance with disdain.

”Forgive my impertinence here, but you’re the last person I would listen to looking for life advice.” The Gryffindor replied. “Perhaps next time you should try not murdering everyone in the timeline. It’s just that easy.”

”Yes, it seemed to have worked so well with that itty bitty professor of yours.” Lestrange hummed quietly, her face twisting into a pitiful smile.

”I told you, it was an accident.” Hermione argued.

”It’s always an accident, muddy.” Taking a deep breath, Bellatrix propped herself up, correcting her position on the narrow armchair. Sliding down, her silky robe once again uncovered the delicate skin of her pale shoulders, partially shielded by the soft, black curls cascading over them. Hermione unconsciously drifting closer to the bed’s edge, leaning over.

“You know, I used to do the same thing you’re doing right now. I used to traverse the different universes looking for a perfect one. The only one where I could be truly happy.”

Hermione couldn’t contain her curiosity. She has always wanted to ask Bellatrix about her two years of “research” and now a perfect opportunity presented itself.

”Did you find it?” She queried, fully expecting the other woman to laugh in her face. Imagine her shock when Bellatrix answered the question with not a hint of insincerity.

”Of course I did." said the Death Eater. "My private, personal heaven. In there I had everything: Cissy, the Dark Lord, my sweet Delphini… we even managed to kill that stupid Potter boy. Temporarily, but it still felt good.”

Delphini? Could she something to do with the empty cradle or the mysterious cries she had witnessed at the Malfoy Manor?

Pushing all of her questions to the back of her mind, Hermione finally asked :“And what happened then?”

”The motherfucking Molly Weasley happened.” The older woman growled, her throat filling up with bile. “I was killed by a bloody housewife. What a cruel joke. My lord’s pained cry is still ringing in my ears… You see, the point is: all of this never mattered. It was only a twisted dream. Nothing matters to me anymore. Only my lord’s life does and if I have to keep away from him to keep Him alive. I’m not going to complain.” She hissed, clutching her forearm in pain. “If he could only stop summoning me…”

It was a lot information to take in, but clearly not enough for Hermione yet, who stared into the dark witch’s cold dark eyes, gathering enough courage to speak her mind.

”I wonder… what happened to that world when you died? Have all of them died too? Did the prophecy kill them?”

The older woman couldn’t stop the devilish smile from spreading as she shook her head pitifully. ”Don’t be ridiculous, pet. It’s not the prophecy that’s killing them, it’s us.” She chuckled darkly. “Haven’t you noticed that it seems to have the mind of its own? I think that it doesn’t aim to swallow the whole world, only the two of us.”

”And why would that be?” said Hermione, her rosy lips forming a silent, terrified "o".

”That’s easy. We create these threads connecting us to our other versions, it’s why it’s easier to visit the worlds you've already been to.” Bellatrix explained, wishing that she could turn back time and get that bottle of firewhiskey back. “But ultimately, well, it’s what pulls us back to our bodies when we die. It creates the black-hole effect, gets rid of the body. I just don’t understand why it wants to devour the living  one so much.”

”Perhaps it’s a self-purging mechanism,”Hermione cut in. “It’s making sure that no anomalies remain.”

Raising her eyebrows in wonder, Bellatrix regards her quietly for a bit before clearing her throat and continuing.

”Maybe you’re right, but what would happen if one of us died in this world? Would the thread pull us back to one of the other ones, or would it just devour the rest of our world trying to consume the alive one?”

For a minute or two, the room fell completely silent, both witches pondering the nature of their peculiar powers.

”Did you came up with all this by yourself?” Hermione spoke finally.

”You know, McGonagall always did call me ‘perceptive, but lazy’ and I aim to maintain that image.” Bellatrix answered casually, causing the other woman to break out in giggles.

”I hate to break it to you, but it rarely shines through that mad persona you’ve created.” She said with false seriousness. 

”It’s not a persona, muddy.” Bellatrix replied, staring at her through hooded eyes. No malice, only a playful glint in her onyx eyes. “Is this really so hard to believe that I just love killing mudbloods so much?”

”You haven’t killed me yet.” Hermione tested her luck.

”I did, silly.”

”In that case I killed you too, we’re even.”

Bellatrix snorted. ”You’re forgetting about the dozen Grangers I’ve slaughtered behind your back.”

”Nah,” Hermione drawled lazily. “I’m just rounding it up, so it doesn’t look too outrageous.”

”I don’t think I like it that way. I’ve worked my ass off to earn that kill count. You just have a lot to catch up on, muddy.” She waved her hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair. “Well, first you would have to stop trying to shag them though, so I’m not that afraid.”

It has been the most civil conversation they had since their last walk or even their most civil conversation ever.

It felt alarmingly pleasant, but somehow Hermione knew not to get used to that state of affairs. Tomorrow, the day after that or whatever, the Dark Lord will stop torturing the older woman and Hermione’s suffering will resume. It was only a matter of time.

”I’m really hungry.” The Gryffindor blurted suddenly. Bellatrix’s eyes immediately snapping to the sitting witch, staring at her thoughtfully.

”Oh Merlin, me too. That pitiful mush I ate  earlier was barely edible.” The older woman complained.

”Would you like me to heat up something from my stash for us?” Hermione asked, not sure what to expect.

”Yes, just give me a minute, I have to drag my ass up the stairs to get it and it’s not that easy right now.” The dark witch replied, stumbling to her feet.

”I could always help you.” Hermione immediately offered.

”Nice try, muddy, nice try.”

Chapter Text

The next day Hermione woke up early, heated up some soup for her and her grumpy companion, jumped worlds, got into the archives before anyone could stop her, reviewed the documents and was instantly floored by the sheer number of blood wards put on that cursed manor. Most of them tied specifically to the Black family lineage. Great.

She left the archive, told Yaxley to get lost, locked herself in her office and cried. For hours. Or at least it felt like it.

”I’ve heard that you were in a bad mood, but sheesh… I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Hermione jumped to her feet, wiping off her tears as she desperately hoped that it wasn’t who she thought it was. Sure enough, the dark mane of hair she saw first momentarily dispelled all of her hopes.

”How did you get in here, Bellatrix?” She asked, summoning all the authority she could muster.

The older witch seemed unfazed, walking around her office and playing with her stuff, clearly not in a hurry to even acknowledge Hermione’s question.

”I said: how did you get in here?” The Gryffindor  repeated, even more forcefully. “The doors were locked, how did you bypass them?”

It must have amused the dark witch, for she let out a deep chuckle, staring at Hermione with a mirthful expression.

”I’m a witch and I’m a witch.” Lestrange giggled, ogling a small snow globe from all sides with childish interest. “I don’t get it sometimes. Why do people still bother locking up their offices when a simple alohomora opens up pretty much everything?”

”It’s more of a social agreement. We just all agree that BREAKING IN is not appreciated, and we roll with it.” Hermione explained, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

”A break in? Good thing I’m the headauror then! You can rest assured ma’am, no one will get through me.” Bellatrix put on a serious expression, pulling a notebook and a quill out of her coat. “Tell me Minister, would you like to submit a formal complaint?”

The Gryffindor started at her speechless for a couple of seconds, her tears no longer flowing as she took in the older woman’s appearance. White, floaty shirt, a corset, long dark skirt. It reminded her too much of her first detention with Professor Black. If it wasn’t for the elegant coat and wild curls let loose, Hermione would have a hard time looking her in the eye.

Shaking out of the stupor, she pushed herself to her feet, straightening her clothes and making her best effort to look at least a little bit like the Minister for Magic she was supposed to be.

”Why are you here anyway, Inspector?” Hermione asks coldly, perhaps even too coldly for her own liking. It immediately wiped that charming smile off Lestrange’s face.

”Well, we were supposed to have lunch together. That is unless you have changed your mind.” Seeing Bellatrix Lestrange so self-conscious all of the sudden was a particularly outrageous sight. Somehow Hermione didn’t like it, not one bit.

”I haven’t.” She spoke quickly. “Although it might change if you’re planning on dragging me anywhere outside of the Ministry.”

The grin was back, more smug than ever. Hermione marveled at the sight.

”It is a funny story actually.” The older woman said, placing her pale hand on Hermione's back, ushering her slowly to the door. “It turns out that the whole lunch disappearing thing is not a one time occurrence. I’m afraid we might have a sandwich-stealing thief on the loose.”

”A sandwich thief?” Hermione stared at her questioningly as she locked the door to her office with a simple wave of a hand.

”Yes, I know, an immensely complicated case.” Bellatrix replied with all seriousness. “I’ve interviewed all of the witnesses already and I have to say, it’s not looking good. Luckily I’ve had enough time to go buy myself another sandwich, otherwise we would have to go outside again and I know how much you hate it.”

”It’s not that I hate it. It’s just unprofessional.” The Gryffindor argued. “Not to mention demotivating. The Minister for Magic should have no problem eating in the presence of her subordinates. It’s lifting their spirit.”

”It sure does lift mine.” Lestrange chuckled, entering an elevator full of people nervously eyeing the two of them.

It soon turned out to be a frequent thing. Anywhere they went people were staring at them strangely. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was because of her or Lestrange’s imposing figure, but likely it might have been both.

After a bit of fumbling around, they finally found a secluded spot in the cafeteria, partially shielded from the rest of the busy room by a thick stone pillar. Taking their seats opposite form each other, they momentarily proceeded to get comfortable with Hermione taking off her rigid jacked and draping it over her seat and procuring a small paper wrapped package from a leather briefcase. The moment Bellatrix pulled out a sandwich from one of her coat’s pockets, Hermione couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping. Her face reddening slightly as the older witch looked at her visibly confused.

”What?”

”Nothing.” She giggled. Never before had she seen someone carrying a foot long sandwich in their pocket. Not wanting to confuse the other woman further she quickly added, “I was just wondering if you have any suspects already.”

”For the sandwich thief?” Bellatrix whispered conspiratorially, eyes darting around the room. “I think Dolohov is a solid one. He had the means and a motive as I’ve already caught him staring at my lunch a couple of times.”

”Too obvious.” Hermione drawled, barely containing her laughter. “How about Lucius? He visits you frequently.”

”Are you kidding? He’s too much of a coward to do something like this.” The older woman waved her hand dismissively. “And besides, he eats lunch in fancy restaurants, there’s no need to steal my pathetic attempt at a sandwich.”

”Maybe he’s not doing it for food.” Hermione pointed out. “Maybe he does it for the thrill.”

”Please, the man is as stiff as a wooden stick  that’s clearly stuck up his arse, he doesn’t know what thrill even is.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Whoever it is, they better have a good explanation or else I’m willing to send them straight to Azkaban.”

”Now that’s going to be an interesting prison  conversation starter. What have you done? I stole a sandwich. Poor guy, how could he know that Inspector Hammurabi would take this minor offense quite personally?”

”Clearly, you’re too soft Minister. These people don’t know when to stop. Once a sandwich thief, always a sandwich thief and I can’t tolerate that in my department.” Bellatrix said, stuffing her face with another mouthful of bread.

For the next couple of minutes, they ate together in a companionable silence with Hermione casting occasional glances at the other woman who seemed strangely enthralled by the simple bread and toppings combination. The sight most idyllic compared to all the other scenarios she had to witness over the last month or so. That blissful moment felt everlasting until Lestrange’s single question pushed Hermione into a coughing fit, with lunch getting stuck in her throat.

”So did you find what you were looking for in the archives?” The other woman said lazily, gazing at her through lidded eyes.

It took the muggleborn a second to get a hold of herself. Bellatrix’s elegant eyebrows meeting in a concerned frown.

”Excuse me?”

”Yesterday you said that you needed to check something in the archives and today Rookwood saw you leaving the place in a rather horrible mood.” The older woman explained, gently patting the Gryffindor’s back, trying to help her get rid of the last sandwich pieces stuck in her throat. “I thought that whatever you were looking for must have not been there.”

Hermione was completely stumped. One sloppy answer and Lestrange might want to find out for herself. Imagine her shock when she finds out that the muggleborn was researching her family residence. The heat spreading over her face alerting her to the deep red blush covering her features.

”Oh, I was just doing research regarding the wards on some ancient residences… for a new bill obviously.” She threw haphazardly, trying to sound casual. “Frankly, you would be surprised how outrageously outdated some of them are.”

”Trust me, I know.” Bellatrix said pitifully. “It’s just too bothersome to get rid of them. It’s way easier to ignore it and add new ones on top. And if everything fails, you can build a new house altogether and have a fresh blank slate. Perhaps that’s why my family owns so many mansions. The Black Manor is just too inconvenient when it comes to all these blood wards.”

Hermione momentarily paled. ”But it is possible to get rid of them, right?”

”Absolutely, but it’s not worth it.” Lestrange drawled dismissively. “Even when someone has a single residence, they usually have it all figured out already. They know how to bypass it effortlessly.”

”How?” Hermione blurted, her eyes firmly fixed on the onyx ones with fierceness that sent a shiver down the older woman’s spine.

Bellatrix regarded her for a moment, clearly confused why would the Minister waste her time researching such things when she had a team of experts at her disposal. “You know, if you want to learn more about the really ancient ones, I can lend you a book from my family library. Everything should be in there.”

This was it. Hermione could feel her heart hammering in her chest. “I would really  appre…”

”Is that seat taken?” A familiar voice chimed in, immediately capturing the younger woman’s attention.

“No.”

”Yes.” Bellatrix practically shouted over her.

”Blimey, and here I thought that you two have finally sorted out some things.” Ron chuckled, taking a seat next to Hermione. Dark orbs following his every move with the vigilance of a hawk. “Merlin, Mione, I hope she didn’t try to choke you again, you’re almost as pale as a Black. What’s wrong?”

The quiet growl was the only response coming from the other side of the table. Whatever happened in the aftermath of Lestrange’s little Malfoy Manor experiment, must have put the other Bellatrix in an extremely awkward situation.

It was a curious thing how far away the whole thing seemed to Hermione. Between her Hogwarts escapade and move to the Black Manor, such short occurrences tended to disappear in the multitude of problems she had to face on the daily basis. Speaking of which, her pale companion seemed rather on edge, white knuckles clutching the edge of the table, crimson lips twisted in an angry pout. Ronald’s proximity was clearly making things worse.

”Don’t be silly, Ron. Mrs Lestrange has been nothing but kind to me.” Her apologetic expression should make him realize that she wanted him to drop the subject, but it was Ron she was talking to. Recognizing other people’s distress wasn’t something he was actually good at.

”Yeah, well, I’ve seen how kind she can be already. If anything It only makes me more concerned.” He said, eyeing the woman warily.

It was no secret at the Ministry that Weasleys in general weren’t fond of Bellatrix, who since she took over the headauror position has been rejecting Ron’s job applications to the point where Hermione herself had to intervene.

Even after that, the things didn’t turn out for the better with them constantly quarreling over the simplest, most pointless drivels. It was infuriating.

”Is there anything in particular you wanted, Weasley? Or have you finally taken one stupefy to the head too much?” Bellatrix sneered, looking at him with such viciousness that Hermione couldn’t help but pity her friend, knowing that even the slightest comment will cost him dearly later.

”Blimey, Dolohov sent me to tell you that you’re needed at the office. Something about your asshole husband making a fool of himself.” Ron spoke casually, as if it was a usual occurrence for the aurors. But even if it was, it apparently did nothing to prevent the reddish blush from spreading all over the alabaster skin as Bellatrix bolted from her chair nervously.

”I apologize, Minister.” She said, hurriedly pulling her heavy coat back on. “The wretched rascal never knows when to shut up. I swear, I will throw him into Azkaban one day.”

”Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s important.” Hermione replied, suddenly feeling very anxious. Ronald’s eyebrows raising in confusion. “I will see you tomorrow anyway, right?”

The most devilish smile broke out on Bellatrix’s face as she replied with a simple:

”Certainly.” and disappeared into the busy hall.

Hermione watched her go for a couple of seconds before turning back to the boy sitting next to her. The look in her eyes was the one he knew all too well.

”And what have I done this time?” Ron gasped in outrage, staring at Hermione with disbelief.

”Did you have to be so rude to her?” She asked sadly. His relationship with the headauror was on the rocks already, provoking Bellatrix was the last thing his career needed.

”I was being rude?!? Couldn’t you tell how she was acting towards me from the moment I entered the room?” Ron was absolutely baffled at his friend taking the older woman’s side. “Lestrange is nothing but cruel to me and I’m supposed to be a coward and take it all silently? Frankly, Mione, I don’t understand how you can even sit here with this woman, eating lunch as if you didn’t know what kind of shit she and her idiot husband used to say about muggleborns.”

”Perhaps she’s changed. I’ve been meeting her a lot lately and she still hasn’t said anything untoward in my presence.”

Hermione’s brain momentarily froze. Since when was she the one defending Lestrange? Ron was right. The woman seemed very on edge from the moment he sat down next to her, although somehow the Gryffindor knew that it wasn’t for the reasons Ron thought she did.

”Right.” He scoffed, smirking smugly. “You spent a quarter of an hour eating lunch with her and already consider yourself an expert on the woman. If only you knew what she is capable of! If you knew what absolutely vile shit she can say sometimes…”

The sound of a fist banging on their table stopped the boy in his track.

”I know exactly what she is capable of, Ronald!” Hermione growled, practically spitting in the man’s face. “And trust me, you haven’t seen the half of it!”

And with that she stood up, not keen on listening to Ron’s whining, and headed for the exit, ignoring the shocked look her childhood friend was sporting. She had a few hours of Ministry work to look forward to as she hasn’t yet had the chance to come up with a reliable way to make the real Hermione unaware of her presence. For now doing the job for her and drinking sleep potions had to do. If anything went wrong, she could always excuse herself early and go straight back to her own world anyway.

The rest of the day went by in the blink of an eye with no major accidents. The muggle PM was still pestering them about the intel thing, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be dealt with a simple refusal letter.

After a couple hours of work, she was finally ready to head home and jump back into her own world, already preparing herself mentally for the hours of book hunting in the giant library she finally managed to locate yesterday. Compared to the school oriented one she found earlier it was absolutely enormous, filled to the brim with books Hermione was sure were in most cases the only surviving copies. The word thrilling couldn’t encompass what she felt at a meeting thought of starting her search.

She was just about to close her office and do just that, when the man she quickly recognized as Dolohov appeared before her. Hermione’s eyes drifted from him to the tall stack of ancient looking books hovering behind him. Seeing her confusion the auror situated the stack on her desk and opened his mouth to speak.

”The boss asked me to drop these off here, Minister.” He said with a voice completely devoid of emotion. “They’re mostly about blood wards. I hope you know why she wanted  you to have them, because she sure as hell hasn’t told me.”

”I do.” Hermione replied slightly embarrassed. “Thank you, Dolohov, you may go now.”

Mumbling something under his breath, the Russian man turned on his heel and left her alone with the stack of ancient tomes. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to peruse the library after all. At least not yet, obviously.

“Please don’t tell me that you’re going to turn these visits into a habit now. Get lost before I lose my patience.” Sirius’s angry snarl greeted the rain drenched figure standing in the Grimmauld Place doorway.

Before him stood Severus Snape. Small droplets of water running down his sallow face.

”That’s enough, Mr Black! I’ve told you already to cut the obscenities in front of the children.” A female voice chimed in as Mrs Granger’s petite frame peeked out from behind Sirius’s back. “Good lord! Look at that man, he’s going to get sick! Come inside. I’ll make tea, it should warm you up.”

Snape’s dark, thick eyebrow raising in surprise as he bit back the slimy smirk that threatened to break out on his face.

”Don’t I have a say in that?” Sirius sent the woman his nastiest glare. “It’s my house and my right to decide who can and cannot enter. Don’t you think?”

“With all due respect, Mr Black, It might be your house, but I am forced to live in it! And as a doctor, admittedly one specializing in dentistry, but one nonetheless, I couldn’t let you keep him here forever.” Hermione’s mother stood her ground, looking him in the eye defiantly. Unwilling to have another fight with the stubborn woman, Sirius sighed deeply and brought his attention back to the Death Eater, staring at him with resigned, sad eyes. 

”As you can see, the house is already full of unwanted guests, Severus. Give me at least one reason why I should let you in.” He said, pushing the annoying woman further inside the house.

”Miss Granger contacted me.” Snape replied and momentarily a skinny hand dragged him inside, pushing against a wall.

”Careful now, maggot!” Sirius growled into his ear angrily. “If I find out that you’re lying, you’re precious Lord will lose another faithful servant.”

”Why would I lie?” Severus spat back at him.

”As if you needed a reason.” The other man mumbled, but let go of the potions master.

Hermione’s mother who was watching the whole scene with a batted breath momentarily strode to the dark wizard’s side, passing him a stack of towels.

”Here, at least pat yourself down with those. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” The woman said. “And I do believe that regardless of what he’s saying, Mr Black wouldn’t like that to happen either.”

“I assure you, Madam, no such thing is going to happen.” said Snape and with a one swift movement of his wand dried himself off completely.

Mrs Grangers mouth opened and closed silently as she tried to process whatever had just happened. She doubted ever getting used to the whole magic thing. It was simply too captivating to become commonplace. Brushing past the enraptured woman, Severus quietly entered the drawing room, sliding into Regulus’s chair like he did the last time he was there. Curious eyes surrounding him from all sides, patiently waiting for him to say something. Ignoring everyone else, the headmaster turned his gaze to Harry as if she wanted to make sure that the boy was alive and well after the trip to Marseille.

”I see that you’ve completed your task.” He said, gesturing to the muggle pair who studied him from the corner of the room. Equally interested in what this mysterious man had to offer.

“Cut the crap, Snivellus.” Sirius interrupted him impatiently. “I’m sure you knew that already. I swear Bellatrix’s screams could be audible from here.”

A glint of recognition shone in Jean Granger’s hazel eyes. They must have told her who Bellatrix was, for suddenly she seemed very concerned, exchanging nervous glances with her equally as terrified husband.

”My God! Is Margaret alright?” She cried desperately.

Causing the strange woman any harm was the farthest thing from her mind. For the short time she knew Margaret, she grew to like her very much. Even regarded her as a friend at some point. And so no matter what Mr Black or anyone at Grimmauld Place was telling her about the ‘sadistic killer’, she simply refused to believe any of this, knowing full well that Margaret would never harm anyone. Let alone Mrs Granger’s own daughter.

”The Dark Lord has punished her, yes. It must have been too much for her feeble mind as the next day she decided to completely embarrass herself in front of half the Wizarding Britain and ran away with Miss Granger.” Severus drawled, ignoring the muggle’s pleading tone. “The Dark Lord believes that she might be hiding in the…”

”Black Manor.” Sirius chuckled under his breath. “If you’re expecting me to storm the place and get the girl out, I guess I will have to disappoint you, Severus. I’m not allowed to go in there, my lovely uncle made sure of that.”

”Obviously.” The sallow face remained unfazed. “Fortunately for us, it seems that direct intervention won’t be necessary. I’ve managed to establish connection with Miss Granger and determined that Bellatrix lets her roam the mansion completely unattended, relaying solely on the wards to keep her inside.”

A confused murmurs broke out among the people gathered. Harry and Ron discussing something in hushed voices. There was only one person in the room who fully understood what the headmaster was alluding to and the somber look on his face was a telltale sign of the gravity of the situation.

”Prey tell, Severus, how exactly did you manage to ‘establish connection’ with Hermione?” A dark smile appeared on Sirius’s face, blue eyes boring into the potion master’s greasy head.

The question itself couldn’t catch Snape off guard. He expected it to come from the moment he entered the room, and yet, he couldn’t hide the slightest tensing of his muscles as he prepared himself to say something that he knew wouldn’t be well received.

”Phineas Nigellus Black.” The three words rolled off his tongue like a barrel full of powder ready to explode.

It managed to successfully wipe the smile off Sirius’s lips, his questioning eyes gradually drifting to his godson as if he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t the only one who heard it.

”If that’s your only source of information, the girl might be already dead.” He said sadly. “Phineas Nigellus Black will not hesitate to snitch on her to Bellatrix. He adores her with all his twisted heart.”

”Then it’s a good thing he doesn’t realize that there is anything to report on.” Snape’s brows drew together as he regarded Black with disdain. “Contrary to what you may think neither I, nor Miss Granger would be stupid enough to trust such a treacherous individual. Which is exactly why I’m here right now. We need to find a more reliable way to communicate. Without it, I’m afraid that freeing Miss Granger would be practically impossible.”

”I don’t understand…” Harry finally decided to speak up. His fingernails biting into his palm as he clenched his fist nervously. “I don’t understand why we’re even having this conversation! Even if Hermione was able to do anything she wanted inside that house, we all know WHO she is there with. With a woman like Bellatrix we shouldn’t waste time sitting around! We know where they are. For the love of god, If Sirius can’t help her, I will!” His eyes welled up with tears. “I can go there! I can help her escape.”

”I see your foolishness hasn’t diminished since you left school, Mr Potter.” Snape answered him coolly. “The wards allow only those of pure Black blood to enter the manor’s grounds. You couldn’t help her even if you tried.”

”No!” cried Harry. “This cannot be true!”

”It is.” Sirius regarded him with sadness.

”How about Draco’s mother?” Ron decided to cut in. The defeated expression on his friend’s face proving to much for him. “Isn’t she Bellatrix’s sister? I’m sure she can enter the house. Somebody might kidnap…”

”That’s bloody enough!” Sirius sneered, his blue eyes sending the ginger boy discouraging glares. “Nobody is going to kidnap Narcissa! Try touching a single hair on her head and going to Bellatrix won’t be a problem anymore. She will come to us.”

”Wait a minute, Ron’s right.” said Harry. “If we don’t kidnap her, the Death Eaters might use her against us. If what Professor Snape said is true and Bellatrix has really angered the Dark Lord enough to have to run away from him, how sure are we that he wouldn’t try to find her using Narcissa?”

Momentarily another wave of murmurs started with everyone eager to add something to the conversation. Whether it was a display of various emotions or an argument that in normal circumstances would be hastily brushed away as a platitude. The only exception here was the ominous professor who patiently waited for the ruckus to die down, before finally opening his thin lips to say:

“Actually, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Severus’s black eyes narrowed meaningfully as the memories of what happened earlier that day flooded his mind.

Recently it has become a frequent occurrence for the Dark Lord to summon his servants on such a short notice. Considering how disastrous Rodolphus Lestrange’s funeral speeches turned out to be, it hasn’t surprised the headmaster that such meeting has been announced.

His dark robes billowed as he sped through the marble halls of the Ministry of Magic, ignoring the pitiful stares from the ordinary workers who already knew what was going on behind the heavy, ornate door.

The sight that greeted him immediately upon his arrival was truly horrific.

What struck him first was the lack of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her seat empty just like the one usually occupied by Narcissa Malfoy. Strange thing indeed. He expected to see Bellatrix’s form writhing on the floor as his lord cast the torturing curse on her. Instead, he saw Narcissa Malfoy levitating above the wooden table, tears silently rolling down her regal cheekbones. Not a grimace of pain evident on her emotionless face.

Suddenly Severus was unable to move his feet, feeling as if some sort of magic prevented him from going further. His eyes met with the glazed blue ones and immediately he knew that something terrible has happened.

”Sit down, Severus, you’re distracting me.” Voldemort drawled in his snakelike voice, moving around the room as if wanting to get a better angle at the horrible scene playing in front of his eyes. “I’m going to ask one more time, and this time I’m expecting you to start talking. Where is Bellatrix?”

His question was met with silence.

”Crucio.”

The barely noticeable flaring of nostrils being the only manifestation of the tremendous pain Narcissa Malfoy was in. Apparently with father such as Cygnus Black one quickly grows accustomed to being tortured.

”My lord… I don’t—know.” She choked out, not a single crack breaking her carefully constructed mask.

Her false indifference only infuriating the Dark Lord further as he paced around the chamber stopping only when he finally reached the chair Lucius was currently occupying. Leaning closer to the elegant man, Voldemort gestured for his favorite pet to slide closer. The serpent wasted no time quickly crawling up the fair-haired man’s chair, encircling him in a painful hug.

A bony hand pulled Lucius’s head back, red orbs staring at him from above as the Dark Lord whispered ominously “Where is Draco? Call for him.”

”My lord!” The Malfoy patriarch’s eyes momentarily widened. “There is no need! Surely if there is any place Bellatrix could hide in, it has to be the Black Manor.”

”Call Draco NOW!” Was his only answer.

”No.” Narcissa broke, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked Voldemort straight in the eye and said, “Nothing you’re going to do to my son will make me talk.”

”I thought you of all people wouldn’t be foolish enough to think that.” Voldemort cooed, gliding closer to her. The cruel smile on his lips showing everyone how happy he was at the thought of breaking Narcissa’s son in front of her very eyes.

”I don’t think that, I know it.” Mrs Malfoy replied confidently. And with that she rolled up the sleeve of her dress, causing a wave of outrage to erupt among the Death Eaters. Snape himself could feel the cold sweat running down his tense back. He was utterly horrified at the sight of familiar silver lines now displayed for everyone around them to see.

”As you can see, me and my sister are bound by the unbreakable vow. If I try to help you find her in any way, I will be dead before uttering a single word.” The regal woman continued.

Snape’s narrowed as realization dawned on him. Narcissa Malfoy was bluffing. The scars on her arm were indeed a trace of the unbreakable vow, but not the one she wanted the Dark Lord to believe. Of all the people there only Snape could know that as a similar pattern decorated his sallow arm under the elaborate robe he wore.

To everyone else the confession was shocking to put it mildly. Voldemort staring at the silver lines with his bloodshot gaze, probably mentally cursing himself for underestimating the lengths his lieutenant could go to ensure her own victory. He should have killed her that day after the Department of Mysteries fiasco.

Frankly, Severus agreed with him on that matter. For him Bellatrix Lestrange has long overstayed her welcome, and a cozy Azkaban cell couldn’t possibly make up for all the suffering she has bestowed upon this world. However, right now the knowledge that this horrible woman needn’t have to fear the Dark Lord himself was a blessing to him, considering that he still wanted to find out what exactly Narcissa meant when she ranted about Bellatrix and the Mudblood withholding information from her.

But to find out he had to first help the girl escape.

The story about Narcissa Malfoy’s courageous bluff has marginally lifted the spirit in the otherwise glum residence. For a minute there the whole place froze in silent appreciation of the blonde woman who had enough resilience and confidence to lie to the most terrifying person in Britain and managed to pull it off.

Shortly after they returned to their previous discussion about the importance of establishing a new way of communication with the entrapped Gryffindor. It caused a small shouting match with everyone advocating for a different type of approach in which yet again Sirius Black had to serve as everyone else’s common sense.

”Send her an owl.” Ron suggested.

”And risk Bellatrix finding out? All the owls sent to the Black Manor are redirected to the owlery, and I bet my dear cousin has sealed that off already. Come on boy, give her some credit at least.” Sirius shook his head in pity.

”How about a patronus then? We can make sure it waits until she is alone and safe.” Harry jumped in, eager to help his friend.

It actually took Sirius a second or two to process that, but soon his face twisted back to the dissatisfied grimace from before. ”And how will she answer you without her wand? I doubt Bellatrix would let her keep one.”

”Kreacher!” Harry shouted and immediately a cranky elf appeared by his side.

”Master called?” He mumbled, sending the boy his most hateful of gazes.

“You’ve been in the family for a long time now, could you perhaps visit the Black Manor to pass Hermione a message?” Harry asked, barely containing his excitement.

”I suppose Kreacher could try.” The elf answered reluctantly.

”Not going to happen.” Sirius voice broke through their chatter. “As much as I dislike our  grumpy friend here, I’m not going to send him in there. Bellatrix has the weirdest obsession with the house elves. The moment she sees Kreacher, he will end up like all of his predecessors, with his head bolted to a Black residence wall.”

The elf in question gulped audibly. Apparently visiting little Bella wasn’t something he would be happy to do anyway.

”Surely, Black, you must be joking.” Severus Snape interjected with an ironic snort. “You would rather risk a child’s life than that of a frail, old house elf?”

”My frail, old house elf, Snivellus. Mine!” Sirius retorted, every word dripping with venom. “And one that can’t be trusted with anything at that! Besides, I’m sure someone so well versed in the Dark Arts could come up with a more reasonable idea.”

”There might not be a more reasonable idea.” Snape drawled viciously.

The situation was yet again close to turning into a pointless argument. With the only people sitting peacefully being Mrs and Mr Granger who had absolutely no idea what their new friends were talking about. Finally, sensing a need for intervention, Mrs Granger decided to speak her mind.

”If you really want to contact her, why don’t you just call her?” She asked timidly, earning  a reassuring glance from her husband, who felt way too intimidated by these strange people to speak up himself.

Momentarily the room fell silent. Five sets of eyes turning to the muggle pair with clear confusion.

”What did you just say?” Ron asked in disbelief.

”I said that you should just call her… on a phone… like normal people do.” Mrs Granger stood her ground, taking out the chunky Nokia she had in her purse to prove her point. “Call her, text her, just stop yelling for goodness sake.”

Harry took it from her, holding it up with reverence as if it was a most precious reliquary carrying the shards of the Holy Cross.

”Merlin, this is genius. Why didn’t we think about it in the first place?” He asked, looking around the room. His confrères observing him with questioning eyes. “But how will we get another one for Hermione? Mobile phones are not easily accessible in the Wizarding Britain and I have a feeling that neither one of you would be keen to go shopping in the Muggle world.” Harry’s gaze drifted between the potions master and his godfather, trying to coax them back into the conversation.

”Thankfully that won’t be necessary, Mr Potter.” Snape decided to break the silence. “I have seen one of these devices before and I’m sure a quick trip back to the castle will be all that’s needed.”

”Mobile phones in Hogwarts? Since when?” The dark-haired boy asked him, arching his eyebrow.

A devilish smile grew upon the sallow complexion. ”You would be surprised what muggleborn students kept bringing to that school, Mr Potter. It all has been confiscated by Mr Filch. Something usable can surely be found in the heap of that.”

”People were foolish enough to get their self-phones confiscated?”

”What can I say? Human foolishnesses seem to surprise us everyday.” Snape shrugged casually. “In the end it cost them dearly. Points were deducted.”

”Good to know.” Sirius Black chuckled quietly, clapping his hands and rising from his chair. “That leaves us with only one problem left... How the hell are we going to get this thing to Hermione?”

Chapter Text

“What are we going to do?” Was the first thing Yaxley heard when he finally put down the receiver. Dolohov’s mouth hanging low.

Normally they would inform the Dark Lord and have him set the course for their subsequent actions. Now however with the whole Bellatrix situation and Voldemort being obsessed with a teenage boy, nobody was eager to go and inform him about the new muggle problem. Nobody would live through it.

”That’s simple. We will attend the stupid meeting, listen to what that goddamn muggle has to say, nod our heads, reassure him that we will take care of everything and then we will never speak of it again.” Yaxley shuddered pulling an elegant hat on his head. “If Fudge was able to bullshit this man for 5 years, we can surely manage that at least once.”

Or at least that’s what he believed at the time. Now that he was finally preparing himself to step into the fireplace and emerge in the Prime Minister’s office, he no longer felt so sure.

If this thing had anything to do with Bellatrix Lestrange (and he could bet his ponytail that it did), it had all the potential to turn into a horrible disaster. That woman just had that effect on things, the recent interrogation of Narcissa Malfoy only cemented him in that view.

Hoping to intimidate the Prime Minister, he chose to take Dolohov with him. He was a decent dueler if anything turned out for the worse and already knew about the meeting anyway. And Merlin only knows how much Yaxley needed moral support in all this.

Stepping out of the antique fireplace and brushing dust off their clothes straight to the beautiful, ornate rug below their feet, Dolohov and Yaxley enter the Prime Minister’s lair. Two pairs of eyes carefully scanning the space around them, not really expecting an ambush, but trying to be cautious nonetheless.

The Prime Minister was sitting behind his desk, nursing a glass of whiskey and observing the two newcomers with a dissatisfied frown coloring his face. Yaxley instantly recognized him from the muggle newspapers he had to peruse daily, although this time the man seemed a bit more deflated than usually. His hooded eyes bearing signs of a long, sleepless night.

”You’re not Scrimgeour.” He stated coolly. “Nor Fudge. Who are you?”

Yaxley and Dolohov exchanging meaningful glances.

”I’m afraid that Rufus Scrimgeour will no longer be able to contact you. He’s not the Minister of Magic anymore.” said Corban Yaxley, completely disregarding the other man’s question.

The Minister took a lazy sip off his whiskey, humming quietly as he regarded the two wizards before him. “And why would that be?”

At that Yaxley couldn’t help but hesitate. Explaining himself in front of this wretched muggle was the last thing he wanted right now.

”He’s dead.”

The glass full of liquor was seconds away from crashing on the mahogany desk as Prime Minister’s eyes widened in shock.

”We didn’t come here to talk about that.” Yaxley cut him off immediately. This was supposed to be a quick job and then they will be back in the Ministry, figuring out how to get that bitch Lestrange and her mudblood pet.

”That is quite the novelty.” The muggle said. “Usually your kind is way more… talkative.”

”Let’s say that we had a bad week then.” Dolohov’s hoarse voice break through their chatter. “We came here for a reason, get on with it.”

”Riiight.”

The Prime Minster rose from his seat, walking up to a nearby wall, where a chunky TV set was situated. It took him a few button pushes to get the thing to come alive with grey static image. The noise terrorizing Yaxley’s ears. No wonder muggles all have hearing problems when they have to suffer such tortures every day.

”Shit, let me just…” The Prime Minister took something that looked roughly like a small, black book and pushed it into an opening below the screen. “Give me a second, I just need to rewind.”

A series of images appeared on the glassy surface, flashing before their eyes. It was too fast to comprehend, but even to the aurors’ untrained eyes it seemed like something that was being played backwards.

”Right here. You’ll have to wait for it, gentlemen.” said the Prime Minister.

Suddenly they were looking at a muggle hospital corridor. It was full of armed men, aiming their weapons at a small, shabby looking elevator. Yaxley momentarily recognized the wizards among them.

The doors to the elevator opened, showing a small, dark-furred dog, but that wasn’t what attracted the headauror’s attention. It was the curvy silhouette of the woman whom he could identify by a mere outline of her shoe at this point. He sank into a nearby chair and leaned over to get a better look at the massacre that was unfolding on the tv screen before him.

”Wow, Bellatrix really wasn’t holding back.” Dolohov snorted, in awe of the raw, maddening power display. Yaxley was far from sharing his enthusiasm as his teeth slowly bit into the inside of his mouth, drawing blood in the process.

Soon the fight between Sirius and his cousin ended and the room was swiftly destroyed in Bellatrix’s hate filled rage. The thin walls collapsing on itself like an accordion. And then everything faded to black.

The muggle standing next to them looking at the two wizards expectantly. “Well?”

”Well what?” Yaxley mumbled through gritted teeth.

”That was a couple million pounds of equipment that has gone to shit because of that little fight.” The Prime Minister spoke harshly. “The French President is expecting us to pay the lot, because supposedly these two people fighting were British citizens. Do you have anything to say to that?”

”The Department of Misinformation and our Obliviators will take care of this. There is hardly any problem, Minister.” Yaxley replied dispassionately.

”How about the perpetrators? You two seem to know this pair!” A slimy muggle finger was pushed in Corban’s face accusingly. He hated when people did that.

”Of course we do. As a matter of fact we are searching for them as we speak.”

”But who are they?” The Prime Minister kept pestering him.

”Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange… well, technically Black again.” Yaxley sneered, pushing the other man’s hand aside. “Fortunately, they are none of your concern.”

”Black… I think I’ve heard that name somewhere… Serious Black!” The other man finally screamed out in exasperation. “The muggle killer! Fudge told me about him. This man has escaped from Azkaban a good couple of years back and you’re telling me that it’s none of my concern? Is this a joke?”

Dolohov and Yaxley once again exchanged the meaningful glances as they rose to their feet slowly. The situation was quickly getting out of hand, and they had to stop it before it escalates into something that will cause them even more trouble.

”As I said, you needn’t worry. We will take care of everything.” Corban reassured him one last time, already fumbling in his pocket for a handful of floo powder.

”You can’t be serious!” The Prime Minister chuckled like a madman, studying them through his bloodshot eyes. “You can’t just wipe everyone’s memories and hope for the best. It’s not the way those kind of problems should be resolved.”

”Well, we certainly can and will. In our world it’s the way the things are handled. Get used to it.” Dolohov spat at him, already partially inside the fireplace.

Before the Prime Minister could say anything more, the two wizards were gone, only green flames remaining to remind him of their presence as he stood in the empty room. Walking up to a nearby mirror, he took a look at his disheveled reflection, now twisted in an ominous grin.

”Did you get all of that?” He spoke seemingly to himself.

”Every single bit.” A voice from the other side answered him.

Getting through all these books on such a short notice was excruciating. Most of the information turned out to be useless to her anyway. And so, here she was after a whole night of reading, tracking the letters with her weary eyes.

Somewhere around noon a message arrived from the headauror’s office informing her that Bellatrix Lestrange was too caught up in her work to actually find the time to eat lunch with her. So instead of doing something Hermione was actually looking forward to, she had to eat in the company of Ron and Harry, which was fine, but not as exciting as the idea of spending time with the dark witch she grew to adore.

The biggest problem was how obviously exhausted she was. Drawing unwanted attention to their table as she had to prop her head up on her hand to stay upright and not collapse in the middle of the busy cafeteria. With a Herculean effort Hermione tried following the conversation her friends were having, but her eyes just wouldn’t stay open no matter how hard she tried.

For the first few minutes Ron and Harry tried to ignore how blatantly tired she was, sending her a few concerned glances here and there. But when for the hundredth time Hermione’s face slipped of her open palm, they finally called her out on her bullshit, suggesting that she should go back home and get some rest instead.

It was enough to make her regret even coming to lunch. She thought that the break would freshen her up a bit, but all she managed to do was to make them think that she’s some work crazed masochist.

Come to think of that, perhaps it was a blessing that Bellatrix had to cancel. It’s one thing to look like this in front of Ron and Harry, and another thing completely to see the pity in those dark, fierce eyes.

Not wanting to continue this sorrowful display, she dragged herself to her feet and sauntered back to her office, falling back into work. If only she had time to pop back into her own world where she was well rested. But Lestrange could come to bother her at any time now and so she couldn’t waste any more time than necessary.

The clock was finally getting nearer and nearer to the time she will have to pack up her things and go back home. She was already finishing the last book Bellatrix gave her and so she wouldn’t feel bad for leaving her research unfinished.

Lazily flipping through the yellowed pages, Hermione took out a magic quill, intending to write a short letter to Narcissa Malfoy. The woman was a mystery to her, but one thing Hermione knew for sure: one does not live in the same house as You-Know-Who without being at least a decent occulumens, and Narcissa Malfoy clearly looked like a decent one. Definitely decent enough to teach her the basics as she couldn’t bare to ask Snape to help her with that. The mere thought of this man perusing her mind like an open book making her squirm in disgust.

Suddenly the magic quill halted mid phrase. Something caught her eye among the rest of useless blabber about centuries old wards that no decent human being should ever even consider putting on their house. A short line mentioning a muggleborn slave who managed to run away from his master’s mansion using some sort of blood cleansing potion. Interesting.

”Philip Whicks” Hermione repeated the name with reverence. It sounded suspiciously familiar as if she has already stumbled upon it in a book she’s read.

It couldn’t be in the Hogwarts: History as she already knew that one by heart. The books she kept in her parents’ house didn’t seem to suit the subject well enough, which means that he must have been mentioned in something she has read in the Hogwarts library. Perhaps the Black family collection could help her out with this one.

Immediately everything else ceased to exist for the young woman. A new wave of vigor washing over her as she imagined all of the different scenarios that could transpire if only she could get her hands on one of these potions.

Scribbling her name at the end of the letter, she quickly sent her barely finished message to Narcissa and bolted out of the small office, not caring for the fact she had still 15 minutes of work to complete. It’s good to be the Minister I guess.

Waking up in her world was as easy as waking up from a dream at this point. Not even the sight of all the other worlds still available to her as she closed her eyes felt strange to her anymore. All of the voices, the light chill of Azkaban cell, the light buzzing of the fridge in other Hermione’s house, it all blended into indifference and to think that at one point she used to think that only a madwoman such as Bellatrix could wrap her head around all this.

”Perhaps I’m just as crazy as she is.” A concerning thought crossed her mind, but she quickly repressed it and focused on the task at hand.

Sadly, it turned out that the small library Hermione knew by heart already wasn’t actually as well equipped as she used to think. Not only had she wasted a good couple of hours searching through the dusty shelves, but to top that off she had to listen to Phineas’s never ending complaints while doing it.

The man really was insufferable. Up until that day she thought that he was a blood-supremacist, spineless coward who during his time as the headmaster lead a vigorous crusade against everything that could be perceive as fun. Now however, she grew to realize that he was also an extremely annoying person in general.

”Could you please stop this cacophony of sounds, you filthy girl? Do you think I paid to be portrayed in this place to have some unruly Mudblood disturbing me all the time?” He kept whining as she put the book back in its place, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. For her it was all practically soundless, but to the painting’s inhabitant it was supposedly an unbearable ruckus.

Sighing pathetically, Hermione stretched her back, preparing herself for the torturous journey up the steep staircase all the way to the room Bellatrix told her was the grand library she was supposed to tidy up.

But it all was worth it, which became clear to her as soon as she opened the door and entered what she suspected to be the biggest private library she has ever seen. The room wasn’t particularly spacious when you looked at it from the horizontal point of view, but as soon as Hermione’s eyes drifted upwards, the bushy-haired girl couldn’t stop her mouth from opening on its own.

The massive shelves lining the walls seemed as tall as the skyscrapers, to the point where she wasn’t even able to see the ceiling as it was shrouded in darkness, too high for the light of candles to reach it.

Momentarily questions started mounting in her head. The general lack of ladders or any other way of reaching the books situated higher than the first 2 meters led her to believe that people using this room must have had some sort of a cataloguing system put in place. Otherwise, there was simply no way of knowing what books were even there.

As much as it would have made Hermione’s job easier, she was afraid that it would be hard to find, especially when half of the room was obscured by a mountain of books that must have fallen down after one of the bookshelves collapsed. Not wanting to waste time, she rolled up her sleeves and concentrated on all the charms she could remember, swiftly repairing the aforementioned shelf and restoring the room to its former glory.

As soon as she finished casting the spells, one of the books previously littering the floor seemingly came alive, swooshing through air and slowly landing on a wooden lectern situated in the middle of the magical hall. It was a hefty tome with the Black crest etched into its gilded cover. Its yellow pages covered from top to bottom with titles scribbled in different writing styles, some of them in alphabets Hermione couldn’t even recognize.

If Ashurbanipal could see her in that moment, he would have been extremely jealous right now. And who was Hermione to admonish him for that when all she could hear was the unsteady beating of her own heart, her hands shaking with excitement as she ran her fingertips over the ancient catalogue, carefully flipping through its delicate pages as if she was cradling the world’s most valuable artifact.

”Where are you Philip Whicks?” She whispered to herself, having to violently pull her hand back as pages of the book started fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.

Soon enough she was staring at a card consisting of three works that could prove helpful in her search for knowledge. The first two seeming completely foreign to her, but the last one she recognized instantly as the book she was seeking all this time.

Looking around to make sure she wasn’t being watched by anyone (Phineas Nigellus catching her in the act would be a tragedy), she outstretched her hand and concentrated on the books she wanted with all her might.

”Accio.”

Her heart jumped at the sound of three tomes flying through the air at ungodly speed only to delicately land in front of her on a neat pile. Momentarily she snapped one of them open, searching through the table of contents to where she suspected the information to be.

Oh, what a glorious feeling it was to find herself face to face with a moving portrait of a broad-shouldered man, gazing at her from the open book. It wasn’t like all the other magical paintings which possessed a small fraction of the presented person’s memories in itself, it was more like a moving picture, like the ones you could find in the Daily Prophet and yet Hermione couldn’t contain her happiness.

Finally, something was working out for her. She hastily scanned the pages in search of any obvious leads, knowing that for anything more substantial she would have to examine the text further in the “privacy” of her room. Immediately a sentence caught her eye. Something about Philip brewing a potion consisting of his wounded master’s blood to dupe the wards.

The smile so prevalent on her face just seconds ago has now diminished completely. Apparently it required of him almost half a liter of blood to complete the potion. That was practically the amount they would collect from the honorary blood donors! How the hell was she supposed to get that amount of blood out of Bellatrix without her even noticing?

”I see you’ve finally taken to heart what I commanded you to do.” Speaking of the devil, a smooth, silky voice spoke from behind her back.

Hermione snapped the book closed, shielding it from the other woman’s view with her own body as she slowly turned to face Lestrange.

She would be a liar if she as much as thought that the dark witch wasn’t a sight to behold that day. She was absolutely stunning.

With most of her hair brushed back and a wonderful scarlet gown with a sturdy bodice underneath, she looked every ounce the pureblood heiress she was. It’s enough to say that Hermione’s mouth felt awfully dry all of the sudden.

”It is quite a spectacular thing compared to that stuffy, old room you discovered earlier, don’t you think?” The question seemed to have caught the girl off guard as Hermione raked her brain in search of basic, English words. Between Bellatrix’s beautiful ensemble and the books biting into her back, the Gryffindor was utterly speechless, too afraid of what might escape her lips if she opened them prematurely.

”I will take that as a yes.” said Bellatrix, sauntering closer to the younger woman and delicately pushing her aside to study the book set before her.

“The History of the Sacred 28? My, my, pet, I didn’t think you would take this job so seriously after such a ferocious debate. I always liked that book.” Bellatrix continued, one of her hands snaking its way around Hermione’s wrist, keeping her in place as she casually rested her chin on the Gryffindor’s shoulder, flipping through the book in question. “Here, page 34, Mahaut Black. She used to be a hero of mine when I was but a little girl.”

Hermione had to tilt her head away from her to actually look at the other woman’s face.

”Wasn’t she like a notorious poisoner? She murdered half of her family if I remember correctly.” The Gryffindor shifted uncomfortably, desperately wanting the other witch to leave her shoulder alone. The tumult of emotions swirling in her chest making it hard to think clearly, which was the last thing she needed right now.

”I know.” Bellatrix commented with a killer smile, thankfully taking a step back. “That’s what I loved so much about her.”

The blank look on Hermione’s face was the testament to her improving self-control. The next time she will eat anything in front of the other woman she will have to cast a couple diagnosing charms just in case, but right now her expression was neutral.

”Aww, cheer up muddy, we are going out tonight.” Bellatrix said cryptically, already heading for the exit.

”What do you mean?”

The woman stopped.

”Your work here is done. I reckon another task would be in order. We have a garden here that is in dire need of restoration. I thought that for once you would be happy about leaving the house for an hour or two, but perhaps I was wrong.”

”No!” Hermione yelled hurriedly. “Will I be forced to wear that stupid collar again?” She asked after a second of consideration.

”What for? It’s only fun when there are other people to show you off wearing it. There’s nothing more unnerving to Lucius’s feeble mind than the sight of me, walking my mudpuppy on a leash. Unfortunately and fortunately for us, he’s not here, so unless you have a hidden kink you’re not telling me about, I don’t see a single reason to make your job even harder.” Bellatrix shrugged casually, pulling the door open for them. “And do keep up, Granger, I do have other things to do actually.”

Hermione took great care putting one foot in front of the other, making sure that she wouldn’t accidentally brush against the older woman. She did everything she could do not to embarrass herself further and yet the discreet smile creeping onto Bellatrix’s face and the not so discreet eye roll the dark witch sent her after getting irritated with the Gryffindor’s glacial pace, were all it took for that cursed blush to return in full force.

Perhaps a bit of banter could save Hermione’s face. She decided to give it a try. If she could get along with Lestrange when the woman is completely plastered, then she shouldn’t have any problems communicating with the sober one.

”Sooo— busy, are you? I don’t seem to see you a lot lately. I thought you were stuck in this place. Volde…The Dark Lord probably doesn’t take kindly to people not answering his call.” She paused, ignoring the questioning look on Bellatrix’s face. “Honestly, I’m not sure he will take kindly to anything you’re doing, even though you’re doing it do save his ass.”

”Have you ever considered that you might not know him as well as you and your scar-headed boyfriend think?” Bellatrix replied with a lot less vitriol than Hermione expected. “He will be angry at first, but then, when I finally explain what’s been going on and why it had to be done, he will understand and I’ll be rewarded.”

There was not a smallest sign of doubt evident on her regal face. Not even a slightest stutter in her silky voice. It dawned on Hermione that unlike most of Voldemort’s followers, Bellatrix actually believed in the righteousness of his verdicts. Even after what she imagined to be countless punishments administered over the years, she still couldn’t see that the only thing he cared about was his immortality.

Cold shiver run through the length of her spine as she imagined his pale, snakelike face twisting in anger as Bellatrix explained how she kept him in the dark for literal years on end. Would he really reward the naive woman, or would he strike her down on the spot for making a fool of himself?

”That is of course assuming that he will let you explain.” Hermione whispered, partially hoping that her words wouldn’t reach the older woman’s ears.

To her surprise Bellatrix snorted with laughter, staring at her with an unreadable expression.

”Why wouldn’t he?” She asked jovially as if she couldn’t even wrap her head around something like that ever happening.

Should she answer truthfully? Hermione hesitated, panic taking over her as the intimidating woman before her lifted a questioning eyebrow, clearly expecting her to say something to that.

”Ukhm.. Well, for starters, not only do you know about all the remaining horcruxes, but you actually are in possession of at least few of them from what I’ve gathered. That and you are also one of few people who know how and with what to destroy them.” Hermione gulped nervously, watching the dark witch stop suddenly. “Two people can only keep a secret if one of them is dead. I’m afraid that the danger you pose has long overshadowed your usefulness in that regard.”

The blood red lips opened rapidly, only to close  without a single spoken word. From that perspective Hermione could practically see the wheels spinning in her companion’s beautiful head. Could it be that even His most faithful follower could break when faced with a good enough argument?

”You wish.” Bellatrix hissed, reassuming her walk. She hasn’t even given Hermione the time to mentally curse herself for leaving her mind completely unprotected. “He will reward me, and you’ll be the first person to witness it.”

”For the sake of everything that’s been sacrificed so far, I hope you’re right.” Hermione spat back at her. It seemed that knowing that Bellatrix could easily read her mind has ignited a new spark of determination in her. As if trying to prove why she was sorted into Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw, she decided to go all out, finally demanding answers. “I wonder, what can possibly be so enticing that you’re willing to risk everything just to get that stupid reward you want. It has to be something really big for you to endanger Narcissa’s and Draco’s lives so foolishly.”

The goofy smile was gone suddenly, Bellatrix’s fierce eyes darting all over her face, a deep hum escaping her lips as she leaned closer to the bushy-haired girl.

”You stupid Mudblood, you think you’re so bloody smart and perceptive, don’t you now?” She snarled in Hermione’s face, causing her to back away. “Why don’t you tell me what’s the thing I want? It should be a child’s play to such an insufferable know-it-all, especially  considering how I practically told you that already.”

It took all the resolve Hermione could muster not to flinch away again. Forcing the most stoic expression, she looked Bellatrix straight in the eye and decided to draw some blood.

”Knowing you, it might be anything. Perhaps you want him to marry you, thinking that saving his life will get him to love you. Newsflash, Bellatrix, it won’t. Not now, not ever. Not him, his simply incapable of that.”

Of all the reactions she anticipated, she couldn’t possibly predict the strange sadness softening Lestrange’s angry features in a matter of seconds.

”You think I don’t know that? You think you’re the first person to tell me that? I’ll have to disappoint you, filth! I know exactly what I am and that no person in their right mind would be capable of loving me. There’s only one person who could ever do that and as you know, she was taken from me by that worthless cunt your pathetic friend calls mother.” The fighting spirit has immediately evaporated completely, leaving Hermione completely perplexed as the other woman easily towered over her rapidly shrinking silhouette. “You want to know what I’ll ask him for when all this is over? It won’t be anything foolish as you so witlessly anticipated. First of all, I will ask for revenge. I will gather every single Weasel that cow has sired and murder them one by one in front of her. Then when I’ll finally be done with them, I will strangle that whore with my bare hands. And then, when everything will be even again, I will ask my lord to give me back my perfect life, to give me back my little daughter with her little smile and small hands. This time there will be no more war, no more mudbloods stealing our magic, stealing our rightful place in society. There will only be us.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of them, Bellatrix taking a step back, probably considering the conversation to be over, when suddenly, Hermione’s voice shattered her completely.

”I didn’t mean it like that.” The Gryffindor said hurriedly as if afraid that she might actually stop herself from saying it.

The look Bellatrix gave her was that of utter confusion.

”What?”

”I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was that HE is incapable of love, not that you’re unlovable.” She scratched her neck nervously. “Someone who split his soul so many times is barely capable of any emotion, let alone something as pure and profound as love.”

Bellatrix regarded her carefully for a couple of seconds, before turning on her heel and chuckling madly.

”Look who’s delusional now.” She mumbled, gesturing for her to follow. “We’ll see if you’ll still be so sure of that when I show you how much there is to be done, foolish girl.” She added, trying to end the conversation, but  it came out ungenuine as the words lacked the usual bite.

They finally arrived in front of big, glass door - the only thing separating them from the luscious garden stretching out for miles on end. Without a moment of hesitation Bellatrix pushed through the entrance, stopping only when she realized Hermione wasn’t following her.

Tilting her head curiously, she watched as the younger woman reluctantly put her palm on the transparent surface, nudging it open by a mere millimeter at a time.

“What’s wrong, pet, you don’t know what glass is? Interesting considering how the muggles seem to love it, building these giant monstrosities in the middle of their cities.” The dark witch scoffed, watching her through the slope of her regal nose.

”Very funny.” Hermione commented dryly, her finger barely crossing the doorway before she decided to go for it and step out of the house. “I have my reasons to be careful here.”

A pair of dark eyebrows rising up as a look of pure amusement appeared on Bellatrix’s features. “Afraid of the wards, are we?”

”Not afraid, just cautious.” Hermione immediately corrected.

”Oh yeah? And what’s the difference?” Onyx eyes practically glowing in the setting sun.

“Well, I can’t actually be afraid, knowing that you couldn’t possibly risk my life, can I? Or are you bored of this world already?” To Hermione’s shock, her cheeky response earned her a hearty laugh.

“How is it, pet, that you never cease to surprise me?” Bellatrix snickered. “If it’s not fear that compelled you to do this… peculiar dance, then why for the love of Merlin are you so ‘cautious’ as you put it?”

”As much as letting me die would be too risky for you, tricking me into walking into something extremely painful surely wouldn’t.” Hermione deadpanned, biting the inside of her mouth to stop the smile threatening to break free.

Her Slytherin companion evidently found it beyond funny, as she had to lean on wooden porch, forcing her body to stay upright as it convulsed in the new wave of laughter. At this point Hermione has already heard all of the different types of laughters that woman had to offer. From ominous, deranged cackles, to sincere outbursts of joy. She knew it all, and she had to admit that the image of breathless Death Eater clutching the porch as if it was the last thing keeping her from drowning in her own madness was her favorite view by far.

”Damn, now I’m cursing myself for not delivering.” Bellatrix spoke, brushing off the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Why do I even bother playing the big bad Death Eater, when my perfect Mudblood slave is correcting me at every moment? Have you changed your mind already? Do I have to go back inside for that blasted collar? Would you like me to conjure up some chains for you?”

“Thanks, I’m good.” Hermione replied, suddenly a lot more anxious than a moment ago. “But perhaps you could tell me what you’re actually expecting me to do out here?”

Her eyes drifted over the overgrown green corridors of an old maze that was long past its glory days. One of the nearby trees must have collapsed during some particularly harsh storm, falling over the maze and destroying the little alcove situated in the middle. It was obvious how direly in need of a makeover this whole place was, but to a witch like Hermione, even without her wand, the whole thing would require only a few spells and some brushing up on her herbology knowledge.

Neville would certainly be amazed by the wonderful nature surrounding them. Hermione on the other side had more interesting things to focus on - like the dark-haired witch casually petting a beautiful blue bird that was brave enough to sit on her shoulder.

”Is that… a Jobberknoll?” Hermione asked, immediately recalling everything she’s read about the species.

”Certainly. Beautiful thing, isn’t he?” Bellatrix said, stroking its colorful feathers as the bird opened its mouth silently as if trying to catch some invisible seed. “We used to have a whole aviary farther up the hill full of those. I remember growing up, waiting for one of them to pass away so that I could record his last cry and listen to it slowed down. For years I’ve been coming there every day and never managed to be on time.”

”A pity then, I’ve read how beautiful it’s supposed to be.”

”Oh, beautiful it was. I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

”So you did manage to hear it after all?”

”I did, eventually.” Bellatrix’s brow furrowed.

”Don’t be like that Lestrange, you have to tell me more.” A thrill of excitement run through Hermione’s body. A thirst for knowledge so strong that hasn’t even noticed the somber tone Bellatrix spoke in.

“It happened one day when I’ve come back home from Hogwarts. It was the day before I was to be introduced to the Dark Lord - The Malfoy Winter Ball.”

Another Jobberknoll decided to join them, landing on the rotten porch and tilting its head curiously as if it was listening to their conversation, committing the story to memory. It made Hermione wonder if parts of this will find its way into its last dying breath.

She tore her gaze away from the curious bird, turning her head back in the older woman’s direction. 

“From the moment I’ve entered the house I knew something was wrong. My father was agitated, drinking more than he usually was, stressing over me embarrassing myself in front of our lord.”Bellatrix continued the story. “He wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t bring shame to the family name, that I would be able to do anything that the Dark Lord asked me to.” She paused, lifting the corners of her lips in ominous smile. Her face scrunched up dreamily. “That day he taught me how to cast the killing curse. I wanted to test it so badly.”

Hermione’s body momentarily stiffened, her skin breaking out in goosebumps as the girl put two and two together, already anticipating what was to come next. Bellatrix’s voice was calm and sentimental, her hand caressing the little bird without any trace of violence and yet, Hermione couldn’t help but fear for the creature’s life as if Lestrange was about to recreate the events of the past.

”Did you kill it?” The Gryffindor heard herself mumble, stealing the older woman’s attention away from the bird.

”I tried…” Bellatrix replied. “But it didn’t work. It so happened that my father saw the whole thing. The bird’s cry was the last thing I had the pleasure of hearing before he struck me with the cruciatus curse. It was breathtaking.”

The curse or the sound? Hermione wanted to ask, instead opting for a different set of questions.

”It didn’t work? How come?”

”Turns out that simply wanting to cast it is not enough, you have to actually mean it. I’ve realized my mistake of course, but it was already too late. The next time I cast the curse the results were immediate, the poor muggle hasn’t even had the time to beg for his life.” Bellatrix cackled madly, and Hermione instantly started to miss that charming laugh from before.

”What happened to the aviary? Do you think the birds managed to escape? Where there any other species there?” The Gryffindor asked hopefully. Magical creatures could be a source of very important potions ingredients that could come in handy in her freedom quest.

“I guess so. We had a lot of different breeds in there, so a chance that some of them managed to survive is pretty big.”

At this point the older woman must have been  as excited as she was, for she has completely forgotten about the slave thing, clearing the path with her crooked wand as if it wasn’t supposed to be Hermione’s job.

It dawns on her that Bellatrix wasn’t very committed to the whole slave-mistress act. Obviously, she enjoyed tormenting the girl, seeing her struggle and rage about not belonging to anyone, but ultimately dolling out the work was too boring for someone with such a short attention span as the dark-haired witch.

Hermione followed her without question, not foolish enough to make Lestrange aware of what she was doing. Bypassing the overgrown maze, they made their way into the area farther away from the big mansion. In the middle of a small clearing they’ve stumbled upon a shed-sized building, similar to the little greenhouse Hermione’s grandparents grew their tomatoes in.

Even looking at it from afar, there was no doubt that the building’s size was nothing more than an illusion, but for the love of Merlin, Hermione wasn’t prepared for the beautiful view she found inside. Suddenly to call it a greenhouse seemed like a blasphemy. It was a full-blown meadow with countless animals strutting around, seemingly oblivious to their presence. Never in her life had Hermione seen such an impressive magical vivarium.

”With so much space I’m surprised your father was able to find you.” She blurted out lost in thought.

”I bet he just read my mind, the old bastard loved doing this to us.” Bellatrix replied kicking away a curious niffler, completely entranced by her silver ring.

Hermione was flabbergasted. Such blatant invasion of child's privacy would be unheard off in the muggle world. Up until this moment she knew Cygnus Black as a lackluster bureaucrat with drinking problems, but teaching Bellatrix how to cast the killing curse? Reading his daughter’s mind? What kind of monster would do this to his own children?

”Oh, don’t be daft muddy, that’s the only thing I respected him for.” Bellatrix interrupted her train of thought. “You have to admit that reading somebody’s mind without him knowing is extremely useful. My father knew it as well as I do.”

The bushy-haired girl’s face twisted in discontent.

”However useful it might be, it is simply too unethical for a respectable human being to even attempt such a vile act.”

”And here I thought that you’ve finally learned what fun is.”

And just like that the conversation was over. They walked around the vivarium silently admiring the different magical creatures living inside. Apart from all the different kinds of birds, they managed to find a few mooncalfs and even a lone thestral. That last discovery seemed to have made the biggest impression on the two women, who couldn’t help but gush over the dark beauty this creature possessed.

When they finally left the glass building it was completely dark outside. Taking advantage of Bellatrix’s lumos Hermione followed her closely, praying to whatever entity was listening that she wouldn’t get lost in the giant maze, which knowing her luck wasn’t that improbable.

Just as they were going past the toppled tree, Hermione felt something brushing on her leg. It was soft, warm and definitely alive, causing her to jump in fear, releasing the most shrilling cry Bellatrix has ever heard.

”What the hell is wrong with you?” The dark witch whirled around, shining her wand in Hermione’s face.

”Something brushed over my calf, some kind of an animal I think.” Hermione replied squinting.

Looking around herself she didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, certainly nothing that could be a fluffy ball of fur that accosted her leg.

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, Bellatrix mumbled something about mudbloods getting scared by their own shadow and turned back to the path ahead, completely oblivious to the glowing eyes observing them from the shadows.

Not soon after they arrived back at the Black Manor, biding each other farewell and turning back to their usual lairs where they could finally rest for the night. It wasn’t until Hermione was finally locked inside her little room that she has felt the touch of a fluffy coat, rubbing itself on her leg and purring quietly.

Looking down she couldn’t contain her joy.

”Crookshanks!” She yelled in disbelief, pulling the ginger cat to her bosom. “What are you doing here, big boy? How did you get in?”

The giant cat didn’t answer her, instead thrusting its little head under her open palm, letting her caress his auburn mane. It didn’t take her long to find out what he wanted her to find, her fingers bumping into a small package diligently strapped to the cat’s collar.

Pulling the petite box apart, Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. Right there in the middle of a cardboard package laid brand-new muggle mobile phone, its hard plastic case feeling foreign in the sanctuary of blood supremacy she was currently locked in.

A phone? Strapped to the Crookshank’s collar? It almost felt too good to be true. She was fully expecting the dark witch to show up, cracking a joke at her insufferable optimism when the bloody thing actually rang, making her drop the device in shock as she stared at the number displayed on its little screen.

It couldn’t be.

”Hello?” She said picking up the phone and bringing it to her ear. “Mom?”

”Hermione is that you?” Harry’s happy voice replied without a second of hesitation.

”Oh Harry! I can’t believe it. What the hell is going on?”

”Professor Snape told us about you being trapped in that dreadful mansion. We knew we needed to do something about it and so with a little help from your lovely mother, we’ve found a way we can talk freely. Could you believe that Blacks didn’t bother putting up any animal repelling wards? Apparently they were only afraid of the animagi. As soon as we learned that we just had to send Crookshanks in hope he finds you. It was either that or communicating through Kreacher…”

”My parents… are they alright?” Hermione broke down in sobs, suddenly feeling such overwhelming relief that she couldn’t help it anymore. Tears of joy flowing freely from her heavy lidded eyes.

”Sure thing ‘Mione, they’re safe and sound.” Harry exclaimed cheerfully. “I wouldn’t let you down again. I’ll find a way to get you out of there, I promise. Now that we can finally communicate, there is no force in the world that could keep us from breaking those wards.”

”I… I hope you’re right, Harry.” She said, wiping her tears. “Is Professor Snape there with you?”

There was a little bit of shuffling as the phone changed hands and soon the Golden Girl was greeted by the snarky tone of the ominous potions master.

”Obviously.” The familiar ironic tone brought a smile to her lips.

”Professor, I have come across a very curious potion that could be extremely useful in solving my predicament.” Hermione stated without wasting any time. “Tell me, Professor, is there any way you could get me half a liter of pure Black blood?”

”It so happens that I have a bit more than just half a liter, Miss Granger.” The headmaster drawled, staring at the oblivious curly haired wizard currently talking to his godson. 

Chapter Text

She wasn’t alone. For the first time in Merlin only knows how long, Hermione finally could relay on her friends again. Not only that, but she could actually tell someone about all the crazy adventures she had and information that she has managed to gather.

They didn’t talk long, the phone’s battery wasn’t infinite after all, she had to save it for later to be able to get away from there. And yet, even these few minutes of blissful chatter allowed her to get operation going on the boys’ side.

With the additional help she managed to acquire, researching the mysterious potion receipt seemed like a piece of cake at this point. Professor Snape even agreed to brew it, cautiously warning that making such a powerful concoction could require weeks of preparations, immediately wiping the smiles off their faces.

But Hermione wasn’t bothered by the possibility of her stay getting longer than anticipated. She knew that whatever could happen tomorrow or a month from now, will not change much in her dire situation. Lestrange will never stop chasing after her and if she does… well, the consequences could actually be worse than if she haven’t.

The truth was that getting away from the stupid mansion was only a beginning to a way more complicated process that would require them to find the horcruxes hidden by the older witch and to actually accomplish that - they needed to establish at least some level of cooperation. Be it by force or persuasion.

Whichever one it will be, Hermione had to be strong enough to stand a chance against the raven-haired woman and for that she needed time. Thankfully for her, time was all she got. Oscillating between tending to the giant garden and spending her time at the Ministry wasn’t really that hard.

Every day she went to work, had lunch with the headauror, discussed bills and ridiculous demands ushered by the muggle Prime Minister. Then after all that she would go back to her world, eat dinner with Bellatrix and tend to the garden. Sometimes Crookshanks would watch her work, sporadically rubbing on her sides as she watered the plants, other times he would just spend the entire day napping below her bed. Hermione often had to make sure that Bellatrix wouldn’t be able to notice his presence in the house, although it soon proved to be easier than she initially anticipated.

It was a crazy routine. Her day was more event packed than the some muggle newspapers. To anyone else it would have been exhausting, but Hermione actually welcomed the distractions. It made it all feel like a time not wasted.

Even Lestrange seemed to be on her best behavior as of late. Eating canned food with her and sometimes watching the girl work the garden from the safety of her tightly shut private quarters.

So far it’s only happened a couple of times, but Hermione didn’t omit to notice the strange behavior of the gloomy woman. During their meals Lestrange was quieter than usual, stopping at a few ironic comments a day. Then without any other orders she would just stand up and go back to her unaccessible fortress situated at the top of the giant staircase.

There wouldn’t be a day when Hermione wasn’t lurking outside of her door trying to determine what the hell was Bellatrix doing in there. She has sealed off most of the rooms on the upper floor, including the door leading to what Sirius described to her as the owlery.

Hermione speculated that perhaps Lestrange has hidden some of the horcruxes in there. Why else would Bellatrix need so many rooms for was beyond her powers of comprehension.

The day started pretty much the same as the other ones. Hermione has just finished a heated debate with the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, when a letter she’s been anticipating for quite some time now has arrived. Its envelope green with gilded writing. The ornate crest imprinted in the wax base telling her that the Malfoy matriarch has finally decided to answer her message.

She broke the seal, opening the envelope with great care. Inside she found one simple sentence.

“Dear Minister,

you’re welcome to visit us whenever you please.

Narcissa Black Malfoy”

So she did the most logical thing she could… She left work early and went to the Malfoy Manor.

The iron gate vaporized in front of her face, turning back to solid metal as soon as she passed through it. Hermione could already feel the excitement mounting up inside her at a mere thought of learning something new. She tried to banish the emotion or at least to conceal it for the time being, knowing quite well that practicing Occulumency required a completely serene mind.

Taking few calming breaths trying to contain herself, Hermione arrived in front of the elaborately carved door where a small house elf was already waiting for her. It was the same one she has already met during their little family dinner. Back then Lucius’s grimace suggested to her that the fair-haired man was ashamed of the fact he still had one, but right now the Malfoys have finally stopped pretending. They must have come to realize that there was no point in hiding the elf as she already knew about his presence anyway.

”Lady Narcissa’s waiting for you in the drawing room, Minister.” The humble creature drawled, earning a warm smile from the Gryffindor.

”Thank you.” Hermione replied, not even waiting for him to point her in the direction she already knew all too well.

Draped over a burgundy chaise lounge, Narcissa Malfoy was sipping a steamy hot tea, momentarily conjuring up a second cup for Hermione to drink from.

”I have to say,” She started, watching as an enchanted teapot flew around the table to pour tea into the Gryffindor’s cup. “The letter I’ve received wasn’t exactly something I would have expected, Minister.”

”Hermione please. No need for formalities.” The younger woman cut her off. For a second there Narcissa fell silent, carefully studying her with an inquisitive look on her face.

”Okay then… Miss Granger, what made you think that I would be of any help regarding your… Occulumency problem? I don’t remember ever telling anyone about that particular set of skills. Perhaps you already are capable enough.” The crystal blue eyes drilled into her, searching for any sign of a confirmation.

Ignoring the obvious bait Hermione sat down opposite from the regal woman, reaching for the steaming cup.

”It’s something of a Polichinelle’s secret that your family has always had a knack for these things.” A quiet snort drew her attention back to those crystal eyes.

One would think that after so many days spent with Lestrange Hermione would finally learn not to look them in the eyes, but apparently it was a losing battle.

Pulling the cup closer to her lips, the Gryffindor allowed herself to savor the tea’s rich scent. She focused on it, trying to determine what sort of fruits it reminded her of, stopping only when the tingling sensation in her head ceased.

”Have you found what you were looking for?” She asked, finally taking a sip.

Mmm, lemon and mint.

”Interesting technique. Surely, you wouldn’t hold that against me, Miss Granger. I was only testing the waters.” The older woman smiled confidently. “That was… a solid foundation I would say. Although thinking about just anything rarely helps in the more uncomfortable circumstances.”

”Oh, I already know.” Hermione hesitated for a second. Everyone knew how perceptive Narcissa could be, and it scared the hell out of her. Perhaps a little bit of honesty would be in order. “There’s a person that I believe has been taking advantage of my incapabilities. I intend to change it.”

”Is this why you’ve chosen to come to me instead of Bella or anyone else at the Ministry for that matter?” The cold blue eyes analyzing every twitch of a muscle on her impassive face.

”Correct.”

“Interesting.” Narcissa drawled. “And when would you like us to begin?”

”Hopefully today. My schedule isn’t exactly flexible.” The Gryffindor replied, watching Mrs Malfoy through the rim of her cup. “Although there’s something that I will require of you before we start.”

She must have ignited a spark of fascination in the other woman’s mind as blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what would that be?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be very happy about it…” Hermione said, putting the steaming cup aside. Reaching inside her magically enlarged pocket, the girl pulled out a small rolled up scroll, passing it to the Malfoy matriarch and waiting for the woman’s reaction.

”You want me to sign a magical contract?” Narcissa spoke in disbelief. “What for?”

”Isn’t it obvious? I am the Minister for Magic. I don’t know who to trust and couldn’t possibly risk you telling anyone what you might accidentally see.” Hermione tried to sound as casually as she could and yet even without Mrs Malfoy probing her mind, she knew that the older woman has realized something was amiss.

”Again: why not Bellatrix?” Pale hand hovering above the parchment.

Why couldn’t she just fucking sign it? The Black sisters would be the death of her.

“You two seem to be faring well, and from what my sister occasionally divulges… it’s not purely professional.”

Merlin, how thankful she was for putting that blasted teacup aside, for she was sure that right now she would’ve spat the damn tea out straight in Narcissa’s face.

”Pardon me?” She stammered. Panic taking over her body as she witnessed the older woman deliver the blow.

”Well, I find it very interesting that you don’t trust my sister enough to ask her for help.” Narcissa drawled, leisurely sipping on her lemon tea. “Surely, you’re not suspecting  Bellatrix…”

”Madam, if you’re not gonna sign the bloody document I’m afraid this meeting might be over.” Hermione interrupted her, fully prepared to take the stupid contract and go find another person willing to teach her even if she would have to look for them in another universe.

”Now, let’s not give up so easily, Miss Granger.”

”So easily?” Hermione’s brow furrowed. “What it is exactly you want, Mrs Malfoy?”

”Excuse me?”

”Do you want me to find Draco a job at the Ministry?”

”Ridiculous…” Narcissa trailed off, her lips pursed, eyes wandering across the room as if she was waiting for Hermione to haggle with her.

She had enough.

”I don’t have anything else to offer.” The Minister stood.

Finally, a wave of pure terror washed over the aristocratic face.

”No wait. Let’s stop this charade.” The Malfoy matriarch pleaded. Hermione had no other choice but to sit down and listen. Memories from that faithful night in the Malfoy Manor rushing back to her. “Herm… Minister, as you might have noticed, my sister is not feeling well lately…”

Oh, no, here we go again.

”…I was wondering if perhaps I wasn’t the only one who has noticed.” Narcissa spoke in utter seriousness. “Again: as someone who’s been close to her these few past weeks, do you have any reasons to believe that Bellatrix might be the person you’re worried about?” She gulped nervously, looking into Hermione’s eyes with the same barely obscured desperation she saw the night Snape refused to listen to her. “The reason why you’re here today?”

”Yes.” Hermione uttered.

”That’s what I feared.”

The mask of indifference shattered momentarily, showing only complete sadness as Narcissa Malfoy pulled the document closer to herself and signed it without any further questions. Hermione felt her heart clenching at the sight.

Yet again her mere presence has turned the things out for the worse.

”Come with me.”

Not long after they’ve arrived in a private study. It was one of the rooms Hermione hasn’t been to yet, which should come as no surprise considering that the room appeared to be Narcissa’s private chamber.

It looked familiar to the rest of the house. Decorated with the same taste and refinement, but somehow compared to the rest of the ghastly mansion it stuck out like a sore thumb.

A few photographs here and there, 3 small pots with various plants put neatly next to each other, a small potions station that bore numerous signs of use - it all created an atmosphere of a cozy space, one that can be lived in and not just put on display.

Narcissa gestured for her to sit in a small armchair, at the same time pulling out her silver incrusted wand and brandishing it in Hermione’s face.

”I suggest we start with something practical first. In a moment I’m going to attempt to read your current thoughts. I want you to resist.” Narcissa Malfoy drawled.

”How?”

”There a couple of different ways to do that. Some people build invisible walls around their minds. Others try to control their thoughts completely, giving the other person nothing to cling to, leaving them empty handed. Then there are those who try to deceive the reader, manipulating their thoughts. It’s certainly easier than manipulating whole memories, but I will be surprised if you manage to achieve it on your first try.” The fair-haired woman explained.

Hermione’s eyes lit up with wonder. If she could actually manipulate her thoughts in battle, she could take advantage of Lestrange’s haughtiness, trick her into believing that she’s still in control. A handy tool indeed.

”Go ahead then.” She ordered, preparing her mind for the sudden invasion.

It happened in a flash. Narcissa didn’t even raise her wand. At first Hermione wasn’t sure if the exercise has even started, doubt blooming in her mind as she tried to look out for the tell-tale signs of the other woman’s presence. Nothing. And yet…

”What are your intentions with my sister, Minister?”

Her mouth fell open.

”What?!?”

Back to Bellatrix? How long has the older woman been listening to her thoughts? Was it the moment she pulled out her wand? Shouldn’t Hermione feel something if that was the case? She did before… But then again Lestrange has been sneaking through her mind just as easily. Perhaps she was only trying to rile Hermione up.

”Stop.” Narcissa’s velvet voice broke her line of thought. “You’re slipping already. Try again, but this time put some actual effort into it.”

Hermione relaxed her body, trying to achieve some form of serenity. She imagined herself hidden behind a giant wall, looking down at the other woman from its battlements. And then she felt it - Narcissa’s presence. It genuinely felt as if the blonde witch was standing in front of the massive wall, looking for her way inside, deeper into Hermione’s consciousness.

”I’ve heard she’s taking you on a date. Don’t you think it would be a bit inappropriate to attend? Headauror and the Minister? It ought to be frowned upon.”

A loose brick slowly sliding out of her immaculate construction, threatening to collapse the whole thing in a matter of seconds if she wouldn’t do anything.

Hermione bit her lip. It shouldn’t be this hard. She has already done her bit of lying, all she had to do now was to lie to herself. Block the thoughts concerning the dark-haired woman completely out of her mind.

”Don’t you realize that only few years ago my sister was still leaning into the idea of blood supremacy? Why do you think is she now interested in a muggleborn? Because she admires you personally or because she likes people in power? Which one is it, Minister?”

Hermione’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, blood oozing from the fresh wound. It was a good distraction, a good catalyst - she thought.

Apparently - not good enough.

‘Why was I sitting in His place?’ A sudden thought occurred to her, memories rushing back to their lovely dinner in the Malfoy Manor. She was looking at Hermione with such admiration. Bellatrix she knew could never look at her like that. Oh no, she could only stare that way at…

No! He treated her like garbage. We are not the same.

They are not the same. Lestrange would never…

He’s not even her for all she knows!

Narcissa’s lips twisting into a barely visible smirk. “Think I found a sensitive subject. Pray tell, Minister, who are you so afraid of?”

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The Dark Lord.

She could not as much hear as feel in the back of her mind. But she didn’t bring any of those names to the surface. She refused to do so. Too afraid validate her fears. To think them into reality.

“No one.” She said, looking Narcissa straight in the eye.

”Good.” The other woman replied. Her smirk now as obvious as Hermione’s victory. “But I’ll be the judge of that. Legilimens.”

The whole world spun around. Images she did not summon passing before her eyes as Narcissa studied every second of her measly life. Her childhood spent with muggles. Her Hogwarts acceptance letter. Her meeting with the boys.

Finally, she started to push back. Changing direction, focusing on the most trivial interactions instead of the adventures they had. Quidditch, Potions, Draco Malfoy, Ron. Everything but the Chamber of Secrets, Wormtail, Sirius’s escape… the Department of Mysteries.

Narcissa must have sensed some sort of opening there, pushing relentlessly, forcing her thoughts closer to the topic she tried to avoid at all costs.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Black eyes, wild curls, gaunt face and… that cackle.

Suddenly she could see herself running through the darkened halls of the Department of Mysteries, but it didn’t feel right. There was no Harry or Neville, only her and the black clad figure standing in the distance with her back turned to her… laughing.

And that’s when Hermione realized that somehow she has subconsciously forged two memories into one.

Cleansing her mind, she focused on the memories of her other selves confusing the other woman, forcing her into a loop of incomprehensible nonsense. It was maddening even for her and soon she felt Narcissa Malfoy backing out and everything went still again.

”Minister…” Narcissa stammered. Her lips were parted, eyes glazed as she scrambled to her senses, completely perplexed. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this before. Creating one fake memory is a difficult task, but creating so many? I wouldn’t think it possible… I don’t know what to say.”

”Perhaps next time you will have the decency to warn me before entering my mind like that.” Hermione was burning with rage, her newly freed emotions powering her whole body like rocket fuel.

”I don’t think another time will be required. Your memories… they are indecipherable. Only a mad man could make heads or tails of that.” Narcissa looked taken aback. In normal circumstances Hermione would have been blushing from the compliment, but somehow she knew that a mad person indeed could be the only person being able to decipher the nonsense anyway. Mrs Malfoy on the other hand seemed fully satisfied, staring at her with undisguised admiration.

“From now on we should purely focus on protecting your thoughts as there is still a lot of room for improvement there.”

”Very well…” Hermione agreed, taking a deep calming breath.

She shouldn’t be angry at all - she reckoned. Mrs Malfoy has done nothing that she wouldn’t ask her to do. Hell, she even signed a magical contract and yet Hermione couldn’t help but worry about her telling Bellatrix. Why did everything have always had to revolve around the dark-haired woman?

Suddenly Hermione’s eyes widened. “Ugh, Narcissa…”

”Yes?” The elegant eyebrow rose in question.

”I was wondering… What exactly did you have in mind when you said that Bellatrix is not feeling good lately?” The words stumbled out of her mouth hastily.

The sadness was back in those crystal eyes. “She has been a bit distracted recently. She doesn’t visit me as often as she used to, claiming that she has forgotten about it. And let’s not even mention the ridiculous theories she’s coming up with.”

”That’s all?” Hermione couldn’t contain her astonishment. “Sounds pretty normal to me. With security on high alert and Rodolphus doing stupid things it doesn’t surprise me that she’s busier than usual.”

”Right,” Narcissa replied, eager to drop the subject and get back to their Occulumency lesson. “I admit that I might be a bit over sensitive here. I assume you’ve heard about the strange affliction affecting the members of my lineage. Some people call it the Black Madness.”

”Obviously I’ve heard about it, but is it really as prevalent as people say? Neither you, nor Andromeda seem even remotely affected and I always considered Bellatrix more dramatic than crazy.”

”That’s because it often appears out of nowhere.” Narcissa’s brow creased in concern. “I witnessed it first hand with my uncle Orion. He used to be a relatively normal pureblood, perhaps even saner than my aunt Walburga… and then one day he just started spiraling into madness. He was obsessed, putting up wards left and right as if he was frightened for his life. I even heard that he convinced himself that he was being haunted. We never saw him after that happened, he became a recluse. Not even my cousin Regulus could get to him. And then there is my mother’s side, not very sane either. Especially our mother.”

”That’s terrible.” Hermione shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. She shouldn’t have been asking questions like that. If Lestrange ever found out, she would certainly be furious. “I don’t think Bellatrix is going to end up like that, but I guess I could watch out for the signs since I’m supposed to meet her today anyway.”

”Ah yes, the date.” Narcissa smiled. “Guess we should hurry up then, wouldn’t like to keep poor Bella waiting.”

It took them another hour to perfect Hermione’s basic defense mechanisms which still left the Gryffindor a few hours till she would have to get ready for her date. It gave them plenty of time to talk and get to know each other better. Two empty teapots later and they have already covered a plethora of topic varying from alchemy to Draco Malfoy’s questionable choice of company. Hermione didn’t of course hesitate to share a couple stories regarding the latter, giggling joyfully as she recalled Draco suspecting Goyle of illiteracy.

It caused the older woman to erupt with laughter, clutching her sides as Hermione provided a story after story of Crabbe and Goyle’s blunders and all the trouble they got Narcissa’s son into. Soon they were so enthralled in their conversation that they haven’t even noticed another presence in the room.

It so happened that Bellatrix’s shift has just ended. Stressing over the incoming date she wanted to ask Narcissa for help picking up something to wear. Strangely enough for the first time in her life her sister has not come to welcome her. Unable to find her Bellatrix had to resort to asking the elf, who hastily informed that his mistress was busy having tea in her private quarters. Apparently having some impromptu tea party was a good enough reason to have Bellatrix waiting for Merlin only knows how long. Refusing to sit around idly, Lestrange ignored the small creature’s pleas and stormed into the room without notice.

Unfortunately, the blasted elf omitted to mention that Narcissa already had company and not just any company! Right there, on a narrow armchair in her private quarters sat the Minister for Magic herself. The woman whom Narcissa constantly refused to refer to by anything other than her professional title. The woman whom Bellatrix has been courting for the last couple of weeks. Well, that woman was currently doubling over with laughter as Narcissa handed her another photograph on which Bellatrix could see the faint silhouette of Draco.

Something shifted in her. The way they sat together, sipping tea from their little teacups, laughing as if they were a pair of old mates. It made Bellatrix’s blood boil. Her legs refused to carry her any further and so she was stuck in the doorway looking like a complete psychopath as the two of them giggled, pointing to something in the photograph.

It took Narcissa a moment to spot the intruder, too caught up in the friendly banter. She knew from Lucius that the girl was bright and pleasantly conversable, but until today formalities always got in the way. Now that she has finally seen into the other woman’s head, it all suddenly became redundant.

As if sensing Narcissa’s abrupt consternation, the younger woman stopped laughing and turned her head in Bella’s direction. The deep red blush coloring her delicate face told Lestrange everything she had to know.

”Bella,” said Hermione. Her voice innocent and sweet. “What are you doing here?”

The audacity. Bellatrix snorted.

”Visiting my sister, obviously.” She drawled, feigning indifference. “How about you, Minister?” The title at the end tasting like venom in her mouth. “People at the Ministry seem to think that you weren’t feeling well and had to go home early.”

”Let the girl have some rest, Inspector. Not everyone can be as miserable as you.” Mrs Malfoy decided to intervene. “I invited Miss Granger hoping that she could unwind before your date today. We must have lost track of time. Oh my, is it 5 already? Lucius should be home by now.”

”Miss Granger?”

”Yes?” Hermione tilted her head questioningly, but Bellatrix’s eyes never left the blonde woman.

”It’s Miss Granger now, huh?” Lestrange sneered, staring at her sister through the slope of her nose.

The temperature in the room fell drastically. Mrs Malfoy’s crystal eyes momentarily losing all its warmth as her lips twisted into a wry smile, an ominous shadow of her genuine one.

“I advise you to think very carefully before you dare say anything else, Bellatrix, or you might just regret it.” The younger sister said dryly, earning a spiteful grin in return.

“Circe’s ass, Narcissa, your insulting my intelligence!” Bellatrix burst out. “If you wanted that useless brat of yours hired all you had to do was ask. Sucking up to the Minister is more of a Lucius’s thing. It doesn’t suit you.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open. Up until that moment she’s never seen Bellatrix actually standing up to Narcissa. They did quarrel occasionally, but  usually it was more like a sisterly jostling. She still remembered the older woman begging her sister to let her put Hermione in the manor’s attic, and yet, even then she hasn’t seen Bellatrix this insulting. Not when Narcissa was on the receiving end at least.

Even the Malfoy matriarch seemed taken aback. Her face quickly forming into an angry grimace.

”What I discuss with my guests is none of your concern.” She commented dryly. “You needn’t worry about my son’s employment. I wouldn’t let him end up as a measly auror forever doomed to endure your childish whims on a daily basis. Otherwise if you’re still worried about what I might ask of Miss Granger, then I’m pleased to inform that Hermione was just leaving. Although perhaps she should reconsider her plans for the day, seeing how much of a petulant brat you are today.”

The look on Bellatrix’s face was one of pure terror. Frozen in place she briefly glanced at Hermione as if trying to determine if what Narcissa was saying was actually making her reconsider going on a date with her. And then without any further warning she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

Hermione didn’t know what to do at first, her brain shutting off from all the drama. But the moment she heard the front door open she sprang to her feet and ran all the way to the iron gate where Bellatrix was just about to disapparate.

”Don’t you dare leave me now!” She yelled, seeing the older woman lift her crooked wand.

It worked like a charm with Bellatrix stopping mid spell and turning to confront her.

”Narcissa is right, you shouldn’t have agreed to that stupid date. Clearly you deserve better than such a petulant child.” She spat with vitriol.

Not waiting any longer Hermione started walking in her direction. Her hand pulling the other witch closer as she drew her into her open arms, causing Bellatrix to yelp in surprise.

”To be fair, Narcissa might be right about many things,” said Hermione. Her fingers gently brushing an errand strand of hair behind the dark witch’s ear, feeling the older woman shiver at the sudden contact. “but she doesn’t get to dictate who I ought to go out with.”

There was a new spark of hope shining in those deep, onyx eyes as Bellatrix leaned into her touch. She looked so alluring that Hermione just couldn’t stop herself. Bridging the gap between them, she captured those pouty lips between her own.

The moan that Bellatrix released momentarily sent a wave of heat directly to her abdomen, but she didn’t allow the feeling to take control of her. Keeping the kiss chaste and short she pried her lips off the other woman’s and caressed her chin, looking into those pitch black orbs.

Bellatrix didn’t have to say anything for Hermione to know that her message has been heard. She wanted to go on a date with Bellatrix and there was nothing in this world that anyone could do to stop her form attending.

”I’m gonna go change now. I trust that by the time our date will start you and Narcissa would have reconciled.” She whispered so close to Bella’s mouth that she was practically skimming over her lower lip. “If not, I’m going to be very disappointed, and I have a feeling that you would rather prefer me to be happy, don’t you Inspector?”

Bellatrix tried to mumble something, but before the words had the chance to escape her mouth, Hermione planted a single kiss on her cheek and disappeared. Once again she was left alone in front of the massive iron gate. Absolutely baffled.

The Prime Minister was pacing nervously stopping short only when the annoyed clearing of the throat alarmed him to the other person’s presence. Finally, after so many hours of being stuck in this godforsaken underground bunker, they’ve managed to make a breakthrough.

For hours now they have been analyzing everything that was ever said to him, comparing it with the video footage and everything they could possibly find. The results were at the same time exhilarating and terrifying. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he had been dreaming of this day for quite some time now, going as far as secretly writing down all the information Fudge and Rufus provided him with over the years. And yet, now that there was finally someone willing to believe it all, the Prime Minister couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

“Did he say anything of use yet?” He asked, squinting his eyes to shield himself from the blaring light of a faulty industrial lightbulb.

“Nothing new, sadly. I’ll spare you the boring details.” The woman in front of him replied.

“Not good, not good, not good.” The Prime Minister chanted, ruffling his hair in a blatant display of desperation. ”And concerning the other thing?” He asked, striding over to her side with a hopeful expression. Now that he was positively buried in this rabbit hole of a case, hope was the only thing he got left in life.

”The MRI uncovered a dozen of structural abnormalities in the President’s brain. The doctors believe that it might be a sign of the early stages of dementia or some other neurological affliction, but considering what you’ve told us, it is possible that it might be proof of the memory cleansing magic you described earlier.” The agent said, looking down at her trusty little leather-bound notebook.

”My God!” The Prime Minister exclaimed pitifully. If he knew what he was signing up for all along, he would have never started up the campaign. Elections be damned, he should have stayed in Manchester and work at the corner shop with his dad. “I can’t believe they wiped the memory of the President of the United States… multiple times probably! And for what stupid reasons! I remember this one time I was waiting for a call from him and then the Fudge fellow showed up saying that they will take care of this and that the President would simply forget about the call.” His disbelief quickly transformed into anger. “Do you think they’ve modified my memory as well?”

”Possibly.” The woman closed her notebook abruptly, staring at him with not a single sign of emotion coloring her indifferent face. “May I remind you, Minister, that with the modest amount of evidence we managed to obtain nothing can yet be proven. I ordered my people to look into some cases, rounding up the supposed victims of such practices, but as of today- there’s not much we can actually say.”

”Bugger. I was hoping it wouldn’t progress so slowly.” He cursed, fisting his hair in distress. “The blonde Steven Seagal and his Russian friend might be waiting for me behind every corner!”

”That we actually managed to figure out.” The woman replied, hastily pulling out a brown file and opening it at the pages with two photos pinned to its corners. “Corban Yaxley and Antonin Dolohov.” The agent drawled casually, passing the file to the shaking man.

”H-how did you manage to achieve this?” The Prime Minister blanked, his lips forming a perfectly round ‘o’.

Seeing the ridiculous face he was making, the blonde woman chuckled darkly, hiding the file back in the distressed briefcase she was carrying.

”The first one was a bit tricky, turns out he has a bunch of newspaper subscriptions signed on his name. The other one… well, let’s just say that we had to brush up on our old Soviet informers.”

”The soviets knew? And they didn’t tell us?” The Prime Minister couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If the power of the whole Soviet Union couldn’t rid the world of this ridiculous problem, then how was a single division working under Interpol supposed to stop Voldemort in any way? 

”Of course they knew. Both Stasi and KGB had their special units supervising the more prominent figures in the Wizarding  society. If it wasn’t for the data and years of surveillance they carried out, perhaps we wouldn’t be here right now.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But let’s leave the ancient history behind  where its place is. Right now we have a more interesting finds on our hands.” She gestured for him to follow her, making her way towards the room guarded by two scary looking soldiers.

Banging her fist on the door, she waited until a short, greasy-haired man appeared in the doorway.

”Detective Linton?” He asked in utter bewilderment as he opened the door further to let her enter. “We weren’t expecting you so soon.”

”Yes, I’m afraid the Frenchman’s interrogation ended prematurely. We’re not done with him yet, but it will take a bit more elbow grease than expected if you know what I mean.” The Linton woman drawled casually. “Now, Private, can you show us the new recording we’ve managed to intercept?”

”Sure thing ma’am.” He quickly walked back to the peculiar looking machinery he was operating, grabbing a spare set of headphones and passing it to the Prime Minister. “It’s a bit distorted, but I still think we have a match.”

And then with a swift press of a button, the tape recorder spools came to life, whirling back at an ungodly speed and then staring to play the intercepted audio. The Prime Minister pressed the headset flush against his ears, listening with bated breath to what the people in the recording had to say.

”Hello?” A feminine voice asked anxiously.

”Hermione is that you?” He heard another voice answer.

Immediately he snatched the headphones off his head, looking at agent Linton incredulously as if he had just witnessed a conversation between two alien life forms and not two people happily chatting, impervious to the bloody storm gathering over their heads.

The Minister’s voice cracking as he shifted uncomfortably and asked ”Is this…?”

”Yes.” Agent Linton replied, lifting the corners of her lips in a victorious smile. “You’re listening to Hermione Granger speaking.”

Chapter Text

What in God’s name has she done? Not only did she not have anything nice to wear, but now she couldn’t possibly banish the thoughts of Bellatrix’s lips from her mind. Oh she will pay for this dearly! Hermione really had no idea what’s gotten into her.

She liked spending time with the headauror. Obviously, the woman was dangerously attractive - every Bellatrix is! They're all drop dead gorgeous, and yet... There is a big difference between her entertaining this strange infatuation and her actually initiating a bloody kiss!

Never before has Hermione had even allowed herself to think that between the two of them she’ll be the one to do such a thing. It always was Lestrange who kept touching her, pushing her against walls, taunting her mercilessly and sometimes even praising her in her own convoluted way. Honestly, it was a matter of time before one of them would break and when Hermione saw how outwardly interested in her the headauror was, she had to do something. Fast.

And so she kissed her. It was chaste and short as it was supposed only to stop the woman from worrying about the whole Narcissa situation, but somehow it adamantly refused to leave the Gryffindor's mind!

Pacing around her room, Hermione fisted her hair, growling in defeat and desperation. Why was everything in her life always, inevitably had to be so difficult? Why even such a joyous thing as falling in love had to be ruined for her by the fate itself?

Hermione wasn’t stupid. She was well aware of the fact that what she was doing with the headauror wasn’t perfectly moral. Hijacking other Granger’s life and then forcing her into this bizarre situation. Leading Bellatrix on for the sake of what? A simple crush? The glorious feeling of getting one over the insufferable Death Eater?  Once again Lestrange was right in thinking that only bad things could come from her escapism. After all, she couldn’t just stay here forever - there was a war going on for Merlin’s sake! People were dying. Her friends were waiting for a chance to get her out of Bellatrix’s mansion. With all this going on, she would simply have no time to keep this affair going.

No. She has to end it before it gets out of hand as everything in her life tended to do nowadays. She will go on that stupid date and then she will tell Bellatrix that she wasn’t feeling it and that it was Hermione’s fault, not hers. Then she will leave this world and never comeback to it again! Ever!

The next time she needs anything from these other dimensions she will keep her visit short and random and everything will be alright. No more private lessons with beautiful professors, no more dates with charming headaurors - NO MORE BELLATRIX LESTRANGE.

Yes! That was it!

A new wave of optimism washed over her while she was pulling on a random dress she found in the Minister’s wardrobe. She kept cursing herself for not being strong enough to make that resolution earlier. At least she wouldn’t now have to bother with channeling her inner Jean Paul Gaultier to spice the boring dress up.

After what felt like hours spent shortening and altering the fabric’s color, she finally settled on a floor-length red dress with a beaded top and tulle skirt. Testing the fit, she swirled around looking herself up and down in the mirror. It felt emboldening. She felt as if she could do anything in this dress. Even break Bellatrix’s heart.

Knock. Knock.

Humming a song, she strode to the door, mentally preparing herself for all the guilt she will experience once she tells Bellatrix that the magic is gone. Briefly debating whether she should break it off right away to save both of them time and illusions. It all became obsolete as the doors opened and Lestrange’s show-stopping smile lit up her world. Everything she prepared herself mentally for was immediately torn from her very mind, leaving behind a bunch of nonsensical blabber as these gorgeous dark eyes connected with hers, turning the heat up with a single glance.

”I hope I’m not too early.” said Bellatrix looking at Hermione with a reverence the girl has never experienced before. Momentarily her freckled cheeks redden, hazel eyes staring anywhere but into those fierce onyx ones. It was a big mistake - Hermione quickly realized as she found herself staring at the other woman’s body instead.

”Not at all, I am just finishing.” The girl managed to spit out, opening the door further to let the Death Eater in.

Bellatrix wore a black, strapless dress cinched at the waist by a simple velvet sash. The sheer amount of skin and décolletage on display was enough to render the witty girl speechless. Thankfully, the tops of her milky shoulders were moderately hidden away behind a long dark shawl, casually thrown around her form.

”Are you sure?” Bellatrix’s brow arched questioningly while the woman pointed at the horrible mess the Gryffindor’s hair was in right now.

Once again Hermione cursed her own foolishness. She needed to stop pulling her own hair out whenever anything bad happened or else she will soon end up completely bald. Not to mention that she had to now redo her hair.

”Shit.” She sighed, glancing at herself in the mirror. “It took me an hour to get this in order and now I will have to do it all over again.”

Letting out a small chuckle Bellatrix gestured for her to scoot over and then carefully not to pull too hard, she freed Hermione’s unruly hair from the ruined updo.

”Here.” She said, dragging her fingers through the chestnut tresses. “Beautiful.”

Momentarily every thought about turning her away was viciously squashed, ripped from Hermione’s being and thrown out the window for the crows to feast upon. Suddenly all she could think about was their stupid kiss and how great Bella’s plump lips look with the burgundy lipstick she wore tonight.

”Thank you.” She replied, finally able to shake herself out of her stupor. Sheepishly she swept an errand strand behind her ear, trying to somehow get the heat off her burning face. “Where are you taking me anyway? Judging by your dress The Three Broomsticks is out of the question.”

”Yes, well, I guess you will just have to trust me with this.” The dark-haired witch replied, presenting her with a paper brochure. Hermione’s petite fingers momentarily reached out to take it and have a closer look at the minuscule text, only to find herself standing in the middle of a busy street.

A pair of strong hands dragged her to the side, snatching her just in time to avoid the speeding cab.

”Merlin, I’m sooo sorry. That asshole Dolohov’s going to pay me for that.” said Bellatrix, clutching Hermione to her heaving chest as the both of them started to relax from the near death experience.

”Don’t worry about it.” The Gryffindor panted. “Me, Harry and Ron have done our share of bad landings. This one wasn’t actually that bad.”

The puzzled look on Lestrange’s face made her want to take that back. Apparently her life in this world must have been way less adventurous than her own. Waving her hand dismissively to get Bellatrix to drop the subject, she turned to take in where they were currently in.

As if reading her mind, the older woman solved the mystery for her.

“Vienna.” she explained a bit anxiously. “I hope you like classical music.”

“Of course I do, but I would never take you for a…” Hermione paused, looking at the giant poster. “Schubert fan?” Her eyebrow arched questioningly.

”Frankly? I don’t know anything about muggle music.” said Bellatrix. “It was Andromeda’s idea. She seems surprisingly sure that I will like it.”

The confession made Hermione giggle as she slid her arm around Bellatrix’s and started dragging her in the entrance’s direction.

”Only one way to find out.” 

The philharmonic was absolutely stunning with its gilded walls decorated with baroque paintings and marble sculptures. Everywhere they turned there was a new piece of art for Hermione to gush over. If she had to be honest, Hermione had to admit that from where they were seated it was much easier to focus on the beautiful interior rather than the music playing on the stage.

It was somewhere at the beginning of the Erlkönig that the Gryffindor felt a wandering hand on her tulle covered knee. Next to her Bellatrix seemed to be enjoying herself, innocently watching the conductor below them. The hand started sliding dangerously higher as the music accelerated, turning Hermione’s brain into a useless mush. With their seats situated in a small, cozy booth, overlooking the stage, there wasn't much room for them to do anything other than marvel at the orchestra's performance. In such a narrow space, with Bellatrix's hand rummaging through her skirt, the temperature on the balcony was promptly becoming unbearable.

”You know, I’m starting to like that muggle howling. It’s not half as bad as I expected.” Lestrange drawled casually as if her palm wasn’t massaging the younger woman’s thigh.

“Is that so?” Hermione managed to choke out. If she was to last until the end of the concert, she needed to find a topic that would make Bellatrix stop… temporarily at least. “Any new leads on the sandwich bandit?”

The fingers ceased their conquest.

“Possibly. Right now I’m fairly certain that it's the Weasel.” From where she was sitting Hermione could easily see Bellatrix’s jaw flex in agitation.

”And what has Ron done to merit that?” Hermione asked, staring at the older woman curiously, and momentarily Lestrange lost all her interest in the orchestra and Hermione’s knee for that matter.

Bellatrix looked at her sharply with slight outrage coloring her features. Soon a haughty smirk emerged, paving the way for no doubt another cocky allegation.

“That little scoundrel has everything it takes to do something like this! Not only does he hate me, but also works in the same department as I do." The headauror pointed out, clearly proud of her own perceptiveness. "I bet he keeps stealing my lunches hoping that I wouldn’t meet up with you. Bloody idiot! If I had even a shred of evidence, I would have fired him on the spot! Without a second thought!”

”You might be overestimating Ronald’s persistence here.” Hermione chuckled. “He’s hardly malignant enough and wayyyy too scared of you to actually try anything. Perhaps it’s time to lay this rivalry to rest.”

As much as she could understand the headauror’s line of thought, Hermione knew Ronald all too well to suspect him of doing something like this. Whenever the boy would get angry at someone, he usually got into his defensive mode, hurting the person with crude words rather than elaborate plots. Stealing from Bellatrix just to mess with her didn’t seem like something he would do. Especially not considering how consistent the robberies were. Definitely too much time and effort put for it to be him.

Blind with rage, Bellatrix clearly had other ideas.

”Never. I won’t tolerate people stealing my things. I’m way too possessive for that if you haven’t noticed yet.” said Bellatrix. Her eyes shone with determination and fierceness that made Hermione’s heart skip a bit. “Speaking of which… what were you talking about with my sister?”

”Huh, and here I thought you were over it.” Hermione tskd pitifully.

”How could I? Your little meeting is more shrouded in mystery than most world summits.” The older woman hissed, turning back to the stage. “Narcissa straight up refused to tell me anything.”

”It’s hardly a secret.” The Gryffindor countered. “Have you ever considered that she might simply be concerned about you?”

”Nonsense, there is nothing to be concerned about.” Bellatrix drawled. Her dismissive grimace telling Hermione that she was just about to open another can of worms.

”She’s worried because you haven’t been visiting her as often as you used to.”

”What? That’s because all of the additional  work I have at the Ministry since that wretched break in.”

”That’s what I told her.”

”Circe’s ass, I swear, everyone is acting ridiculous lately!” She shot her a dramatic eye roll. “No one understands that this thing is not some foolish children frolicking around. I KNOW it's going to end disastrously for all of us, and everyone just keeps gaslighting me! It’s infuriating!”

”You’re worrying too much, Bella. With all the new security measures you installed there is no way a cockroach could sneak into that place, let alone a human being.” said Hermione. Her palm reassuringly resting on the other woman’s hand.

Apparently Bellatrix’s emotional side wasn’t limited to spontaneous bursts of anger as she has witnessed with her Death Eater counterpart. She seemed almost entirely unable to do anything half-heartedly, bordering on constant obsessiveness she could come off as a woman possessed when she was passionate about something.

And so right now, seeing that woman so overwhelmed by the burdens of life, Hermione couldn’t bear the sadness blossoming inside her. She desperately needed to chase the worries away somehow. To bring back that charming smile she grew to cherish, even the ironic chuckle and mad cackling seemed better to her in that moment.

”Bella…” her voice drifted off as a sharp sound of the bell alerted everyone to the beginning of the intermission. Below them a sea of heads started slowly spilling out of the monumental hall, eager to discuss the artists’ performance.

Bellatrix too rose from her seat, pulling her pale hand from under Hermione’s as she reached inside her handbag in search of a pack of cigarettes.

”I gotta go for a quick smoke. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be back soon.” She said and before the Gryffindor could as much as open her mouth, she was already gone.

It took Hermione a few minutes to find her again, leaning against a wall on the small terrace overlooking the city. A half-burned cigarette hung lazily from her slender fingers as a small cloud of smoke engulfed her curvy silhouette, turning her into a picture perfect femme fatale figure.

”Hi.” Hermione mumbled timidly.

”Hello there.” The dark witch replied, presenting her with an opened pack of cigarettes.

Bellatrix knew that Hermione wasn’t a smoker, the gesture was purely polite. And yet, in that moment, something compelled the Gryffindor to take her up on the offer. Sliding a cigarette out of the pack, Hermione awkwardly brought it to her lips only to be momentarily offered a light. In an act of blatant madness, she didn’t take the lighter from Bellatrix’s hand, choosing instead to sensually lean her whole head closer to the dark witch.

Lestrange was taken aback, but complied anyway, lighting the cigarette hanging of her lips with a devilish smile on her face.

”My my, pet, look at you. At last, I’ve corrupted you.”

Staring at her from underneath hooded eyes, the Gryffindor replied: ”Is this supposed to be a complaint? If so then I’ve heard worse.”

”A complaint? Merlin forbid, you’re absolutely breathtaking.” The usually velvet voice sounding surprisingly hoarse. Bellatrix was staring at her longingly. Her pitch-black eyes shining with a dangerous glint as she took a hit from her cigarette.

The words caused Hermione to shiver. They were enchanting almost, as some invisible force pushed the younger woman closer to the brink of madness. Suddenly all that she could think off were the soft, plump lips closing around the cigarette and how they felt when she kissed the woman just a couple of hours ago. What happened next has shocked Hermione just as much as it did Bella, for without as much as a warning, the Gryffindor threw the smoke away and crossed the distance separating them in strides. She didn’t hesitate for a second there as she claimed those luscious lips with her own, pulling the older witch flush against the wall as she devoured her.

Long forgotten were her previous inhibitions, desire triumphing over reason while their mouths danced against each other in a heated battle. In the background they could hear the bell announcing the end of the intermission, but Hermione couldn’t care less. Her every thought disappearing at the overwhelming sensation of Bellatrix’s hands roaming her waist and the sneaky tongue demanding entrance to her eager mouth.

”We’re gonna miss the performance.” Lestrange whispered between the pants when they finally broke for air.

”Pity, but I’ll get over it.” Hermione mumbled into the crook of her neck. Rosy tongue tracing the dark witch’s pulse point after a delicate bite that would definitely leave a mark.

”Hermione…” came the broken sob that escaped Bellatrix’s swollen lips. “Stop toying with me, it’s insufferable.”

With a Herculean effort the girl managed to tear herself off the pale column of her throat for long enough to purr into her ear.

”What it is you want then, Bella?”

”You.” Came the desperate response.

It lit a furnace inside the younger woman’s chest. Her heart thumping mercilessly, threatening to burst through at any moment. It felt glorious to wield such power over the  formidable woman, she felt intoxicated. She wanted the moment to last forever.

And so Hermione pulled the Death Eater even closer, bruising her pale skin with an onslaught of kisses as suddenly they found themselves in the Gryffindor’s house. In her bedroom to be exact.

The new privacy elevated their desires to the new highs, causing casualties in the form of some minor decorations and Bellatrix’s shawl. The offending fabric was torn away mere seconds after their feet touched the ground. The delicate sash draped around her middle following its fate.

Hermione found herself completely in control with the dark witch pulling her onto herself in a lustful frenzy. And she could see that Lestrange was enjoying her feral display for the delicious sounds she emitted were spurring Hermione on without restraint.

She pivoted them to the bed, letting Bellatrix fall onto her back and resumed the assault. The older woman helping her in that quest by pushing down the top of her dress. The ivory skin momentarily broke out in goosebumps as Hermione’s mouth traveled lower and lower with every kiss and when her lips finally closed around a dusky nipple, Bellatrix couldn’t stop herself from arching her back, presenting herself like a sacrificial animal as Hermione rolled her tongue around the puckered bud.

”Shit, pet… just like that.” She whined, combing her fingers through Hermione’s bushy hair.

Who was she to deny her? The Gryffindor sucked the nipple, grazing it slightly with her teeth. The moan she got in response was downright salacious. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the flushed woman writhing under her with her eyes closed in ecstasy.

”Open your eyes!” Hermione growled, kneading the breast in her hand and repeating the motion for the other one. Immediately Lestrange’s eyelids shot open, showcasing a pair of hazy, lust filled eyes. Only a small grayish rim remained of the onyx irises, completely swallowed up by the blackness of her pupils.

It was a visual feast Hermione wanted to remember for the rest of her life. It overwhelmed her. She barely could breathe as her racing heart pumped blood around her body, hammering like crazy. Letting out a groan of her own, she let her fingers trace the faint bruises forming on the older woman’s milky skin.

”Hermione, please…” Bellatrix whimpered, asking her for something Hermione wasn’t sure how to do.

Kissing was easy. She already had at least some experience in it and although she didn’t consider herself a good kisser, with Bellatrix Lestrange struggling under her touch she sure as hell felt like one.

But right now Bellatrix wasn’t asking for a simple kiss, she wanted the Gryffindor to devour her whole. Begging HER to relieve her pain. To do things to her that Hermione never thought she’d ever want so badly to do to her… not until that faithful night in the Department of Mysteries.

But now she wasn’t looking at the infamous Death Eater. The woman below her wasn’t a ruthless killer, far from that actually, she was kind and lovable. With soft breasts and silky hair. She was everything that anyone could ever want… Everything Lestrange could have been…

How could Hermione possibly refuse her pleasure?

”Can you slide it off for me?” She asked the older woman, caressing her waist through the thin material. One more second with that thing between them and she swore she would go mad.

”No, you have to undo the zipper.” Bellatrix panted frantically. Her naked chest heaving with every breath.

Hermione groaned. It would be so easy to just vanish the thing, but she chose to do it by hand instead. Snaking her arm around the older woman’s back, she hovered her above the bed, reaching for the zipper and pulling it down with vehemence.

She was a woman on a mission, and no mere fastener could stop her from the silky skin hidden underneath. Bellatrix watched her movements with unbridled desire as she scooted the dress lower to the point where it pulled around her hips, waiting for the younger woman to pull it down and expose the dark witch’s aching core.

But it never happened for suddenly Bellatrix’s eager lover turned into a frightened deer, looking around the room frantically as if she was searching for something.

”Come on, pet. It was just getting good.” She begged pathetically only to be silenced by Hermione’s palm, covering her still parted lips.

”Can you hear this?” The bushy-haired girl asked.

”What?” Bellatrix momentarily summoned her wand, ready to rain hell upon whoever dared to interrupt their snogging session. But the main problem was that there was nothing to be mad at, not at all. She strained her ears, waiting for even the slightest sound that could have set the other woman off, but she simply couldn’t hear anything.

”There!” Hermione yelled like a mad woman, bolting out of the bed. Bellatrix’s naked body long forgotten. “You hear that? It’s like a mobile phone or something!”

”Forget it, you’ve probably forgot to turn it off before the concerto.” Bellatrix collapsed back on the bed. “Hermione please, comeback here, I need you.”

But her plea fell on the deaf ears as the girl in question was frozen in thought, too caught up to think about such carnal needs anymore.

”I don’t own a mobile phone…” whispered Hermione, her teeth slowly munching on her bottom lip in contemplation. “Shit!”

She looked around frantically.

”Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

She didn’t own one in this world - it hit her!

”Shit!” She repeated, groaning in frustration. Petite hand massaging her sweaty temple as the realization finally sank in. Turning back to the half-naked woman, she mumbled something about coming back in a second and burst out the door without further explanation, leaving annoyed Bellatrix alone in the small bedroom.

Hermione ran into the nearest room, locking the door behind herself and slid down onto the carpeted floor. Time was of the essence. Focusing on the ringing sound she quickly traveled back to her own body, rummaging around her pockets in search of the bloody phone. If Lestrange caught even the slightest whiff of this, the whole plan would be endangered.

Finally she found it.

”Harry?” Hermione asked, answering the call with shaking hands. “Is everything alright?”

”Salazar’s balls, ‘Mione.” Ronald’s voiced echoed from the little speaker. “We’re perfectly fine,” He whined. “which from the look of it I wouldn’t be able to say about you. What’s going on? Why is your voice so hoarse? Have you been crying? Has she done anything to you?”

The sudden onslaught of questions made the girl’s cheeks burn with heat.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” said Hermione, still thinking about her lovely date. Her voice breaking, a bit too eager for her own liking. “But why are you calling then?”

”Ohh right, so Snivellus…” She could hear someone admonishing him on the other side. “Yeah, okay, Professor Snape has finished brewing that cleansing potion asked for. I just wanted to let you know that all this will be over soon. The potions still needs to cool down or something, but tomorrow it will probably be ready to use.”

”That’s great news.” Hermione mumbled through gritted teeth, willing to finish the conversation and go back to the dark witch writhing on her bed. Her fake optimism sounding suspicious even to her own ears.

”Well… you don't sound very happy.” Ron replied hesitantly.

Shit.

”I am!” She hissed out at him.

”Ok!” The boy said hurriedly. “Relax! Blimey, one would think that Crookshanks would at least help you partially chill out.”

”I’m simply not in a mood to talk, Ronald, that’s all.” She had to pinch the bridge of her nose to stop the incoming headache. “I’m really happy about the potion, trust me. But you see… I’m kind of in the middle of something right now…”

”Sure, except you don’t seem happy at all.” He just wouldn’t stop talking. “Is it because I didn’t believe you back at Gringotts? Are you still mad about that?”

”Nooo, Ron, I’m not. There hasn’t been a single day when I wouldn’t miss you.” said Hermione. “It’s just that I really can’t talk to you right now. It’s because of Bellatrix, not you.”

”That wretched bitch!” She heard him sneer. “Tomorrow we will finally take care of her. The bitch wouldn’t know what fucking hit her.”

”Yes, well, I really have to go now.” Hermione sighed wearily. All of this was proving to much for the kind girl. The power, the different worlds, Lestranges - her head was buzzing with the constant onslaught of emotions.

”Sure. Bye.” Ron mumbled sadly on the other side and soon all she could hear was a static noise.

She didn’t have time to ponder the conversation further. She jumped back to her other self, not wanting to keep the older woman waiting, but as soon as she unlocked the door she was leaning against, a strange sight greeted her.

Bellatrix was standing a couple of meters from her, fully clothed and sporting a terrified expression as if she had just witnessed a ghost. Momentarily a torrent of thoughts rushed through Hermione’s head. Perhaps she hasn’t severed the connection firmly enough and somehow Bellatrix was able to hear her conversation with Ron. Or maybe the woman changed her mind, realizing how bad of a lover she actually was.

”I have to go.” The other witch rushed to say, her hand already pulling on the door handle. She was pale as a sheet. “Ministry business.” She added seeing the Gryffindor’s puzzlement.

”If it’s so urgent then surely I’ll be needed as well.” Hermione replied with concern coloring her features. Her hand already reaching to summon her coat.

”No!” The dark-haired woman yelled and then took a calming breath before repeating yet again. “No. I will call for you should the need arise. Goodbye.”

And with that, Hermione was left gaping in her living room. Not really sure if she should be concerned or mad at herself for ruining everything.

The next day was the D day. It was supposed to be the last day she would spend in captivity. It started like any other day. She woke up in the Black Manor, took a shower and then stumbled into the kitchen to prepare herself breakfast. Only this time Bellatrix was already awake, currently biting into the scrambled eggs that she must have prepared all on her own.

With one hand she pushed the food into her mouth and in the other she held a slightly distressed book of what looked to be poems. Hermione inched closer to see what they were only to shiver in fear as she saw the name Goethe written on its cover in golden lettering.

”What are you doing here?” She asked confused.

Since when was the Death Eater capable of cooking her own food? And where has this sudden interest in muggle poetry come from?

”None of your business.” The dark witch hissed at her with such viciousness that she had to take a step back out of caution. It was harsh even for Bellatrix’s standards.

”I see you’re not in the mood to talk today then.” Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to act as if she wasn’t hurt by the other woman’s sudden indifference.

However scarce their conversations were, most of the time she actually enjoyed them. Not only was Lestrange funny, but also very knowledgeable about the flora and fauna surrounding the property. Sometimes it was easy to forget how horrible she could be.

Apparently Bellatrix must have sensed it somehow, for she was clearly aiming to destroy all the progress they have done.

”Not today, not ever!” The older woman clarified. “I would never want anything to do with the likes of you. With such a filthy, disgusting creature!”

She banged her fist on the table like a child who didn’t get the candy they wanted.

”Okay… could have just said so, but ok.” Hermione spat back at her.

The only response she got in return was the angry growl Bellatrix emitted while stuffing her face with her steaming breakfast.

Ignoring the other woman’s petulant behavior, Hermione decided to skip the breakfast and dive straight back into her ministerial life. Imagine her shock when she came into the bathroom in her little suite only to find the mirror above the sink smashed into millions of pieces.

What she was looking at was practically a bloodbath with dried red stains covering everything and small pieces of bloodied glass piled inside the sink, clogging it with rubble.

When did it happen? At this point she was so in tune with her current self that she would have sensed something like that happening when the Minister was asleep. Could it be the reason why Bellatrix left her in such a hurry? Why would she do something like this? Did she injure herself? Why wouldn’t she tell her anything?

Waving her wand around, Hermione quickly tidied up the mess, keeping in mind that she would have to later ask Bella about it. She washed her teeth, put on makeup and dressed nicely. Already reaching for the door handle when someone decided to bang on the wood.

”Ron?” Hermione asked visibly confused as she opened the door. “Is there a problem at the Ministry? Is Bellatrix alright?”

Ron answered her with an ironic snort. “She hasn’t been alright for quite some time now.”

”Ronald!” She felt the need to admonish him. “She’s not going to like you if you keep making comments like that. It’s ridiculous enough that she thinks you’re stealing her lunch everyday.”

”Oh no, not this again!” Ron palmed his face in distress. “She keeps yapping about it every time she sees me.”

”Well, maybe she has a good reason for that. You certainly don’t lack the motive.” Hermione replied dryly.

”Mione, please!” Ron cried desperately, too fed up to deal with this topic at such an early hour. “I know exactly who’s eating her lunch every day!”

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

”Who?” She asked hopefully, only to start worrying at the sight of her friends distressed expression.

”Bellatrix fucking Lestrange! Who else?!?” Ron bellowed. “ I see her everyday stuffing her gob with food and yet she still has the audacity to spread these defamatory rumors about me!”

”Impossible!” said Hermione. Bellatrix wouldn’t lie so offhandedly, not to her. Not this one at least.

”Believe whatever you want, it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway.” The fiery haired boy replied, pushing a creased newspaper in her face. “Turns out she was right. There was a break in at the Ministry.”

Hermione gasped, snatching the piece of paper off his hands and looking at it in utter disbelief.

”BELLATRIX LESTRANGE RESIGNS AS THE HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT”

Chapter Text

”BELLATRIX LESTRANGE RESIGNS AS THE HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT”
This morning between 1 and 3 am the security of the Department of Mysteries has been compromised. An unknown individual, or possibly an organized group of intruders, infiltrated the most secure area of the Ministry of Magic, destroying rows and rows of prophecies in their wake.

The criminals have left no witnesses, brutally murdering three aurors designated to protect our society’s most vital secrets. The autopsy showed numerous bullet wounds matching the type of machine rifle commonly used in the muggle world. As for other possible damages and losses resulting from this vicious attack - the auror office is still in the process of cataloguing all of the most valuable artifacts. Verifying if and what else exactly has been lost will take the Unspeakables approximately 3-5 days.

However, a significant obstacle impeding the swiftness of the investigation will certainly be the sudden resignation of Bellatrix Lestrange, who until this day has served as the head of the Magical Law Enforcement. An act widely debated among the Ministry employees, arguing whether or not the tragedy could have been prevented. As of now, Mrs Lestrange refuses to comment on the whole situation, directing all press to Inspector Dolohov instead.

It’s not a mystery that the Russian is the man most commonly tipped to be named Lestrange’s successor. The decision is rumored to be announced tomorrow. Until then the office will be temporarily held by Lestrange who according to wizarding law has to first finalize the overdue paperwork.

Finally, some of the Wizengamot deputies have been holding rallies protesting the promuggle policies of Minister Granger, pointing at the muggle government as the supposed perpetrators of the act.

Both the Minister and the muggle Prime Minister have yet to comment.

This couldn’t be happening!

The newspaper slipped out of her grasp.

This simply couldn’t be happening!

Machine guns? Muggles? The Hall of Prophecies? Bellatrix’s resignation? This thing was fishy to put it mildly, and she had to get to the bottom of this. Standing gaping in front of Ron wouldn’t help her in any way and so without waiting she brandished her wand and disapparated. One flush of a toilet later and she found herself surrounded by a flock of harpies screaming for her to answer their never-ending torrent of questions.

Hermione pushed past the crowd, striding into the waiting elevator in which Yaxley was nervously tapping his foot. One glance was all the Gryffindor needed to see how utterly terrified the man was. His usually neatly slicked-back blonde hair now clumsily gathered into a messy plait.

Seeing her enter, he moved aside and pushed the button with shaking hand. Immediately the lightbulb saying “level 9” lit up.

”To the Department of Mysteries first, I see.” said Hermione.

Yaxley lowered his head, afraid to look her in the eye as he mumbled under his breath. “We need you to see something.”

The elevator started moving vertically, and they had to hold on to the golden ropes hanging off the ceiling. The flashing lights highlighting the serious expression on the Death Eater’s face. Hermione observed him quietly for a few seconds, before a sudden thought caused her to break the silence.

”Does it have anything to do with the reason why Lestrange resigned?” She asked.

Without looking at her, the blonde man replied, “It has everything to do with that.”

The door opened, presenting a long, dimly lit corridor. They strode through it in silence, only stopping in the middle of the circular room where Yaxley mumbled something and opened another set of doors, ushering her inside. Up until this moment she hasn’t detected any visible signs of the tragedy that took place there in the middle of the night. However, now that Yaxley pushed her into a familiar room crammed full of broken shelves the damaged became more apparent.

The giant heap of shattered glass meant nothing to her at this point in life for she had seen similar destruction at least two times now. Most of these prophecies were so old that people whom they concerned were no longer alive. Their destruction in itself wouldn’t be considered that much of a tragedy if it wasn’t for the expensive shelving now scattered around the room, buried below all the rubble. But what worried Hermione more was the fact that Yaxley didn’t brought her there to see a mountain of shards or even the iron shelves broken into slabs. Somewhere deeper into the burglarized room a much graver mystery was awaiting their arrival.

”This way, Minister.” Corban said, gesturing for her to follow.

Navigating around the rubble they soon arrived at the entrance to a small, gloomy corridor and Hermione’s heart almost  leapt out of her chest. Right there in the middle of the floor was a huge arrow mark painted entirely with what Hermione suspected to be human blood. But what horrified her even further was the fact that she already knew what they will find at the end of this corridor - the storage room where it all began.

Seeing her hesitate Yaxley squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, probably thinking that it was the horrific sight of a murder scene that frightened her. She wished for that to be the case, but the truth sadly was way more menacing than that.

“Come on, it’s not that far.” Came the sympathetic voice of this extremely unsympathetic man and Hermione couldn’t help but move her feet. With Yaxley lightning the way they soon arrived in front of the massive wooden door, conspicuously left ajar for the passers-by to have a glimpse at what’s inside.

”We didn’t want to disturb it too much.” Corban explained. “The Unspeakables had to use some sort of magic eye to peak inside. I was told that it’s not a sight for lighthearted people.”

”Good thing I’m not one.” She replied coldly, wrenching the heavy door open.

Yaxley gasped.

At the end of the room a middle aged man was nailed onto a wall, a glowing green ball stuffed into his open mouth. “The Muggle-Wizard relations” - spelled in bloody caption cut into his flesh.

This wasn’t a work of some random muggle terrorists. Hermione didn’t have to see her autograph to know that. The glowing green orb was enough of a confession at that point, everything else around it was just a little extra to spice things up. Bellatrix has really outdone herself this time.

”I reckon you didn’t inform the press about this?” She met Yaxley’s gaze, looking at him intently.

”Would they be waiting for his statement if they knew?” He replied sadly.

”How the hell are we going to explain that to the muggles?” said Hermione, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body of the British Prime Minister. For all she knew this could only lead to war.

”We won’t.” Yaxley sneered. “They wouldn’t understand. We will patch the body up and stage an accident so that they don’t suspect our involvement.”

”That’s…” Hermione had trouble finding words in that situation. Covering up the death of a country leader seemed amoral to her. But then again, was honesty more important than stopping a war? She cursed herself for even having to consider such a thing. She cursed Bellatrix for forcing her to do it. That’s when another thing occurred to her and she paled thinking what else the unhinged Death Eater might still ruin before they manage to get to her.

“Where is Lestrange?” She asked Yaxley. It came out way too quiet, too sad. Knowing what the other woman did should make her blood boiling, infuriate her… and yet all she could feel right now was sadness. Deep, unbearable sadness.

”In her office probably. Helping Antonin close some old cases and finish the paperwork. Why’re you asking?” He arched his brow questioningly.

”I need to talk to her. Right now!”

Bellatrix was having the time of her life. Nothing she has done before compared to the utter fuckery she was performing in that world. It felt nothing like the torment she unleashed upon all the other mudbloods she killed in her most horrifying and fruitful career, this time it was more glorious, sneaky, immoral. And to think that all of this started by an ordinary coincidence - mind blowing.

The initial plan was simple: jump worlds, get the prophecy, get out. Nothing simpler… well, if only her wretched arm wasn’t killing her constantly, that is. Usually, she strived for pain. It anchored her, helping her distinguish between the blissful delusions of the other worlds and the harsh reality of her own. This pain, however, was not a normal one - it was unbearable. And so for once in her life Bellatrix didn’t exactly hate the mind numbing effects of her dark travels. She allowed herself to embrace it.

Ignoring the pain, she chose the world she’s been to before. The one where she worked at the Ministry of Magic. The one where the filth was ruling over her. In short: a perfect world to ruin. Soon enough she found herself in the middle of a busy office. Before her, on her desk, lied a bunch of items including a tasty looking sandwich.

Her stomach rumbled at the mouth watering sight. She couldn’t stop herself, swiftly unwrapping the sandwich and stuffing it into her mouth. Someone next to her had the audacity to groan in disgust.

“The fuck are you looking at, Weasel? Don’t you have a toilet to scrub? Perhaps a dead brother to bury?” She spat in his direction.

”Fuck off.” He mumbled in reply, snatching the documents off his desk and hurrying away from the dark witch.

”That’s right, get lost you little coward!” Bellatrix celebrated her first victory of the day.

Somehow she always felt good bullying the ginger sod and his piss-poor family. She liked telling herself that it was because of what that fat hen did to her, how she took her chance for a happy life away from her, but deep down she knew that it wasn’t entirely the case. Pestering  Potter’s ginger sidekick  always felt sweeter than messing with the rest of them. There was something about his annoying face that constantly set her off. The way he always seemed to orbit around the little mudblood… It all made for a very punchable individual Bellatrix just couldn’t tolerate.

Brushing off the thoughts of the Weasley boy falling down the elevator shaft, she rose to her feet and left the office. It was barely morning and so the Ministry halls were desolate, leaving her a vast amount of space she could peruse without bringing any attention to herself. And even if she did draw someone’s attention, who would they have to be to defy the head of the Magical Law Enforcement? Not many people could do that. Few Unspeakables. Alastor perhaps.

Ugh. From Weasley to Alastor Moody. As if she didn’t have anything more pleasant to think of.

Soon she got into an elevator and disembarked at the infamous level 9 where she was sure to follow the usual routine every idiot breaking into that wretched place had to perform. Only that there was a slight problem this time around - it didn’t work.

She sensed it just a second too late. The wards have been altered, new measures added and it wasn’t until the moment she opened the wrong door in the spinning room that she realized that she was careless enough to activate a silent alarm. It wasn’t looking good even for her, even for the headauror. If Moody finds her here there will be no way of  bamboozling him and so she did everything she could to escape the place as fast as possible - to no avail. The spinning room remained an unyielding prison.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, body sliding onto the cold floor as she raked her brain for what she will tell the Unspeakables when they inevitably arrive. Sometimes simplicity is the best option. She realized that the alarm went off and went to investigate, opening the door for the perpetrator who took his chances and escaped. Plausible and only a little bit embarrassing. A story she could stomach.

And yet, sitting there she couldn’t stop pondering why on earth would someone meddle with the security in this godforsaken place. A world where there was no Death Eaters to protect against. And suddenly it hit her that it might have in fact been her doing, so she started surveying her own memories looking for something of use to her advantage.

She didn’t find it that easily, as she soon got caught in an entirely different trap of her own making - the memory of the dinner with the Mudblood. It must have been hours since her counterpart tried to woo that filthy creature in front Bellatrix’s whole family and it shocked her to point out that the foolish girl wasn’t exactly opposed to it.

The way she moved, they way she spoke. Bellatrix’s mind was playing the interactions on a loop. The familiarity of this specimen was simply too striking. It couldn’t be a coincidence - the foolish girl had the same idea she did.

First the Professor, now this? This simply wouldn’t do!

Bellatrix saw red. It was a treachery on all fronts! How dare she entertain these advances, how dare she smile like that in front of the headauror? To tremble when she grasped her hand? There was something deeply unsettling about it all, and even though Bellatrix knew that the girl was attracted to her, to hell she teased her about it constantly, she couldn’t get over the fact that the little harlot might actually ACT upon it!

Never before in her life has she felt such an irresistible urge to harm her other self, to punish herself for leading her on. It would be so easy to jump off the London Bridge and have the Mudblood’s lovely date ruined forever, but there was another way to do it. She realized as she heard the voices coming from the other side of the room. There was a more poetic way to punish both of them and get what she wanted in the first place.

The prophecy and their suffering shall soothe the anger of her betrayed heart.

All in its due time.

It quickly became a guilty pleasure of her. Everyday she would supervise the affair, doing everything to compromise the headauror’s position and sanity. She stole her lunches in hopes that it would stop the two women from meeting, came up with all sorts of impossible stories, bullied the Weasel, spent countless hours cracking the wards of the Department of Mysteries and acted crazy in general for the sole purpose of wrecking the other woman’s career and integrity. She wanted to drive her insane, to ruin her in Granger’s eyes until she would have no choice but to end it.

Sure enough, soon people started noticing: first the Weasel, then Cissy… to the point where it seemed that everyone around her was taking her for a complete nutter - all except that blasted girl!

If anything, the girl acted even more supportive the harder Bellatrix tried to deter her. It was a hopeless cause, one that could only end in a complete heartbreak… not that Bellatrix was complaining. The two of them ending up completely miserable was what she strived for after all.

But it wasn’t the only obstacle she encountered on her quest! For it quickly turned out that her biggest threat might not actually be the Mudblood, but rather Bellatrix herself.

Honestly, she should have realized earlier that the other version of herself wouldn’t give up without a fight. That she would be willing to resist with every fiber of her existence constantly asking questions, obsessing over the wards as if she could sense Bellatrix’s intentions, as if she knew.

Perhaps the woman was already mad as the romantics believed that crazy people were able to overcome their limitations, getting a glimpse of the things other couldn’t see or feel. Things that were beyond a normal person’s comprehension. Perhaps it was the definite victory of the Sturm und Drang idealization of the intuition that threw a wrench in her endeavors.

Whichever it was, Bellatrix found herself fighting a losing battle - infinitely cracking the wards that at the end of the day would be improved on anyway.

Words couldn’t express how horrible it made her feel to be constantly outmaneuvered by this weak woman the Mudblood was lusting after. Despite it all, she couldn’t bring herself to put an end to their illicit affair, with batted breath analyzing every single conversation her counterpart held with Hermione. It was like opium to her soul. Every joke, every touch constantly buzzing at the end of her skull, begging her to come back and get another glimpse at what was happening between the two.

Sometimes it drove her to alcohol - the worst of which Granger has witnessed on the second day of their shared confinement. She shouldn’t have mixed the alcohol with potions, every moron knew not to do that. But the pain got strong enough to reverberate even in the other world, bothering her as she wanted to work. Since then it has gotten marginally better, but Bellatrix wouldn’t allow herself to repeat that silly accident. She would spend hours locked in her empty room, drinking in front of a mirror, trying to get over the hatred that was coursing through her veins.

Hatred? Who was she kidding? It wasn’t only that. Not anymore. The times of her actually hating the girl were long forgotten. Somehow in her quest of hurting the Gryffindor with the headauror’s hands, she grew alarmingly jealous of the affection with which Hermione address her counterpart. She wanted the girl to like her too. She even started doing things that she hoped would keep the other woman occupied in their world. Not only that, she started to be nice to her!!!

And what did she get in return?

AN ASTRONOMICAL DISAPPOINTMENT!

It all started on that faithful day their date was to take place. Bellatrix has just taken over the headauror’s body, thinking that the horrible date with the younger woman was finally over.

It wasn’t.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was a small, empty bedroom with two sets of doors, one of which she suspected to be the bathroom. Momentarily she sprang to her feet, completely ignoring the tight black dress haphazardly hanging off her hips as she stumbled into the little bathroom, locking the door behind herself. With a move of her hand she turned the light on and almost fainted as she took in her own reflection in the mirror.

Her whole body from the jaw down was covered in teeth marks and hickeys. The sole fact that she was even naked from the waist up was making her blood boil. She felt betrayed.

The images of Granger hovering over her, making her cry out in pleasure as those innocent lips devoured her flesh flooded Bellatrix’s mind. It felt amazing and horrible at the same time. For all she knew the marks on her skin were enough of an evidence of that. It disgusted her.

Her fingers mindlessly tracing the bruises covering the headauror’s soft flesh. It wasn’t her. Oh no, Bellatrix knew her own body well enough. It was malnourished, scarred and deathly pale. Nothing like the beautiful silhouette she saw in the mirror. No wonder the Mudblood would lust after that. The headauror was everything Azkaban took away from her, everything she could have had if she hasn’t wasted the 14 years of her life.

It dawned on her that perhaps the disgust she was experiencing wasn’t actually aimed at the bushy-haired girl, but rather at herself.

Her own mad, sickly, twisted self.

And  for the first time in her life, Bellatrix regretted torturing the Longbottoms. And it infuriated her even further. It made her want to damage the delicate flesh, to ruin it and make it look like her own. She wanted to cut every single inch of it until the Mudblood has no choice but to look at the other woman with the same hatred she looked at her.

Not bearing to look at herself in the mirror any longer, Bellatrix smashed the thing to pieces with her bare hand. It shattered messily, with sharp shards biting into her skin and sticking out painfully. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to care, embracing the physical pain as a way to silence the more sophisticated one.

She felt tired.

Feeling the need to further hurt the person responsible for all this, she hastily scribbled a bloody message and disappeared into her own world, hoping to calm down a little bit before she’ll be ready to unleash hell she prepared with such pietism.

It happened again.

Bellatrix bit into her uninjured hand to muffle her scream as the pieces of glass gently floated out of her leaking wounds. A simple healing charm wouldn’t do much to fix that, she desperately needed dittany and she needed it fast.

Carefully not to make it worse she pulled her ruined dress up, fastening the back with a spell, looking for some way to stop the bleeding before Hermione’s whole bathroom turns into a slaughterhouse. After some deliberations she decided to transfigure one of the shards into a temporary bandage, slowly wrapping it around her abused knuckles.

It was at this moment that Bellatrix spotted the cursed letters staring at her from the cracked surface of the mirror.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, BLOOD TRAITOR!” - the inscription read.

Bella’s jaw dropped.

It couldn’t be! Has she really been that mad that she scribbled something like this to herself? Or was there another being meddling in her life? If so, it must have been a specter of some kind, possessing her when no one was watching, taunting her at night, filling her head with rage that wasn’t her own.

Recently she had these most peculiar issues with her memory where she would blink and suddenly appear in an entirely different place, sometimes even hours later as if her memory of what happened in between has been completely wiped by some nefarious party. She even confided in Narcissa in hopes that the woman would keep it to herself. A fool she was really, for her own sister quickly sold her out to the Minister - the only person she wouldn’t bear knowing.

It was humiliating. Bellatrix never was the one to faint easily. In fact it never happened to her before a week ago or so. Even when they were children. Cissy and Andy were terribly afraid of blood and fainting at the sight of a simplest cut, but she never felt even a little bit lightheaded. That’s how she knew that whatever was going on with her memory couldn’t be a cause of losing consciousness. There had to be something bigger at play here.

At a very young age Bellatrix has been taught that she should never no matter what bother other people with her goofy afflictions, especially not those of the more sophisticated nature. Not only was it unheard of for a pureblood lady to bore strangers with such trivialities, but also dangerous to the family’s reputation. It was bad enough that half of her relatives ended up either killing themselves or in a loony bin and so the last thing the Blacks wanted was for others to think that the Black Madness was more prevalent than it actually was.

It always were the foolish superstitions like this - the tabooing of everything regarding the psyche - that caused her to struggle with expressing emotions. Even as basic things as talking about her feelings with the people she cared about seemed beyond terrifying and although Bellatrix had no trouble with acknowledging how silly of a fear it was, how ironic to perpetuate that never ending circle of silence, there wasn’t much she could do about it. She felt embarrassed at how hopeless she could be. Disgusted with herself even.

Telling Hermione about her recent problems Narcissa has struck a nerve. A soft spot of hers. What hurt her even more was that not only did she told her behind Bellatrix’s back, but also then refused to talk to Bellatrix about it. How could she do such a thing and don’t have enough decency to even come clean about it? For all she knew, Bellatrix should still be angry at her, perhaps even more than previously. However, right now all of it felt obsolete.

With blood dripping from the wounds on her hand, she couldn’t afford wasting any more time on stupid quarrels when her life was hanging at a thread. She needed to stop this circle of madness. To get herself sorted out. To get better. And unfortunately there was only one person she knew who could help her.

Wiping the offending text off the mirror, she stepped out of the small bathroom, bolting from Hermione’s house. Stooping as low as to lie to the woman she loved, coming up with a pitiful story about a Ministry fuckup. And then burst out the door before the girl could as much as question her. Pathetic.

Sure enough, she managed to splinch herself.

“Cissy!” Bellatrix yelled, banging on the iron gate, too exhausted to dispel it on her own.

The sudden commotion draws the blonde woman out of the house, a shy, scared house elf following after her as the Malfoy matriarch strode to her side with deep concern coloring her aristocratic features. At such a late hour, not long after their ugly fight and with Bellatrix banging on the gate, Narcissa was ready to admonish her sister mercilessly for disturbing her peace. Only to freeze at the sight of blood oozing from Bellatrix’s wounds.

”Merlin! Bella, what’s happened to you?” She cries, falling to her knees beside the injured witch. With all the strength she could muster, she pulls the older woman closer, making Bellatrix howl in pain.

”You were right about everything, Cissy.” Her sister sobbed pathetically, writhing in her lap in fits of pain.

Narcissa’s stomach drops. Never before had she seen her sister like that. Bellatrix always was an adamant, proud woman. She rarely ever allowed herself to display vulnerability. In all the years the two sisters relayed on each other in the toughest moments, Mrs Malfoy has only seen her crying once - when Andromeda was disowned. Since then, the times have changed, a new, happier era threatened to change the Wizarding Society for the better, strike down the pathology tainting it from the inside, cast aside the prejudices of dark times. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that Narcissa didn’t expect to ever see Bellatrix crying again and yet, somehow, she had been wrong.

“Bring me dittany!” The younger woman ordered, pushing on the bleeding gash covering her sister’s thigh. The small house elf standing behind her disappearing in a blink of an eye.

”What was I right about, darling?” She asks Bellatrix. Petite fingers brushing aside the damp raven curls falling on Lestrange’s pale face. At this rate, the older woman would soon lose consciousness and bleed to death. She knew that she needed to keep the conversation going for as long as she could.

”Everything… I’m… not feeling well.” Bellatrix looked delirious. Her dark eyes staring at her wildly, begging her to ease her suffering.

”Of course you do.” Narcissa’s lips curled into a sympathetic smile. “Look at you, you’re barely alive. How would you like to feel in such condition?”

”No, not like that.” The dark witch’s voice was getting weaker. “I meant mentally.” She paused, stifling another sob as she clung to her sister’s hands for dear life. “I think… I might be crazy, Cissy.”

The fingers, caressing her brow hesitate.

”Nonsense!” Narcissa protested, her masterly executed outrage holding only a hint of her true emotions. Hearing a crack behind her, she turned around, snatching the jar from the house elf’s outstretched hand. “You might be a bit  rude and annoying at times, but a lot of people are. There’s nothing crazy about it.”

Bellatrix opened her mouth to argue, but before she could as much as utter a word, the first touch of dittany on her wound caused her to scream in pain.

”Cissy, this isn’t a joke!” She finally snapped. “I need help! There’s got to be a way to fight it somehow!”

The Malfoy matriarch avoided her gaze, choosing to stare at the healing flesh, too afraid of her own reactions.

”Look at me!” Bellatrix cried in anguish. Her bandaged arm dragging the other woman by the chin to meet her gaze. ”Look at my hand! It’s all my doing! I’ve done this to myself, and I don’t even remember why!”

Finally, the blue eyes widened. Lips parting in shock. Another person might have been credulous enough to leave the subject at that, but Narcissa was like Thomas - she had to see to believe.

Carefully not to hurt her sister, Mrs Malfoy untied the soaked bandages away, uncovering the swollen cuts covering Bella’s hand from knuckles to the wrist. A horrified gasp escaped her lips as the reddened fabric slipped from her grasp, turning back into a shard of glass on its way to the ground.

“Merlin, I can’t believe you chose a piece of glass for that.” Narcissa sprang to her feet, helping the younger woman up as she shook her head in disbelief.

”It was the only thing I got on me.”

”A piece of cloth would have been better than that.” She said eyeing the bloodied dress Bellatrix has chosen for her date. It’s been torn in the places she splinched herself. The skin drawing together as dittany started to work its magic.

Narcissa watched the reddened flesh tie itself together for a bit, making sure that her sister’s life wasn’t endangered. And then finally, as if too fed up with Lestrange’s  bullshit she spun on her heel and took off. Bellatrix watched her go with the look of pure bewilderment.

”Cissy, please, we need to talk!” She cried desperately, thinking that the other woman was still mad about their previous encounter.

She stopped.

”Not here. Inside.”

A few minutes later Bellatrix was sitting leisurely, nursing a steaming cup of tea in her lap. All of her injuries were taken care of, blood lose remedied with a simple potion. Her only current problems were obvious signs of insanity and the blank expression on Narcissa’s face.

”Possession?” The younger Black repeated staring at a wall. The cup of tea in her grasp slowly getting cold.

”Do you have any other explanation?” Bellatrix’s brows rose questioningly. “Well, maybe except…”

”Don’t be ridiculous. And who would be spiteful enough to waste their afterlife haunting you?” Narcissa interrupted her. “Surely there must be plenty of more thrilling things to do after death.”

The dark eyes rolled dramatically as Bellatrix set her empty teacup aside.

”Like what? Going to an undead book club? Compete in an ectoplasm puking competition? Hanging out at Hogwarts with the rest of the losers? Oh please, Cissy.” She let out an exaggerated sight. “I bet it’s someone from the family. Auntie Walburga, Regulus, I could go on and on for hours if I had the time.”

”Right.”

”The point is… Whatever this specter wants, it cannot possibly be anything good.” Bellatrix finished, now feeling slightly better with herself as she came up with this new explanation. Narcissa on the other hand didn’t look half as amused as she was.

”I shall call Andromeda.” She said dryly.

”Wait!” The dark witch stopped her. “There is no need to bother her when she’s at work.”

”Bella. I’m going to call her precisely because she IS at work.” said Narcissa, already setting up a floo connection.

It made Bellatrix jump to her feet.

”And what does that supposed to mean?”

”You know exactly what it means.” Narcissa hissed back at her. “You should have told me this a long time ago and maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. But Bellatrix, madness or possession alike, either way you’re gonna need a visit from a professional healer or I’m not listening to you anymore.”

”But… what if she doesn’t believe me?” Bellatrix stomped her foot. “What if she just assumes I should be locked up? Will you genuinely do nothing when they take me to St Mungo’s knowing full well that all this time this … thing will be watching me? What if it tries to kill me?”

”Bella, don’t be dramatic. If it really is Auntie Walburga, then she’s been watching you for years now. Why would she kill you anyway? With Sirius disowned you are the head of the family, killing you would be a waste of pure blood.” Always the voice of reason, Narcissa ignored the other woman’s protestations and contacted their sister.

Soon Andromeda’s weary face appeared in the roaring flames. With Bellatrix sulking in the corner, Narcissa had all the freedom she needed to bring the other witch up to speed. They talked for what felt like an hour, discussing all of the possibilities in morbid details.

Finally, the flames died down only to come to life again with the arrival w the last third of the Black trio - Andromeda Tonks. Bellatrix haven’t seen her in quite some time now. Both of them dedicated to their jobs rarely had the opportunities to meet with Narcissa, let alone with each other. But in all honesty, Bellatrix preferred it that way. Deep down she still hasn’t forgiven her sister for running away from home without telling anyone.

”Why is it that we always meet, whenever  you’ve done something reckless, Bellatrix?” Andromeda stepped out of the narrow fireplace, carrying a small leather bag.

”That might be because you rarely show up to anything these days. I know, because Rodolphus never fails to comment on it.” Bellatrix stiffened as the cloud of colorful lights engulfed her body, no doubt searching for injuries.

”It wouldn’t hurt you to visit me from time to time, would it?” said the shorter woman, analyzing the results of the quick diagnostic spell. “Although I’ve heard that another person had been occupying your time lately. The Minister.”

”Cissy!” Bellatrix cried, staring at her sister with resentment.

”I haven’t told her anything.”

”I have my sources.” Andromeda clarified with a cruel smirk. “Now be a dear, Bella and stay still for a couple of seconds.” She took out a small metal device with random symbols written on the sides.

Before Bellatrix could protest she waved the device in front of her face and proceeded with scanning her whole body. When she was done, one of the lightbulbs sticking out of the thing lit up with an eerie green light. The mediwitch looked at it thoughtfully and finally put the device back in her bag.

”Just as I thought.” Mrs Tonks tsked sadly.

The two sisters momentarily jumping to her side eager to know what the verdict was.

”So…” Narcissa Malfoy hastened. “What is wrong with her?”

”Surprisingly, she’s not a nutter.” Andromeda drawled, ignoring the angry expressions on the Black sisters’ faces. “But the other thing… Well, let’s say that there might be a grain of truth in what she was saying. The equipment shows slight fluctuations in the matter of time and space. I wouldn’t rule out a possible ghost possession just yet.”

”I knew I wasn’t crazy!”

”Bellatrix! Just a few minutes ago you were crying, telling me that you were!”

“A moment of weakness, nothing more.”

”Enough!” The cold blue eyes shut her up successfully as Narcissa Malfoy turned her attention back to Andromeda. “Now that we know what to suspect, what should we do to counter this apparition?”

”Not much I guess. As you know, ghosts are pretty much indestructible and they can be really stubborn when they want to. I’ve heard that sometimes simple spells like lumos can irritate them, but if this specter is as malicious as Bellatrix claims it is, I doubt it will work on them.” The older Black sister explained.

”So what, am I supposed to do nothing?” Bellatrix snapped at her.

”Of course not.” Andromeda rolled her eyes. “You are an occulumens for Salazar’s sake, make use of that! Resist!”

The dark eyes lit up with rage.

”Easy for you to say when it’s not you who wakes up with glass shards sticking out of your hand!”

”Poow wittle Bewwa.” Her sister cooed mockingly. “And what am I supposed to do? For all I know you’re a healthy adult witch. Now it’s all between you and your ghost. Call me when it comes back. Until then: I have actual sick people to take care off. Now if you would excuse me…”

”Cissy! You can’t let her go like that!” The dark-haired witch ran in front of the fireplace blocking it from the younger woman as she tapped her foot impatiently.

”Let her go.” Narcissa’s hand waived dismissively. “She’s right, there’s nothing more she can do. We will have to just sit and wait for now.”

Reluctantly, Lestrange had to agree with them. Stepping aside she let her younger sister enter the fireplace, feeling a last reassuring pat on her shoulder before Andromeda disappeared in the burst of green flames, leaving her to take care of her business on her own.

Typical Andy stunt - the moment a situation turns sour, she just runs away.

”Don’t worry about it.” She heard the soft voice behind her. “I’m going to watch over you. There’s not a ghost in the world, Black or not, who would be able to defeat the two of us.”

Bellatrix wanted to believe Narcissa in that moment, but at this point she knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. Whoever this specter was, it was very powerful. She could feel it in her very soul.

“I don’t know why you’re so stressed out.” Yaxley told Dolohov as he bid him farewell. “You’ve been there before, you’ve seen the guy. He’s a stupid fucking muggle. There’s not much he can do to you.”

“It’s not what’s bothering me.” Dolohov countered.

“Oh please, it’s a child’s play! You take the tape, obliviate the muggle and apparate back. Don’t waste time on useless blabber and you will be home by midnight.”

“ Blyat , I’m not afraid of the stupid muggle, durak ! I don’t understand why we can’t tell the Dark Lord about this. I haven’t spent 14 years in Azkaban only to betray him now! And because of what? You being a coward?” Dolohov  hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’m not a coward. I’m a realist, Antonin!” Yaxley growled in his face. “Can’t you see how on edge he constantly is? The only thing he keeps talking about is that bloody brat. As if a teenager could somehow take the Ministry away from us all by himself.” The headauror took a calming breath to sooth his nerves. “Think about it that way: this thing is a five minutes job. Do you really want him to crucio us for something so trivial? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him and most importantly - can’t hurt us.”

The conversation kept repeating in Dolohov’s head. He should have told Yaxley to fuck off and do it himself. He should have gone straight to the Dark Lord and tell him everything. He should have, but Dolohov wasn’t that type of guy. If there was a single thing his family taught him before he left Russia, it was the inextinguishable, burning hatred towards agents, squealers and what have you.

It was a feeling mutual for muggles and wizards alike. Something that the Soviet reality taught them with a metal club and a bullet to the head. A fear that penetrated even those who thought themselves untouchable for most of history.

It was the rats that caused the downfall of the biggest Russian pureblooded families. The mudblood snitches who forced them to flee to the Eastern Bloc’s farthest edges. To abandon their homes and riches in exchange for a life of poverty, a life of a pariah.

It’s why he joined the Dark Lord, why he hated the mudbloods with all his heart. Why he still feared coming back to his country even after the USSR’s collapse. The people there knew too much and the Ministry was unrelenting. Ruled by the former Soviet collaborators it wouldn’t hesitate to send him to die in the harshest conditions compared to which Azkaban seemed like a five-star hotel.

And so Dolohov lamented over his fate as he climbed out of the narrow fireplace in the Prime Minister’s office. It looked exactly as they left it before, the only exception being the lack of the nosy muggle.

Where was he really? Yaxley seemed oddly convinced that he should be in his office. Surely the headauror wouldn’t be so careless as to send him there stumbling in the dark… Unless he was actively trying to set Antonin up. It wouldn’t be below him. Although at the moment Dolohov wasn’t even a competitor anymore. With Bellatrix gone Yaxley became second to only Severus’s influence.

A set up or not, Antonin knew that if this muggle wouldn’t show up soon, he won’t be coming back to finish the job another time. Let Yaxley solve his problems for himself.

Deep in thought he was soon startled by the sound of a door opening. Quickly not to get spotted he cast a disillusionment charm on himself and froze motionless.

Enter the Prime Minister. With one hand buried deep in his pocket and another nursing a glass of Brandy he paces through his office clearly agitated.

This was it, the moment of truth.

He stopped in front of a floor length mirror, right next to the rack with the monitor he showed them the recording on. If Dolohov was lucky enough, the black box would still be stuck inside the machine. All he needed to do was to get closer, snatch the tape, obliviate the muggle and disappear through the chimney.

Perhaps Yaxley wasn’t playing with him after all.

Moving at the glacial pace Antonin sauntered closer to the unsuspecting man, gingerly avoiding any obstacles in his way. He was just an arm’s length away from his target when accidentally their eyes connected in the mirror.

Momentarily Dolohov’s heart skipped a bit. There was no way the Prime Minister could see through his disguise and yet his inquisitive eyes seemed firmly stuck on the reflective surface as if he was looking for something behind his back. A low hum escaping the muggle’s throat as he nodded his head slowly, continuously watching something in the bloody mirror.

“Easy for you to say.” He hissed out suddenly. If Dolohov wasn’t standing so close to him he wouldn’t have caught it.

Dashing out of the muggle’s way, he watched the Prime Minister put the glass down on his desk, turning his back to the wizard. If his behavior looked strangely erratic to him, Dolohov brushed it off as a muggle thing. Grateful that he wouldn’t have to wrestle his way to the recoding. Antonin pried the machine’s slot open and  extracted the tape a bit too forcefully. He was just about to turn around and check if the target noticed the commotion, when he felt something cold and round press into his back.

“Don’t you dare move a single muscle.” The Prime Minister choked out. His voice breaking with every word, showing clearly how anxious he was. “Who. Are. You?”

Fuck the mission - Dolohov thought, eyeing the open window a few feet from where they were standing. If only he could dissolve into a cloud of smoke and fly through it fast enough for the stupid coward to not do anything. All this would be Yaxley’s problem once again.

But then again, why not finish the job? He had the recording. Alcohol, stress and an open window often lead to unfortunate accidents and a dead muggle was just as incapable of going after them as an obliviated one.

“Answer me!” The other man urged him, pushing the gun’s barrel farther into his back.

And then it happened. In the blink of an eye Antonin grabbed his trusty wand from its holster and waved it around fully expecting the weapon behind him to start spewing bullets. Surely enough a faint sound of a trigger pulled could be heard in the same moment Dolohov’s fingers touched the wooden surface of his wand, but to his surprise there was no spectacular shootout, no eardrum popping bang. Nothing but the barely audible click of a trigger.

Strange. Dolohov tried to cast the simplest of spells, but his arm suddenly refused to cooperate. Feeling awfully heavy it dropped to his side, letting the hefty wand crash to the floor below him. His vision wasn’t faring any better as objects started blending into each other before his eyes. In the last fit of desperation Antonin bend down trying to get a grip on his wand, but as soon as his knees gave out he collapsed onto the ground, feeling heavy as a log. Soon despite his efforts his eyes closed and he blacked out.

“Holy shit!” The man towering above him yelled in disbelief. “It actually worked!”

“Sure thing it did. You always seem to worry too much.” Detective Linton replied, walking into the room. “I told you that thermal cameras would come in handy.”

Kneeling next to the wizard, she put on a latex glove and extracted the dart from Dolohov’s exposed neck. The disillusionment has stopped working as soon as the toxin has entered his blood. Now after so many days of reading about him and watching him through the lens of the camera Patrizia has finally had the chance to see the Russian in flesh.

A goofy smile appeared on her face as she rolled the body to its back.

“Tośmy Bohuna usiekli!” She cried joyfully, patting the still shocked Prime Minister on his back.

Chapter Text

It was barely after midnight as the ticking of the clock woke Bellatrix up from her blissful slumber. Beside her, her sister Narcissa was curled up in a very un-Cissy-like way. Slowly, not to disturb her, the dark witch slid off the couch she had fallen asleep on and stretched her sore limbs, staring at her disheveled reflection in the nearby mirror.

Maintaining her mental shields was morbidly draining and so she hasn’t even noticed when her eyes closed for long enough to actually drift off. Now that she was finally awake, however, Bellatrix couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t exactly right. The temperature in the room was low enough for her breath to be visible in the cold air surrounding her.

Has that wretched elf died or something? Shouldn’t he be keeping the fire lit?

Pulling her clothes closer around herself, Bellatrix kneeled down in front of the dormant fireplace that only a few hours before was still roaring with pleasant warmth. Now, there was not a string of smoke coming out of the frozen logs sitting on the iron pedestal.

What the hell was going on?

Something brushed her mental shields, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise at attention. Curled wand in hand, Bellatrix whirled around, ready to fight the intruder with all she had. The intense white light blasting off the end momentarily pointed at the eyes of her enemy.

It didn’t budge.

”Put that down, you fool!” The mysterious specter sneered. Bellatrix felt her fingers loosening around the wood only to have it fall to the ground as the ghost’s pale gaunt face twisted in a devilish smirk.

“That’s better.” The intruder cooed, and she finally had the chance to get a better look at its ominous visage.

”Who are you?” The auror whispered tracking the other woman’s movements as the specter drew nearer.

”Isn’t it obvious?” Bellatrix felt its cold fingers traveling over her rigid body. Somehow the ghost has materialized right next to her.

”You look like me, but I have never heard of ghosts being able to do that. Usually, they’re stuck the way they died.” She gulped pathetically. Her throat was so taut, it made it hard to talk. “Are you a boggart?”

A horrible laugh tore through the dark witch’s chest. The specter’s shrill voice puncturing the auror’s very soul.

”Are you that afraid of your own self, filth?” Somebody hissed in her ear and in the heat of a moment Bellatrix tried to elbow it only to find herself lying on the ground. Glowing eyes watching her with amusement as a narrow heel pushed at her chest. “Clearly, I’m not a boggart, nor a ghost. Think of me as your guardian angel. The only one you deserve.”

”More like a devil.” Bellatrix spat. “What kind of angel does what you’ve done to me?”

She raised her bandaged arm to the light. Small spots of blood visible on the sheet white fabric.

”One that cares.”

The foot on her chest receded, allowing Bellatrix to scramble to her feet.

”You dare call me a devil,” said the specter. “But at the same time fail to acknowledge the true villain of this story. The filthy manipulator.” She paused looking her straight in the eye. “The Mudblood.”

“No! Don’t call her that! I won’t allow it!” Bellatrix roared, but the specter’s arm shut her up successfully as it landed on her feeble neck.

Another cackle split the air.

”And how is such a pathetic copy of myself going to stop me when she can’t even control her own disgusting urges?” The pale demon mocked her, contently watching as Bellatrix wiggled in her clutches trying to free herself.

”Disgusting?” Lestrange pushed the specter aside in a fit of anger. “I love her!”

”Bold statement, but regardless… does she even love you back?”

A heavy silence fell between them.

Bellatrix wanted to argue, she wanted to scream at her that Hermione did love her, but unfortunately there wasn’t much she could actually say about it. It was still too early for such lofty declarations and so the bushy-haired girl had yet to tell her what she even wanted them to be, let alone what she felt.

Seeing how quiet the other woman suddenly got, the apparition decided to deal its first blow.

”Awww, what happened? She never told you?” A devilish smirk split her gaunt features in two. “It’s the Weasel she wants. It always has been and it always will. Deal with it.”

”Liar!” Bellatrix saw red. Grabbing a porcelain vase, she threw it at her counterpart, watching as it flew through her and shattered to pieces on the wooden floor. “If she wanted the Weasel why would she go out with me? Capturing my lips with hers, kissing me with such ferocity… only a lover could do such a thing.”

”I never would have thought you so gullible.” The specter chuckled. “It was nothing more than an act to her. Like a whore she snuck her way into your bed, seduced you with her pretty words. She has a way with those, trust me. Before you know it, she has you wrapped around her finger. And for what? Ha! To humiliate you!”

”It’s not true. She would never do such a thing! Not to me, not to anyone.” said the headauror.

However bold her words were, the other Bellatrix must have detected a hint of doubt for she continued her attack with even wider grin, putting the auror in her place.

”Think about it you oaf; a mad headauror deposed because of a raunchy scandal… the red-headed Weasel taking her place.”

Another item zoomed through the specter’s form as Bellatrix fisted her hair in desperation.

”What a disgusting jumble of lies!” Cried the headauror. One of the porcelain shards flew to her palm only to threateningly rest against her bare neck. “Get out of here, monster, or I will cut you where it hurts.”

A thrill of excitement blossomed in the traveler’s veins. Tormenting the naive woman proved such a delightful experience for her. Feigning an innocent expression Bellatrix rises her hands innocently and continues with the onslaught.

”Lies this, lies that. Lies you say?” She drawled jovially. “Oh poor, poor auror, you’ve heard it yourself!”

Suddenly she felt dizzy. Millions of images flashing before her eyes as a one memory in particular captured her attention.

Bellatrix was still at the Minister’s house, clutching her bleeding hand and rushing out of the cluttered bedroom in panic. Passing a thin, wooden door she halted abruptly, trying to come up with a plausible explanation why she needed to leave the woman in such hurry.

Hearing Hermione’s voice on the other side she was just about to knock and explain herself when she overheard what the girl was mumbling about.

“Noo, Ron, I’m not. There hasn’t been a single day when I wouldn’t miss you.” said Hermione. Her voice was faint, barely audible. As if she was talking in her sleep… or muffling her voice to keep others from overhearing what was being said. “It’s just that I really can’t talk to you right now. It’s because of Bellatrix, not you.”

Ron… She was talking to the Weasley boy. She missed him… because of her.

Bellatrix felt her heart breaking. Tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as the pale ghastly face emerged from the foggy memory.

”No… I — she wouldn’t say that… You’re messing with my head.” A myriad of emotions flooded her brain.

Sometime during the flashback she must have fallen to her knees. The pale witch towering above her, looked as smug as she could, with rosy tongue brushing over the bloodthirsty fangs. Feasting on her pain and distress.

”My my, you’re so far gone that you don’t even believe you’re own memories.” She purred watching as the headauror’s reddened with every sob she tried to stifle.

”Now,” delicate fingers found their way to Bellatrix’s well defined jaw, cupping her chin and smoothing out her distressed wrinkles. “here’s what’s going to happen. No matter what you think, what you want me to do, I will take over your body and hurt little miss Minister. Just as she hurt us. The only question is: will you resist?”

The glazed over, onyx eye lifted to look at her with unprecedented resolve and seriousness and for a moment there the Death Eater was sure that she has finally broken the headauror. That was until…

”I won’t let you hurt her.” said Bellatrix. Her voice was firm and low. There was no doubt which side she was going to take, however, she was hoping that the apparition would be able to tell what she was planning to do next.

In a blatant act of desperation, the headauror threw herself at the pile of shards (the only remains of Narcissa’s antique vase), ready to sacrifice herself to save Hermione. Only to find herself unable to move her limbs. A lone porcelain shard grasped in her immobile hand as she laid on the floor panting and cursing herself for acting too late.

”Oh, how treacherous our own body can become.” Her ominous counterpart drawled coldly. Her steps soundless in the glass and porcelain covered floor. “For example: it’s true what people say, emotions really do weaken our mental shields.” One flick of the specter’s finger and Bellatrix was once again standing upright. “Never happened to me, must be a blood traitor thing then.”

Lestrange burst out in cackles, moving the headauror’s body like a wooden puppet. And that’s exactly how Bellatrix felt. Heavy and wooden, as if her consciousness was pushed back into the farthest corner of her body by this sadistic creature that looked like her.

She tried to resist the invasion. With every fiber in her body, she tried to oppose the dark witch’s power… to no avail. No matter how hard she was struggling, she simply couldn’t stand a chance against the Dark Lord’s protégé and soon everything turned to black as the last slip of consciousness left her mind, making way for the nefarious force controlling her.

It all went downhill from there. The next thing she knows, Bellatrix is standing in a small storage room with a blood covered body sloppily nailed to the wall. She realized that she had seen him in the newspapers once. He was the muggle prime minister that much was certain, but for some unfathomable reason Bellatrix could remember kidnapping him from his house in the middle of the night.

How did she even get in there?

The stench of blood hit her nostrils and instantly catapulted her back into a memory of dragging the man through the Ministry. The elevator doors opening before them on level 9 could only mean that she was deep inside the Department of Mysteries. Racking her brain for information, she tried remembering how the hell she managed to go so far, but the only thing coming to her mind were the dead aurors falling before her as the strange weapon fired its bullets all around her, destroying a row upon row of prophecies in its wake.

It was too much. The foul smell surrounding her making her throw up all over the marble floor. Her body barely avoiding the sick as she fell face-first, sobbing like a little child.

The worst part of all this wasn’t the fact that soon her career would be ruined, that she will spend the rest of her life in Azkaban or even worse, as such atrocities have certainly merited the legendary kiss. Oh no, the worst part was that for the love of Merlin, Bellatrix couldn’t remember if the Minister for Magic was still alive.

Gathering herself off the floor she scourgified her clothes and bolted out of the storage room, running all he way to the small office she occupied. The first thing she had to do was to report the crime scene before anyone else has the chance to beat her to it. Then when all the aurors were already in the department, she published a statement to the press that she will be resigning and appointed Dolohov as her successor.

At the end of the day she planned to turn herself in and confess to everything that has been happening. If all goes well, she could hope for a lifetime in St Mungo’s or Azkaban incarceration, and if everything goes south… well, the kiss will have to do.

Perhaps the only positive thing about all this was that thankfully Hermione seemed to be entirely unharmed. Bellatrix had to purposely postpone the bushy-haired girl learning about her darkest deeds. It wasn’t until 9 am that she finally sent Ron Weasley to her house. A hard decision it was, but a necessary one. She was hoping that the presence of a friend would ease the Gryffindor’s mind, make it easier to process everything as Bellatrix prepared to turn herself in.

A friend? The word echoed in her mind. Is this all they were or was the other Bellatrix right?

She shook her head.

It was no longer her problem to figure out. With a pending prison sentence on her head, she had no business stressing over Hermione’s love partners. As long as the younger woman was safe, Bellatrix knew she could stomach any hardship, any sentence.

As long as SHE was alright.

Perhaps keeping her away from the Minister would be a good thing in the end. After all, there’s not much the apparition could do with Bellatrix locked behind bars or in a psychiatric ward. Surely, Miss Granger would be way safer without her. Now all she needed to was to keep the Gryffindor away for just enough time to get the whole story straightened and solved peacefully.

Unfortunately for her, she’s made a critical mistake not taking into account that Hermione would momentarily recognize the message left at the murder scene and know exactly who was responsible. Bellatrix learned that the hard way, when the door to her office suddenly burst open with the bushy-haired girl brandishing her wand at her.

Hermione and Yaxley strode out of the elevator. Immediately their way was blocked by an angry crowd. Using a wooden bench as a makeshift podium, a member of the Wizengamot addressed his confrères with red-hot rage.

”Is this really what we wanted? A Ministry where the word of a muggle means more than that of an honest wizard? Because this is exactly what we’ve gotten! The government pandering to the filth, unable to act rationally in the face of a tragedy like this. How many wizards have to die before the Minister brings the muggles to justice? I’ll tell ya! It will never happen! That’s because they would have to fess up and repent. They would have to confess that it’s their fault! That through their ridiculous policies they have enabled them to do this to us!” The speaker shouted and the crowd below roared. “Think about it! Before Granger not a single muggle had the audacity to enter this building. To sully this sacred hall with their simple ways. Now seeing their emissaries is as common as meeting a whore in a brothel! We allowed them in and look what they’ve done! If it wasn’t for the Minister - none of this would happen!”

”Bring back Riddle!” Someone yelled and the people gathered erupted in hateful ecstasy.

”Open your eyes people!” The speaker continued, brandishing his finger dangerously as if he was conducting the orchestra. Momentarily the angry mouths closed in anticipation of what he was going to say next. “The muggles wanted us to spy for them, they wanted our help fighting the so-called terrorists and now that we refused them, they turned against us. I’ve told you it would happen!”

”Bring back Riddle!” The crowd started chanting.

”I say: bring him back, brothers! For only he can deliver justice where it’s due. Certainly not the sad excuse for government the weaklings have elected! I say: depose the mud loving government along with their filthy Minister! Do it at once and soon everything will be back to normal!” The warlock shouted. “Bring back Riddle!”

Hermione and Corban arrived at the scene unnoticed, silently listening to what the angry crowd had to say. If only they knew that the Muggle Prime Minister was dead and nailed onto the storage room wall, they would be celebrating right now, Hermione reckoned. Although she hadn’t been troubling herself with the obnoxiously loud opposition in her relatively short visit to the Minister’s world, she knew the subject well enough to realize how much of a problem fanatics like them could soon become. It really was a blessing that Lestrange hasn’t chosen a more sublime, political approach, or else the damage might have been irreversible.

”Are you mad?” Yaxley decided to interrupt the spectacle, jolting Hermione back to here and now. Wand in hand, he caught the man by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him down from his pitiful podium. “Go home before I charge you lot with treachery and send you to your beloved leader in Azkaban! Go home to your wives, bloody morons.”

The crowd quickly dissipated with wizards ducking left and right to let them pass. Hermione knew that they were too close to the auror office for the men to actually try anything, but still the threat seemed uncomfortably too real to her. Between the angry group and the crazy Death Eater posing as the headauror she simply couldn’t take any more risks at the moment.

Unwilling to waste anymore time, she stormed into the auror office, stopping shortly before reaching Bellatrix’s door. Corban catching up to her with a concerned look on his face.

”Should I wait for you here?” said Yaxley.

Although she hasn’t told him of what she was suspecting the now former headauror, he must have sensed that something was about to happen between the two of them. Usually, he had no problem hiding how utterly terrified he was of the dark-haired woman, yet today, Hermione could easily distinguish the characteristic shakiness in his voice. He was afraid. She didn’t have to look him in the eye to know this.

”You should.” She replied. Her own heart racing restlessly. “But be sure to wait precisely here. I can’t have you wandering off anywhere. If I’m not coming back in a couple of minutes or you hear any sort of commotion you have the right to barge in, but only then.”

”Good to know.” His face contorted in a concerned grimace. “Try keeping it civil then.”

”Oh trust me, I will try.” Hermione replied and pushed on the door handle.

The narrow mahogany desk was littered with documents. Bellatrix and Dolohov leisurely flipping through them, dying of boredom as their faces would suggest. The moment they heard the click of the door their heads snapped up, looking at her with curiosity and anxiousness.

”Can I help you somehow, Minister?” Dolohov said completely ignoring Bellatrix’s terrified expression and the drawn weapon clutched in Hermione’s shaking hand as she walked into the cluttered room. Only when she pointed the thing at Bellatrix, did his eyes widen in surprise.

”I’m afraid not. It’s Mrs Lestrange I wanted to talk to.” Her wand and eyes fixed on the dark-haired woman in anticipation of some sudden meltdown.

And yet Lestrange seemed oddly at ease, the initial fear fading into a sorrowful pout with the Minister’s every step. Dolohov, on the other hand, wasn’t so eager to let the conflict escalate.

"I'm not sure..." He tried to mumble, unsure whether he should leave the two women alone.

Thankfully, Bellatrix solved the dilemma for him.

"Go."

Pale as a sheet Dolohov nodded his head saying "Minister. Lestrange." and promptly squeezed past Hermione’s taut frame. As soon as the door closed behind him the tension reached its peek.

”PutYourWandOnTheTable.” 

”IKilledThem.”

They both said at the same time.

Instantly Hermione froze, her puzzlement evident as the other woman put the crooked wand on the desk and took half a step back.

”What did you just say?”

”I said that I did it.” said Bellatrix. “I killed them. Muggles and aurors alike. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. I was about to turn myself in.”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully with her gaze fixed on the dark-haired woman. There was something in her eyes that told Bella of the conflicting feelings brimming inside the bushy-haired girl, barely restrained by her ironclad will.

”Push the wand towards me.” Came the order to which Bellatrix immediately complied.

They stood there staring at each other for the good couple of seconds before Hermione’s expression finally softened. Wand lowering as she tucked both of the weapons into her enchanted pocket.

“Why would you do such a thing?” She asked with such sadness in her hazel eyes that Lestrange immediately regretted not turning herself in on time.

”I don’t know.” Bellatrix replied sheepishly. “That’s why I wanted to turn myself in. I’m a danger to everyone here, and I don’t even know why.”

”There’s gotta be a reason, Bellatrix.” Hermione frowned. Her gentle moves and soothing voice making the dark witch want to tell her the truth. After all this time who else could possibly believe her if not the woman who doubted her madness all along.

If only Hermione could believe her… everything would be fine again. She knew they could make it fine. If only she could…

”I see you haven’t listened to the single word I said, blood traitor.” Bellatrix heard a foreboding hiss coming from behind her back.

Sure enough, soon a familiar silhouette glided over the marble floor, sauntering closer to the Minister, scrutinizing her quietly as if she wanted to determine something. Bellatrix watched with bated breath as her counterpart circled the bushy-haired girl, her dark eyes scanning her lithe body with a sickly possessive glint. Despite the specter’s harsh words, Bellatrix could easily feel the myriad of emotions bubbling below its angry surface.

JEALOUSY. SORROW. LUST.

It was a concoction so strong that somehow even Hermione seemed able to sense it.

Her head twisted to the side, only to find nothing but an empty room surrounding them. Strange, she could have sworn she felt something on her cheek. The hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention.

Ignoring the nagging feeling, she turned back to the other woman. Lestrange’s unnaturally calm facade was gone in a blink of an eye, her face paling, eyes glazed over, absent, hands shaking slightly.

”Bella.” She said with the concern of someone who mere hours ago cradled the older woman in her arms. So happy, so carefree. She wanted to pull the woman back into her embrace, to kiss the worry away, to make everything right again. And yet she knew that none of it would’ve happened if only she listened to Lestrange and stayed in her world. This was a punishment and the moment she gets back home, the Death Eater will pay for every wrinkle on the headauror’s worried brow.

”Don’t come near me!” Bellatrix warned her, frantically looking around the room, tracking something with great distress.

”Don’t be ridiculous Bella, you’re not even armed.” said Hermione, her feet slowly walking towards her, arms eager to comfort the dark-haired woman.

”As if that changes anything.” The specter next to Bellatrix  cackled. “Go ahead, blood traitor. Tell her all about me, make a fool of yourself. It will only make it more delightful for me to crush your spirit one last time before I kill her.”

”I- Hermione, there’s something I have to tell you about.”

”Here we go.” Came the ironic snort.

”The disappearing lunches, the murders… I’ve come to realize there is something terribly wrong with me…this strange force taking over my body, controlling me whenever it wants.” She could feel tears rolling down her pale cheeks and Hermione’s warm thumb brushing them off.

The sound of glass shattering on her desk brought her back from her hazy state. It was a glass Dolohov left on the mantelpiece. The shards falling on the floor below the other Bellatrix’s feet. She didn’t have to guess what caused it to erupt so suddenly as the dark, rage-filled eyes followed every move of Hermione’s hand on her face.

HATE.

”Shhh, don’t worry about it.” Hermione cooed, pulling her closer to her chest. Engulfing her in a warm, secure embrace as the younger woman’s head found purchase in the crook of Bellatrix’s neck. “We’ll get through it. I will make her stop and then everything will be alright again.”

”So you do believe me?” Bellatrix asked hopefully. The outburst of laughter ruining the precious moment as the cursed apparition haunting her doubled over, clutching her sides.

”Of course she believes you, moron! She knew about me the moment she ran into the room.” The specter drawled, crossing the distance between them like a panther on a prowl. “Actually, all this time she knew about me. That’s the funniest part. She knew all along and not once had she thought of telling you, of warning you against me.”

”No!” Bellatrix cried, pushing the younger woman aside.

”What’s wrong, Bella?” Hermione stared at her with concern. Following the older woman’s line of sight, she finally spotted the shattered glass littering the floor and suddenly something in her eyes switched. “Is she here in the room right now? Is she trying to do it to you again?”

”Ignore her.” The other Bellatrix met her gaze. “Do you want to know how she knew? Why every time she was with you she had to hide the truth, make you feel like a mad person?”

”Tell me already, dammit!” The headauror snapped, passively watching as a devilish grin crept its way onto the other witch’s gaunt face.

”Bellatrix!”

”Because she’s just like me.”

Her grip on the younger woman’s arm tightened. She felt as if she was losing ground, falling to her death from a very high cliff with nothing but a gaping abyss waiting for her at the end.

”Bellatrix stop! You’re hurting me!”

She heard the door opening and a myriad of voices shouting something over each other, but she couldn’t possibly make out the words. At this point all the specter had to do was to simply try taking the hold of her body and she wouldn’t stop it. However, her counterpart for once didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Watching her curiously with an amused expression.

”Prove it.” Bellatrix spat at her.

”You know what to do.”

”Lestrange don’t!” She heard someone yell.

”Stay where you are or I will have to arrest you!” Dolohov cried, but she couldn’t care less about being arrested. Her whole world has just  shattered like the stupid glass laying on the floor.

”Legilimens.”

It happened so fast. Too fast for her to do anything. Once again she had to watch her own memories as they flashed before her eyes at an ungodly speed. Bellatrix was cold and calculated. She skipped past the boring parts, focusing on everything she tried to hide instead. There was no normal way of stopping her, Hermione could think of only one such way to sever the connection before it was too late. The only way she was sure that wouldn’t make her insane.

Focusing with all her might she clenched her teeth and woke up in the Black Manor again.

Instantly she felt the emotions from the other world muddle her mind. A seething rage cursing through her veins with blood as she sprang to her feet ready to rain hell on the woman who did this to her. Enough killing and deceiving each other behind their backs, this thing was getting settled here and now. No matter the consequences.

Grabbing Crookshanks she burst out of the room, running all the way to the base of the giant staircase. Stopping in front of the door to the garden, she pushed the giant cat outside not wanting him to suffer if the older woman kills her. Urging him to go away she noticed small vibrations coming from one of her trousers’ pockets. The bulky phone’s microscopical display showed a number of missed calls and texts she failed to notice in all that fuss.

Opening the latest one she quickly typed a “response” telling her friends that she couldn’t talk, because she was about to murder Bellatrix Lestrange. She hasn’t even spared a single moment to see what the messages were actually about as she hit send and threw the phone as far away as she could, hoping that the older woman wouldn’t be able to find it or that it will at least run out of battery before she does.

And then, with everything settled, Hermione strode upstairs ready to kill Bellatrix bloody Lestrange. Soon she encountered the first obstacle in her little crusade. The green, enchanted door standing firm as she banged her fists on their hard surface, calling for Lestrange to let her in.

”Bellatrix! Bellatrix! I know you’re in there! Open the door, or I will burn the house down!”

”What do you want? A rematch? Apologies? Either way you’re not getting anything from me, filth.” The older woman peeked through the gap. She must have just gotten back from the other world, rubbing her still sleepy eyes as she pulled the green bathrobe closer to herself. “Honestly muddy, the only person you can blame for all this is yourself. Now if you’ll excuse me, they’re hauling a blood traitor’s ass straight to St Mungo’s and I have the first row seat.”

With a haughty smile on Bellatrix tried to slam the door in her face, but Hermione’s foot prevented that. Looking down questioningly she had no time to react as the younger woman pried the door open and threw herself at the dark-haired witch, straddling her chest and pushing on her tracheae until she could no longer breath.

For once in her life, Bellatrix could only lay there and blink blankly as determined hands successfully cut off her oxygen supply. Whatever she was expecting the younger woman to do, this certainly wasn’t it! Screaming, crying, going back to the other world and trying to save what was left, but not physically attacking her in their world. It was too barbaric for the delicate girl and yet here she was - smothering her with her lithe hands. It was very unexpected, thrilling even as Bellatrix felt her heartbeat escalate alongside long repressed anger.

”You just had to ruin it for me!” Cried Hermione. Her grip loosening with every sob. “You knew very well how it felt to lose everything you ever wanted, and you still did it to me. I fucking hate you!”

That was enough.

A sharp elbow connected with her jaw and the bushy-haired witch found herself trapped under Bellatrix’s taut body.

”And how the hell was I supposed to feel? Was I supposed to watch you whoring yourself like a wanton bitch? To let you fuck your gorgeous headauror and do nothing?” Lestrange growled. Small droplets of spit falling onto the Gryffindor’s face. Wide, doe eyes closing just for long enough to shield themselves. “YOU hate ME? I fucking hate YOU! You and that boring bitch of yours. I hate you with all my heart, with every fiber of my body.”

Bellatrix’s grip on her neck wasn’t even that tight, but Hermione felt her face reddening anyway. Perhaps it was because of the crude words the other woman used or the fact that Bellatrix had clearly seen what she and the dark witch’s counterpart have been doing. Either way she couldn’t force herself to look the older woman in the eye, blindly pushing her head away in a desperate attempt to throw her off.

But her puny efforts proved no challenge to the strong arms pushing her back onto the floor whenever Hermione’s hips bucked high enough to jolt her back a bit.

”What’s wrong pet, it’s not the same when I’m on top, is it?” Bellatrix hissed, snatching her face back to hers as she furiously panted on top of her.

They were mere inches away again and the vicious way in which those full lips twisted with every profanity was causing a strange heat in Hermione’s chest. She ached to touch that stern, captivating face. To run her fingers through the wild mane of curls that fell around them like a curtain of black silk as Bellatrix straddled her mercilessly.

Suddenly something in the dark witch switched. The angry lines softening, disappearing from her face in a matter of seconds. Her lips curling in an ominous smile, grip loosening to the point when only one hand was putting pressure on her neck, the other one sneaking its way up the column of Hermione’s neck.

“Mmmm prey tell, my poor little mudbaby, did you enjoy being on top for once in your life? That godawful copy of myself sure did.” Bellatrix purred straight into her ear, sending a shiver down the length of her spine, and Hermione was sure she was going crazy.

Fondling her delicate jaw, Bellatrix leaned closer to her quivering, rosy lips, whispering seductively as their mouths practically brushed together. Hermione couldn’t possibly understand what the woman on top was mumbling, but the sensuality of it distracted her from the firm knee wedging itself between her thighs.

The desperate cry that escaped her lips then was music to Bellatrix’s ears.

“Oh no, something tells me that you would rather have it the other way around. Tell me muddy, do you think of me like that? Would you like to see how far I can go? How would it feel with my hands touching you there?” The knee drew dangerously close to the apex of her thighs, coaxing out another yelp of surprise from the bushy-haired girl.

It caught Hermione completely off guard how right the Death Eater was. Unable to free herself from Bellatrix’s clutches she hastily put up her mental defenses. Just in time to stop an incoming attack.

“Occulumency? I see you haven’t been wasting time. Did she teach you that or did you have to let another one of them screw you? Tell me, what do you have to hide, my little mudblood…”

Hermione couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Bellatrix, please, I need to…” She whispered, but it unfortunately came out more like a moan. “…go.”

Hardly surprising with the older woman’s leg caressing her most private parts.

“Oh, please, pet. She’s fiiiiiine.” The Death Eater purred, blowing hot air at her exposed neck. “Besides, you only just came, it wouldn’t be fair to leave me like that.” Yellow teeth closed over her fragile earlobe, biting viciously as Hermione clamped her eyes shut. Words rolling off her tongue unconsciously as a wave of pleasure and pain sent a flood of heat to the tight coils in her gut. Hips bucking, unconsciously seeking friction on Bellatrix’s tough knee.

”Bella…”

”Mmmm…That’s more like it.”

If Hermione was in her right mind, she would push the older woman off and go find the headauror. Mere minutes ago she still wanted to bash the dark witch’s beautiful head with something really heavy and be done with this endless humiliation fest. But that was minutes ago, when her mind wasn’t yet as muddled with desire as it was now.

With Lestrange on top of her Hermione’s concerns about her counterpart were abruptly minimized, until she convinced herself that there was nothing to worry about. Not at all! With Lestrange straddling her and St Mungo’s doctors’ utter professionalism, there was no thing capable of harming the other woman. There simply wasn’t.

That and the blood red lips were just so alluring…

Bellatrix took advantage of her mouth hanging open, bridging the gap between them and capturing the younger woman’s lips with hers. It was similar to the wanton kisses she shared with the other Bella, but varied when it came to ferocity. With Bellatrix on top of her there was no space for a fairly matched fight as the dark witch’s tongue easily dominated hers in every aspect.

Hermione tried regaining power, raking her nails over Bellatrix’s barely covered back. The slick material of her bathrobe leaving little protection for the questing hands and soon she was able to slip one hand under the fabric,  running it over Bellatrix’s taut muscles.

She must have done something right judging by the low guttural noise Bellatrix emitted into their kiss. Pale arms encircled her waist and smoothly lifted Hermione into the air as Bellatrix rose from her knees.

A sad whimper tore its way out Hermione’s throat when the older woman’s tongue left her mouth. Momentarily she opened her eyes ready to scold the dark-haired witch back into a kiss, but when she witnessed Lestrange’s disheveled appearance all logical thought left her mind.

Bellatrix pressed her closer to her body, frantically looking around the room as if she couldn’t figure out where she wanted to fuck her. In her final act of mercy, she decided to simply throw Hermione on the giant bed that occupied most of her ominously looking bedroom. For weeks now she wanted to do this to her, never really believing that one day her fantasy will come true and yet now, seeing the Gryffindor writhing in her bed, Bellatrix couldn’t believe how lucky she’s gotten.

Hermione’s back hit the mattress with just enough time for her to scoot farther back before the older woman’s body covered her once again. And oh Merlin, those scarlet lips were upon her in the matter of seconds, devouring every sliver of skin in their way. It was virtually impossible to keep quiet as Bellatrix kissed that spot just below her ear or sank her teeth into the Golden Girl’s collarbone.

It was exquisite, but the thing was, that Hermione still wanted MORE. Intoxicated with lust she wanted to retake at least a fraction of that wonderful power she had over Bella’s more pleasant counterpart. But whenever she tried to reach under the cursed, velvet robe the dark-haired woman wore, Bellatrix always found a way to put her back in her place.

”It’s my turn playing with you, pet. You blew yours the moment you answered the Weasel’s call. Now behave.” Bella growled into the crook of her neck. She was busy kissing her way down the younger woman’s body when the neckline of Hermione’s blouse stopped her in her tracks.

Frustrated with the amount of clothing the Gryffindor still had on her, Lestrange viciously tugged on her shirt, wrenching it from her trousers and over her head unceremoniously.  Leaving only a flimsy bra as the last barrier separating her from the perky, pink nipples straining against the thin fabric.

Bellatrix regarded her for a second there. Hungry eyes tracing every curve of the Golden Girl’s body. Pupils dilating, swallowing the last bit of the dark irises with solid black. The delicate skin on display, here and there covered with the marks left by her teeth was a wonderful sight to behold. It struck a possessive chord deep inside her. One that demanded her to brand the girl as her own.

She wanted to own her. To touch every millimeter of flesh. To kiss it. To make sure no Weasley, Krum or anyone else for that matter ever touches her thinking she could be his.

And so, with that thought in mind soon the onslaught resumed with Lestrange cupping the younger woman’s breasts through the thin fabric and sinking her sharp nails into the delicate skin covering Hermione’s abdomen.

”Merlin, stop fidgeting, girl. It’s distracting.” Bellatrix growled when Hermione tried to untie her robe. She desperately needed to feel the other woman’s skin on hers, but the blasted thing prevented any sort of contact, forcing her to resort to palming her curves through a layer of silk.

It simply wouldn’t do!

Trying to outsmart the enemy, Hermione cupped the dark witch’s ass with one hand, drawing her nearer, while with other she tried to undo the knot. Yet again the slippery fabric proved too much for her, refusing to come undone at her ministrations.

Finally, exhaling angrily Bellatrix managed to free herself, pushing the younger woman back and lunging from the bed.

”Behave, Mudblood! Or else…” said Bellatrix, but the threat soon got stuck in her throat as a well-placed Diffindo cut the knot in half, leaving a long, clean cut over her pale stomach.

With nothing holding it together, the robe fell apart, uncovering the dark witch’s pale torso. Fresh blood pooled at the edges of the newly formed wound. It wasn’t big, especially compared to the numerous scars covering Lestrange’s whole upper body, but it didn’t stop the older woman from looking at her with pure outrage coloring her scandalized face.

”You could have split me in half.” She whined running her fingers over the angry line.

”Boohoo.” replied Hermione. “You should have minded your own business. Instead, you chose to spy on me. I don’t think we’re even yet.”

”Oh muddy,” Bellatrix cooed climbing on top of her again. Hermione’s fingers momentarily brushing over the scarred tissue, enticing a strangled gasp from the Death Eater wincing at every touch to the sensitive flesh. “That’s because we never will be even.” A powerful shove sent Hermione back onto the mattress. “Not even. Not equal. I will always be on top of you.” Sharp teeth brushing her earlobe dangerously as Bellatrix whispered “And you’re gonna learn to love it.”

”We’ll see about that.”

Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changes completely. Slowly, cautiously Bellatrix lifts herself off the girl, watching the wide-eyed Gryffindor pale at the sight before her.

Towering over Lestrange are Harry and Ron. Harry’s wand digging into the older woman’s scalp threateningly as the boy turns his head to look away from the embarrassing display. Ron, on the other hand, seems frozen in shock. His eyes darting between Hermione’s half naked form and the tattered robe hanging over Bellatrix’s back. Noticing his line of sight Lestrange groans and pulls the shaking girl closer to herself, covering her from the redhead’s prying eyes.

”Get off of her right now.” Harry growls.

“Says who?” Bellatrix sneers in response.

”Says the one holding a wand to your head.”

Snorting ominously, Bellatrix looks down at the blushing form below her. A feral grin spreading over her lips as her dark eyes travel up to meet Hermione’s hazel ones.

”And what do you think pet? Should I get off of you?” She purred, brushing the sweaty hair off Hermione’s brow, completely ignoring the two troglodytes hovering over them like the sword of Damocles. “Or should I dispose of them and continue what we started?”

”Stop with the stupid remarks, we’re three against one. If you as much as touch her again I will cut off your arm.” Harry spat back at her. His patience clearly running short. “Ron, get Hermione something to wear. This woman has humiliated her enough already.”

Pretending she didn’t hear it, Bella leans forward to leave a chaste kiss over the Golden Girl’s mouth.

”Come on pet, speak your mind.” She prompts, but Hermione’s tongue is stuck, completely frozen in shock, making it impossible for her to say anything.

”I told you something Lestrange!” yelled Harry. “If you do anything to her, I won’t hesitate, I will have to kill you.”

”Good thing I don’t fear death.” Comes the reply as Bellatrix whirls around and snatched the wand from Potter’s hand, rolling onto the floor and sending a powerful spell straight into his chest.  Ronald is quick to react delivering a series of curses of which none manages to hit its target.

”Three against one?” Bellatrix cackles reflecting spell after spell with pitiful ease. “You should have brought 10 more people if you wanted to stand a chance against me, boy!”

”Expelliarmus!” Ron cried desperately and once again Lestrange managed to prevail. Only mild amusement visible on her face showing how grossed out she was by the use of such overused curse.

”Expelliarmus?” She repeated with pity. Immediately Ron’s wand flew out of his grasp. “Do you realize how old of a spell that is? It’s not the 14th century for me to be impressed by it, boy!”

”How about  a newer one?”

Bellatrix turned around just in time to see a bolt of light speeding towards her. Hastily she conjured up a shield, ready to deflect the blow, when the lightning bolt suddenly changed its course bypassing her protection and smashing into her with all its force.

Her own creation.

The Mudblood took her own curled wand and assaulted her with her own fucking spell!

Before she could do anything the wretched boys were upon her, pulling the wand from her grip and tackling her to the ground.

The room was spinning. Dolohov could barely make out his thoughts from all the hustle and bustle going over in his head. Whatever these muggle pigs did to him was extremely hard to fight against. Forcing his heavy eyelids to lift he finally opened his eyes only to be immediately blinded by the harsh lightning in the room.

Suddenly it all started making sense. His limbs felt so heavy because they were bolted to the iron chair he was sitting on. His hands were covered entirely in a strange, white shell like thing that looked as if it was molded to his fingers, thereby preventing him from moving even a fingernail.

As he trashed in his chair, foolishly hoping that he could free himself, the heavy doors to the room opened with a crack and an inconspicuous woman entered. She looked like something between a muggle bureaucrat and a secretary with a badly fitted jacket and bell-bottom trousers. Her shoulder length hair was diligently slicked back into a neat ponytail.

A bureaucrat indeed - Dolohov thought.

“Hello.” She said, baring her perfect white teeth. “My name is Patrycja Linton, but you may call me Inspector Linton. Today I want to ask you just a few simple questions. Do you think you could answer them for me?”

Dolohov snorted, lifting his dark eyes to dismissively look at the ceiling. His thin lips poised in a tight frown.

“Very well.” The woman said anyway. A leather bound notebook landing on the metal table, startling the Death Eater slightly. “How about we start with something easy? I’ve introduced myself. What’s your name?”

Another snort escaped Dolohov’s flaring nostrils. If there was one thing he hated more than incarceration it was people trying to take him for a fool.

“Perhaps I would tell you, if what you were saying was true, filth.” He spat with vitriol.

“I don’t know what…”

“Чушь. Linton is a name of a character from the Wuthering Heights and you’re obviously Slavic.”

Now it was her chance to laugh. Shaking her head in disbelief Linton watched the Russian man with newfound curiosity.

“A muggle literature lover, are we? Interesting. What gave me away?”

“Your accent, obviously. My name is Path-ry-cya." He mocked. "You sound like a wretched udarnik… I’m guessing… KGB perhaps.” Dolohov squinted his eyes in suspicion.

Miss Linton’s smirk faltered into a pitiful smile. “SB, but close enough. How about you? You seem to have a lovely serpent slithering over your arm. Any affiliations I should be aware of?”

Self-consciously Dolohov tried pulling his plastered arm closer to himself as if he could hide what was already obscured by the white cast.

Seeing his distress, the woman’s smile widened.

“I see you’ve grown exceptionally quiet, Antonin Romanovych.” said Linton. Dolohov ears instantly perking up at the mention of his name. “Does it have anything to do with Tom Riddle by any chance?”

The iron chair lifted from the ground for a millisecond or so as Dolohov viscously trashed in his binds, eager to pounce on her.

“How dare you speak his name? You impure vermin! Take that fucking thing off my arm and I will show you what he can do. One move and he will strangle the life out of you and that pathetic oaf you serve!”

“Interesting. And how does that work?” The woman asked with just as bright expression as mere moments ago. Her petite hand writing something down in the gilded notebook of hers. Momentarily Dolohov knew he said too much. “Now, Antonin, don’t be like that. Only a second ago you were dying to tell me how your fancy snake tattoo works.”

“As if a simpleton like you could even understand.” He tried crossing his arms but came up short when the shackles and casts stopped him.

“No reason to be so mean, Antonin. If we’re to be working together, we should treat each other with respect.” She put down her pen and placed a filled out form in front of him. Dolohov stared at it blankly not knowing what to make of this. Finally, the rage seemed to get the best of him as the last two brain cells in his head connected.

“You stupid cunt! I’m not going to be your fucking snitch!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs. The plaster surface cracking as his hands kept banging on the chair.

“But you already are.” Linton drawled, looking completely unfazed. “And we prefer to call it a secret accomplice.”

“Call it however you want, filth. There is no reason in the world I would do anything for you. Let alone become a muggle lapdog.”

“You sure? Cause I’ve heard that incarceration really ruins people sometimes.”

“As you can see, I’ve already been incarcerated before. Send me back to Azkaban for all I care, but I doubt you could manage even that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean here.”

“What?” Dolohov’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You’re a Russian citizen, towarzyszu.” Linton replied matter-of-factly. “I think it’s only appropriate for you to be judged by your own people, don’t you think?”

“You can’t do that. I’m a wizard!” He protested. A look of pure bewilderment coloring his sallow face.

“Curiously enough, the Russian ministry is currently investigating a bizarre political murder. Something about a citizen missing… Igor Karkaroff- rings any bells?” The detective’s brows rose questioningly. “Surely they would be really grateful if someone dropped you off right at their doorstep.”

“No! You have no…”

“What? Evidence? Right? I have plenty, don’t worry about it.” Linton flashed him a devilish smile. “Now, Antonin Romanovych, will you cooperate?”

He didn’t know what to say. Gaping like a freshly caught fish he stared at her blankly for what felt like eternity. Finally, after some time, he must have made up his mind. Straightening his back, he looked her straight in the eye and growled:

”Ёб твою мать.”

And his words must have greatly pleased the woman for instantly her smile had widened.

”Конечно, конечно." She cooed. "I was hoping you would say that, Antonin Romanovych. You see, it will bring me great joy to make you feel at home here.” Patricia chuckled menacingly, standing up and gesturing for the guards to take him. “Soon you will relearn how hospitable us Slavs can be. Sleep tight, Antonin.”

Chapter Text

“Harry- I… ” Hermione mumbled pulling a shirt on, covering the bruises and hickeys covering her whole upper body.

”I don’t want to hear it right now, ‘Mione.”

The dark-haired boy ruffled his hair in anguish. Just a few minutes ago he was afraid that his friend might have already been killed by the unhinged woman. Instead, he found her writhing underneath the Death Eater but not in a murderous way.

Not in his worst nightmares would he imagine anything like this happening and by the looks of it, neither did his best friend Ron, who looked absolutely shell-shocked sitting on the floor and staring at the bound woman blankly. Bellatrix, petrified as she was, didn’t intend to make it any easier for him, drilling the redhead with her hateful gaze as if she could rip him to shreds with just a thought.

”Ron, get up.” Said Harry, pulling on the other boy’s arm. “We have to get away from here before she finds a way to break the spell.”

If he expected an actual answer, he had to be very disappointed when the only reply he got was the absent shake of Ron’s head. This day was getting worse by the seconds.

”Harry, wait! We have to take her with us!” Hermione cut in.

Kneeling down next to Lestrange, she swiftly fixed the shredder robe hanging off Bellatrix’s back and gently tied it up, wanting to give the other woman at least a little bit of dignity in this very much undignified situation.

Beside her an angry snort could be heard.

”Take her with us?” Ronald bellowed, finally breaking out of his stupor. “She must have messed up your brain! After what we just witnessed we shouldn’t be listening to you - AT ALL! I don’t even know if you’re still on our side!”

”What?!?” Hermione spat back at him. Living under one roof with Bellatrix clearly hasn’t done much good to her temper for she no longer felt like listening to Ronald’s whining. “You can’t be serious! I’ve just saved your life if you haven’t noticed. You’re welcome.”

”Right.” Ron dragged out the word. “Now it’s you saving us, huh? Mione, I don’t think you realize how utterly terrified we were!” He sprang to his feet trying to intimidate her with his height. Hermione could see how agitated he was. His face red as ever, eyelids fluttering to stop the tears ready to flow at any second. “We thought you would be dead! For hours now you haven’t been answering any of our messages and then you write about going to kill her and don’t answer ANY of our calls! And then we find you alive, but guess what, turns out we must have misread something cause instead of killing her you were screwing her goddammit!”

Harry’s face paled. He hasn’t seen them so riled up since the whole Slytherin’s locket dispute. Completely awe struck he could only watch them hoping that neither of them will decide to go off the chain and start a brawl again.

”Well how was I supposed to know that you’ll bashing through the door like a lunatic?” She cried in reply. “For all I knew you haven’t even finished the potion yet.”

”We did.” Ron spat back at her. “Which you would have known if you spared a minute to read our texts!”

”Enough of that! You don’t know half the things I’ve been through tonight, Ronald! I’m happy to tell you later, but right now we really need to take Bellatrix out of here.” She argued desperately.

”Sure, why not! Let’s take a murderous psycho back home with us! What can possibly go wrong?” The fiery-haired boy mocked. “Care to enlighten us why would we do that?”

”Because she’s the only person who knows where the remaining horcruxes are and she sure as hell won’t tell us peacefully. We need to pry it out of her, so unless you want to spend the next few weeks locked in here with Bellatrix bloody Lestrange - you better do what I tell you to do!”

A quiet snort reminded them of the petrified figure laying on the floor. Judging solely by the  amused glint in her eyes, Hermione could easily tell that the older woman was enjoying the show. Perhaps even laughing at them mentally for being delusional enough to believe that they’ll be able to get a word out of her.

It was painfully obvious how hard of a task it would be, but deep down, Hermione still believed that she could convince the older woman that Voldemort was nothing but a threat to her family and that holding on to him would be the worst decision of her already full of hardships life. However idealistic notion it was, something had to be done about the horcruxes or else their whole struggle would be completely pointless. Perhaps this is why Harry seemed to have sympathize with her instead of Ron.

”Fine, but we need to find something to tie her up with.” He interrupted them. “I don’t want her to free herself in the middle of apparition.”

Soon Harry and Hermione began looking around the room in search of anything useful while sulking Ron kept an eye on the petrified Lestrange. Sadly, they haven’t managed to find any horcruxes (not that they were stupid enough to think that Bellatrix would just keep them under her pillow), but they did find the next best thing - Hermione’s beaded bag.

Deciding that they didn’t have much more time to waste on rummaging through Bellatrix’s private things they agreed to make use of things they already had with them.

”Here.” Hermione said, transfiguring a shawl she pulled out of her beaded bag into a solid chain. She then wrapped it around the older woman making sure that both her hands were snuggly pressed into her sides so that she couldn’t easily cast wandlessly as it often required intricate wrist movements.

When they were finally done and sure that she wouldn’t break out of her bonds out of nowhere they levitated Lestrange to the door, performed a temporary cleansing ritual on Hermione and walked out of the building, where a clearly amused Sirius was waiting for them perched on a fallen tree trunk with Crookshanks casually chilling on his lap.

”My my, Bella, I haven’t seen you like that since 1981. Brings back memories, huh?”

The feral growl he got in reply only made his grin broaden as he realized that for the first time in his life she couldn’t retaliate.

”Awfully quiet, are we today, Bella?” Sirius continued teasing her. “You know what, I actually prefer you that way.” Finally, he seemed to notice the rest of them, smiling kindly as he took in Hermione’s appearance.

”Hello there princess, I see you’re looking better than expected. Good to know that my cousin wasn’t bothering you too much.”

”Sirius!” The girl exclaimed joyfully as she hastened her steps to meet the charming wizard. “I didn’t know you were here.”

”Oh, trust me, if it wasn’t for my wretched uncle I would be leading the charge.” He stood, passing the orange cat to Ron as he stepped closer to inspect the captive. “Tell me, princess, how did you guys managed to put Bella in shackles like that? Must have been a hell of a fight.”

Hermione’s mouth opened silently and then closed abruptly when she realized that explaining to anyone what exactly she and Lestrange where doing when the battle started would be too embarrassing to pass through her lips. Thankfully her friends didn’t seem keen to talk about it either and so Harry took it upon himself to intervene.

”It sure was, but right now we’ll spare you the unnecessary details.” He said, looking at his godfather intently as if he was begging him to drop the subject. Sirius might have just been a mind reader for he momentarily realized that it wasn’t the time nor the place to discuss such things.

”Right, shall we go then?” The older man asked and before they knew it they were standing in front of the moving facade of Grimmauld Place 12.

An animalistic howl sliced through the quiet street, drawing everyone’s attention back to the bound Death Eater. As expected the petrifying charm must have wore off due to the apparition allowing Bellatrix to wiggle in her restraints. Chains clunking mercilessly as she threw herself on the ground screaming like a wounded animal.

”Do try to behave Bella.” Sirius drawled rolling his eyes theatrically. His fist already banging on the mansion’s door. “What will the neighbors think?”

”I don’t give a fuck about your muggle neighbors!” Bellatrix bellowed at the top of her lungs. “All of you are gonna pay me for this!”

However dramatic the display might have been, it sure as hell wasn’t as long as Lestrange would have wanted it to be. Unwilling to let the deranged woman turn this thing into a spectacle for the muggles Harry and Ron picked Bellatrix off the ground, dragging her all the way to the stone doorstep where Sirius was impatiently waiting for someone to open the door.

”Who’s this?” A familiar voice queried.

”It’s me, Kreacher, open the goddamn door!” Sirius snapped, already fed up with the elf’s deliberate stalling.

Soon after a quiet squeak announced the spiteful creature’s surrender.

”Kreacher is so so sorry, Master. He thought that it was the Mudblood banging.” He hastily explained. A wolfish grin betraying how amusing it all was to him. Suddenly the smile disappeared as if wiped away by some unknown spell. His big eyes widening in shock as he noticed the bound woman staring at him from behind his master’s back.

”You useless little rat, free me at once!” Bellatrix screeched at him as soon as their eyes connected. “Try hesitating and I swear, mounting your head on my wall would be the first thing I do when I get out of this!”

Naturally the creature jumped back in fear, instantly regretting that it wasn’t indeed the Mudblood pestering him to open the door.

”Mistress Bellatrix, Kreacher answers only to Master Sirius now. Kreacher can’t do what you’re asking him to do.” He cried, hiding behind an old umbrella basket as if a thin layer of wicker could protect him from the dark-haired woman’s wrath.

”You little shit!” Lestrange growled, writhing in Ron and Harry’s grasp like a slippery snake.

”What is all this yelling about?” A voice from the other side of a hallway called and momentarily Bellatrix stopped trashing and straightened her back, trying to look like a civilized person all of the sudden.

”Margaret?”

”Mom?” Bellatrix heard uttered behind her.

A familiar face appeared in the doorway. The middle aged woman swiftly pushed past the cranky house elf and stood on tiptoes to peek around the dark witch’s shoulder. A dark frown washed over the previously surprised and happy face. Brown eyes burning with rage as Mrs Granger’s glare met Bellatrix’s face. Soon an open-handed slap crashed into her cheek and it would have no doubt sent her sprawling to the ground if it wasn’t for the strong arms keeping her upright.

”I didn’t want to believe them…” The woman sobbed, and Lestrange for some unfathomable reason couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “Why would you do such a thing, Margaret? Why would you take my daughter away from me?”

Onyx eyes flashed with anger.

”Your daughter?!?” Screeched Bellatrix. “That treacherous little swine deserved every minute of it for how utterly ungrateful she…”

Another slap jolted the dark witch back a couple of steps.

”Get her inside boys.” Sirius ordered with undisguised joy. “We wouldn’t want Mrs Granger to break a knuckle.”

The feral roar Bellatrix let out soon faded into silence as the group dragged her farther into the old house. Her oppressor’s capture should have pleased Hermione at least a little bit, but somehow she couldn’t feel joyful. Not even her mother’s loving embrace could fully chase away the sadness blooming inside her.

”What’s wrong, honey? She won’t hurt you anymore.” Her mother whispered, planting a soothing kiss on top of her head.

”Then why do I feel hurt anyway?” Hermione mumbled unconsciously.

”Because sometimes we don’t know what is best for ourselves. Our hearts rarely listen to logical arguments, darling.”

”And you think Bellatrix doesn’t know what is good for her?” Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly. She shouldn’t care, she really shouldn’t. In fact she shouldn’t even be here, wasting time while the headauror who showed her nothing but love was locked away in the St Mungo’s a whole world away from her.

And yet somehow she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the retreating form. The memory of the soft curls still vivid in her mind. Deep down she knew that it wasn’t the headauror she was thinking off. Deep down she knew that she was too pure for her, too fragile, too normal.

”I think neither of you does.” Mrs Granger replied with genuine sadness.

Pulling away, Hermione looked at her mother thoughtfully. She hasn’t changed much since she saw her last. Her hair was a bit shorter, but nothing that would make her look foreign to the younger woman.

”How did you regain your memories?” Staring at her with interest.

”I didn’t, the boys showed me theirs. And I couldn’t help but feel proud for having such an intelligent, courageous daughter… even though I don’t remember everything about her yet.”

Hermione’s eyes welled up with tears.

”Close the fucking door at least! I don’t want you lot watching me like a bloody circus freak!” Bellatrix croaked banging her chains against the iron frame of a bed she was sitting on. “I gave the Mudblood entire mansion to roam and look what I get in return! A tiny cubicle, a bed and not chain long enough to let me reach the door. Some dogs have it better than me, which you Siri must obviously realize.”

”Yes, well, don’t forget about the potty.” said Black, throwing a metal bowl on the ground. “Don’t lose it, it’s a priceless family heirloom. I dug it up just for you, because I know how much you love them.” His awfully sweet smile made bile rise in her throat.

”Do keep it.” She sneered pushing the potty back to him. “I would rather shit on the floor than deprive you off such precious thing.”

”Oh Bella…” He tsked, shaking his head. “I should have known. Shitting on the floor like in the good old times. Such a shame you wouldn’t be able to vanish the thing afterwards like a proper 18th century witch.”

”Take off these shackles and I will do far more than just that.” Came the angry growl.

It seemed to amuse Sirius further as he let out a quiet chuckle, watching Lestrange with pity as she struggled to free herself.

”You wish.” He said finally and disappeared into the darkened hall, leaving Bellatrix alone with her angry thoughts.

A laughing stock she has become. All because of that wretched girl.

She used to be the Dark Lord’s most terrifying disciple and now… now even her pathetic cousin had the audacity to laugh in her face. Why shouldn’t he really? Bellatrix Lestrange chained to a wall was the lowest she could possibly get.

It was a cruel joke that after so much time her hands and legs were once again bound by the same magic Azkaban had tied her with. Sirius must have swiped the chains from the cell on his way out for there was no doubt in the world that they were exactly the same as those used in the infamous prison. The shackles matched the scars on her wrists too well for that not to be the case.

Commotion in the hallway broke her out of her haze, drawing her attention to the bushy-haired girl standing in the hallway.

Here she was - the reason for Bellatrix’s debasement. Watching her with those giant hazel eyes. Biting that rosy lip so adorably.

”Funny, isn’t it? You must be soooo happy.” Bellatrix blurted out. Bruised lips twisting in a cruel smile. “Oh, how the tables have turned!”

The room fell silent again. Only Lestrange’s ragged breath resonated in the room as the younger woman looked at her blankly. Bellatrix wanted her to say something. To spar! To argue with her. To yap about how she brought it upon herself. But none of that ever came.

”Hey! Mudblood! You deaf or what?” She made a final effort, fully expecting Hermione to snap at her.

Instead, the brunette turned on her heel and left without saying a single word.

Bellatrix erupted in anger! White-hot rage coursing through her system, flowing with blood as she trashed in her binds. Hermione could hear her scream from the other side of the house.

She had to soundproof her room.

“Zdrastwujcie.” Came the cheerful voice that broke Dolohov out of his slumber. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

Squinting his eyes painfully he could barely make out her silhouette in the dimly lit room. With the rest of the strength he still had Antonin attempted to rub his swollen eye to make it work. Recently they cut open the wretched plaster, freeing his hands only to stomp on them until he wasn’t sure if there was a single bone that wasn’t shattered into pieces.

”Can you see me?” Linton asked as if she wasn’t aware what happened to him. “I’ve heard that you had the pleasure of going through the Polish welcome parade. Interesting custom, a shame it went out of style recently.”

”A welcome parade?” He spat out. “You’re calling that a welcome parade? You Polacks have a bloody sense of humor.”

”I’m glad you enjoyed it. Polish people were always known for their hospitality.” She chuckled darkly. “Polish authorities especially.”

He left that grotesque comment unanswered, still feeling the imprints of the rubber batons as the two rows of soldiers beat him into unconsciousness. Fourteen years spent in Azkaban weren’t half as eventful as yesterday’s evening.

”But enough with the pleasantries, Antonin Romanovych.” The woman drawled.

“Do you have anything for me?” She added, studying his reddened arm.

The tattoo pictured there seemed almost alive at times. With the image moving and the strained veins popping - it was a miserable and captivating image.

”Go to hell.” He barked back, pulling his arm away.

”As you wish.” said Patricia. “I hope you had something to eat beforehand, cause sadly we’re experiencing shortages.” She shrugged pitifully. “No food for the foreseeable future.”

”Wait!” He said finally. His stomach clenching, muscles shaking as he forced himself to stomp his pride. “If I tell you how it works… will they leave me alone?”

“I’m all ears, Antonin Romanovych.”

Everyone wanted a piece of her mind. For a second there Hermione even considered putting up a sign asking them to leave her alone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to catch up with them, but rather that she had a ton of unfinished business in the other world and postponing it even a little bit longer would be disrespectful to the captured headauror who had to suffer because of her.

Ditching her own world in favor of the other Hermione opened her eyes in the middle of a busy hallway. It was an old building with brick walls and tiled floors that gave off that specific stench of a hospital. Around her people were standing along the walls, waiting for someone to summon them. Their heads snapping up at the mere sound of footsteps echoing in the hall. It struck Hermione that suddenly they were all strangely interested in her, but she brushed it off as her being the Minister stuck in a measly St Mungo’s waiting room with a bandaged up gush on her head.

Note to self: never jump worlds when your counterpart’s mind is being drilled with the mind reading spell. It’s a miracle she hasn’t died.

Probably to Lestrange’s discontent.

She started to get a little bit irritated. Why the hell was everybody staring at her like that?

”Ekhem… Ma’am, doctor Tonks is ready to see you now.” A nurse standing next to her mumbled, and everyone around them momentarily lost interest.

Ohhh, that’s why.

”How is…” Hermione asked, but the man was already gone, no doubt going back to saving wizard lives.

Without further ado she stood, someone from the crowd immediately taking her place. When she reached Andromeda’s office, she suddenly felt very anxious, afraid of what Bellatrix’s sister might have to say to her. As on command the door opened on its own, a brunette mane peeking out, brown eyes looking at her with irritation as Andromeda beckoned her to come inside.

She was a spitting image of her older sister. Hermione was having a hard time to blink, yet alone tear her eyes away from her it was such a strange sight.

”Why are you disturbing me, Minister?” The woman drawled, taking a seat behind a shabby desk.

”I- I wanted to know how…”

”I’m not a psychiatrist.” Andromeda interrupted her. “By all means, you could have gone directly to the ward and find out for yourself.”

Taken aback by the older woman’s uncharacteristic rudeness Hermione hesitated before answering her.

”I’ve heard Mrs Malfoy is already there, wouldn’t want to interfere.”

”Is that the case? Or were you simply too afraid to talk to our sister so you chose to visit me instead?”

Here it was. Andromeda was onto her. Bellatrix must have told her something.

”Why would I be afraid?” Is something Hermione should have said in that moment. Denial would be the easiest path to saving her career… but did she really want to save it at this point?

”I am…” She murmured instead. “I’m afraid that she wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye.”

Momentarily the stern glint in Andy’s eyes disappeared and only sadness remained.

”Bellatrix is feeling fine.” She said finally. “Not great, just fine, but I guess that’s only normal considering that she has been possessed by a muggle slaying monster.”

”Yes. I imagine that must have felt horrible.” She replied, pushing her own remorse further into the abyss of her mind. She WILL make everything right afterwards.

”She is however slightly worried that you wouldn’t be able to forgive her.” Andromeda added.

Now that was strange!

”What for?” Hermione asked with confusion coloring her face.

”For the assault obviously. You see, the phantom made her think that you weren’t fully… How do I put it? Yourself?”

Hermione gulped.

”So… will you be making a formal complaint?” Andromeda was looking at her expectantly.

”NO! Obviously not!” She rushed to answer. “It was the specter’s doing. How could I?”

”Frankly? Dolohov might not be as understanding as you are.” The older woman scoffed. “He’s been in charge for a few hours now and already he’s shiting higher than he stands.” Hearing such harsh words from someone as kind as Andromeda was a strange experience. “The stuck-up idiot told us that Bellatrix’s case will have to be investigated by the Wizengamot! Apparently they need to determine how much of the things she’s done were the work of the ‘ghost’.”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock.

”And how are they going to do that?”

“Oh please, the Wizengamot has only one way of doing anything. They’re going to put her on trial, that’s how!” 

Hermione’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any wider.

The Wizengamot trials always were a pitiful parody of the justice system. If the current verdict wasn’t somehow influenced by the jury’s prejudices, it usually ended with a humiliating inspection of the defendant’s memories. Dragging Bellatrix through this hell would not only be dangerous, but also extremely embarrassing. It would have quickly turned into the trial of the decade, putting pressure on the jury and the entire House of Black - a bloody catastrophe. Not to mention everything they would find searching through the woman’s memories.

Oh no, Hermione simply couldn’t allow for this to happen. For Bellatrix’s sake as well as her own.

”I’m sure Dolohov wouldn’t do such a thing.” She said more to herself that to the doctor. “And if push comes to shove I will simply pardon her and the case will be closed.”

”Awww, you must really care about her if you’re willing to sacrifice your career like that, Minister.” Andromeda cooed, and Hermione’s stomach clenched remorsefully.

”I guess I do…” She mumbled to herself. “I guess I do.”

The doors to Dolohov’s cell slammed after her. For Patricia Linton it has been an eventful day. First she visited the orphanage where the so-called Tom Riddle has spent his pathetic childhood. The documentation she managed to dug up there was lackluster, however extensive. Whatever she could still harvest from the pile would again fall short to the torrent of information Dolohov has blessed her with.

So little was separating her from her first victory on this self-proclaimed war. The only thing she had to do now was to polish up her plan. Make sure that there weren’t any loose ends as she might not have a second chance after that. Everything had to be perfect.

”Miss Linton, if I may…” a male voice spoke beside her. It was the Prime Minister again. The coward simply wouldn’t give her a second of rest. “You might be a little too harsh on our foreign prisoner here.”

“Forgive me sir, but what makes you say that?” She asked, carefully studying the man through the slope of her nose.

”For the love of God, Miss Linton, he’s covered in scabs.” His sudden change of tone made her flinch.

”That’s because we’re trying to make him talk, Prime Minister. It’s a standard, proven procedure.” She replied.

”Perhaps in the Soviet Union it was, but not in the civilized world, Inspector!” The man was very agitated. Stepping from one leg to the other nervously. Patricia couldn’t help but notice that his excessive concern could later prove detrimental to the cause. Perhaps it would be better to keep the man in the dark. “Here in the UK we pride ourselves on respecting the human rights.”

”Human rights? He’s only been slightly beaten with the rubber batons. Nothing that a British Prime Minister wouldn’t do to their own citizens. I’m sure baroness Thatcher would agree. ” Linton replied.

“That’s beside the point!” He gulped, slightly shocked. “I don’t want The Hague Tribunal going after us for torturing a prisoner of war. Not to mention a foreigner.”

Yes, the foreigner part seemed to have been bothering him more than anything else – she noted.

”With all due respect, Minister, I don’t think that any of our conventions and treaties extend to wizards. And clearly the Wizarding community does not follow the same humanitarian standards as… well, you do.” She looked him up and down contemptuously. “If it was ok for them to put him in Azkaban for 14 years without as much as a prospect of extradition, then they don’t have the right to scold us on a little rough treatment. ”

That seemed to have actually comforted the man. Sparing one last glance at the Dolohov’s cell’s door he straightened his back and said energetically:

”Perhaps you’re right. I doubt this Riddle fellow would be as compassionate if any of us were in the Russian’s place…” He let out a shaky breath. “Hell, they’re practically terrorists at this point. They toppled down an entire bridge for fuck’s sake. ”

”Exactly!” Patricia chimed in, feeling a chance to capitalize on his sudden change of heart. “For all we know he’s a member of a radical group threatening the safety of your country. The voters would surely appreciate a resolute approach. ”

A mirthful glint sparked in his joyful eyes as Linton observed the Prime Minister’s last concerns dissipating before her very eyes.

”You think they would?”He asked, licking his lips as if he could already taste the victory on his tongue.

”Oh, I’m sure of it! Not only will you bring down a dangerous psycho, hold responsible those guilty of the bridge’s collapse , but most importantly, you will finally give the masses what they needed all along - the truth.” She patted him on the back playfully. “With one move you will turn all of your greatest failures into a one big resounding victory.”

The Prime Minister was stumped, too enthralled by the vision she painted to say anything of importance. Seeing his pitiful state Patricia patted his arm one last time and turned on her heel.

”Forgive me, but I have a ton of documents to skim today.” She said and took off before he could as much as open his mouth.

“What a nerve!” Sounded across the busy hospital hallway. “It’s my right to visit her whenever I please.” A condescending voice shouted, causing Hermione to halt mid step.

No farther than 20 meters before her a sumptuously dressed man was towering over the slim form of Narcissa Malfoy. Although stoically calm, the woman’s face already bore slight signs of irritation. Especially when the boorish man’s fist shook dangerously close to her head.

”I swear to you Narcissa that whatever this cunt thinks she owns, she doesn’t own shit.” He yelled. “I own her!”

”Your screaming doesn’t intimidate me, Rod. Please leave before I’ll have to contact the auror office.” Mrs Malfoy replied calmly. “Bellatrix doesn’t wish to see you.”

”She doesn’t WISH?” He snorted loudly. Lips twisting in an ominous grin. “I’m not some bloody fairy to care about her wishes. I’m her husband and I will have the last say. Whether she wishes it or not!”

Clutching the wooden cane closer to his chest Rodolphus swirled around and momentarily froze noticing her from the other side of the hall.

”Look at that!” He drawled mockingly. Every word dripping with malice. “I bet the Mudblood is among the people she actually wishes to see. How… revolting. But I guess this is the type of people my wife associates with nowadays. Move aside filth!” He shouted unceremoniously pushing Hermione aside as he made his way through the crowded hall.

”Merlin, this asshole’s mouth just wouldn’t close.” Hermione commented watching him go from besides the blonde woman.

”He’ll be back.” Narcissa’s lips pursed. “Rodolphus never knows when to drop the subject.”

”What bad can he do?” Hermione looked at her incredulously with furrowed brow. “He’s a shut-in with no connections and an astronomical ego. I’m sure Bellatrix could duel him any day and not even break a sweat.”

”He’s a pureblood, Miss Granger.” Narcissa replied. “And a spiteful one at that. Bella’s position as the headauror has given her advantage in the past. Now though… there’s nothing stopping him from exercising his rights as a husband. And you will find that in our society the husband can do all that he virtually pleases.” 

Soon Narcissa let her into Bellatrix’s room. It looked familiar as all rooms in St Mungo’s do. The only difference being that this time around, the person who Hermione was visiting wasn’t any of her school friends - it was Bellatrix Lestrange. Currently chilling in a hospital gown as a strange machine strapped to her arm let out a barely audible beeping sound.

An interesting piece of equipment, no doubt created with a ghost possessions in mind, but for the sake of all of them Hermione was crossing her fingers that Lestrange wouldn’t show up to test its accuracy. What’s important here is the fact that the machine’s presence managed to successfully ease the beautiful patient’s nerves to the point when Bellatrix didn’t protest when Narcissa offered to leave them there alone.

”I’ve heard shouting.” Bellatrix spoke up, munching on a hospital yogurt of sorts.

”Oh that… that was Rodolphus.” Hermione shrugged awkwardly. “Narcissa is afraid he might do something stupid.”

”Yeah, I would like to see him try.” The older woman snorted. And Hermione couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto her face at the sight of the witch’s usual haughtiness. Even stuck in a psychiatric ward Bellatrix just couldn’t stop herself from belittling Rodolphus.

”How are you?” She finally asked, noticing the dark circles under the older witch’s eyes. No doubt an effect of the all night long possession. Lestrange will have some explaining to do later.

”I’m fine.” Bellatrix threw dismissively. “It’s the aurors I killed that are unwell.”

”You haven’t killed anyone. It was all her fault, all Her doing.”

”I let her take control. She played me like a fiddle, Hermione. There’s no excuse for that.” Bellatrix averted her gaze, blushing furiously. “She wasn’t the one who did this to you.” She said pointing to her bandaged up head. “I did.”

”Bella…”

”Don’t you Bella me, Granger!” The dark-haired witch almost sprung to her feet. Remembering at the last moment that she was in fact strapped to the beeping machine. “She told me such horrible things about you… and I… I believed every single one of them.”

”Bellatrix!”

”She made me doubt you and for that I will never be able to apologize sufficiently.”

The Gryffindor could feel the streaks of tears streaming down her face. She tried to do the logical thing she really did, but seeing Bellatrix like this. So broken and self-conscious. It hurt her to her very core. She flinched revolting at the mere thought of telling another lie, of bamboozling her only to make her own life easier.

”You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” She managed to say in between the sobs. Bellatrix staring at her with concern. “Because the truth is… I- You had every right to be suspicious.” She choked out. Onyx eyes boring into her side with enough fire to lit her ablaze. “It all started on accident! I never meant for this to happen. I only needed to snoop around the archives…”

Bellatrix was speechless. Her pale face rapidly losing color. Teeth clenching beneath a thin layer of skin.

”And then the dinner happened and… and you were so beautiful and charming and… ughhh.” She kept on rambling. “I never thought she would do something like this. And all this time she was actually nice to me! Merlin, I should have known something wasn’t right, but frankly I still don’t get it. It sounded almost as if she was…”

”Jealous.” The older woman finished for her. “She was inexplicably jealous. I reckoned it was me at first, but I’ve never felt such hate towards anyone in my life before. Jealousy towards the stupid Weasel boy, Narcissa, but most importantly… myself. I didn’t realize what it was. Not until now, but yes… I guess you can say that she was JEALOUS.”

”I’m so, so, so sorry! For everything that you have been through.” She cried, hoping that Bellatrix would do something different than simply stare at her. At this point she was ready for everything. If the older woman wanted to lash out at her she would welcome it with open arms, fully convinced that she deserved to be scolded.

”How about the Minister?” Bellatrix spoke up seeing her distress. Her gaze contemplative, intrigued although filled with sadness. “Does she… Have you always…”

The blush on her cheeks was an instant give away. Hermione did her best not to show how terrified she was as she struggled to form a coherent answer.

”If I left this place now, she wouldn’t be able to remember any of this happening. I’m sure the doctors would brush it off as amnesia resulting from her hitting her head.” She explained awkwardly, avoiding the older woman’s gaze.

”Oh.” Bellatrix replied miserably. “I guess the affair is over then.”

”I guess so.”

”Pity, I thought we had something.” Her voice breaking as she desperately tried not to cry. “You don’t have a cigarette by any chance?”

”Bellatrix!”

”I know, I know.” She burst out laughing nervously and suddenly she looked the spitting image of the mad woman Hermione knew best. “Andy would have beaten me to death with that stethoscope of hers if I sullied her bloody workplace with cigarette smoke. But it’s just… Do you know how long I was trying to ask her out before you showed up? She always seemed so clueless, never really acknowledging our meetings as dates. And then suddenly it wasn’t a problem… How did you know?”

”Honestly? No idea.” Hermione shrugged in defeat. “At this point I think there was simply no denying that I was attracted to her… well… YOU. Perhaps your Hermione was not ready to figure it out on her own.”

The deep sight Bellatrix released was the most depressing thing she heard.

”So what now?” The older woman asked.

”Now I will help get you out of this mess and then you will never see me again.” Hermione replied. “And I will make sure that the other you doesn’t show up either. Can you believe that right now she’s chained to the Grimmauld Place’s wall? Probably screaming her vocal cords out.”

”Sheesh. I’m kinda sorry for her now. Trust Granger to make you feel sorry for a goddamn murderous psychopath.”

”Shut up.” She yelled, pushing the woman playfully. “Why did they put YOU in a psychiatric ward anyway?”

”Apparently to prove that I’m not crazy they need to actually get some readings of a possession taking place - hence the equipment.” She replied gesturing towards the strange looking machine.

”So the only thing we have to do to get you out of here is to make these reading go crazy?” The Gryffindor said studying the electrodes strapped to the pale arm. It will be easy to take off and temporarily put on her own hand to get the right results. Then it would only be a matter of attaching it back before the doctors show up.

”Technically yes, practically I think there is a bit more paperwork involved.” said Bellatrix, rolling her eyes theatrically as she pulled her hand back from the younger woman’s grasp, earning an annoyed look in return.

”No worries, Lestrange, with me you will be free of this place sooner than you could think of a proper pick up line to ask the Minister out.”

”Damn, I might be a little scared now.”

It took her a few minutes of non-stop trashing to finally forgo resisting and silently lay on the soft bed her cousin provided her with. Honestly, after a lifetime spent in Azkaban she should have known better than to test those magically shrinking shackles as they simply wouldn’t budge. Yes, Sirius must have actually taken those straight out of the cursed prison for no goblin in their right mind would sell him one of those. Especially not now that the Dark Lord controlled everything.

The Dark Lord. Granger.

She must have really lost her mind. Probably left it in her wretched cell chained to a dripping wall.

”And what the hell is she doing in there?” The Weasel’s voice brought her back to the present.

”I don’t know. Getting some rest I hope.” The Scarhead replied.

With the doors left open, Bellatrix could hear them clear as day.

“Wishful thinking.” Ron spat back. “You saw the same thing I did. I say we shouldn’t trust her. Not for a while at least.”

The footsteps stopped abruptly.

”You’re too quick to assume. We don’t know what we saw, it could have been a rape we prevented.”

”Yeah, with Mione spurring her on.” The redhead snorted. “What if Lestrange has her under the imperious curse? Now they lay low, they wait, and then she will make her slit our throats in the middle of the night.”

”Ron. If it wasn’t for her Lestrange would have killed you back in the Black Manor.” The voices started getting nearer again. “One would think that a Death Eater’s puppet wouldn’t dare to rise a hand against her master.”

”Whatever. Think what you want, I’ll be watching her vigilantly. You can thank me afterwards.”

”Once again. You’re being overly dra…” Potter’s words got stuck in his throat as the pair arrived in front of Bellatrix’s door.

They stopped, staring suspiciously at her laying form before descending farther into the manor.

”Blimey. Do you think she heard what we…”

”Shut up, Ron!”

That was the most interesting thing that happened to her for the rest of the day. Soon the sun went down and her little room got shrouded in darkness with only the lights coming from other parts of the house shining through the open doorway, allowing her to make out the general shapes of things surrounding her.

Sadly, even with the bright light of the day, there wasn’t much to look at in her makeshift cell. Sirius wasn’t stupid enough to put her in her old room she would occupy while visiting her Auntie. Instead, a plain and boring guest room was all she had. With its ugly wallpaper coming off the walls and the most basic decorations, the room’s only amenity was the comfortable bed she was sentenced to rot on.

The only thing making her feel at least fractionally better was the thought that the little Weasel was envious of her snogging Granger while all he ever got was a friendly hug at best. She reveled in that feeling, cackling from time to time as she hung on the particular piece of conversation that kept replaying in her brain. If only Granger wouldn’t be such a stuck-up bitch and rush off to save that goody-two-shoes idiot, perhaps she wouldn’t have to keep herself entertained by thriving off of the wretched Weasel’s distress.

The hours passed, no one dared to visit her. Only a fluffy ball of fur that was now purring nestled into her side. Bellatrix stroke its ginger mane absentmindedly trying to fall asleep. At this point in the night, Bellatrix could finally feel a semblance of privacy as all the other householders were snoozing in their cozy beds. With no more lights to even look around her shoebox, there was no point in straining her already weary eyes.

Or at least so she thought as the sudden noise of the doors to her room closing put her senses on high alert. With the bloody shackles on, it would be foolish to just whip around and face the intruder. What could she do anyway apart from hoping that the person wasn’t there to hurt her. With no other options in sight Bellatrix decided to lay low and pretend to be sleeping in hopes that the person would simply get bored and leave.

”Here you are, darling.” She heard the familiar voice of the Mudblood and for some unfathomable reason her heart clenched painfully. “You can’t wander off like that, Crooks.” The girl whispered and the cat nestled at Bellatrix’s side roared its head to look at her.

Trust a mudblood to steal even the cat away from her. That simply wouldn’t do.

The moment Hermione’s hand reached out to grab the ginger ball, a clunking sound broke the heavy silence of the room. Mortified, the girl hopelessly stared at her own wrist where a set of pale nimble fingers was biting into the soft skin of her wrist.

”Find yourself another pet.” The claws’ owner growled and only silence followed suit. “This one chose me.”

Relaxing her hold on the delicate arm Bellatrix let it slip out. The unfazed cat lowering its head down as if it could sense that whatever happens next doesn’t concern him.

Hearing no further protests or witty remarks the older woman followed his example, closing her eyes hoping that sleep would soon overtake her. But the deathly silence continued and not even a sound of the door opening reached her waiting ears as the Golden Girl loomed over her.

”Granger have mercy.” At last she lost patience. “It’s hard enough to sleep with the bloody door… opened.” She suddenly stuttered as something warm and heavy settled next to her, pushing itself against her back.

”Do shut up, Bellatrix.” Was whispered right into her ear as a slim arm snaked its way around her waist only to bury itself in the ginger cat’s mane.

Lestrange wanted to retort so badly, but somehow her mouth and throat were so dry that she wasn’t sure it would sound half as menacing as she wanted it to sound.

Finally, she let go and relaxed into the younger woman’s embrace. Soon her breathing evened, and she drifted off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the raging thunder that terrorized Voldemort’s followers a few miles away from where they were sleeping.

Chapter Text

The planks under his shoes were old and rotten. Bending dangerously low as he put his foot down. The last time he was here the house still held some semblance of its former glory and magnificence, but unfortunately the additional years of neglect did nothing to stop its decay into a pitiful state it was in now. Wallpapers chipping away from dirty walls, the rafters straining holding the whole construction of the roof up and the wobbly stairs with holes big enough to fit an adult man's leg waiting to break his bones if he was careless enough to slip on the moist wood. Even with the powerful magic holding it together, it was an unavoidable disaster. All it would take to trigger it was a one ill placed step and the whole mansion would collapse like a house of cards.

Trying not to squirm too much Yaxley sat down on a nearby chair, patiently waiting for his turn to meet with the boss. The last thing he needed now was to fall through Voldemort's rotten floor, toppling the whole house in his wake. As if the universe itself was trying to mock him, the parquetry creaked under his feet, shaking slightly as something big and heavy started moving across it. Blinking back the haziness that for the last few weeks seemed to have taken permanent residency in his wretched life, Yaxley looked down to where a cold bulk brushed against his exposed ankle. The feeling too unique to mistake it for anything else - the slick, scally texture of Nagini’s body.

She circled him slowly, no doubt determining if she could swallow him in one gulp. He saw her devouring men enough times to know that his slim frame would prove no challenge to the enormous snake.

One would think that after so many sleepless nights spent at Malfoy Manor, and so many nightmares ending with him being swallowed by the maledictus, he would have developed some kind of immunity or at least tolerance to Nagini’s ominous presence.

One would be wrong.

There was no escape, not even a glimmer of hope anymore. At some point he thought he would be free of her for good. When the post-coup migration started, everyone was eager to find their place again. Even the Dark Lord moved away, taking his pet with him to the Gaunt residence where his family's seat of power used to be before poverty forced them to move to the pitiful shack near Little Hangleton. Now it was nothing more than a living tomb. Its crumbling walls limiting the whole world for him and those of his closest circle. A circle that was shrinking with every single day since Bellatrix’s disappearance.

Yaxley has never seen him so frantic and demented before. Afraid to as much as mention her name, Voldemort seemed sure that Lestrange found a way to get rid of him. For good this time. It made him extremely distrustful and even easier to anger, as he was constantly looking out for some hidden plot. His paranoia was the main factor of him holing up in the desolate mansion, where his favorite pet remained the only creature he deemed worthy of his trust.

He rarely called on anyone to show up in this sacred space. Yaxley himself had only been there a couple of times. Each time summoned because of Bellatrix Lestrange. Each time leaving with only his swollen muscles holding him together. This time he had no idea what he did to merit such invitation. The Lestrange case had bogged down ever since Narcissa's revelation. With no sightings and new leads, there wasn't much Voldemort could ask him about. Wherever she was, the witch was adamant to stay hidden. Just like the Mudblood and her muggle parents. Yaxley paid a big price for letting all of them escape. The scars on his body barely healing with all the stress he had to endure ever since.

All this to get invited once again.

It’s not like there weren’t reasons to summon him, but with the big man hidden away in his rotten hole in the ground, Yaxley couldn’t wrap his head around how Voldemort could possibly know about any of them.

And yet. Somehow he did. Someone must have had a very restless tongue apparently. One he will soon have to put to rest.

A sudden crack of the doors closing behind an enormous cloaked figure broke him out of his musings. He lifted his head barely in time to see Fenrir rush out the house without sparing him a single glance.

Normally he would have felt the need to berate the brute for that, to put him back in his place. But sitting here in the horrible house, awaiting something that might as well mean his doom, he felt like he could share the sentiment if he was only lucky enough to walk out of there alive.

Gathering up enough courage, he sprang to his feet, promptly walking into the now open office. The door creaking behind him ominously. He paid it no mind, looking for the doom-bringer instead.

Voldemort, gloomy as always, stood with his back turned to the door, leaning on a window sill. Tracking something with his scarlet lidded eyes. Seemingly oblivious to the other man’s presence.

”Ekhem. My lord wanted to talk to me?” Yaxley cleared his throat wanting to get this over with.

As if he hasn’t heard the headauror’s question, Tom Riddle drawled casually, “I haven’t seen Dolohov for quite some time now. Have you?”

A cold shiver ran through Corban’s spine. It was the topic he would rather not discuss.

”No, I haven’t.” He forced out through clenched teeth.

”He hasn’t been coming to work?” The dark wizard queried, and Yaxley could already feel the noose closing around his neck.

”Now that I think about it… it is possible that he might have started neglecting work recently.”

The swish of a wand cutting through air was the only warning he heard before a red jet of light struck him square in the gut. Blood sizzling in his veins as the Dark Lord turned to him, his temper getting out of control in an alarmingly fast rate.

”Neglecting? What does that mean? Has he been working or not?” Voldemort spat at the hunched over figure.

”I’m not sure.” said Yaxley and momentarily cringed at his own foolish words.

”You’re not sure.” The Dark Lord repeated bitterly. “A head of the department not knowing whether or not his subordinates are even at work. I can say that the Ministry hasn’t changed a single bit since I made you the headauror. A bunch of lazy imbeciles incapable of finding their own employees, let alone Bellatrix, Potter or a pair of muggles for that matter. It baffles me how you can still live with yourself, Corban. You’re as useful as a muggle paperweight or a doorstop. Simply pathetic.”

Voilà.

”He hasn’t been coming to work.” Yaxley whispered lowly, eyes fixed on the rotten planks.

”Glad we at least have that figured out.” drawled Voldemort. “Now, have you done anything to find him?”

”No.”

”No?” The scarlet eyes widen. “You surprise me yet again with your incompetence, Yaxley.”

”My lord, if I may, in our line of work, it is only natural that officers sometimes disappear entranced in their chases.” Corban tried to rescue himself. “I’m sure Antonin will come back soon. Perhaps even with new clues regarding Lestrange’s whereabouts…”

”Silence!” The snakelike voice warned him. “We all know Lucius was right. There’s no need to learn anything about her whereabouts - we already know everything.”

”The last time I talked to him, Dolohov seemed to have made some big breakthrough. Certainly he will find a way to aid the cause. One way or the other.”

”Better for him that he does. And better for you too! If you don’t find him in the next 3 days, you will pay the same price he ought to pay.” He finally turned to face Corban, towering over him as he drew nearer. “3 days. That’s it. Now go.”

Yaxley didn’t waste time on looking around as he ran out of the office and the sinister house altogether.

Bellatrix’s thick lashes slowly fluttered as her eyes opened. The reason for her sudden awakening being the impatient tapping on her shoulder coming from the side Hermione’s body used to lay. The feeling of warmth still vivid in the dark witch’s mind as she stretched her back leisurely.

Reluctant as she was, Bellatrix had to acknowledge how nice of a feeling it was to have the other woman’s arms wrapped around her so snuggly. The sense of serenity and security was overwhelming despite the vulnerable position of having her back turned to the enemy. And what an enemy it was! Gorgeous, intelligent and deliciously easy to wind up. Practically irresistible.

They sure as hell went quickly from wanting to kill each other to sleeping in one bed.

A foolish move on the Gryffindor’s part, one that could have easily been taken advantage of by the older woman, should she wish to finish the job. Perhaps the girl wasn't afraid of her anymore, because she thought that Bella couldn't murder her, she couldn't risk the black hole swallowing the whole universe. But the Death Eater knew that it was nothing more than a little fib lulling her into a false sense of security. If Bellatrix actually wanted to harm her, she would have done much worse than killing the girl. She could have  done anything if she only wanted, and yet, at the end of the day  Granger’s optimism triumphed again the moment she shook awake with all of her arteries left unopened. Yet another regret Bella had to add to her already lengthy list. The Mudblood was making her soft and squishy inside, and the dark witch hasn't yet decided if she loved or hated it. She certainly enjoyed some of it, though.

The cuddles were fine, the dinner conversations were entertaining. Yesterday she even tried to preserve Bella’s dignity as if tying the stupid robe could somehow wipe away the things the two cretins already saw. It all added up into an appealing image, way too good to dispel it just because she needed to wake up.

”One more minute, pet… just one more…” She mumbled unconsciously, pulling the purring ball of fur and the quilt closer to herself.

At least the cat hasn’t left her side, keeping her sides warm as the younger woman snuck out of the bed early in the morning. She could have sworn it has been just 5 minutes or so since that happened, and now for some unknown reason the girl has returned, pestering her into awakeness with her small bony fingers…

WAIT!

Small, bony fingers?!?

She shrieked swirling around and startling Crookshanks in the process.

Her angry eyes fixed on the petite shaking form cowering on the floor. Careful not to anger her, the creature reached for the food that fell off its little tray, gathering it in haste as Lestrange's gaze bore into him.

”Mistress please, have mercy on Kreacher!” He cried frantically. “Kreacher didn’t want to disturb you! It was Harry Potter and his horrible friends that told him to bring you food…”

”Silence!” Lestrange ordered and made the elf shiver with fear as he took a cautious step back.

It brought Bellatrix’s attention to the open door where two sets of eyes observed the whole encounter with unbridled curiosity. Not even the fact that she noticed them caused them to show a little bit of concern as they watched Kreacher bowing before her obsequiously.

”Take the food and get out of my room, elf. I won’t eat anything your filthy hands have ever touched.” Bellatrix leveled him with a furious glare.

Surprisingly the creature didn’t momentarily rush to the door as she expected. Instead, it looked at her with an outrage almost, no doubt trying to understand why she had to make his life even harder.

”But Mistress, Master Sirius told Kreacher to…”

”I don’t care what that moron ordered you to do. I do not wish to see him or you or these gawking idiots.” She said finally acknowledging Ron and Harry standing in the doorway. “Now get out before I tear you to pieces with my bare hands!”

The elf flinched, but still kept looking at her incredulously.

”But what about…”

”Get out!” Lestrange bellowed bolting out of the bed and stopping mere millimeters from Kreacher’s terrified face as she maxed out the length of the chain restraining her movements.

It worked like a charm. Without any further resistance he sprang to his feet and ran out of the room, pushing past the two boys in a hurry. Potter and Weasley seemed unaffected however, still staring at her, but this time with a glint of disgust coloring their features.

”I fail to understand what the hell she ever saw in you.” The Weasel murmured. “You are a monster. A cruel, mindless one. Nothing more than a pathetic pawn in his grasp. Disgusting.”

”I assure you, she likes me more than she ever could someone like you. A poor, brutish imbecile with no sense of his own worth... or lack thereof. If I don't deserve her, then you for sure don't either.” Lestrange retorted, and Harry had to physically restrain Ron before he could do something he would later regret. But Bellatrix wasn’t finished yet. Cackling madly as she uttered another series of insults, basking in the redhead’s anguish. “Why don’t you go back to your stupid family, mommy boy. You’re not going to impress anyone here. Do us all a favor and disappear before I strike your lineage from the face of the earth.”

His victorious snort made her jaw clench.

”Good luck with that. Not much you can do chained to a wall, I guess.” He shrugged, letting the other boy drag him away from the doorway.

The white-hot rage buzzing inside Bellatrix was unbearable. With complete disregard for the abrupt pain, she kept tugging on her shrinking shackles, begging them to come undone so she could beat the Weasel to death with the heavy cuffs. But once again - it held firm.

Why has Granger had to leave her alone with these troglodytes? Why did she sneak out in the middle of the night like she was ashamed of her? If anyone should feel ashamed it was Bellatrix. If Auntie Walburga ever learned about their strange… relations she would never let her forget about it. Perhaps it was for the better that she chose to leave the room quietly before the stupid boys came. It spared her the no doubt lengthy lecture about the treatment of house elves… and gingers for that matter.

And yet, still, Bellatrix couldn’t help but miss the warmth radiating from her as they slept. Suddenly the stuffy room she was forced to occupy seemed unbearably cold to her. Shivering, she crept back into bed and threw the covers over herself, but the thin duvet did nothing to alleviate her suffering. The strange feeling taking over her body as she cuddled to Hermione’s cat - her only companion in this miserable world.

With the whole day ahead of her, she could only hope that Granger would hurry up with whatever thing she was doing. She wanted to talk to her. The invisible threads linking them together begging her to get closer.

She needed to be with her.

Hermione woke up at sunrise knowing that her otherworldly friend would be discharged early in the morning. Yesterday they managed to reach a compromise. During the remainder of her journey in the headauror’s universe she’ll have to limit her visits to a bare minimum and keep them as early in the morning as possible. That way the other woman’s life could slowly come back to normal. The only thing they haven’t discussed fully being if and how exactly were they going to clue the Minister in once all this is over.

But that was a problem for a future Hermione to solve. Right now she was strolling through the St Mungo’s hallways, observing the doctors getting ready for their daily tours of the patients’ rooms. With the hour so early it was no surprise that the whole building seemed a lot calmer than the last time she visited the older woman. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It wasn't until she felt a firm hand close itself around her arm that she noticed Andromeda Tonks standing next to her.

"Don't go in there." She said cryptically, and immediately the Gryffindor's palm slipped off the cold door handle. "My my, Bella failed to mention how obedient you are. Anyway, follow me."

Blushing furiously, Hermione trailed after her through the narrow corridors, stopping only when the older woman paused to assess the sick gathering in the waiting area.

”You wouldn’t believe how many children like this we get everyday.” The doctor shook her head disapprovingly, looming over a patient who had a few snacks from Fred and George’s shop too much and instead of skipping a lesson or two ended up in the hospital. “It’s beyond me how these candies are even legal. Clearly they’re not harmless, and the strange symptoms are easily mistaken for serious diseases like Dragon Pox. I guess that’s the main point of taking those, but children do not understand that a wrong treatment could cause a great harm to their organisms.”

As if on cue, the kid suddenly sneezed, making Mrs Tonks move away to avoid the sparks coming out of his nose and mouth.

”You see what I’m talking about?” Andromeda smiled triumphantly, sporting the smug ‘I told you so’ look Bellatrix often wore. “The Ministry should do something about this.”

”As interesting and informative as this is,” Hermione gestured around them. “I would rather want to know why in Salazar’s name have you stopped me from going inside Bellatrix’s room.”

“I figured you would come to see her today.” Andromeda drawled airily, already bending down to check another patient. "I know how eager you are to fix everything, Hermione, but trust me, it's not the best time for a visit."

"Why so? Is  Bellatrix busy, or something?" The girl asked, trying to hide the concern that put her senses on high alert. Blood thumbing in her ears as thousands of different scenarios  zoomed through her mind. "Did I come too late? Has she already been discharged?"

"Ohhh, no. You needn’t worry about the last part at least. She's still here. Although she is quite busy right now. My silly, little sister is wasting her time crying buckets next to her bed. Right now they're most likely wallowing in pity and hate alternately. Nothing interesting really." Doctor released a deep sigh. Wry smile showing nothing but deep pity on her behalf. "I never was one for theatrics and simply wanted to spare you the lecture. Honestly, If I was you I would keep away from her for the next couple of days. Narcissa is known for keeping a grudge."

"Why would she be mad at me? I’m doing everything I can to speed things up.”

An amused snort was what she got in response. Brown eyes locked with her hazel ones.

"Because it's easier to blame someone who's not even from this world for the wrongdoings of the actual perpetrators."

The shocked expression on Hermione's face quickly turned into a rictus of annoyance. She should have known Bellatrix would tell her sisters about her secret. And to her disappointment, she couldn't really blame her for that. The headauror was free to do whatever she wanted and so did Narcissa. If she wanted to hate Hermione for the rest of her life, the girl could only let her.

But Andromeda didn't appear agitated by the discovery, clearly not sharing her younger sister's resentment. Which paradoxically worried Hermione even more.

”Why hasn't Bellatrix been discharged yet?" The Gryffindor asked, finally letting a frown appear on her face. "What is Narcissa accusing me of?”

”You should ask Rodolphus about it.” Andromeda replied, passing the patient’s chart  to the nearby nurse. “He came shortly before you with a paper from his lawyer, claiming that as Bella’s husband he has the final say in when and if she gets discharged. Obviously I told him to go fuck himself, but apparently he wasn’t bluffing and we can’t let her go without his permission. Bummer.”

“He plans to keep her here?” Hermione forced out close to fainting. “What on earth can he possibly gain from that?”

Of all the people in Wizarding Britain Bellatrix’s spineless husband seemed like the least of a threat to anyone. With no power or connections, the only bad he could do was insult someone. From what she knew, he already had problems with the law enforcement, soothed only by Bellatrix’s position as the headauror.

How come now he suddenly became audacious enough to threaten his wife who for the last decade has done nothing but save his ass on a weekly basis? Surely he must have realized how dangerous the witch could be when furious. Even after her resignation, the dark-haired woman was no force to be reckoned with, especially with the Minister advocating on her behalf. As personal benefits go, Rodolphus would no doubt be better off with everyone ignoring him, rather than angering both Bella and her.

”If I knew that - she would have been out already.” Andromeda’s lips pressed into a firm thin line. Her expression stoic yet cold, but Hermione knew that beneath the collected surface a torrent of emotions as strong as those of Narcissa’s flowed.

She leaned closer to Hermione and the dangerous glint shining in her eyes was enough to confirm the Gryffindor’s suspicions.

“I was just as shocked as you are now, Miss Granger. But believe me when I say that neither Rod, nor his halfwit brother are smart enough to come up with this all on their own. Someone is influencing them, and I fear that it could only be someone who benefits from the Ministry’s disorder and vulnerability.”

”How come? Bellatrix is no longer the headauror and from what you told me yesterday Dolohov doesn’t care much for what happens to Bella.”

”But you do.”

Hermione’s words got stuck in her throat. Pregnant silence stretching between them as she realized how simple it was.

Rodolphus knew about her infatuation with Bellatrix. He hinted at it yesterday. Whatever he was trying to do had something to do with undermining her position as the Minister for Magic. A scheme worthy of Bellatrix Lestrange, but certainly not of her pathetic husband.

‘Someone who benefits from the disorder…’ Hermione pondered Andromeda’s words that now sounded way too familiar to ease her mind?

Surely the Bellatrix - her Bellatrix - wouldn’t be cruel enough to toy with her sisters’ emotions. Besides, she spent the night sleeping in the same bed as her. If she was indeed jealous like everyone seemed to think - shouldn’t she be happy that Hermione chose to stay with her instead of going back to her counterpart?

Hermione made a mental note to check the older woman’s nightly readings. With all the machines monitoring the auror at all times and the other witch being stuck in a psychiatric ward, she wouldn’t even have a chance to contact Rodolphus. Not unless she had the whole thing orchestrated beforehand.

As unlikely culprit as the dark witch was, she was the only person who could steer Hermione in the right direction. She who knew what kind of scumbag Rodolphus was and knew his methods better than anyone else…

By the time Hermione was done with the hospital things a few hours have passed. The sun now hanging high on the horizon, lighting up her room with a pleasant gleam. Letting her feet touch the ground, she yawned loudly, joints popping as she stretched her arms high above her head.

It wasn’t the usual room she always stayed at when visiting Grimmauld Place, although a very similar one. It always struck her how narrow all of the bedchambers were. With bulky, sculpted furniture it was sometimes a hassle to squeeze through should someone wish to reach the deeper parts of the room.

It was as if the whole building was constrained by the muggle architecture it imitated. A truly bizarre thing considering that with only a few well placed enchantments the whole interior could be expended to a size of an actual mansion. Something more similar to what other pureblood houses seemed to prefer.

Compared to the sinister Black Manor, it almost seemed like a travesty of a residence, one that was supposed to be the family’s main seat of power. And yet it was those claustrophobic walls that filled Hermione’s mind with such joy whenever she thought about the holidays spent in the Weasleys’ company. With Molly, Ron, Ginny, the twins and Arthur, the grim hallways felt different somehow, way more homey and inviting. Alive.

A year it was.

The year she first met Bellatrix.

The year it all started.

Bellatrix.

Hermione had yet to visit the witch. The smell of her musky perfume still fresh in her mind after the night they spent together. Or maybe it just rubbed off on her somewhere in the middle of the night.

Yesterday she felt exhausted after everything that happened between her, the boys and the older woman. The talk she had with  Bella’s headauror counterpart calmed her nerves a little bit, but it did nothing to ease the headache that came with Ron and Harry quarreling in front of her and everyone else as soon as she came back.

The tension was unbearable, no wonder with the stakes so high and victory so close at hand. It was so close they could have it right there and then if only Bellatrix’s persistence wasn’t standing in their way. The unlikely possibility that she would cooperate with them led some of the house occupants to consider more radical measures. Propositions ranging from Legilimency to straight up torture. If it wasn’t for Hermione’s mother, the muggleborn’s protestations would have fallen on deaf ears.

The fight was futile, going nowhere in the foreseeable future and soon Hermione decided to cut it short and vacate back to her room in order to try catch some sleep before they start arguing again. Two hours later when everyone else was finally asleep, she found herself tossing and turning frustratingly unable to doze off.

Groaning, she slid off the bed and went off to find the only thing that she knew could help her calm down - her familiar. She never expected to find him in Bellatrix’s room, curled up and nestled into her side like he always did with Hermione. She reckoned she should be offended by such blatant treachery, but strangely the sight of the ruthless Death Eater spooning Crookshanks like a teddy bear was too cute and captivating for that.

The moment those sharp claws closed around her wrist she felt a cold shiver run through her spine. Look of alarm crossing her features as she realized how vulnerable she was. Bellatrix had given her enough evidence of how physically stronger she was and with her wand left in her room, Hermione had no good way to defend herself should the dark witch want to attack her there.

”Find yourself another pet. This one chose me.” The hoarse voice murmured.

Perhaps cute was not the right word to label her. Bellatrix was as stubborn and possessive even when it came to a bloody cat.

Her cat! Her familiar!

If she backed out then, she would have let the older woman take yet another thing from her. She wanted to burst out in laughter, to let all of the stress and anger flow out of her and into the open. She wanted to scream, to cry and to stomp her feet like a little child. If Bellatrix could do it - so could she!

Except she was too tired for that. Too used to crying, too fed up with arguing to lash out at Bellatrix. She was exhausted and suddenly there was nothing else she could think about other than the warm bed in front of her where Lestrange’s soft, curvy body laid. Acting on impulses Hermione slipped under the covers and let herself melt into the older woman’s side just like the ginger cat did. All of her worries long forgotten, only the black flow of curls in sight as she closed her eyes in complete blissfulness.

If she had to be frank, she would have rather stayed in bed with Bellatrix than go back to the dreadful hospital. But an oath was an oath and her responsibility wouldn’t let her sleep.

In the end she hasn’t had the chance to talk with the former headauror, but gained a handful of important informations, nonetheless.

Her musings were yet again interrupted by the sight that greeted her in the kitchen/basement of the grim, old house, where she found a broken plate full of food haphazardly chucked into the iron sink.

”What is this?” She asked irritated, turning to the fireplace where the master of the house was casually flipping through a muggle newspaper.

She didn’t had to wait for Sirius’s explanation to know whose breakfast that was. Bellatrix clearly wasn’t enjoying her stay. Looking back at the half turned armchair, she waited expectantly for the ominous man to answer.

”Not my problem apparently.” Black drawled from behind the newspaper. His blue eyes peeking curiously as Hermione sighed in frustration. Finally, as if taking pity on her, Sirius decided to elaborate. “She refuses to eat, suspecting Kreacher of wanting to poison her.” A snort of laughter escaped him bitterly, as he turned back to the article in front of him. “If I wasn’t his master, I would be worried about it myself.”

”Has anyone tried to talk to her about it?” The girl’s brows drew together. “Or about the horcruxes? Or anything useful for that matter?”

”That would be pointless. Bellatrix made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk to us.” Sirius replied, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “She didn’t mention you however.”

”Lucky me.” said Hermione. Pulling out a brand-new plate, she started making a new batch of sandwiches knowing well that Bellatrix wouldn’t eat anything an elf brought her. Casting the man a wary glance, she asked him cautiously, “She’s your cousin. I know she’s done some terrible things in the past, but even as her temporary jailer - shouldn’t you be more concerned about her starving herself to death?”

”Nope.” He replied cheerfully, hiding his face behind the newspaper. “She survived Azkaban, she can survive her own whims. A day or two of fasting can only clear her mind. Wipe away the petulance, you know. Merlin knows, she needs it.”

”That’s cold.”

”That’s Black.” He quipped and looked away in triumph.

Hermione took it as a sign that the conversation was over. Clutching the heavy tray, she spun around to go upstairs when the silky voice made her stop in her tracks.

”Your mother is in there.” Sirius said, attentively looking at his paper. Pretending to follow the text as he waited for the younger woman’s reaction.

”Alone?” The Golden Girl gasped. Mind racing with possibilities.

”Yep.”

”You let a muggle talk to her? Alone?”

”We have our ways.” Sirius grinned nodding his head towards the electrical nanny sitting on the table. “We strapped an extendable ear to a receiver in the room next to Bella’s and now we can hear everything. Poor Bella doesn’t suspect a thing.”

The girl’s mouth fell open as she exclaimed in outrage. “This is barbaric! Doesn’t she merit at least a sliver of privacy?”

”It’s either that or we just let her strangle your mother to death with the enchanted chains.” He retorted offhandedly.

”Has she tried to do that?” Pale as sheet and with eyes wide as saucers the younger Gryffindor asked.

”Not yet, but I’m sure she thought about it.”

”And you still let my mother go to her? Alone???”

”Hey.” Sirius drawled, lowering the newspaper and staring at her with tired expression. “You try telling your mother to keep out of there. The woman has to have a death wish or is actually naive enough to believe that Bellatrix likes her. Either way: not my problem.”

”Splendid, just great!” Hermione’s knuckles tightened over the ceramic plate, whitening with the strength of her grip.

”I know. Have fun in there.” Sirius chuckled as she took off in the direction of the Death Eater’s room, yelling after her as she disappeared around the corner “And don’t forget to ask her about the horcruxes!”

”I’m sure she would be happy to oblige.” He added, laughing to himself.

Crossing the dark staircase in strides Hermione promptly arrived in front of the oak doors leading to Lestrange’s prison cell. To her surprise, she found them closed. Questions sizzling inside her skull, forming different conclusions as she hesitated to open them.

Had Bellatrix somehow managed to lure her mother inside? Was she trying to kill the woman? Why was her mother acting so recklessly? None of it made any sense and so instead of standing there like an idiot she promptly reached for the handle and flung the door open, fully expecting her mother to be dead or at least struggling to keep herself alive.

Oh how wrong she was!

Bellatrix sat on the floor seeping tea from an expensive looking cup while Jean Granger was casually combing through her thick, tangled hair, sectioning it and pining on top of her head.

”It wasn't easy to keep up that flossing routine.” Said Bellatrix, passing Jean small pins to clip the rest of her hair up. “Since Marseille, I hadn’t had the time to go the store and had to transfigure the thing from stuff I had on hand. Imagine conjuring up something as thick as a hair everyday - it was horrible.”

”Sometimes we have to suffer to maintain proper hygiene.” Hermione’s mother sighed. “But it totally paid off if it makes you feel any better. With such delicate teeth as yours flossing makes a difference between life and death.”

”Mmmhhm.” Lestrange hummed deeply,  closing her eyes and enjoying the ordeal.

Hermione watched the comb disappear between the dark curls. Her fingers itching, unconsciously rubbing on her palm, aching to tangle in the thick mane.

”You should get a water flosser. It would be easier to get into all the nooks and crannies.” Jean added joyfully. "I can ask Mr Black to get you one the next time he'll be going outside."

"A water flosser?” Bellatrix asked with genuine interest. “How does it work?"

"You rinse your gums with a small water beam in addition to normal flossing." Jean explained.

"Oh, If I had my wand I bet I could replicate it with aguamenti." Bellatrix replied, a sad grimace settling over her features. The wand was taken away from her and given to Hermione whose own wand was yet to be found. Lestrange never deigned to divulge where exactly she left the thing, the most probable explanation being that haste forced her to leave it somewhere in the Malfoy Manor.

Hermione couldn’t possibly imagine how enraptured in conversation about dental hygiene a Death Eater could be. At Hogwarts people rarely understood what her parents’ job even meant, and yet here was Bellatrix - a fanatical blood purist, mentally stuck in the XIX century - casually chatting about flossing with a muggle dentist.

"Whatever you do, don't be too rough. You don't want to damage your gums, only to clean them." Mrs Granger emphasised.

”You’re probably right.” The dark witch in question agreed. “One day I was fed up with the stupid strands and scourgified the teeth instead. It hurt like a motherfu…” She cringed, looking apologetic. "It hurt."

Jean stopped combing through the raven tresses, looking down at the sitting witch with forbidding look.

”God forbid you do it ever again! I saw what that spell can do, and it’s definitely too strong to use on teeth. You could have damaged your enamel.”

Hermione waited with batted breath for the other woman’s reaction, but unfortunately before Bellatrix could answer her in any way, Mrs Granger spotted her, dropping the gilded brush to the floor and startling Lestrange in the process.

”Jesus, Mione, haven’t I taught you any manners?” Jean admonished her, propping clenched fists on her hips like Molly used to do. It reminded Hermione of her childhood spent at home with her parents. Back then it seemed too boring compared to the magical world she had the pleasure of visiting. She felt misunderstood, with her parents unable to fully relate to her problems like she expected them to. Right now, she would have chosen the easy muggle life in a blink of an eye if only it could have saved her from the atrocities of the wizarding one.

“Go back there and enter again, but this time don’t forget to knock.” Jean instructed, turning to Bellatrix and sending her an apologetic glance. “Usually she doesn’t behave half as bad.”

It made the dark-haired woman chuckle. Showcasing that beaming smile as Bellatrix's onyx eyes traveled up to meet Hermione's. The sly smirk that followed was something the Gryffindor was well acquainted with at this point. Immediately a warm feeling in her cheeks made her aware of the spectacular blush that covered her face.

She was blushing, but why? She couldn’t tell. Bellatrix, on the other hand, appeared fairly confident in what she was trying to achieve.  

”Oh, I know exactly how she usually acts. A little brute she is. Bad doesn't even cut it.  But one thing you’re right about - she always knocks. Sometimes even bangs on the door for hours on end.” The dark witch snorted, watching the color of Hermione’s cheeks darken in embarrassment. “Yes, she can be so deliciously fierce sometimes. You should have seen her yesterday. She assaulted me. If it wasn’t for the boys, Merlin only knows what would have happened.”

Bellatrix sniffled. "She was threatening to kill me."

”Hermione!” Jean shot her a reproachful glare.

”Oh please! She’s obviously exaggerating.”

Putting on the most innocent face she could muster, Bellatrix looked Jean straight in the eyes and said, “Ask the Weasel, I’m afraid he’s going to need therapy after what he had witnessed.”

Mad cackle echoing in the small room as the older woman reveled in her joke.

Clearing her throat, the young Gryffindor interrupted her joyous frolics.

”Mom, If you could leave us alone…”

”Sure.” Jean replied getting up from Bellatrix’s bed and pocketing the brush. “Just please, keep it civil. We don't need another quarrel breaking out.”

And with that she vacated the room, leaving them in an awkward silence.

At last, alone with the Death Eater, Hermione turned to look at the witch. With half of her hair pinned up Bellatrix looked adorable. Or at least so she thought until her eyes settled on the heavy chains dragging behind her as the Death Eater rose to her feet. Circling her menacingly with a mischievous grin on her gaunt face.

”What?” Hermione asked, taking a cautious step back. Pointlessly as the dark witch was next to her in a matter of seconds. Hot air gently brushing the Gryffindor’s skin as she stepped around her. ”Bellatrix, could you please sit down and stop ogling me like a piece of meat?”

”Why?”

”Because I ask you to.”

”Why are you so averse to me ogling you? You do it to me all the time.” Bellatrix purred next to her ear, causing a wave of heat to travel through the length of her neck.

”That’s preposterous.” Hermione protested, watching her intently out the corner of her eye.

”But you do, pet.” A wandering hand found its way under the Gryffindor’s shirt. “The moment you entered I could feel your eyes on me. It was so intense it’s a miracle I wasn’t able to hear your thoughts.”

Hermione’s mouth opened unconsciously, words dying at the tip of her tongue as the cold fingers danced on her skin, leaving scorching marks everywhere they touched.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you talking to my mother.”

”Oh. Jealous, are we?” Lestrange cooed, and Hermione started regretting coming to the bloody room so utterly unprepared. “It’s ok, wittle mudbaby, I wouldn’t stoop so low to shag a muggle.” She paused, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Her other hand tracing the outline of Hermione’s face. “Even though you do have the same eyes.”

”Sit!” Hermione yanked the hand out from under her shirt, pushing Bellatrix back by a couple of steps.

The dark witch huffed ironically, but turned around anyway, casually throwing herself on the narrow bed, sighing dramatically as she leaned her head on her wrist, peering up from behind her thick, dark lashes.

Black curls cascaded down her sides capturing the younger woman’s hungry gaze. It made Hermione want to pull the remaining bobby-pins out and free the rest of the silken strands. To run her fingers through the wild tresses like she wanted since she entered the room.

”Here, see how good I can be?” Lestrange quipped, plastering on a wry disheartened smile. ”I suppose you didn’t sent Jean away to talk about our disrupted snogging session. If you have to be such a bore please do hurry, I have more interesting things to do.”

”You suppose right.” The Gryffindor spat. “We have to talk. But not here.” She added, in hushed voice, pointing to her ear and gazing into the onyx eyes knowingly.

If Bellatrix was surprised that she was being listened on, she didn’t let it slip. Rolling her eyes theatrically, she sighed softly.

”Pity.” She said, and Hermione caught her briefly staring at her mouth as a tinge of disappointment colored the Death Eater’s pale features. “That was rather fun, while this… Ehh, this is all too serious.”

”We can talk about other things once the important stuff is out of the way.” Hermione promised and for a second there Bellatrix seemed to consider it.

“Fine.” She finally declared. “Do you at least have any ideas where we could meet?”

”No. Do you?”

A devilish smile appeared on the older woman’s previously bored face. “Why of course I do.”

”Where?” Hermione asked cautiously.

”You’ll see.” She replied with the same false innocence she bullshitted her mother with just a few moments ago.

The Death Eater shifted slightly to make room for Hermione on the small bed and extended her palm, waiting for the other woman to grasp it. “Come on, pet. After all we’ve been through you still don’t trust me?”

”I don’t trust you precisely because of the things we’ve been through.” The Gryffindor sighed, but reached out to her anyway.

”How is it even going to work?” She asked. Her fingers barely grazing Bellatrix’s alabaster skin when the sharp claws yanked her onto the bed with a tremendous force.

Hermione was just about to lash out at the other woman when suddenly the room around her disappeared and so did the hand and the scratches Lestrange’s claws left. She was stranded on a spacious marble floor. The cold stone feeling harsh under her knees, its distinct red hue shattered here and there by curious white shapes. Upon a closer look she noticed that they were indeed petite ammonite fossils embedded in the stone.

She read about a similar thing once and knew that that kind of stone was particularly expensive. Usually used in the flooring of the most fancy imperial residences. The rest of the room’s decor cemented her in that assumption. High ceilings accentuated by the ornate carvings creeping up the lean marble pillars. Gold dripping from everywhere the eye could see.

It was an imperial residence in every sense of the name.

Gathering herself off the floor, Hermione patted the dirt off her clothes. They seemed a bit peculiar to her. Resembling more the robes worn by the pureblood wizards than her simple muggle garments. Whatever world Bellatrix brought her to, it felt very superficial. Very old fashioned.

Certainly not a place in which a muggleborn could feel safe. Not when the likes of Bellatrix had any say in that.

Perhaps it would be best if she escaped that world right away. It would be easy to go back and propose another meeting point instead. Somewhere less grandiose and more cosy. Other than the over-the-top palace where only pain and humiliation could come her way.

Yes, that would be wiser. Except Hermione wouldn’t want to leave this place without learning at least a little bit of its ancient secrets. Her curiosity getting the better of her as always, pulling her farther inside like a leash, like a thread leading her to the minotaur’s lair.

Suddenly the door burst open. Enter Dolohov with two other men, masked and armed, looking as if they were seconds away from drawing their wands at her. Out of pure reflex Hermione’s hand went to her wand, ready to counter the first spell they cast, but surprisingly none of it happened.

Instead, Dolohov bowed his head courtly and started speaking.

”The Mistress awaits you in the dining hall, my lady.”

Hermione was close to fainting.

Chapter Text

The tempus spell was fairly simple to perform. Even a child only starting their education at Hogwarts knew how to cast one. But after hours and hours of checking the time Corban Yaxley was already starting to get irritated by the thing. It wasn’t, of course, the fault of the spell itself, but rather his own inability to find anything in the short time period he was given.

Blasted Dolohov should have been back ages ago. Yaxley gave him a job even the fiendish mutt Greyback could perform and yet the idiot still was useless enough to fail. Now it was Corban’s job to find the git, but for the reasons unknown to anyone besides Antonin Dolohov himself - he seemed to have dissolved into thin air.

Not coming to job was the least of the problems. Yaxley wasn’t stupid, he knew fairly well that the Russian was missing even before his pitiful meeting with the Dark Lord. He even went to Dolohov’s house only to find it completely untouched as if he never returned from the Prime Minister’s office and that thought was enough to keep him awake at night.

BOOM

The red telephone shattered on the marble floor, shooting plastic splinters all over the headauror's office. Sore blue eyes absently following the trajectory, imagining it to be a certain muggle's head.

Apparently the Prime Minister couldn’t bother to answer his calls.

An unhinged laugh escaped his lips as cruel realization dawned on him. Only a few years earlier all he would have to do was to peek through the enchanted painting and he would know exactly what was going on behind the scenes. If only Scrimgeour wasn't so calculated and paranoid all of his problems in life would be nonexistent. But here he was - sitting helplessly in his office long past his shift with his hands clenched tightly as if he was stopping himself from doing anything foolish... as if he could. As if he knew what to do.

”Salazar’s balls, is it really that hard to answer the bloody phone?” Yaxley mumbled under his breath ready to personally storm the place and bash the Prime Minister’s head with what remained of the stupid device.

Another tempus check almost gave him a heart attack.

No wonder the maggot wasn't picking up. It was almost midnight. He frowned suddenly well aware of the fatigue creeping onto him. Most of the bureaucrats have long since vacated their offices and went home, but not him. He had to stay behind fixing Lestrange’s mess.

A siren like sound made him jump in his chair, blue eyes drifting to the discarded phone lying on the ground. Could it be that someone finally decided to call him back?

No, the sound wasn’t right. The device nothing but a plastic heap with cables sticking out here and there. It must have been something else. Something that he had forgotten about. A shaking hand ran through his ruffled hair. Brow furrowed in concentration. It almost seemed as if the ruckus was coming straight from his own trembling flesh, vibrating through his chest and down his arm. A quick pat down helped him locate the source.

“It can’t be.” Yaxley whispered marveling at the sight before him. His wand was thrumming with magic, alerting him that the wards he put up in Dolohov’s house have been breached.

“Son of a bitch.” He cursed and quickly apparated away, landing in the bushes just outside the main door.

Dolohov’s family had long ago bought a house on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Back then it was still fairly secluded from the muggle buildings, but right now that was no longer the case. With muggle housing surrounding the place from all sides doing anything suspicious was sure to cause problems for the obliviators. Something Yaxley desperately wanted to avoid.

The house looked dormant from the outside. There were no lights or sounds that would betray a third party’s interference. Perhaps it was only a false alarm. Although it was significantly less common to happen with the type of wards he chose, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility either.

False alarm or not, it still was the best chance Yaxley had at finding out what happened to Antonin Dolohov. Balling his hands into fists, he anxiously stepped closer to inspect the entrance.

The magic there was intact with no signs of any muggle interference or meddling with the lock. Whatever set off the alarm must have either teleported straight inside, or been in the house all this time. It narrowed down the potential possibilities with the current biggest worry being that it was the work of the Order members.

Recently they’ve been getting a lot of anonymous tips about the Order cooperating with the muggles. Most dismissed it as impossible considering the dangers and repercussions of breaking the Statute of Secrecy, but Corban’s innate caution prodded him to take the threat seriously.

But even that innate caution wasn't enough to save him in the end as he found himself too slow to block an incoming punch. It struck him just as he was opening the door, too busy with endless hypothesising to as much as notice the attacker. A fist smashed his nose into pieces successfully sending him to the floor. The blood oozing from his wound making it impossible to see as he desperately tried to wrench his wand away from the attacker's grasp. Before he knew it, his arms were pinned above his head, wood rolling out of his grip and cluttering on the ground. This was the end. He was about to die.

”For fuck’s sake, Yaxley! Would you fucking stop squirming? I paid a fortune to get this carpet cleaned.”

The slight Russian accent in the angry growl made him stop. The hands clutching his own momentarily disappeared along with the body straddling his waist.

”Don’t move, I have to get some dittany.” Dolohov said, and even if he wanted to, the shock wouldn’t allow Corban to move a finger.

He waited patiently until the other man returned and applied the ointment onto his skin. Slowly the swelling receded uncovering the completely unfazed, although slightly ragged face of Antonin Dolohov watching him with an amused reflection on his face.

”Good as new.” Dolohov declared, pulling the headauror to his feet. “You were lucky I didn’t curse you instead. There wouldn’t be much to piece together.”

Yaxley was sure his eyes and ears were deceiving him. Blinking numbly he waited until the ringing in his ears subsided to the point where he could gather his racing thoughts.

”Look at me, Blondie.” Dolohov continued babbling. “How many fingers do you see? Adin? Dva?”

”Fuck you.” Yaxley hissed out.

”Tri. It was three.” His annoying cackle was enough to make Corban snap back to reality.

“You stupid bastard.” He growled, pushing the other man’s hand away from his still reddened face. “I’ve been trying to contact you for three days now! Even the Dark Lord has taken notice. One more day and we would all be dead because of you! Where the hell have you been?”

”Downing Street - where else?” Antonin shrugged, skillfully hiding his emotions behind a mask of blissful arrogance. After all, anger was always the best way to handle a suspicious mind. It had the power to blind even the smartest men and bring them to their demise. Their Lord’s downfall was a testament to that.

”For three days?” The warlock hissed. His eyes narrowing.

”It might have gotten a little complicated.”

”Compli- did you at least get the tape?”

Dolohov extended his arm expectantly and momentarily a small cardboard box flew into his grasp. Ignoring the lopsided grin on his face Yaxley snatched the box off of him and hurriedly looked inside. Words couldn’t possibly express how relieved he felt at the sight of a simple muggle VHS with the fateful date written on its jacket.

”Happy?”

“Slightly less angry.” The headauror replied caustically, pocketing the item with annoyed stare. “You don’t know how much I’ve been through because of you.” 

“Neither do you.” The Russian drawled. “It so happens that my time wasn’t at all wasted like you so foolishly thought. Accidentally I’ve run onto a trail of a much bigger case. One that will surely interest the Dark Lord.”

”How so?” The concern was momentarily back in the other man’s face as Yaxley’s heart picked up the pace. “I thought we had an agreement. The Dark Lord wasn’t supposed to know unless it went too far.”

”But it already did. My prisoners will attest to that.”

”Your prisoners?” The blonde couldn’t stop his lips from parting in disbelief.

The fucking guy had the nerve! Disappearing for so long, making him worry that Voldemort will take it out on him and then appearing out of nowhere with some fucking prisoners? These ex-Azkaban-convicts had to be the most obnoxiously insufferable people on the planet. 

”Yes.” Dolohov said casually. Door creaking as he pushed them open. “I’ve caught myself a pair of muggles who might know a thing or two about something that goes well beyond Bellatrix’s blunder.”

He wasn’t lying. In the middle of small parlor knelt a pair of rope-bound muggles with linen bags thrown over their heads.

With his brow knitted in confusion, he looked at the Russian one more time only to find him carefully watching him with a self-satisfied expression on his face.

”What are you playing at Dolohov?”

”Don’t worry old chap, soon everything will be crystal clear.”

The silence was killing her.

Following Dolohov through the gilded halls she could only think about how surreal it all felt. Deep down, she still expected one of the wizards to pull out a wand and shoot her in the back. Warily she put one foot in front of the other, sensing the Russian’s annoyance as he had to slow down to match her pace.

An image came to mind – that of the gaunt man sprawled on the tiled floor of a cafe somewhere in the middle of muggle London. The dumbfounded look on his petrified face as she wiped his memory clean with a simple move a wand.

It felt odd to meet that face again. It wasn’t the same one as the grumpy auror she met in her short term as the Minister for Magic. No. This time everything about him screamed „Death Eater” just like the day he chased after her in the Department of Mysteries and that day he attacked her, Harry and Ron in the coffeeshop. The only difference being the way he was treating her.

No longer was she being called a Mudblood. There were no strobes of light coming her way for the mere reason of her being born with a lesser blood. Instead, she was now being addressed like royalty. Patiently led around a castle that was sure to belong to a pureblood house.

If all this was a part of some elaborate joke on Bellatrix’s behalf, then she might have just outdid herself.

„This way, my lady.” The Russian man croaked, raising his arm slowly as giant doors opened before them. She was just about to walk through the entrance, when the lack of movement on his part made her hesitate.

„Aren’t you supposed to escort me inside?”

The man’s thin lips curled into a barely noticeable smirk.

„I’m afraid not, my lady.”

There it was again.

The title. The smile. Something was definitely going on, and whatever it was could only be found behind the enormous entryway.

She reluctantly tiptoed to peek inside and was immediately disappointed. Despite its grandeur, the gate was only the beginning of a long, gloomy corridor. Just the thing she needed when dark thoughts started seeping into her mind.

Pushing them away, Hermione forced her legs to start moving, flinching as the massive gate closed behind her with a loud thud. For a second there she became shrouded in complete darkness, until suddenly a flurry of silver sparks lit up the floor beneath her in thousands of small sparkly dots. Only then did she notice the true beauty hidden inside the murky corridor.

Above her head stretched the most wonderful firmament she had ever laid eyes on. Full of stars, it was clearly put together with nothing but pure magic and effort. The projection being so detailed that she could easily identify each constellation and the stars it consisted of. The edges of the magic sky were meticulously hidden by greyish clouds that flowed down, blending in with silver ornaments decorating hundreds of mirrors lining the hallway’s walls.

Even now, looking down at her feet, Hermione was able to track the sparkly dots’ reflections all the way to the star that always captivated her the most.

„My my, aren’t you a pretty thing?”

The breath on her neck causing her to jump away and turn around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t experience whiplash.

„Bellatrix.”

The older woman burst into laughter. Delicate fingers curling into fists at the familiar sound.

„I swear to God, Bella. The next time you jump me like that is going to be your bloody last.”

The laughter stopped momentarily and when she turned to finally face the older witch a pair of dark orbs stopped her in her tracks. She hasn’t even had to look up to know that Bellatrix was staring at her.. No! Devouring her with her gaze. Burning her body from head to toe, leaving only shivering skin in its wake. It was ridiculous how a single glance could push her body into such disarray.

„Not only pretty, but also delightfully easy to rile up.” The older woman sauntered closer, reaching out to touch the pinkish tint that crept onto the Gryffindor’s frackled cheeks.

„It’s not my fault that you insist on appearing out of nowhere like the freaking Phantom of the Opera.” Hermione frowned, but did nothing to push the Death Eater away. „It’s unpolite.”

„Mhm. I will consider it the next time I find you stumbling around my place completely clueless. It's been happening quite a lot recently.”

The hand on her face disappeared as the older woman stepped aside, looking at the magic firmament with contemplative look.

„I wasn’t clueless. I was only admiring the craftsmanship.” Hermione argued once again disappointed when the dark witch didn’t look at her.

„And did you find it?” Bellatrix asked nonchalantly.

„Found what?”

„The star. I saw you searching for it.”

„There is thousands of them.” The Gryffindor shrugged innocently, but Bellatrix clearly wasn’t buying it.

An unamused rise of an eyebrow being her only reply.

One defeated huff later Hermione pointed at the starry ceiling to the place where to her best knowledge the Orion constellation was situated.

„Good girl.”

Before she could even process what was happening red lips were upon her. White teeth grazing the soft skin of her dangerously flushed throat. Involuntary her eyes closed and just as she was trying to protest her words turned into a pathetic moan.

All thoughts were instantly wiped away by the nimble fingers travelling across her middle. Caressing her through the sturdy material of her expensive robes. It slithered over her body mimicking the movement of the enchanted golden snake embroidered and charmed in a way to appear as if it was constantly curling itself around her.

A hitch in her breathed signalized the hands arrival at its designated destination – her bare, shivering arms – casually put through the slited sleeves now limply hanging off her back along a pleated cape. That’s when her mind started working clearly again. It came with the sudden realization of how heavy the fabric was in its entirety. How elaborate the spellwork making the serpent glide around its surface. But most importantly how unusual the attire was for someone like her. It wasn’t something a Muggleborn would wear. Oh no, it was a statement piece. A burning reminder of who exactly that wandering hand belonged to. Of what this hand had done just few days ago. Of what it had done years and years before.

And just like that, she had to shrug it off.

„I didn’t come here for… that.” She said, seeing Bellatrix’s confusion.

A deep frown formed itself on the noble visage, although considering their earlier conversation the older woman had no room to argue. After all, Hermione did promise to talk about it AFTER whatever it was she wanted to talk to her about. With that in mind, all she could do was accept her temporary defeat and step away.

„Later.” The whispered words made her smile.

„Easier said than done.” The Death Eater replied. „With you looking like that I doubt I’ll make it through the first course.”

„The first course?” Hermione asked, and as if on command the other door opened before them, revealing a cosy dinning hall with dozen masked servants flocking around a cloth-covered table. Their hands full of numerous silver platters practically bending with the amount of food stacked on them. As soon as they spotted them coming, the servants moved into the shadows, disappearing as deftly and soundlessly as if they were house elves just apparating away.

„Is this really necessary?” The Gryffindor sighed. Hazel eyes following Bellatrix pleadingly as she sat down on a dark, bulky chair upholstered with green silk.

„It’s rude to have such important conversations on an empty stomach.” The older woman drawled in return.

Something was off about her, but Hermione wasn’t yet sure what it was. Perhaps it was the suspicious way she was sitting – too stiff for the normally relaxed woman. Or the tone of her voice betraying that typical spark Bellatrix displayed whenever she was up to something.

Their eyes met and for a split second she was sure she saw a hint of trepidation in the dark witch’s shrewd face. Whether it was a trick of the light or a sliver of genuine emotion it was quickly replaced by the usual cocky smirk. And yet even the grin seemed a tad too forced. Something was definitely not right.

A few moments passed without either of them ready to break the silence. The food on their plates seeming like a good enough excuse to extend it a little bit. And so they ate, eying each other from time to time as if expecting the other to begin or in Hermione’s case – end the unnecessary interaction and get to the important part, preferably before Bellatrix decides to go through with whatever plan she’s had cooked up.

„Merlin, look how silly I am.” Speaking of the devil, the Gryffindor’s hopes were immaturely laid to rest. Bellatrix dressed in all black was anxiously picking at the silver hem of the delicate lace sticking out from the inside of her dress's sleeve. „Entertaining guests has always been something Narcissa was much more interested in.”

„I think you’re doing quite alright actually.” Hermione murmured suddenly very interested in the silver plater before her.

„That’s nice of you to say, but I doubt mother would agree with you.”

„I doubt your mother would like you to have anything to do with me… let alone DINNER.” Hermione smiled despite herself. The melodic cackle that answered her was a generous reward for her unusual attempt at humor.

„That’s where you’re wrong, pet.” Bellatrix drawled lazily. „The old hag had the wildest affinity to poison. Inviting you to dinner would be her go to method. Never was good with a wand, only with deceit.” She paused, tossing a single grape into the air.

Defined jaw crushed the ripe fruit as her dark eyes shone with mirth. There was something magnetic about the whole display. Something very sensual. Hermione couldn’t help but track the movements of the grape falling into the vicious mouth.

„And it wouldn’t even be the first time she would use me as bait.” The older woman finished the thought seemingly oblivious to the effect she was having on her interlocutor. „Luckily for you, she wasn’t really interested in blood politics. Not when she was alive and most definitely not now that she’s biting the dust.”

„Charming.” Said Hermione, consciously noting that perhaps the Black portion of her family tree wasn’t the most crazy one.

„I know what you’ll like.” The sound of cheerful clapping brought her attention back to her host.

Bellatrix was on her feet again. Black lace rustling as she strode closer to a mysterious wooden box not far from the table. Glancing curiously around the dark silhouette, Hermione was able to notice that the box was in fact an old foldable gramophone with a small, silver crank sticking from its side. Moving with familiarity, the older woman prepared the machine placing a vinyl record on its tray and giving the crank a couple of spins. The moment the needle was lowered onto the vinyl a serene melody sounded out. One that Hermione was sure she knew, but wasn’t able to put a name on it. She always found classical music beautiful, but never had the memory for all the titles and composers.

Well, however beautiful it was. She had more important things to focus on right now. She had a mission and she sure as hell wasn't about to forget about it just because Bellatrix wanted to dazzle her.

„Shall we now talk about…”

„Later.” Bellatrix cut her off. Dark corset pushing her bosom up as the witch plopped back into her seat unceremoniously. „It’s disrespectful to talk over such lovely tune.”

Once again, Hermione had to yield and endure it all just a little bit longer.

That is until…

„So, Granger, how do you like my humble estate?” The happily presumptuous voice spoiled the „lovely tune” anyway.

”Humble as its owner, I suppose." With one glance she hoped to express all of the irritation she felt in that moment. Trust Bellatrix to lay out the rules and then immediately break them.

„Modesty is a virtue of mangy sufferers and hypocrites. I’m hardly that delusional.” Another grape flew into her mouth. „But do be honest, pet, you liked the damn corridor. I saw it in your eyes.”

Something about her tone just set the Gryffindor’s nerves on fire. A low hum in the deepest parts of her brain begging for her to stoke it.

„I found it pretty,” Hermione began, looking at her plate. The dark witch’s face lit up with glee. „but unnecessarily daunting.”

„Daunting?” Bellatrix almost choked on a grape. Her narrowing eyes betraying incredulity and distrust.

„Unfortunately.” The younger woman replied solemnly. Despite the eccentric beauty of the strange palace, she couldn’t help but feel foreign in its gilded halls. A detail that was sure to elude the braggart Lestrange clearly was. „Too big, too much, simply unreasonably excessive.”

Bellatrix seemed shook. As if she wanted to respect the tune all of the sudden she grew horrifyingly silent. The horror on her face a perfect contrast to the cheerful melody playing in the background.

”I agree, there is still a lot of things to improve upon, but surely, it’s significantly better than that rotten flat you people locked me in.” She hurriedly spat out as soon as she found enough wit to produce a response. „Not to mention that muggle mud hut of yours.”

„What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione gasped in disbelief.

„Exactly what it sounds like.” The hiss was low, vicious and aimed to insult. A low blow even for Bellatrix's standards. „It appears that spending time in the Black Manor has made you extremely picky.”

„Ridiculous! You think I’m picky because I don’t like your stupid palace? Guess what – I never wanted to end up in any of your posh estates! YOU keep bringing me there!” Hermione growled in response.

„So forgive me for feeling uncomfortable in this palace of prosperity, Your Imperial Majesty. And please stop pretending that you wouldn’t rather see me as a slave… because we all know you do.” She added, getting up from her seat. Being around the Death Eater seemed painfully unbearable in that moment.

„Where are you going?” The shrill cry bounced off the upholstered walls.

„Clearly, I don’t need your help. There is literally infinity of people who could help me right now. People who wouldn’t rather see me as their slave.”

„Well, YOU would rather see me in Azkaban! I know!”

A skin-piercing grip on her arm stopped Hermione mid step. It was cold and deathly, unhumanly so. She tried to shake it off, thinking that Bellatrix must have followed her, but when she whirled around she saw the other witch only  starting to get up.

„You and your wretched friends can’t wait to get your slimy hands on my Lord’s artifacts and then what?”  Bellatrix stomped her foot on the stone floor. Her voice was getting more and more frantic. Each word emphasised by the barely noticeable gust of cold air coming out of her mouth. „I know exactly what! Poow old Bewwa will skedaddle back to that… that fucking hell on earth! And YOUU… you will have all the fucking time to spend with whoever you like. While I’ll be spending my days with fucking DEMENTORS!”

A faint sound next to her made Hermione more concerned than the black- clad figure advancing on her at rapid pace. She could swear she heard chains rattling. It was almost as if they were surrounded by…

„Dementors.” The words left her mouth just as Bellatrix caught up to her. She was so scarred, frantically looking around that she haven’t even noticed when the woman has gotten so close.

„Don’t mock me, girl.” Was hissed straight into her ear.

„No. I meant here! I feel them. They’re here somewhere.”

„Impossible.” Bellatrix spat. „There are no dementors in this world. I made sure of it.”

The frown on the Gryffindor’s face deepened. After so many years following Harry around she thought she was able to recognize the feeling of the horrible creatures’ nearby presence. And then, she got an idea.

„How about the child?” She asked, watching the older woman’s glare turn into confusion. „You’ve heard it too, right? In the Malfoy Manor.”

A nod.

„But in our world there is no child.” Her eyebrows rising expectantly.

„TO. THE. POINT.”

„The strings that bind us… what if they’re even stronger than we thought before.” Finally, a spark of recognition crossed the gaunt face. „What if we can unknowingly attract something from another world?”

„Cause a conjunction?”

„Exactly.”

„Bring dementors from the other world into this one?”

„Yes.”

„But it’s…”

„Expecto patronum!”

With the blue flash of Hermione’s wand a frolicking otter appeared. It flew around them happily, dissolving the darkness that crept around them imperceptibly. For a second there everything around them was showered with brightness and then as if touched by magic itself the intrusive feeling was gone. The only sound left in the room being the voice of a German opera singer playing in the background.

„Is that Schubert?” She turned back to the older woman who stood right next to her with a somber expression, probably still processing their newest discovery.

„Might be.” Bellatrix murmured and trailed back to her chair, slumping onto it absentmindedly.

Humming in astonishment, Hermione considered her options. She could either go back to her world and try to find someone capable of helping her in this extremely delicate matter… which wouldn’t be as easy as she told Bellatrix it would be… or, she could sit back down and try to reason with the other witch. They had reasonable conversations before. Bellatrix even put up some effort to at least appear as if she actually wanted her to be there. Playing the good host and all.

„Just for the record: I wouldn’t like to see you back in Azkaban.” She heard herself saying. „I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

„Fuck. You would be a horrible slave, pet. Just a freaking waste of space.” The other woman sighed, rubbing her face. „And for the love of God, don’t tell Jean what I said about her house.”

The silence that fell between them was brimming with the unspoken words. Even Lestrange must have realized that earlier she had gone too far, looking away into the empty space behind the Gryffindor's back. Hermione too had no will to look into her eyes all of the sudden. The magic gone in a blink of an eye as always when they were starting to bicker. The space between them sizzling with tension that was long overdue to be resolved.

From mutual hatred to necessitated tolerance to flirty comments to strange camaraderie in such a short space of time - they were doomed to relapse at the silliest cause. Was it how it was going to be like for the rest of their cosmic struggle? A fuse way too short to light up without suffering the blast yourself? A bad omen for what was to come?

„For all she remembers, you could easily convince her that our house was made of mud.”

„She lost her memories, not her wits, you twat. Show some respect.”

They both giggled at their own silliness.

„Only when you show at least a modicum of remorse at what you have done.”

„Which is?” The dark witch seemed genuinely confused.

„The Ministry stunt.”

Lestrange released a deep, exaggerated exhale.

„Boohoo, I sent your girlfriend to the loonies. Big thing.” She scoffed. „They gave her a calming shot and sent away. And don’t tell me you care about those random aurors stupid enough to get in my way. Trust me, I have bigger sins to repent.”

„She’s not my girlfriend!”

„Sure thing.” Bellatrix mocked. „I’m not that daft. You forget I saw everything. Maybe it’s you who should own up to your own mistakes.” She added with a devilishly dirty smile.

Hermione couldn’t bare how presumptuous it was, yet again finding herself falling into the same pit she just managed to crawl out of. All because she simply could’t stop herself from playing Bellatrix’s twisted games.

„And how come I’m at fault here?” She asked recklessly.

„Bare with me. Remember how I told you exactly what happens once you lose yourself in other universes? And then remember doing it anyway?” Her lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. Hermione could tell, that there was a lot of tension brimming under the surface of jesting there.

“I bared my heart to you, told you about Delphini, and yet YOU went there again… And again and fucking again!” The silver platters shook as a pale fist smashed on the table.

„Perhaps I wouldn’t have to go anywhere if you haven’t imprisoned me.” Argued Hermione.

“Very well,” Lestrange scoffed. She was angry, eager to put Hermione back in her place. Tired of pretending that she wasn’t furious. “perhaps I wouldn’t have to imprison you if you haven’t been stupid enough to raid my fucking vault.”

If only she knew that this time the Gryffindor was determined to fight back. Maybe she would have thought twice before opening that can of worms.

Giving her her brightest smile the Golden Girl began her contrattack.

„Well in that case I’m pleased to inform that I wouldn’t even know about Madam Lestrange’s vault if only she hadn’t told me about it herself.”

“Had it ever occurred to Miss Granger’s tiny, minuscule brain that none of this would have ever happened if only SHE hadn’t broken a dangerous magic orb?”

“It slipped out of her grasp!” Hermione defended herself, meeting the other woman’s gaze defiantly. “Was she supposed to let you kill her instead?”

“Damn right she should!” Cried Bellatrix. Black orbs cracking with thunderbolts roaring inside her pupils. Jaw clenched in a painful grimace. “At least she would’ve spared both of us shame. At least then I wouldn’t have to watch her act like a bloody trollop!”

“Here we go.” A victorious glint shone in the hazel eyes. “Just admit already that all this is not because of me switching worlds. Oh no! You knew I was doing that. As long as you thought I was spending time scrubbing cauldrons with Snape it was nothing but funny to you.” Hermione finally had enough of this charade. The dam broke, letting all the resentment she had accumulated spill out like a tsunami. “Go ahead, Bella, call me a whore or a mudblood, or whatever you fucking want, but at least have enough decency to own up to your own feelings. Admit that you ruined her life simply because you were jealous.”

Bellatrix seemed to ponder it for a moment, boring her eyes into silver plate before her as if she wanted to bend it with the power of her will. Anything to avoid the Gryffindor’s expectant gaze.

“Pathetic.” Hermione said sadly, feeling a stab of pity for the older woman, but also disgust. “And here I thought you were the bravest of his followers.”

”Fine!” Lestrange yelled, pushing herself off the ornate seat.

“I was - I am jealous! Happy? How should I not be when you’re so interested in everyone but myself?”

She was still breathing rapidly. Her chest heaving with each shaky exhale. Tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. Seeing her in that state Hermione felt a new wave of sorrow wash over her. Her face softening as she slowly rose from her seat and walked up to the taut body leaning on the window frame.

”Bella, please.” She said, running her hand over the milky expanse of the older woman’s bare shoulders. “It’s not like that. I have to help her get out of there, I - we own it to her.”

”I don’t care about her.” Lestrange growled, but her back relaxed under the Gryffindor’s touch.

”You don’t have to care about her, just… just help me get this sorted and I promise that I’ll never visit that world again.” Hermione’s hand urging the witch to look at her. “Please, you’re the only person I feel can help.”

”Shit, pet, when you put it like that…” Bellatrix said finally. „I guess I could help you cut ties with that boring ass world.”

„But I’m not gonna apologize to the… you know… her.” She added hurriedly.

„Something tells me that she has bigger problems in life than you refusing to apologize to her.”

„Oh really?” Bellatrix sounded curious all of the sudden. „Like what?”

„Rodolphus Lestrange.” Hermione replied. „He refuses to sign the discharge papers basically trapping her in the St. Mungo’s psychiatric ward indefinitely.”

„You don’t say! Bloody Roddy grew enough balls to lock me in the loonies’ town?” The amusement clear in her voice. „Why would he do that?”

„He claims it is his right as a husband, but Andromeda suspects another person’s involvement.”

Despite flinching at the name, Lestrange considers the situation seriously before speaking up.

”She’s right. Rodolphus never had any interest for his rights as a husband. He always disliked our engagement, treating his duties more like a burden than anything else. Never was the type to bore himself with legal loopholes. There’s got to be something bigger at play.”

„Any ideas who exactly?”

„Not right now.” Bellatrix drawled. „Contrary to what you might belive, I hadn’t had much time to get to know the political circles. I had other things to take care of. I’ll have to think about it.”

„You think this is political?”

„Most definitely.” The Death Eater chuckled. „That my friend is pureblood politics 101.”

A faint sound in the background signalized the end of the vinyl recording Bellatrix put on. Unwilling to disturb the older woman who was lost in thought, Hermione for the first time in her stay at the opulent mansion caught a glimpse of the grounds outside.

Among the neatly groomed flora stood a couple of glass buildings similar to the dilapidated vivarium they found in the Black Manor gardens. Finally something she would like to visit. The wizarding world had a very peculiar approach to its magical fauna. Poaching was extremely common and in many cases even rewarded as some potion ingredients have become increasingly harder to get. The only places you could meet some of the rarer species were in dangerous areas like the Forbidden Forrest or in the pureblooded families’ vivariums which weren’t really available for normal wizards. It wasn’t a secret at this point that some species would have been long extinct if it wasn’t for places like this. And yet, the pureblooded families have grown increasingly reluctant to keep their precious gardens stocked with magical animals that required constant care and consumed huge amounts of galleons per year. Malfoy Manor, for example, was one of the first to abandon that tradition, opting for a small peacock farm instead.

“I was hoping you would like it." Soft voice broke the silence, drawing the hazel eyes back to the onyx ones. "I picked the most lavish world I knew. With no Dark Lords, no Dumbledores and such. It wasn't supposed to make you feel like... like that. Far from it! There are no blood rights here, you're not a slave, nor a servant. It's just us...” The sorrowful sigh cut the impromptu speech short as Bellatrix's gaze drifted around the room.

There it was - the reason for Bellatrix's strange behaviour. Hermione couldn't help but feel surprised. From the beginning it was clear that the whole display was meant to make an impression on her, perhaps even intimidate, but never would she suspect the other witch of such pure intentions. It was endearing in its own unique way, and despite a few missed marks, she had no other choice but to smile as warmth bloomed in her chest.

"You know, if you wanted to make me feel better you could have just taken us to my parent's house." The Gryffindor replied and momentarily the smug smirk was back on the dark witch's face.

"As much as I enjoy your mother's company, I don't think it would be in good taste to intrude on her like that. I know from experience that in other worlds she's not always as amicable as in this one. Imagine what she would say seeing an old woman like me strolling into her daughter's room without explanation." Bellatrix shrugged, making a pretty good point. "That and there are too many muggle things in there. It sound silly, I know, but I still find them intimidating."

"Fair point. We wouldn't want my parents to get the wrong idea. It's not like we're dating or anything. We're just permanently tied at the hip by an invisible cosmic force that threatens to anihilate everyone if one of us dies. It might be a little hard to understand at first, I agree."

”Jest all you want, but unless you have a better idea for a meeting place you’ll have to take what I have to offer.” Bellatrix pointed out with a victorious grin.

However hard it was to admit it - she was right. Hermione knew that her own knowledge about the different universes was comically insufficient. Most worlds she saw accidentally while dreaming were either too scary, or complete mysteries. The snippets granted to her were not enough to get a better understanding of the worlds' socio-political situation, so unless she wasn’t willing to do some research of her own, the Golden Girl was fully dependent on Bellatrix’s questionable taste.

”How about the next time you chose something more frivolous, more joyful?" Hermione suggested. The older woman listening to her with undivided attention. "It doesn’t always have to be dreadful castles and gold dripping palaces. I want something far away from blood politics and world domination plans. Something simple and yet interesting.” The Gryffindor paused, searching for a suitable example. “We have the power to become anyone we want, why waste it on something you already are? Aren't you tired of being the heir? Of people constantly expecting you to be the big, bad Death Eater?”

A pitiful shrug was all she got.

„I'm not saying we should lose ourselves in the other worlds like... you know... but we could at least try to see how many possibilities there are for us and find something we would like to bring into our world.”

"It's not that easy." Bellatrix chimed in. "You know it's not."

"What's stopping us?" She asked, excitedly. "You can be anyone you want. An actress, a teacher, a freaking muggle president! You want to be a mother? There are million ways of achieving that. Even if we fail with the whole interdimensional thing, there are still numerous options that you could consider. What's stopping us?"

"The Dark Lord."

"Come again?"

"The Dark Lord has made it quite obvious that he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Well fuck him!" Hermione yelled. She was crossing a very dangerous territory and yet somehow she had no will to back down. "We don't need him! Forgive me for being so blunt, but Bella, he's more of a snake than a human. Erasing him from the equation would be beneficial for all the parties involved, most notably - the child!"

”Merlin, Granger, perhaps I should have a talk with your parents after all. Clearly you don’t even know the basics of human reproductive system.” She whizzed. “Without the Dark Lord there will be no child. That’s it.”

”No, but that’s the thing, it doesn’t have to be him!” Hermione argued.

”You would rather have me shag a random bloke?” The manic cackle rang through the spacious hall, bouncing off the marble walls. “Should we ask the Weasel?”

And here Hermione thought that her face couldn’t get any redder.

”Actually, I wanted to say that there are a lot of options to consider.” Her voice was too squeaky even for her own ears as she rushed to explain her reasoning to the older woman. Bellatrix listening to her in amusement. “The muggles have technologies that allow women to conceive without physical intercourse. All you would have to do would be to find a suitable donor.”

”I don’t see how that changes anything.”

”Let me finish!” Hermione urged, desperately ignoring the searing hotness in her cheeks. “In 1641 there was a case of two witches in…”

”In Uppsala.” Bellatrix cut her off. “You’d rather have me perform a questionable, ancient blood ritual than deal with the fact that only the Dark Lord can give me what I want.”

That shut Hermione up successfully.

”Hadn’t I known you, I’d think that you’d rather have yourself father the child. Be it out of spite or jealousy. But you’re not jealous, are you, pet?”

Her eyes momentarily widened to the size of saucers. The Gryffindor’s jaw hanging low in pure disbelief.

”I- I- don’t- I would never suggest…” Hermione stumbled over her words unable to find a suitable response. Meanwhile Lestrange put up her most dispassionate face, acting as if she hadn’t just set off a bomb.

”An actress?” She drawled thoughtfully, returning to the point that started the whole discussion. “It wouldn’t suit me. Then on the other hand… maybe you are right about changing it up a little bit. Yes, that is the thing I might consider.”

Contrary to the other suggestions - Hermione’s brain supplied. A saving blow it was. Very merciful on Bellatrix’s part.

„Riiight.” The Gryffindor looked around the hall thinking that the conversation was coming to an end. She still had a bit of snooping around to do later. Someone at the Ministry might still know something that will be of use to them. She was already creating a list of people to interrogate, when a thoughtful hum next to her brought her back to the dinning hall.

„Rodolphus might just be the stupidest person to involve in the scheme.” Bellatrix mused. The delicate twitch of her lip telling the other woman that she might have caught onto something. „For someone so completely irrelevant he sure does get arrested a lot.”

„Yes, Bella… the other you had to constantly bail him out for some reason. I’ve heard that both of them had radical past, but I never wanted to know the details. She seemed anxious about it. Yaxley will know more if you want me to ask.”

„Not really, by sheer luck only I happened to have witnessed one occasion of it happening. It was after one of your lunches.” The Death Eater’s expression hardened. „Rodolphus got caught sneaking into Azkaban. Obviously, I didn’t think much of that at a time, but… maybe this case is easier to solve than we initially thought.” Bellatrix turned on her heel, maniacally pacing around the room. Gathering the informations burning her brain from the inside into a somewhat comprehensible story. Finally, she stopped. Dark eyes locking with the hazel ones. „Did you know it’s where the Dark Lord is being kept?”

The implications made the young Gryffindor tremble in fear. Whatever Rodolphus was trying to do might be bigger than a simple power display. It might be a danger to the whole Wizarding Britain. A threat of a coup d’etat that could push the country down the same road her own world has fallen.

”Merlin, you’re right. Just yesterday I saw a bunch of warlocks protesting to bring him back. I think he used to be a politician of some kind. Maybe even the Minister.”

”I always thought he would make a charming Minister.” Sighed Bellatrix.

”More like a charming convict apparently.” Hermione deadpanned, earning a warning of a glance from the older woman next to her. “Do you think Rodolphus wants to free him somehow? To drag Bellatrix to his side? To blackmail me into letting Him go?”

”Possibly.” Lestrange shrugged, staring blankly out the window. No doubt thinking about the man she sacrificed her life for more than once. When has she stumbled so low as to instruct a filthy mudblood what her master’s plans were? She always thought it to be impossible, unbearable almost. And yet, here she was: strapped in chains, feeding a lesser creature with the information she shouldn’t divulge… and feeling absolutely no remorse for doing so.

What a strange, strange thing it was, to feel such emptiness inside all of the sudden. To not even be able to properly mourn the loss of a life mission. To be branded as traitor while all she ever did was to protect the man. Strange feeling indeed.

„Oh God, we have to stop them.” Hermione whizzed. „Bella, we might have just unleashed a war. It’s exactly what…”

„The prophecy says. Yes, I know.” Bellatrix waved her off, too  occupied with the smooth skin of her arm to even look at her.

„Will you help me?” The girl asked hopefully. „Even if it means going after Him?”

„I…” The dark eyes finally locked with own, but the strange haziness she saw in them was concerning to put it mildly.

Bellatrix opened her mouth willing to finish the thought, but a horrible screech escaped it instead. It was as if the meer thought about betraying her Lord could invoke his name somehow, let him know in what mental anguish she’s been in lately. It started with the skin on her forearm buzzing painfully. It was a fairly light sensation at first, but quickly developed into a horrible pain that brought her to her knees as it spread all around her body.

Hermione was quick to notice, swooping in just in time to catch her before she hit the ground. Her cold fingers grazing the feverish skin on Bellatrix’s forearm, causing it to shiver under her touch.

”What’s going on?” Hermione cried frantically. “Is he calling you?”

Bellatrix wanted to answer her, she wanted to sob her heart out. To scream until her voice was raw and gone. But most importantly to chase the nagging realization away. Securely locked in the younger woman’s warm embrace all she could think about was that she didn’t had enough strength to relive THAT feeling again. Not again.

Not again.

”Bella, please, say something. What do I do?”

The terrified girl kept yelling, but it slowly blended into nothingness as Bellatrix’s eyes fluttered closed. The next time she opened them she was no longer surrounded by marble. The neglected walls of Grimmauld Place surrounding her like a rotten coffin, chains pulling her into the grave.

Hermione got back shortly after her. Shaking the pale frozen body in her arms as Bellatrix remained in the catatonic state. No words being able to pass through her rigid throat. Somewhere next to her she could hear a torrent of steps echoing in the ancient halls. Another scream sounded in the distance. Diagnostic spells being cast in vain.

Only a handful of people on the planet could truly understand what was happening to her.

They felt it too. The coldness creeping over their arms, freezing up the blood in their veins. The feeling of magic fading from their skin with its owner’s last breath. She wondered whether Potter could feel it too. If his connection caused him the same physical pain as it caused her.

She doubted it.

After so many years she was back to square one.

”What are you fools doing here?” Bellatrix heard someone utter angrily. “Don’t come near her with your wands, she might use them against you.”

”With all due respect, Professor, what is even happening to them?” said Hermione. “Her and Harry, they seem to be suffering.”

Aha! So she wasn’t the only one. Severus’s pet’s torment was something she could find at least a little bit of comfort in.

”Haven’t you heard yet? Tom Riddle is dead.”

At last a soul shattering cry tore itself out of her fragile lungs. Tears rolling down her face as she laid limp in the muggleborn’s embrace. Sobbing into her shirt.

All she wanted was for the numbness to return.

The sun was still high on the horizon when Yaxley and Dolohov arrived at the Gaunt Manor. The captives hovering behind them silently. Too silently for Corban’s liking.

Suffice to say all the Dolohov drama seemed very suspicious to him from the moment the Russian man reappeared. His flimsy explanations only strengthening him in the belief that coming here now wasn’t the best of ideas. But the master orders and the servant does, and so there was not a hunch strong enough to stop them from entering the ominous mansion.

”I shall talk to him first. Prepare the ground, you know. Wait here and make sure that our prisoners don’t end up as a snake fodder.” said Yaxley, rushing through the room with Nagini laying on her side.

It quickly became obvious that he wasn’t the only one afraid of the serpentine beast as Dolohov threw him a furious glance. How curious it was that even the most seasoned warriors dreaded the time spent in the snake’s company. Their achievements and hardships fading in the presence of its giant maw and menacingly lithe tongue. 

For the first time in his life the thought brought joy to his heart. After all, what better guard to keep Dolohov at bay than the Dark Lord’s carnivorous pet able to sniff out a traitor from a mile away. It was about time the creature proves itself useful.

Carefully not to nudge the serpent, he stepped into the office where his master had a habit of receiving guests. It hasn’t changed since he saw it last, still as cold, rotten and uninviting as always. If it was up to him the dreadful house would have been renovated long ago. Certainly it wouldn’t look like a seedy rathole it resembled at the moment.

But then again raised in a muggle orphanage Tom Riddle wasn’t a man of sophisticated taste, closest to which he got living at Narcissa’s. Maybe that was the reason he tolerated the ever-present ruination to which most of his accomplices would react with a wry, pitiful smile.

“Lately it became a welcome surprise whenever someone is doing his job as expected.” The snakelike voice rang as soon as he passed through the office’s threshold. “Congratulations, Corban, I see Dolohov found his way back with no further problems.”

Yaxley gulped nervously. Blasted window. He must have seen them entering the house. So much for the conservative approach.

”Although I’m afraid he dragged along some unwelcome guests.” The Dark Lord continued, scarlet eyes locking with his blue ones. “Well, Corban, care to explain?”

The expectation for him to talk hanging in the air like a noose ready to claim him as a price. What was it with him always having to explain other people’s idiotic actions? Dolohov had quite the nerve to put him in this situation. Especially since Yaxley knew little to nothing about his prisoners. A fact, he was sure, that soon will prove detrimental to his already tarnished reputation.

”They’re muggles, my lord.” He explained reluctantly. “Dolohov thinks them capable of uncovering a scheme of some kind.”

The snakelike way in which Voldemort tilted his head in fascination was uncanny.

”Muggles you say?”

”Correct.”

Yaxley’s heart was pumping blood at full capacity, begging him to turn and run, and yet he knew that keeping composure at this point was crucial. Putting up his most professional face he straightened his back in anticipation of what Voldemort is going to do next. Be it a praise or a painful death, one simply couldn’t know these days however he was going to react.

Finally, the red eyes flickered to the door and a devilish smile appeared on his master’s deathly pale face.

”Bring them in then.” Voldemort cooed softly, seemingly content with the prospect of questioning his filthy guests. “I couldn’t bare to keep them waiting.”

”Naturally.” He stepped away to open the door and with a quick “Dolohov” growled out through the rigid wall of his teeth summoned the man and his prisoners.

”Antonin.” The Dark Lord let out a sweet, affectionate kiss, greeting the Russian with open arms.

Immediately Dolohov prostrated himself in front of him, reaching out to kiss the heavy, lavish ring decorating one of Voldemort’s hands. Behind him the two tightly bound figures settled on the ground, unknowingly kneeling down before the Heir of Slytherin’s gaunt silhouette.

Relieved that the attention wasn’t focused entirely on him Yaxley chanced a glance at the giant snake observing them from the other room, apparently still unsure whether or not any of them could threaten her lord.

Not great, but not terrible either - thought Yaxley. Perhaps the serpent’s presence will tame his colleague somehow. Speaking of which, Dolohov raised up his eyes and began to speak.

”My lord, I bring you these two vipers…” He says and momentarily the beast behind him hisses. Dolohov spares her a single glance before continuing his tirade. “…vile creatures who dare to ally themselves against us, sneaking around with their noses to the ground like hounds on a prowl.”

”Very lovely, Antonin, but we don’t have all day.” said Voldemort, circling the new prey with undisguised interest.

”Ah yes…Some time ago I was informed that the muggle Prime Minister started plotting against us, all because of Bellatrix’s reckless stunt in…” The grimace appearing on the Dark Lord’s face caused him to pause. Apparently the betrayal was still too fresh in his mind to bare anyone uttering the dark witch’s name in his presence. “Anyway, this sad looking lady here is the head of the spy unit tasked with gathering as much evidence of our existence as possible. I caught her and her German companion redhanded when they were observing one of the entryways to the Ministry. Most likely looking for their way in. What they told me is… terrifying.”

Finally, the bag on the woman’s head was abruptly torn off as Dolohov pushed her face-first to the cold wooden floor.

”What have we here?” Voldemort settled on one knee beside her to get a better look. “A filthy spy and a leader too. You muggles certainly aren’t a smart species, are you?”

Patricia’s head slowly drifted up until she met the scarlet red eyes. “Smart enough to know who I’m talking to, Tom Riddle. Can you say the same?”

The look of alarm that crossed his face made everyone else in the room shudder. Yaxley was so utterly perplexed that the only thing he could do was to rapidly switch between the defiant woman and the Dark Lord’s hardening expression. So much for the false joyful atmosphere.

A sudden crack of the wood made them aware of the 400 pounds of weight slithering around the room. Nagini slid closer to the kneeling pair, tasting them with her slimy tongue and hissing wildly, making Dolohov take a step back.

”She says you taste funny.” Voldemort drawled, turning back to the tied up woman.

Muggles and mudbloodsalways wereNagini's favorite snack.Yaxley heard stories about her being able to sniff out a muggle from miles away. With such powerfull smell she could see right through all the deceit and false comradery Voldermort's accomplices showered him with. It was the sole reason he was able to survive for so long. And so now, for the mighty snake to find the prisoners suspicious was enough to put Yaxley on high alert.

”Extra Mocne without filter.” The blonde mocked, laughing in his face. “Too strong for a noseless pig like you.”

“Crucio”

She fell to the ground mumbling something in language Corban couldn’t understand. It sounded like a song almost, but he wasn’t sure because of the tremors tearing through the muggle woman’s body. When the seizures finally stopped all he could hear was the faint sound of her uneven breathing.

The Dark Lord rose to his feet with a disinterested scowl on his face. Clearly not happy about the muggle’s defiant attitude.

”What a puny little creature.” He said, brushing the dirt off his robe. “Honestly, Antonin, what possibly could this vermin…”

The last word got stuck in his throat as a strange whistling sound split the air millimeters from Yaxley’s brow. Neither of them had a chance to react or even realize what was happening before they saw Voldemort’s lanky body fall to the ground with a bleeding hole in its head.

A projectile! Yaxley’s eyes drifted to the shattered window pane behind them. The shot came from somewhere among the trees surrounding the mansion.

Emptiness beyond compare washed over him, muted only by the comprehension as Dolohov pointed his wand at Nagini.

Betrayed! They have been betrayed!

The giant serpent seemed to have realized that as well, coiling its body like a spring ready to pounce on the Russian with all her weight. Releasing a horrible cry, she bounced off the rotten wood which creaked and finally gave out under the 400 pounds beast, toppling her to the lower floor and burying below the rubble. Her angry hisses rang like a church bell inside the desolate halls.

”Bloody hell!” Yaxley shrieked.

What were the odds of it happening in such unfortunate circumstances? He simply couldn’t believe it. With the last stroke of rationality, he reached for his wand fast enough to catch Dolohov off guard.

”Stupefy!”

”Protego!”

The spell collided with a bookshelf nearby.

A second too late. Yaxley cursed himself ducking behind a massive desk. The adrenaline rush was enough to lull his nerves for long enough to cast the most pitiful spell in his career. Now that the throbbing in his arm became more apparent, he had no choice but to wait it out.

”Pizdets!” Dolohov hissed, clutching his own hand to himself. Thankfully for Yaxley he appeared to be just as affected as he was.

”It’s over Antonin!” Corban yelled over his shoulder. “Rookwood and the rest are on their way. Surrender and maybe we will let you live.”

”In Azkaban.” Came the sardonic reply. “Is that really what you call living?”

”Azkaban is different now. There are no Dementors anymore. Still better than dying here today.”

”Both of us know that he isn’t going to let me live.”

”He doesn’t have to know all the truth. He didn’t saw you raising your wand at the bloody snake.”

”He didn’t have to. She saw it! It’s enough.”

”She might be dead.” Yaxley peered from behind the desk to look into the abyss in the floor. Even from up above he could easily spot the week movements among the wooden shards.

”You saw it.” Dolohov’s gaze snapped up to meet his and Corban was sure that there were wet streaks running from the corners of his eyes.

”Memory doesn’t serve me well.” He said softly. “Dolohov, please.”

”I’m sorry.” The Russian shrugged and before Yaxley could as much as lift his wand a horrible sound tore through the otherwise quiet space. For a second there he felt his eardrums rapturing and skull breaking before the world around him disappeared along with the pain in his swollen arm.

Patricia reloaded the P-83 and put it back into its holster. A second later a slightly creased file landed in front of Antonin’s face. He reached out to take it only to be stopped by the other muggle standing above him with a gun barrel aim at his head.

”Nicht schießen!” Linton yelled and the complete disappointment that passed through the officer’s face was laced with indignation.

”Wir brauchen ihn nicht.”

”That’s right, but he’s my accomplice.” The woman argued. “He’s done his job, now he deserves a reward.” Her face shifted into a lamentable smile. “Look at him, does he look like someone who could threaten us in any way? His life here is done. I’m giving him a chance to regain his old one. He would be a fool not to take it.”

Reluctantly the German man lowered the gun, letting Dolohov pull the file closer to himself.

”A complete pardon? Reimbursement for the lands lost by my family? Permission to return to Russia…” Dolohov stammered, reading out loud. His brow creasing in bewilderment. “But why?”

”I don’t want your death, Antonin Romanovych. It is about time someone takes down these walls of hatred and deceit your master created.” She bent down to check Yaxley’s pulse as if he could feign death with half of his right eye socket missing. “As you can see, there some who won’t live to see it happen. Those of you that have done too much to merit forgiveness they simply wouldn’t deserve. You’re not one of those people, Antonin.”

”Because I helped you?” He whispered softly, still way too shocked to believe her words.

”Yes.”

”But you tortured me! You forced me to do this! I would never…”

”And yet you did.” She cut him off. “And we’re very grateful for what you’ve done. Soon we will tear off the shackles and break the leash your godawful friends have created. And then… the old world you knew will go down. You can’t be here when it happens. You wouldn’t survive.”

”But that means…”

”War. Yes, I know. Now get out of here before my men arrive. Erich isn’t the only one who would rather see you choking on a bullet.” Patricia pushes Yaxley back onto his stomach and Antonin can’t help but feel nauseous all of the sudden.

With his head hung down Dolohov turned back to leave, before a sudden thought made him stop. ”And what about Rookwood?”

”Clearly, he’s not in a rush, or he would have been here long ago. I assure you, when he arrives there will be no mansion left to begin with. The thing about wooden houses is that they’re awfully easy to burn.”

”Sure. Good luck I guess.” He chokes out and storms out of the room, stepping carefully to avoid the giant gap in the floor.

Halfway through the narrow hallways of Gaunt Manor, he stopped in his tracks seeing a large owl perched lazily on an open window sill. A stab of pity runs through his chest, making him look around in panic. Patricia and her German minion could be following him for all he knew.

But the remorse brimming inside him was too much and so he hastily tore a piece of the half peeled wallpaper, summoning a quill from another room. There wasn’t much he could fit on a sliver of paper such as this, but it was enough to warn his friends about the incoming threat. When he was done, he rolled the paper and glued it to the owls leg, with batted breath watching as the bird flew away into the horizon.

Now everything was in the hands of his colleagues.May Merlin help them because no one else will.

Chapter Text

Poznań, Poland

1981

The cigarette smoke inside the building overlooking the Wolność street in Poznań was taking up most of the stuffy office, filling Patricia’s lungs with every whiff as she watched the hordes of people outside going about their business. Behind her the shuffling of cards proclaimed another round of a friendly match.

”Dammit, Staszek, stop cheating. You call that shuffling? I see how you’re dealing the cards.” One of the men whined.

”Look at him! The idiot thinks he can shuffle better than me? Here you go - shuffle.” The low thud of a deck hitting the wood echoed around the room.

”How am I supposed to do that?” The other man asked, raising a bandaged up, swollen hand.

”Not my fault. Could have used the baton instead of beating him up with your bare hands like a fucking psychopath.” Staszek replied.

”Ha! Says the man who, might I remind you, broke his arm beating up a priest! When was it…last summer?” His opponent cackled, bracing himself on the officer sitting next to him.

The older man glared at him dangerously, causing the offending hand to withdraw from his shoulder. By far he was the oldest one of the bunch, the beginning of his career dating back to the time when Bierut’s face decorated every wall in the country. Silently he took another drag from his cigarette, patiently waiting for his friends to stop quarreling and shuffle the cards. After so many years of faithful service, he knew that whichever turn the discussion will take, he will always have the last say anyway.

”I beg you pardon! A priest? He was a goddamn bishop, a future primate perhaps! And it wasn’t even like that!” The offended officer cried. “I wasn’t stupid enough to actually beat the guy myself. Honestly, all I had to do was to call some good ZOMO pals and the next thing I knew the guy’s face color was matching his clothes. The broken arm thing was only a ploy to get myself early vacation. Worked like a charm, they sent me to Zakopane. It was lovely.”

”Bloody crook.” Cursed the other man. “Proves my point just right. Not gonna let you shuffle the cards ever again. Major, please, could you help me out here?” He pushed the deck of cards closer to the brooding veteran.

Major rolled his eyes in annoyance, snatching the cards off the table reluctantly and then without as much as a single word he started shuffling them.

”Patrycja, you’re playing or what?” Staszek asked, drawing the woman’s attention back to the gambling group.

A peculiar bunch they were. The kind you would rather not meet in a dark alley. For years now she had to suffer their presence, work with them whenever the situation required and yet somehow she couldn’t get over the feeling of utter disgust that always came with the sight of their permanently disgruntled faces. Most of the days they sat around playing cards, only occasionally checking on the individuals they were supposed to monitor. Slackers they were and of the most detestable kind.

”Can’t do, I have work to do.” She replied dispassionately.

”Supervising that professor, are you?” The older man finally decided to join the conversation. His sharp eyes boring into her with suspicious interest.

”I do. He just came back from Albania. Wouldn’t want to miss out on the international gossip.”

”Tell him to keep an eye on the foolish students of his. With all the Solidarność pricks clowning around, another academic rebellion is the last thing we need.” Staszek chimed in and Major threw him another one of his annoyed glances.

”Solidarność is not the intelligentsia, it’s the workers. Look at their initial demands. Deep down they're communists who only want a decent living.” The old man argued and his companions had to refrain from gaping like a bunch of orangutans.

If it was anyone else saying this, they would have been in great trouble, but people like Major earned themselves the right to speak their minds in a proper company. And so Patricia waited with bated breath for what the other two will say to that.

”With all due respect, Major,” The wary agent started diplomatically. “Kuroń and Michnik are nothing more than intellectual reactionaries. Even if the movement was representative of the worker's interests, it had long been tainted by capitalist ideas.”

”Whatever.” Staszek drawled. “Workers or not…Whoever they are, they are a threat to all of us. Have you seen what they wrote on the trains? They called us Germans! Major, you remember Gomułka’s troubles to get the border confirmed. And here Poles are calling US Germans! Skurwysyny.”

”You’re right, they’re dangerous. I hope I won’t have to experience another June 56. Not to mention what happened in Hungary.” Major added sadly. A heavy silence engulfed them for a moment. The wound still fresh even after 35 years.

”So anyway, if I was you, I would ask the Milicja boys for a ride. Nobody knows when another Krzywonos decides to stop the trams and leave you stranded in the middle of the town.” The third man told Patricia, looking at her from behind his cards. The tension in the room subsiding with the sudden change of topic.

”I’ve got a couple errands to run and besides… I’m meeting him in the cathedral. If I went there by Milicja car the archbishop would have a heart attack. Not to mention all the attention it would draw to us.”

”I suppose it would be a bit dramatic, but imagine the panic among the revisionists when they hear about us killing the archbishop without even touching him.”

The room erupted in laughter as the three men started throwing their cards on the table. Taking it as her cue to leave, Patricia made her way to the grand stairwell where she had to abruptly stop when a bloodied body tumbling down the stair stopped right in front of her shoes. It was an athletic-built man in his 40s securely wrapped in a plastic bag that stuck to his face with every breath he took. His hands were tied behind his back, mouth gagged with a linen cloth. Vibrant red fluid oozing from his wounds and seeping into the fabric.

She bent down to look at him closely when a panting Milicja officer ran up to them.

”I’m terribly sorry, towarzyszko. He sort of ducked on us on the last flight of stairs.” The officer said hastily. The apologetic smile on his face was quickly wiped away as he pulled the bloodied man to his feet. Plastic bag rustling with the man’s every move.

”What’s this for, towarzyszu?” Patricia asked gesturing at the beat up man.

”What? The bag? It makes it easier to clean up the mess.” The officer explained slightly proud of himself. “Normally the whole staircase would be smeared in blood, but with this thing on - the liquid stays where we want it to stay. That and it’s also way more efficient than packing him to the car and riding to the woods. Saves gas too.”

”Amazing.” Patricia drawled dispassionately, looking at him blankly. “The ingenuity of the common workpeople never ceases to surprise me.”

”We work smarter not harder, towarzyszko. Once again, we apologize for the inconvenience.” He saluted to her courtly and proceeded to drag the bloodied body up the stairs, disciplining the man to go faster with well placed hits of his baton.

Leaving the building on Wolność street behind, Patricia boarded a crowded tram. It always was suspicious whenever someone entered the trolley at the stop near Wolność street, especially if that person seemed physically unscathed. And so she felt the other passengers’ eyes boring into her from all sides as she pushed herself closer to the occupied seats.

The best part was that she hadn’t even had to say anything, the people simply moved out of her way, abandoning their seats as they saw her coming. Only some of them where stubborn enough stay seated as she loomed over them waiting for a seat next to a window to free itself.

The world outside looked strangely interesting when viewed from the inside of the stuffy trolley. She enjoyed watching other people go about their business, standing in meters long lines in hopes that they will be able to buy whatever they were looking for. It felt so relaxing compared to the constant hustle and bustle of the SB offices. The constant screaming and crying that with years blended into the background noise.

Soon she arrived at the Ostrów Tumski where the glorious cathedral stood. Its gothic facade fooling careless tourists, manipulating them into believing in the centuries old power of the Catholic Church while in fact - it only has been gothic for a few years now. Regothized after the war at the primate Wyszyński’s whim, it served as a propaganda monument, the headquarters of the Poznań’s archbishop.

She entered through the side entrance. There was no mass going on at the moment, so she had freedom to roam the aisles, like a normal tourist would, stopping in the St Stanisław’s chapel where another person was praying in front of the stone tombstone.

He was a thin, sallow skinned chap. His stiff back draped with a thin trench coat, a folded newspaper sticking out of its left pocket towards the small painted altar. It was a sign they agreed on. It meant that the agent felt safe enough to meet.

Unwilling to draw any attention of the occasional passers-by, she kneeled next to him, folding her hands as if for a prayer.

”How did your trip to Albania went?” She whispered, pulling the newspaper out of his pocket and replacing it with a pack of western cigarettes and an envelope with dollars.

”Fruitfully. We’ve managed to gather a lot of samples.” The man was shaking, his fingers lacing together to hide the tremors as he answered her with shaky voice.

”Bore someone else with that scientific nonsense.” She cut him off sharply. “You know what I’m asking for.”

”They were very suspicious, refused to speak freely in front of me. I think they knew somehow.”

”Bollocks. What exactly were they chatting  about?”

He hesitated for a bit.

”Mundane things. It wouldn’t interest you.”

”You would be surprised how much actually interests me.” Patricia hissed at him dangerously. “Try me, worst-case scenario: I will get bored. Best case scenario: I will leave you alone for some time.”

"I'm not sure if..."

"I said: Try me."

"Magic. They were talking about magic." The man stuttered, and Patricia couldn't stop herself from glaring at him.

"Magic? Is this some kind of code?" Her brows knitted in confusion.

"I don't think so. It sounded more like urban legends to me." He choked out nervously.

"Go on." Replied the agent, taking out her trusty leatherbound notebook and pen.

"I- We were camping in the forest south-east from Tirana, gathering samples when strange things started to happen." He gulped, smoothing out his hair. "In a matter of single night animals around us started falling like flies. At first it was only the small ones, then even deer and boar corpses began to appear. It looked as if someone has drained them of their lifeforces. And then... then we found a creature looking strikingly like a unicorn."

"For fuck's sake, Baczewski, do you take me for a nutter?" The low growl got him flinching in fear. "One more joke like that and ZOMO will make you look like a real unicorn. I bet your wife wouldn't find it funny if she found your corps in the woods with a hot poker sticking out your ass."

"I'm not lying!" He snapped, barely restraining himself from rising to his feet. "I saw the thing myself."

"Right."

"We even asked the locals about it." Despite her offish attitude, Patricia was still diligently writing down everything he said. It was a part of her job as the SB prided itself in gathering every slip of information offered and using it to incriminate people who wouldn't even expect it. "They told us a story about a mysterious man who came to them looking for an antique diadem. They claimed he was a wizard, a very dark, evil one. Someone who wouldn't stop at anything to get what he wants. Even torturing and killing people..."

"And the Albanian government doesn't know anything about this, I bet. We will check, we will check..." Patricia interrupted Baczewski, looking at the scientist through the slope of her nose. "How interesting are the things you're telling me, towarzyszu. Very interesting indeed."

”I wouldn’t tell you this if you haven’t asked.” He shrugged.

”And what about Schmitt and Rogatka? Were the two of them wasting time with fairytales too?” Patricia asked and momentarily Baczewski hung his head in defeat.

”No, I think they’re having an affair.” He murmured staring at his folded hands. Patricia knew that later they will have to have a talk about his fears and remorse. SB wanted them to make sure that their accomplices would stay happy and largely dependent on their help and approval.

“Now we’re talking. I knew sending you to Albania with them would prove useful in the end.” The agent drawled joyfully, scribbling down the new information she pried from him.

She liked meeting with her agents more than anything in her life. There was something about corrupting people against their will that never failed to put a smile on her face. Especially when it came to supervising the university faculties. It made her feel included in the big science world even though no one except her accomplices even knew about existence. It sufficed to her that she knew all about them.

Sometimes the things she learned were political, sometimes they were humiliatingly intimate and sometimes they were down right ridiculous. What Baczewski told her that day in the cathedral belonged mostly to the last category and yet it was information nonetheless and as such Patricia simply couldn’t leave it out of her meeting report. Not only that, but she also decided to send a question to the Albanian comrades inquiring about the supposed serial killer.

A foreign agent seeking imperialist memorabilia - perhaps the most interesting part of the silly magic tale the professor came up with. And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Entering the house she shared with her deranged mother, she locked and bolted the door. Her movements causing a slight ruckus that was destined to draw the older woman’s attention.

”Patrycja? Are you there? Did you get the groceries? I’m hungry.” Rang the shrilling voice that she hated with such ferocity.

”Maybe if you hadn’t traded your food stamps for vodka, you wouldn’t be hungry.” She replied, throwing a pack of cigarettes at the pouting woman. “Here, trade these and I won’t bring you anything.”

”Bloody ubek.” The older woman mumbled just loud enough for Patricia to hear it. “You eat like royalty while common folk starve.”

”Now don’t be funny, old hag, yesterday I brought you enough meat and potatoes to last you for a month and today it’s all gone. How come?” The agent’s patience was running short. “I’ll tell you how! The same reason your stamps disappear every month - you trade them for booze hoping that I will break and bail you out whenever you get hungry. For fuck’s sake, grow up!”

”Trade? Trade?!?” The older woman sprang to her feet, invading Patricia’s personal space. “And who the hell would be stupid enough to trade with the mother of a fucking ubek?”

”A lot of people apparently.” The agent nodded at the heap of empty bottles sloppily hidden behind the sofa.

”What cheek!” Her mother chuckled darkly. “How can you live with yourself, I wonder. Knowing what happened to your father. How your cronies arrested him.”

”Honestly I’m surprised that you even know who he was considering how constantly hammered you were at the time.” Patricia spat with vitriol. “And as for the supposed arrest; I’ve told you countless times already: Had they done so, there would have been traces of it in the archives. He left you, get over it! And frankly… I can’t blame him.”

”They abducted him, killed him and dumped in some lake or forest. No wonder they didn’t left any proof, idiot. What sin brought upon me such horrible child?” The older woman pushed past her and collapsed on the sofa.

“Gluttony probably.” Patricia deadpanned.

”Ungrateful bitch.” Her mother lit up a cigarette staring at her hatefully. “Pity they didn’t take you instead. God, I would have done anything for them to take you instead. I wouldn’t have to live in shame.”

”Yes, well, I doubt if you would even be still alive without me. Drunkards usually die young.”

”If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have a reason to drink at all.”

”And without you I wouldn’t be a fucking ubek!” Patricia bellowed, storming out of the room  and slamming the door.

Her fight with her mother left Patricia angry for the rest of the night. As always in those instances she used the time to focus on her work, analyzing what her accomplices reported during the day to try and catch something that she overlooked earlier. Nobody knew that she usually had a voice recorder hidden in the pocket of her coat. Sometimes when she felt particularly weary she taped the meetings for future examination. It wasn’t something she was allowed to do, but it saved her ass a few times before.

Most of the recordings went by quickly. There wasn’t anything in them that would tickle her interest. That was until the sound of Baczewski’s voice echoed in the room.

However ridiculous his story was, it refused to leave her mind. Constantly coming back to her, posing new problems, creating new questions. It seemed permanently stuck in her mind, and she knew she couldn’t just leave it alone. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t delete the  recording like she normally would. She kept replaying it until the dawn came and she had to go to work.

Leaving the house she reluctantly dropped a couple of dollars on the dinner table. Drunkard or not, she wouldn’t be the one to let her mother starve. Now it was up to her whether or not she spends the money in Pewex to buy something to eat or if she wastes it on alcohol.

So far the day wasn’t looking any different to any other in her miserable life. She met with Staszek, did some research and filled a request to have the files brought to her. After yesterday deliberations she had a few new observations to document. It wasn’t a very tedious task and so she managed to get half the work done shortly after one of the comrades dropped the files off on her desk. It wasn’t until hour later that she noticed a single file missing - the Baczewski file.

Fully convinced for it to be a mistake, she strode to the archive floor, ready to retrieve the folder herself as she’s done countless times before. Only that this time Baczewski’s file was nowhere to be seen.

”Excuse me, towarzyszu.” She stopped one of the archivists strolling around the hall. “I’m looking for a file, could you please help me out?”

”Sure.” He replied reluctantly. “Do you remember the signature?”

She hastily gave him the number, waiting as he rummaged through the paper catalogue frowning as if he too couldn’t understand what happened to her file. Finally, he called for another worker to come and soon the mystery has been solved.

”Yep, just as I thought.” The elderly man said. “I’m sorry lass, the file has been moved to the yellow section.” He explained as if it was supposed to tell her anything.

”The yellow section? I didn’t know we even had one.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Well, go ahead then. I will wait.”

”No… you don’t understand, miss, locked in the yellow section the file is as good as gone.” He gestured towards the vault door.

”But I need this file!”

”Too bad, but that’s your problem, not ours. Have a nice day, towarzyszko.” The man forced his lips to wist in a pitiful attempt at a smile and closed the catalogue with a bang.

”Patricia, the boss wants to see you.” She whirled around hearing Staszek’s call to her.

The Lieutenant Colonel (Podpułkownik) in charge of the III-1 division of SB at the time was Patricia’s good, old friend. She knew him for the last 20 years or more and up until this moment was nothing but friendly with him. Still, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something terribly bad is going to happen. Friends or not, they were the officers of  PRL’s security forces and in this line of work friendships could perish in a blink of an eye.

”Witajcie, towarzyszko, please take a seat.” He greeted her with a suspiciously radiant smile. She saw it often enough to know it was fake.

”Dzień dobry, towarzyszu podpułkowniku, it’s good you’ve summoned me. I’ve been having peculiar problems with the archivists, care to explain?” She slid into the chair he offered and lit up a cigarette.

”Yes…” He frowned pulling out his own pack. “Yesterday, shortly after sunset I received a saddening news about TW “Buk” ’s horrible behavior during his latest trip to Albania. Obviously, I had to arrest him along the rest of his godawful circle. As of today you won’t be needing his file anymore and so I was instructed to place it in the yellow section where we keep the old, obsolete documents. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

”Arrested? Baczewski arrested?” Her face was as pale as a sheet of paper, eyes wide and lips opened. The thoughts of possible consequences it meant for her were sizzling in her head, causing a thin layer of sweat to appear on her brow. “And… And Schmitt and Rogatka too?”

”Correct.” He shook the ash of his filterless cigarette onto the porcelain ashtray.

”But- Why???” The look of pure bewilderment coloring her pale face held a stark contrast to the calm uniform-clad man before her.

”Revisionist tendencies most certainly.” He replied dispassionately.

”What? I’ve been leading his case for the last 3 years. Surely I would have noticed him having revisionist tendencies…” She blurted out before she even had the time to think. “Is this why you summoned me, Charles?” She leaned closer to the man and lowered her voice. “Am I in trouble?”

She had no idea what was so funny about her words, but suddenly the lt. colonel burst out in laughter. He was laughing so hard that he had to unbutton the jacket of his military uniform or else it was in danger of losing a button or two.

”In trouble?” He asked, wiping the tears off his reddened face. “You’re kidding! I was just about to congratulate you! It was your message to our Albanian brothers that put that conniving bastard behind bars. I’ve got a call from general Dankowski himself asking to reward you!”

”General Dankowski? Albanians?” Her voice was dripping with disbelief. Deep inside she was happy that Baczewski’s case wouldn’t damage her career in any way, but above the happiness more mortifying thoughts have arisen. “If Baczewski’s file is as useless as you suggest, why was I denied access?”

For the first time since the whole conversation started the supervisor’s diligently sustained calm façade shattered. For a split second, but still, she noticed it the moment it happened. A slight twitch of his lip, the signs of panic reflecting in his grey eyes.

”A matter of protocol, towarzyszko, request of general Dankowski himself.” He said finally, and Patricia knew that there was no way of finding out more from him.

Poznań, Poland

1989

Ever since that faithful day, Patricia has been growing more and more restless, spending countless sleepless nights thinking about the yellow section of the archive, general Dankowski and what brought this tragedy onto poor professor Baczewski. Careful consideration helped her arrive at the conclusion that the move that started it all was the innocent note she sent to the Albanian authorities. Something in her note caused the Albanian comrades to freak out and contact gen. Dankowski and from there it spiraled down to Baczewski and his companions - the only witnesses of the peculiar occurence that terrorized the Albanian fauna. The only witnesses of magic.

Yes, magic… or a special weapon of some kind - she hasn’t decided yet. Both sounding ridiculous and reasonable at the same time. Both equally as unreachable to common workmen. But Patricia wasn’t a common Pole, she wasn’t a member of the secrets wielding wierchuszka. But she was the confidant of the Polish elite. And because of her position in society she knew about things normal people haven’t had the opportunity to hear about, not even when Józef Światło ran off to the Free Europe Radio.

She knew about the seer.

At one time in her life, she used to think about it as an urban legend or a revisionist joke to mock the party, spread around by the old ubeks like Major. People who remembered all too well the turbulent times of 1950s. Veterans of the Bierut’s government, Stalin’s death and June 56. Among them a story circulated, talking about a wizard who one day woke up and foresaw the murder of Bolesław Bierut. The seer who single-handedly threatened the stability of the whole Eastern Europe and above all - communism in Poland.

Not much is known about what he was trying to do with the information. The best thing to do would be to forget all about it and keep his mouth shut, but apparently it wasn’t the path chosen by him in the end. Suffice to say that said man was supposed to be later apprehended and sent only God and Ochab know where.

Naturally, Patricia never believed the bogus tale. Never until the day in lt. colonel’s office. Now all she could think about was whether or not magic was actually real and what mysteries were locked away behind the iron door of yellow section of the WUSW archives. The only place where she wasn’t allowed to enter.

Soon her hunger for knowledge became insatiable. She began using her authority and privileges towards finding out the truth. She enlisted accomplices with the sole purpose of discovering new clues, abusing the power granted to her by her office. Withholding information that she thought would threaten her sources. Only one time she felt brave enough to purposefully let a thing or two slip in the report. She wanted to check if they would move the file to the yellow section and sure enough they did.

The things she was doing posed a threat to her life as all the members of the communist regime were obliged to report everything they find even after hours. But soon her investigation started bearing fruit. More and more evidence surfaced, proving that at some point in polish history there was at least some form of wizarding community inhabiting the country’s vast lands. However, sometime after Stalin’s death the community disappeared and no one wanted to tell her why.

Perhaps the most interesting find in her inquiry was a note about a 9 year old boy from Leszno who under great pressure transformed into cloud of black smoke and killed half of his family. It was all very invigorating, but she dreaded not being able to find her way into the wretched archive.

That was until the Solidarity triumphed and the ground under the ubeks’ feet started slipping. In July 1989 gen. Dankowski issued letters to the SB leaders of every voivodeship in the country, urging them to “slim down the archives”, causing a true mass hysteria among the agents and their accomplices. In many cities the files were being burned, shredded or ground into a mush.

Everyone was afraid that the SB archives would fall into the peoples’ hands just like the Stasi records in Germany. After almost 50 years of communism, the sins of the agents and informers alike have mounted up into a dangerous heap of pain and torture. And no one wanted to become a target of the vengeful society. Nobody wanted to take responsibility for what they were doing during the reign of the worker’s party.

Soon the contagious panic spread to Poznań and Patricia’s department. 1530 kg of documents were packed onto several trucks and destroyed in Czerwonak Paper Factory. The archives held so many files that the factory had trouble destroying it at the breakneck speed the agents imposed. In these dire circumstances the heads of the departments allowed agents to start burning the files that were the most incriminating to the SB and it’s accomplices.

They were told to pack the files and bring them into a landfill outside of town. And so Patricia found herself standing in the middle of the WUSW archive. All around her stood empty shelves, barbarically robbed of the knowledge they once held. Tasked with selecting the files for burning, she packed the few files she could fit into her leather bag, trying to save at least a fraction of documents that could prove useful after the communism falls.

A paper envelope fell out of one of the files she was taking and flew onto the ground below her feet. She bent down to pick it up when she suddenly noticed that the iron doors of the yellow section were left ajar.

Without thinking twice she dumped the contents of her bag onto the heap of documents to burn and ran into the vault, grabbing as many files with yellow bands as she could fit in the sack. It wasn’t enough. She zipped up her jacket and started cramming the documents inside until there was no more pocket of air not filled with crumbled paper.

Her SB flat was just around the corner on the Kochanowski street. She snuck out of the archive and ran all the way to apartment only to find it empty. Her mother must have gone somewhere, leaving the flat completely unsupervised. Patricia couldn’t be happier than in that moment. She barged into her room and threw the files into a hidden stash, locking it with a hefty padlock and snuck back into work.

Such carelessness would have been unthinkable just few years earlier when the threat of Solidarity seemed more like a joke to them than anything else, but now that people were going crazy about these files inadequacies were unavoidable. She doubted anyone even noticed that files were stolen from the yellow section, let alone that she was the one doing it.

The whole situation opened her eyes. Where everyone else saw a fatal threat to their style of living, she found opportunity. Contacting agents from all around the country, bribing them to bring her files. In one smaller city the person tasked with disposing of the documents threw them into a rubbish dump. Patricia traveled there and dug up all the yellow files she could find. In another city the ubeks burned the files on a landfill outside of town, but despite burning for the whole day, the bottom of the heap still remained intact. They called for Milicja officers to bury the remains, hoping that no one would ever find them. Thankfully for her, one of the officers sold the information to Gazeta Wyborcza and soon everything got dug back up. Patricia paid a small fortune for yellow files that a corruptible reporter snatched.

Working systematically she soon managed to accumulate a small archive of her own, consisting of files from all across Poland. You can only imagine how tedious was the actual work she had to put into reading all of that. Most of which proved to be of similar nature as the Baczewski file - an innocent retelling of accomplices witnessing magic. She quickly realized that those kind of accounts were usually tied to corresponding files, describing children from 5-15 freaking out and turning into the same black smoke she heard about earlier. Then there was the last category of files she discovered: adult wizards, usually arrested by the UB or SB (depending on the year), but there were files of some foreign wizards as well.

One would think that with such a vast collection of stories she would get at least a little bit nearer to discovering the truth. However, unfortunately, it wasn’t the case. The documents regarding the adult wizards who could finally shed some new light on the case had a strange year dependency. It seemed that most of them dated back to the year 1956 and from then forth there were only isolated reports scattered around the timeline as if the wizarding community had gone from thriving to virtually extinct in a matter of one year.

There had to be something more to it than that, but with all of the files ending with a mysterious phrase “dispatched to Kobylniki” there wasn’t much to lead her in the right direction. She checked the map - there were thousands of little villages named like this, no chance of her finding out which one it was without any external help. Thankfully, she knew just the right person to ask.

”Tell me, Major, aren’t you afraid of what will happen to you once the communism ends? Once the people we persecuted for years will rule over us?” She asked over a drink one day. “I swear you must be the longest serving officer in Poznań, surely you’ve done horrible things over the years.”

”Nothing but what the Party expected of me.” The old man replied, sadly staring at the empty glass of vodka he swirled between his fingers.

”Right.” She snorted. “I’m sure that people will be understanding.”

A hint of fear sparked in his weary eyes as he looked up to meet Patricia’s gaze.

”Although it might send them back a bit. You know, to the times where other people were defending themselves with ‘I was only following orders’ type of bullshit.” She added and his face momentarily hardened.

”It’s not the same. I’m not a nazi.”

”No, we’re not. To them nazis were foreign people - they were Germans - a familiar enemy. We on the other hand… well, we’re Polish, which means we’re even worse.” She threw her head back emptying another glass. “But I doubt they’ll execute us like they did with the nazis. At the end of the day, there aren't too many of us. And ubeks or not - we’re still Polish. Perhaps they will let some of us keep the job… and yet,” She looked at him intently. Years of practice taught him how to keep his nerves on a leash, but she could feel the nervousness radiating from him as he poured them another round of drinks. “There’re always those beyond saving, beyond rehabilitation… let’s say… the butchers of June 1956?”

The bottle slipped out of his shaking hands, shattering on the floor.

”What do you want from me?” Major hissed breathlessly. “Haven’t I suffered enough? They shot everyone who refused to shoot at rebels… I- we had no choice! I was barely an adult when it happened! I’ve just joined the Milicja! What was I supposed to do?”

”Easy there. Keep it for the jury.” Patricia chuckled. “I’m just pointing out how easy it is to become a scapegoat, especially when one’s file is as thick and rich as yours is.”

”Was.” He corrected, kicking the glass onto a neat pile away from their feet. “It burned down the day after Dankowski’s recommendation.”

”No, it didn’t.”

His breathing stopped. Eyes widening as he realized what she meant.

A thin stripe of film slid along the table.

He snatched it up and raised it to the blaring light above their heads.

”Kurwa.” He growled, throwing it back at the smiling woman. Patricia for once couldn’t stop herself. It might have been the last time in her life when she the opportunity of manipulating someone like that. Of seeing the horrible recognition in their eyes as they knew that she will be blackmailing them. “What do you want?”

Straight to the point. She shouldn’t expect anything else from an old ubek like him.

”Kobylniki 1956”

”Kurwa.”

”So you know.” Patricia chuckled.

”Just how many files did you get your filthy hands on, traitor?”

”Not enough apparently.”

”Pierdol się.”

”Ah ah, tell me what happened and both your file and the ones about Kobylniki will disappear once and for all.” She wiggled the microfilm right in front of his face.

”Fine. But it’s not my bloody fault, get it?” He growled as she rolled her eyes impatiently. “It was towarzysz Gomułka. Bierut has come back dead from his meeting in Moscow, then the workers in Poznań rebelled - the country was falling in on itself. And then Khrushchev came to Warsaw, threatened Gomułka with a military intervention. You know how Wiesław was, once he got obsessed with something there was no coming back. This time it was the thing that almost worsened the whole Bierut situation - the freaking prophecy. We couldn’t let anything like that happen ever again! And so he told us to round up the remaining wizards. It wasn’t hard, there was few of them here after the war. We packet them onto trucks and sent to Kobylniki. I don’t know nothing more. And frankly, I don’t want to know more.” He banged the empty glass on the table and reached out for the half empty bottle, drinking directly from the source instead.

Patricia observed him for a few silent moments before speaking up again.

”How about Kobylniki? Where is this place?” She asked furrowing her brow in consternation.

”I don’t know, somewhere near Wrocław I guess. At least the driver was from the Wrocław division.”

Taking a deep breath, Patricia rose to her feet.

”Thank you, Major.” She sighed. “I promise that your file will be nothing but a heap of ash tomorrow.”

”I sure hope so.” He replied, and then cleared his throat seeing how she was already turning to leave. “And Patricia… don’t do anything you might regret later. You know what they say: the less you know, the longer you live.”

”I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“I can’t believe they threw Major out just like that!” Staszek yelled some time later.

After almost 50 years of communism PRL has finally fallen. It simply ceased to exist. Just like the Party. Just like SB. A new Poland has emerged - one in which there was no place for people like them. At least not in the way they would like themselves to be.

”Skończ pierdolić. They didn’t throw him out, they sent him to a well-deserved retirement.” Bolesław - the third man who used to play cards with them - whined. “They threw ME out!”

”Lucky you!” Staszek chuckled. “At least you don’t have to humiliate yourself like I do. ‘We will move you to the police force’ they told me. What a joke! Every priest in Poznań used to tremble in fear in my presence! Now I’m giving out speeding tickets, what a sad fucking joke.”

His head hung in shame as he passed the bottle to the other man.

”And the police cars still have the Milicja logo peeking out from beneath the cheap ass paint they gave us.” He continued. “Fucking Milicja! I used to boss Malczyński around like a dog. Now all of the sudden he is MY boss! This sounds like a fever dream.”

”All you do is complain.” Bolesław chastised him, making Patricia’s brow rise questioningly. “You have a job, all I have is debt. Who the hell is going to hire an ubek? No one! Am I right, Patricia? I’ve heard Police is not for you either.”

”Yes, well… they offered me a job… as a fucking secretary. I would be serving Malczyński’s coffee, how nice.” She spat. “I figure it’s time to go somewhere else.”

”Easier said than done.” Staszek sighed deeply. “All my life I’ve been threatening and torturing people… it’s the only thing I can do. I doubt there’s a place in the world where that thing could come in handy. Not legally at least.”

”But you know people.” Patricia tried to cheer him up a bit. “Maybe they could find you something to do?”

”I know mostly scumbags. The furthest they can get me is Russian mob.”

”That, or you can work in security, start your own business. I guess it’s not that bad of an option and I bet the two of us are not the only people with a similar problem. You could actually help other ubeks find work.”

”I guess so.” The corners of his lips lifted slightly as he looked at her with newfound hope. “And what are you going to do? I could use someone who knows how to talk with these stuck-up intellectuals.”

”Find someone else, I’m done with them.” She replied tenderly.

Her thoughts slowly drifting to the stack of papers she selected from her collection of files. Soon everything else will have to be burned or hidden away somewhere safe. Recently a lot of very dangerous people started enacting some strange version of ubek justice on those who have stolen the files. Perhaps the most blood-chilling event was the murder of the Jaroszewicz family.

Piotr Jaroszewicz was a polish Prime Minister during the communism as well as a high ranking military officer. It came as a great surprise when the journalists reported that he was found dead and maimed in his own home in Anin. Before he died, Jaroszewicz was brutally interrogated, while the criminals took his wife to the bathroom, blindfolded her and shot in cold blood. The most plausible explanation for such a vile act was that the burglars were looking for German files that Jaroszewicz supposedly owned. Ones that were threatening the interests of very influential people.

Despite all the efforts, the police wasn’t able to catch the killers, sending everyone in the country a clear message that owning such vital documents wasn’t exactly a safe thing to do. Jaroszewicz was an ex military, a very powerful man, who always carried a gun on him and yet even he couldn’t stand a chance against those who ambushed him. Patricia couldn’t let anything like that happen to her.

”I always wanted to travel west.” She finally added. “Besides, I already have a new task in sight.”

”Matko Boska, trust Patrycja to find work in the west while the rest of us rots here at home.” Staszek chuckled, and Patricia hid her smile behind the bottle of cheap wine they were sharing. As bad as it sounded she knew she was going to miss the boys sooner rather than later. Even Major, who after their little tête-à-tête avoided her like fire.

She thought about them one more time as she was boarding the train to Wrocław. Leaving the country without checking the Kobylniki lead first would not sit well with everything she managed to achieve so far.

Soon she arrived in Kobylniki expecting nothing but the worst. Remains of a prisoner camp, a prison, small colony of wizards trapped under the red sole thankful that it didn’t squash them in the process. She found none of those things. Kobylniki was nothing but a normal polish village, perhaps a bit too rural even for a village to be frank. Apart from a handful of small farmhouses, the most exciting thing was the church. Its wooden construction towering over the rest of the village as if it was taunting the Silesian archeologists to carbondate it in all the ways possible.

But Patricia wasn’t a dendrochronology expert, she didn’t care for the C14 method or even the church in itself. What she cared for was the thousands of wizards that one day arrived in this godforsaken village only to mysteriously disappear off the face of the earth. And she doubted she could somehow find them all huddled inside the small church.

And so she ventured through the fields, chatting up the locals about the case, but no one seemed even remotely interested in what she was trying to uncover. At some point she even started questioning whether or not Major pointed her in the right direction. It might have been possible that all these time she was searching through the wrong Kobylniki.

She was just about to stop searching and go back to the train station, when a sudden thought made her turn around. Somewhere amidst the investigation she remembered going past a small convenience store and those always had a spot around them that might have been her last resort.

But what might possibly be so special about those small shops in Polish rural communities you ask? The answer is very simple - the bench. Patricia has always considered it to be a local equivalent of the Greek Agora. The bench is where all of the sages and philosophers gather to ponder the meaning of life. The perfect place to catch someone willing to divulge more than any other sane person would dare describe.

Sure enough the bench was just what she found in front of the aforementioned store. Upon it sat a plethora of wise looking men all of which were staring at her with insightful curiosity.

”Pochwalony.”

”Na wieki wieków.” They replied in perfect unison.

”Care to answer a question or two?”

”Depends on who is asking. Are you lass a police person of some kind?” One of them eyed her warily, squinting his heavy lidded eyes as he took a swig from the brown bottle he was cradling.

”A police person? God forbid.” She lied only partially. With her badge taken away she was as good as a civilian.

Apparently her bluffing wasn’t good enough for the council of wise men before her.

”Don’t bother, girlie.” The supposed leader of the group told her. “My father was in ORMO. I know ubek when I see one.”

”Interesting,” she drawled, having to consciously stop herself from taking out her trusty notebook. “and has he told you anything about a large group of man being unloaded here?”

”Shouldn’t you know? It was your people who brought them here.” His companions broke out in laughter.

”I’m afraid it’s not something the SB would like us to know about. Some secrets simply don’t expire. Especially crimes.”

The laughter died down, leaving only bafflement in its place. They weren’t joking anymore. It was as if they suddenly realized that her questions were serious.

Concerned eyes slowly drifted to the bellwether of the pack - her interlocutor. And as afraid as all of them were, he was the only one who appeared unfazed.

”But then again, some things plainly shouldn’t be allowed to expire.” She added, and the look on his face was enough to put her back in the saddle.

"You're sure this is the right place?" She asked, kicking over a stone.

A dense spruce forest surrounded them from all sides. Its silence enveloping her in the immaculate tranquility. Her gaze drifted around in a desperate search for any signs of something extraordinary. Anything that would attest to the horrible crime committed there.

Nothing.

"Certain. My father used to take me here for the mushroom picking. I know this forrest like my own house." The man replied chewing on tobacco.

They've been wandering around the small clearing for some hours now. Determined to discover a clue, Patricia diligently looked after every detail. She turned every stone, checked every tree trunk for even the slightest indentation in its bark. Nothing. Not a single coin. Not a single necklace. Not a single cut.

"It's getting late." The old man announced. "You're not going to find anything. Whatever was left here all these years ago has long been swallowed by the earth itself. If we don't go now, we might just become its next prey."

There was truth to what he said, even she wasn't deluded enough to not agree. And yet the spark of determination flickering in her mind was too nagging to let her leave. It was a flame no reasonable words could extinguish.

"Is there an air base somewhere around here?" She asked, ignoring him completely. "Somewhere I could rent a light aircraft?"

”Not a chance, girlie.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing but woods and villages nearby. It would be easier to catch a dog barking with its ass than a bloody plane out here.”

”What about a weather station?”

”Your people weren’t stupid, love. They dumped them where they knew nobody would notice. We have to get going now, or  I will have to go to bed on an empty stomach.”

Something in her snapped. Pulling off her jacket, she threw it on a nearby trunk and looking at the mighty branches stretching like a green canopy above their heads she asked, “How about a ladder?”

”That one I can go and fetch.” He says slightly confused, but eager enough to go back home to humor her.

”Bring a shovel as well.” said Patricia.

The earth beneath her feet cold and packed. This was about to be a really long and tiresome night.

Anyone who has ever been interested in archeology knows that soil has some very interesting properties most people tend to overlook. For example, even after centuries of oblivion and neglect, it can still bring to our attention things that were buried beneath it longer than any living creature can remember. More so, it acts as if it actively wanted to uncover its secrets to us, be it by pushing out coins or other things that found its way under its surface years prior. In Poland there has even been a famous story written down by none other than Jan Długosz himself about a curious piece of land that kept giving birth to these oddly shaped coins. The account even became known as the first archeological find in Polish history.

But perhaps the most interesting property of the soil was that everything hidden beneath it could be easily seen from air.

Cairns, foundations and remains of buildings long gone to men were usually still visible when viewed from an aircraft or any significant height for that matter. Even something as simple as a giant hole in the ground dug up by someone years ago can leave its imprint on the landscape around it. And so she wasn’t surprised the moment  her shovel struck bone exactly where she expected to find it. After all, giant rectangles in the ground don’t appear out of nowhere. Digging that ditch back up was at this point only a formality. A formality that still hurt her more than she ever expected.

When the dawn came, she was covered in dirt from head to toe, but at least she could leave the country knowing what happened to these hundreds of wizards and witches rounded up by the UB and dumped into that godforsaken forest.

They were dead. Every single one of them tied up and shot in the head.

She felt stupid for even considering any other outcome. The things she saw were still haunting her years after that fateful night.

She left Poland knowing more about wizards and what happened to them than any other person. And she swore that one day every single file she owned would see the light of day. She swore that the death of all these innocent people wouldn’t be forgotten.

But to do that she needed to face perhaps the most difficult obstacle yet - the Statute of Secrecy.

“Who are you, Antonin Dolohov?” She mumbled looking at the yellow striped file sprawled before her on the foldable table. On the other side of a glass pane stretched the wonderful fields of lavender. The train was soon to arrive at the Saint-Charles station in Marseille.

Chapter Text

It’s been hours since Severus Snape arrived in the ominous building at Grimmauld Place. By the time he left, everyone had long since left Bellatrix’s room, happily chatting and celebrating the death of You-Know-Who. Even now a laugh could be heard from the kitchen below, where Harry, Ron and the others were talking about their plans for the immediate future, mostly consisting of finding the horcruxes and destroying them. With Voldemort, Yaxley and the Lestrange brothers  dead and with Bellatrix imprisoned the job seemed easier than ever before.

Furthermore, the news had it that the Death Eaters were driven out of Hogwarts with Minerva McGonagall taking over as headmistress. Soon the same thing could happen to the Ministry as Snape suggested. Although ever the pessimist, Severus refused to deem the victory as their final triumph. Way too little was yet known about the mysterious death of Tom Riddle and his right hand - Corban Yaxley. The only reason they even knew about the second man being dead was because of a laconic message sent to the Malfoys by Antonin Dolohov before his disappearance.

In any other situation perhaps the words of a pessimist such as Severus might have fallen on a more fertile ground, but sadly people aren’t usually fond of listening to such justifiable reservations. And so despite Snape’s warnings most of the locators busied themselves with wishful celebrations. Leaving only two people in the house to sulk miserably. The two being Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione Granger - still frozen in the same desperate embrace Severus Snape found them in hours before.

Since then Bellatrix managed to calm down exponentially. Her eyes red from all the crying and expression blank, entirely devoid of emotion as she laid focused on the ceiling above them, letting Hermione’s fingers caress her temples with lazy strokes. Lost in the notion the young Gryffindor had time to think about her peculiar relationship with the dark-haired woman, so possessive and yet so apprehensive of her.

With Bellatrix so vulnerable in her arms, it was easy to forget about all the bad blood they had in what felt like ages ago. To some extent the older witch must have felt the same way she did, too caught up in their inter-dimensional jostling to remember about everything else that was going on at the time. If that was the case, Voldemort’s death must have shaken her out of that marasmus with a strength she simply couldn’t withstand.

A quiet huff brought Hermione’s attention back to the grieving witch. Back to the present.

”I could have saved him.” said Bellatrix.

”I know.”

There was no point in denying what the both of them already knew. With Bellatrix at his side Voldemort was pretty much invincible or at least secure enough to know that whoever threatened him had to go through her first. And Lestrange wasn’t the one to surrender without a fight. If she was there, she would have died before him or none of them would have died. There was no middle ground.

”I thought I was doing him a favor.” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible as she toyed with the silver necklace hanging off her slim throat. “I don’t understand. The three of you were all here. How? It never happened before.”

”Sometimes the events play out in the exact opposite way as we would want them to. No matter how well we have planned everything. It’s the beauty of life, Bella.”

”But- planning was supposed to minimize the odds. I… I wanted to try something different this time. To play it smart. Instead, I ended up miserable as always. It’s not fair!” The frown on her brow deepened as Bellatrix hid her face in the crook of Hermione’s neck.

”As crazy as it sounds you may actually be right here. Not a single plan in my life has gone off without a hitch.”

”Why do we even bother then?” She sighted wearily. “All the other worlds - nothing but simulations of what our lives might have been if only we were slightly luckier. All lies! It’s like the universe wants to constantly remind us of what we lost without actually giving it to us to begin with.”

”Or maybe it wants us to discover what we really want in life.” Hermione mumbled noncommittally.

”That's stupid. I knew I wanted a daughter long before a stupid green orb blasted me into this madness.” Bellatrix scoffed, stirring in the Gryffindor’s arms. “Now without her and without my master I will never be happy again.”

”Is that so?" Hermione asked, trying to contain the sadness that crept into her mind. It felt as if their previous conversation was completely forgotten. Once again Bellatrix was as cold and unapproachable as before.

"Yes." Bellatrix replied without hesitation.

"I find that hard to believe."

The deranged snort should have prepared her for what was to come.

It didn't.

"I wouldn't expect a mudblood to understand anyway." The older woman spat. Her white teeth bared in cruel grin.

Anyone else would have given up then and there, but not Hermione. She wasn't about to back down after a single jab.

"And if you could only pick one, which one would you choose?”

The answer was immediate. Bellatrix's body stiffened. Her pulse quickening as shot Hermione a look of pure bewilderment.

”I thought I made myself clear. Despite whatever ideas live in that freckled little head of yours - there’s not one without the other and there never will be! Not the Weasel, not the bond, and most certainly NOT YOU can give me back what has already been lost! Only he could do that... and I failed him again.”

The burning blush appearing on Hermione’s face was quickly hid away behind an angry scowl.

"It's not what I meant." She protested, pushing the dark mane of hair away from herself. ”Perhaps if you had made an effort to understand what I was trying to ask, you would have appreciated the question more. Let me rephrase: If you had a chance to save only one, which one…”

”Delphini.” Lestrange answered before she could even finish the question.

”Good. Now ask yourself what would your answer be 3 years ago and stop mopping like a little girl.” The Gryffindor spat, untangling herself from the older woman’s body and rising to her feet. “He’s not even permanently dead for fuck’s sake. And yet, something tells me that you would be better off if he was.”

”Amazing how all I had to do was to ask a wretched mudblood what I really needed in life.” Bellatrix chuckled lowly. “And what the hell is it a filthy creature like you wants in life that the stupid universe so graciously revealed?”

“You.” She wanted to say, but the dark witch’s wicked smirk quickly deterred her from doing so.

”You wouldn’t understand.” was what she settled for instead.

And with that thought in mind, she left Bellatrix alone in her cell to bask in her foolish despair since that was clearly what she wanted to do.

But Bellatrix found it hard to just go back to wallowing in self-pity like she did for the last few hours. It was too hard for her to shake off the strange realizations the conversation with the young Gryffindor triggered. Halfway through the lonely night, she thought about all the things that gone wrong in the span of her pathetic lifetime. There was so many of them it was hard to wrap her head around it and yet... always a single memory stood out.

Black Manor, England

1972

Laughs and giggles rang throughout the sinister halls of the Black Manor. It was that time of the year again. They’ve just came home for the winter break and Bellatrix’s sisters were frolicking around excited for the yearly Malfoy Winter Ball. It was one of the scarce moments of happiness in the Black family residence. Quietness and solemnity giving way to the rare joy. It was what winter break always meant for her. But not anymore.

This year Bellatrix was no longer a Hogwarts student. Instead of accompanying her sisters to classes, she spent her days silently brooding in the ancient prison they sarcastically called home. While they were having fun gossiping about boys, laughing at their fellow Slytherins humiliating mudbloods, Bellatrix was out in the world mercilessly killing them. Gone were her happy days when she was still a part of the trio. Now there was only she - Bellatrix Lestrange. Not even Black.

Narcissa and Andy didn’t understand. They didn’t know there was anything to understand even. Everything Bellatrix was forced to become was mostly kept quiet with only few members of their sacred circle witnessing her ascension.

And so now that the Black Manor has come to life yet again, Bellatrix felt nothing but grief for the simple happiness she unknowingly had before.

Her sisters chased each other through the house. Their hair mused, clothes wrinkled as they argued about some banal things. As they laughed about the simplest joke. Bellatrix wanted to share that joy with them, she really did. She used to think that her sisters’ return would cheer her up, bring back that cozy feeling of belonging, of unconditional love and sisterhood. It never came. Instead, she found herself talking to two strangers and she had a feeling that they thought the same thing about her.

They couldn’t understand.

There were simply too many differences between them. Where the former Bellatrix could laugh with them, share their worries and thrills, the present one simply couldn’t. These times she laughed at much different things, she figured, not at jokes or rumors or clumsiness, now she laughed only at human suffering. At muggles pissing themselves. At Lestrange brothers flying a man alive.

They wouldn’t understand.

Deep down Bellatrix knew how they would react if they ever found out what their sister’s been doing in their absence. They would be horrified. Especially Andromeda who always pitied the filthy creatures.

They were too soft.

Too precious and fragile to fathom why it HAD to be done. Why SHE had to do these things.

And yet, somehow Bellatrix wanted them to understand, to praise her even. Climbing the stairs she found herself standing at the source of the sudden commotion. They haven’t spotted her at first, too caught up in their happy chat. Narcissa was helping Andromeda with her hair and makeup. Slim fingers pinning the locks in place with pietism typical of her youngest sister.

Finally, the pair of brown eyes met her own in the mirror, and the two of them froze momentarily.

“Bellatrix!” Andromeda cried, a wide smile spreading over her face as she fidgeted in the narrow chair to have a better look at her sister.

“You look very… different.” She added, looking her up and down carefully.

During her school years Bellatrix rarely had a chance to dress in anything other than the dreadful uniform. Even when they were home she usually had to dress in whatever their mother would force her to wear. Now on the other hand, when not even murder was above her. Now that she was a married woman. A disciple of the Dark Lord. Bearing his Dark Mark. Now she was able to wear anything she wanted to and she wanted it to be black.

Easier to wash off the blood apparently.

“That skirt is awfully short.” Narcissa commented. A deep frown settling on her pale brow. “Black? And that horrible corset! Don’t you think that it’s a bit inappropriate for the winter ball?”

“That’s because I won’t be coming with you.” said Bellatrix. Her tone cold and dispassionate.

Andromeda practically jumped in her seat. Every muscle in her face screaming in outrage. “You’re kidding right?”

“No.”

“Bella, please! You can’t do this to us!” The older of the two screamed. “Narcissa had been waiting to talk to you for the last few months. You brought us back here and haven’t even said a single word. What could possibly be more important than us?”

Nothing. Not a single thing in the world could even compare. She loved her sisters more than she ever loved herself. That's why she couldn't allow them to end up like her. That's why it always had to be her.

“I can’t." She declared blankly. "Rodolphus is expecting me.”

“Well, couldn’t you two meet at the freaking ball like everyone else?” Andromeda spat at her.

“No.” Bellatrix turned to leave.

“Where are you actually going?” The sadness in Narcissa’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I mustn’t tell you.” She replied quietly.

Even without turning Bellatrix could pin point the moment in which Narcissa’s heart broke.

“We’re… I’m not stupid, Bellatrix.” Narcissa sniffled. “Lucius’s father is awfully talkative when he’s drunk. Lucius says...”

A red-hot fire started inside her veins. Blood boiling at the reckless foolishness as Lestrange whirled around to stand beside her little sister, towering over her menacingly.

“Tell your boyfriend to mind his own business and watch his tongue before someone relieves him of it.” She growled, watching as a glint of fear sparkled in Narcissa’s wide, blue eyes.

“Get out!” Andromeda cut in, pushing Bellatrix back. “If you came here to threaten us, get the fuck out! Narcissa only wanted her sister back, but from what we have seen, you’re no better than the people you spend your days with.”

Clearly the middle Black sister wasn’t expecting the slap that sent her sprawling to the floor. For the first time in her life Bellatrix dared to touch her in such a way.

“Careful now Andy, you’ve forgotten yourself.” Bellatrix growled, perhaps as surprised by her own actions as the other girls were.

The brown eyes fixed at her with such vehemence distracted Bella with the realization what she has become. A quiet sniffle brought her back to reality. It was Narcissa. Dark wet streaks ruining her pretty makeup. Carefully not to anger her, the girl reached out to Andromeda, helping the woman to her feet.

“You see now why she cannot know.” She heard Andromeda mumble.

She didn’t want to listen to it anymore. Turning on her heel she burst out of the room. Desperately trying not to look back. Downstairs her father was already waiting for her. His irritated expression and steady walk proving that he wasn’t drunk yet. Bellatrix had yet to decide which version of him she preferred, but the drunk one was at least easier to defend against.

“Here you are. I thought I would have to send for you. Is it that hard to find a competent house elf nowadays?” Cygnus screeched, snatching a silver mask from the small creature’s hands. Hearing his hateful words, the elf started banging his head on the wall. Bellatrix felt a stab of disdain.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t beaten the last one to death, they wouldn’t be so useless and scared all the time.” She sneered, gesturing for the creature to disappear.

“That’s exactly why they should strive to be useful. Helpful things don't get discarded.” He replied, putting the mask on. A meaningful twitch of his eyebrows telling her that his words applied not only to the elves. “You have yours I presume?”

Bellatrix waved her wand and a similar mask appeared on her face. “Don’t you think it’s ridiculous that we even have to wear this? Everyone with eyes would immediately know who we are.”

“Cut the snarky comments, Bellatrix.” Her father growled. “Mr Riddle does not appreciate presumptuous people. Do what he asks of you and smile prettily and perhaps you wouldn’t be Lestrange for long.”

“I would argue that I have a better idea what Mr Riddle likes. You don’t even have his mark.” A self-satisfied smirk crept onto her face.

“Only because I’m a member of the Wizengamot!” Cygnus clarified, but his words reeked of dishonesty. “Dumbledore would have made sure that we lost our position if he ever found out.”

“Wow, you work in the Ministry, big thing! So does Malfoy and yet the Dark Lord has graced his arm with his sign.”

Bellatrix knew she had crossed the line the moment those words left her mouth. Before she could as much as cover her head she was violently flung against the wall with her father’s iron grip concentrated on her feeble jaw.

Cyganus panted angrily in her face as he held her face with a single hand while the other one put pressure on his daughter’s trachea. There was a wicked glint in his dark eyes so similar to Bellatrix’s own, it chilled her to her bones as he whispered menacingly:

”Don’t push it, Bella. Never forget I have two more daughters. Keep embarrassing me like that and I will verify how amicable Mr Riddle finds them.”

And then just like that the hold loosened, allowing her to catch her breath. As if all of this was a trick of Bellatrix’s imagination Cygnus Black took a swift step back and extended his hand to her ready to apparate them to the rally point where the rest of Death Eaters were already waiting.

It was a memory Bellatrix rarely recalled due to its unpleasant nature. Most of the times she pondered it thinking about her father’s utter oafishness and assholery, but now that she laid there with Hermione’s questions in mind she couldn’t help but notice how reluctant she once was, how dispassionate about the cause and even the Dark Lord. That day in the Black Manor she would rather go to a ball with her little sisters than to a raid where the old morons met.

Would her life really be better without Him?

”You see why she cannot know.” Andromeda said that day.

If only she had stayed with them that day would she tell her about Ted Tonks?

Who would she choose now if she had the chance: the Dark Lord or… Andromeda.

What a pitiful empty speculations - delusions!

The truth was that she and Andy nowadays were further apart than if they were separated by entire universes. There was no point in arguing whether what she had done back then was appropriate or not.

It happened. Period.

But still, was it the Dark Lord that split them apart? Or were they strangers long before he even took interest in Bellatrix?

The rest of the memory emerged to the forefront of her mind. And it reassumed with her father’s obnoxiously loud cries.

“Orion! How good to see you here, mate! And I see you brought Regulus with you.” Cygnus drawled, pushing himself off the ledge he was leaning on.

Bellatrix’s gaze drifted to the lean, dark-haired boy standing next to her uncle. Ten years younger than her Regulus was an object of envy in their sad family home. Even if she had another 10 years of a head start on him, Bellatrix still wouldn’t be able to prepare herself mentally for all the hours of whining her father put her through because of that measly boy.

”Ten years younger!” He often yelled. “Ten years younger and he already knows what’s important in life! Look at him! His room is the epitome of what a pureblood’s liar should look like. A family crest, newspaper clippings with all the most important political figures. A stark opposite of what the three of you have done to my house! Never forget, Bellatrix: he’ll be the head of our house one day, not you!”

Then after the short burst of wonder always came the disappointment.

”Howcome that fucking idiot Orion can have two sons and I have none? Regulus! That wretched little bastard! The Dark Lord eats off his palm and the brat is not even old enough to drink! I hope he dies most horribly and painfully or runs off with a mudblood so that Walburga has no choice but to strike him off the family tree. That sodding bastard. Always one step ahead of us. Always one step ahead of YOU.”

That night however Cygnus refrained from saying any of that in front of the boy. His lidded eyes twitching slightly as he drew Regulus into a tight embrace. False smile gracing his thin lips as he patted his back.

”Look at you! How you have grown!” The older man slurred having trouble to regain his balance after the hug. “Maned up too. How much older are you than Bellatrix?”

Fuck. As if he didn’t know.

”Ten years.” Regulus replied dryly, regarding the drunk uncle with disdain.

”Ten years?!? If I have known what a handsome man you would become I wouldn’t have married Bella off to the fucking Lestrange!”

The wine Bellatrix was drinking immediately got sucked into the wrong canal, causing her to burst out in coughs. It didn’t help a single bit that Rodolphus was sitting only a few meters away from them, listening attentively to what his father-in-law had to say.

”We have to go, Cyg.” Orion swept in to save the day. Not because of the sickening  incestuous insinuations, but rather because he didn’t want people to associate him and his son with Bellatrix's father. “The Dark Lord is expecting Regulus’s presence.”

”His?!?” This time the hint of jealousy in Cygnus’s voice was clearly distinguishable.

”Exactly.” Orion said and beckoned his son to leave.

”Uncle. Bella.” Regulus gave them last courteous nod of head and disappeared into the crowd that surrounded the entrance to the Dark Lord’s private quarters.

It was the only interaction she had with her cousin for the rest of the night. He wasn’t even at the raid prior to the small banquet they all had to attend. Honestly, it didn’t surprise Bellatrix considering how young Regulus was. His dueling skills were average at best and his interests mostly orbited around politics rather than action.

There were dozens of young pureblood boys like him all around them, but none managed to aggravate half as much one-on-one time with Mr Riddle as Regulus did. It was painfully obvious to Bella that the only reason for that was his name and vast resources the future had prescribed for him. Compared to him Bellatrix has earned her place in Voldemort’s ranks. She spilled blood to get where she was - ever the child of the lesser Black. Ever the heir of the lesser line.

Perhaps that’s why her father’s attitude found way to resonate in her. Back then she hasn't yet known that the Dark Lord trusted Reg enough to actually use his house elf in testing security of his horcrux hideout. Long before Bellatrix had a first chance to see Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, let alone be granted the privilege of locking it in her vault. Yet another instance of Regulus being favored over her.

Now that her cousin has long since been dead. No better to Him than a filthy maggot could be, Bellatrix finally found it in herself to pity the boy. Not because of the abusive family they shared, but simply because he was a hopeless kind of idealist.

He liked Voldemort because he wasn’t able to see anything beyond the lofty values they shared. Distancing himself from the bloody carnage Bellatrix and the rest of them unleashed upon the filthy muggles. He fell for the same illusion most of the Ministry rats succumbed to as soon as they had the pleasure of meeting the Dark Lord - that Tom Riddle was a politician like them. While in reality he was a monster like Bellatrix.

Once again a question started nagging her mind: if she could choose only one, which one would she save? Her own cousin or the only man who ever cherished her?

Voldemort.

His neatly slicked-back hair glimmered in the dim candle lights of his private study as he beckoned Bellatrix to enter. His face was perfect by any standards, be it the muggle or the wizarding ones. Only in his presence was she able to share the strange affection everyone else bestowed upon him. The way he always asked after her when they were on these raids. It made her feel appreciated.

Literally any moron could see how important the blood purity was and yet the manner in which he talked to her about such topics never felt redundant to Bellatrix’s ears. That day too they spoke about it briefly with the Dark Lord expressing his outmost confidence in Bellatrix’s marriage to Rodolphus. It made her scowl sourly at the thought he’d never want her the way she wanted him.

”There’s no such thing as love, Bellatrix.” He told her once when they were having that talk. “If anything there’s only passion and even that I feel only when you fight by my side.”

She hated herself for breaking down in front of him.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here - reckoned Bellatrix. She brought the memory back from the abyss of her sinister mind to reminiscent, not to grieve. Granger was right saying that her lord wasn’t permanently dead yet. And so she descended back to that pitiful banquet when Voldemort invited her to speak.

"Your cousin Regulus is a very talented young man." The Dark Lord mused, watching Bellatrix intently through the slope of his regal nose.

"Yes, quite right." She made an effort to sound as indifferent as possible.

"Soon he'll be old enough to receive my mark."

Her startled gaze didn't escape Voldemort's attention.

"You don't agree?" An elegant brow rose questioningly.

"My lord, I wouldn't dare.." Bellatrix started protesting.

"By all means do, I'm curious to hear what you have to say."

"Well, I'm afraid that it might cause a rift among my family members."

"From what I've heard both Orion and Walburga support this decision."

"I wouldn't expect anything other from them." Bellatrix scoffed. "My father, however, might not be as keen to accept it as they are. He already considers Regulus a threat to his own position among your followers. And rightly so, he has been supporting you longer than any of us, is only getting older, and hasn't yet been granted the pleasure of bearing your mark. Giving it to a teenager would be a great affront to him."

The intrigued look on Voldemort's face momentarily transformed into a disgruntled sneer.

"A wise woman like you surely understands exactly why I intend to keep it that way." He said. "Why I prefer to invite you to my office instead of him."

Of course she knew, but there was no force in the world that could force her to say it out loud.

"Indulge me."

"He's loud, loathsome and a drunkard."

The Dark Lord didn't mince words and it made Bella’s jaw clench. Not because she thought otherwise, but because it pained her how much shame the wretched man brought onto her. The way he acted whenever alcohol got to his brain was disgraceful not only to himself but to the entire Black family as well. Hearing the truth from Lord Voldemort’s mouth hurt more than she would ever like to admit.

Forcing her lips into a strained smirk, she tried to turn the conversation in another direction.

”And here I thought you just valued my skill and company.”

And to her surprise he just ran a hand over his hair and changed the subject.

Years later Bellatrix has grown to realize how stupid of her it was to expect his praise on such trivial occasion. If her skill with the wand was really as important to him at the time as she thought, then he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss her father.

Everyone knew that Cygnus was a fantastic dueler when he wasn’t drunk. During his time at Hogwarts he dominated his opponents in every way. Even the professors had a hard time duelling him. Everything Bellatrix knew she had learned from him. In summary: he was everything he later would expect Bella to be. And yet, the Dark Lord would never value him enough to mark.

It ruined him. Pushed him deeper and deeper into the wicked addiction that consumed him whole. There was a time when Bellatrix was proud of her father. A time when he didn't care about the politics and bloodlines. Long before the Death Eaters wrapped him in the never ending thread of deceit and backstabbery.

"Helpful things don't get discarded." He said to her not knowing that he was in fact predicting his own doom.

But Bellatrix wasn’t about to let herself fall down the same path her wretched father did. For the next 9 years she did everything to prove her usefulness to the cause. And although the praises weren’t as frequent as she would like, soon she became what she always strived to become in the eyes of Lord Voldemort’s closest circle. Today no one remembered that it wasn’t him who appointed her as his lieutenant, but rather the Death Eaters who branded her as such. The Dark Lord just ran with it.

That’s how she learned that if she wanted anything from him, she would have to force it or yield. It wasn’t that she didn’t deserve it, obviously she did. Everyone could see it, but for some unfathomable reason Voldemort would always refuse saying it out loud.

But the years passed and suddenly the amount of attention she got was no longer cutting it for her. She adored him too much to stop at that. And although her lord claimed to be uninterested in love and sex, Bellatrix knew that she only had to force it out of him. She spent years persuading him to make her his bride, but always heard only one answer: NO.

That was until that one time in the other world, when she came up with a new technique. Instead of begging him for his love, Bella decided to appeal to his reason. She offered him progeny stronger than any other. A mix between his powerful genes and the pure, sacred blood of the Blacks.

And he agreed.

Bellatrix remembers the excitement that accompanied her. She thought she was madly in love with him. That it all felt how it ought to feel. And then the bloody mudblood showed up and she felt… different.

Every time they touched an electric current traveled down her spine. Heat coiling inside her belly like a tangle of snakes. It was never like that with the Dark Lord. Thrilling yes, but never so carnal. And to think that the girl was so filthy and yet so enticing at the same time. It was preposterous.

Wherever she went - the Granger girl was already waiting for her. Like a phantom haunting and tormenting her into another worlds. So tempting and beautiful. So feisty and smart. It chased her dreams away and replaced it with nightmares. Nightmares of soft skin and full lips. Of curly hair and cute little dimples.

Filth!

But one thought always helped her keep those odd feelings at bay. The fact that Granger was in some ways similar to Regulus - she was an idealist. And Bellatrix was a monster. Like the Dark Lord.

Not even idealists were foolish enough to fall in love with a monster like her. Not to mention one so old and disgusting.

And once again, the girl had proven her wrong. For she seemed to have had the same problem of Bellatrix following her wherever she went, but she wasn’t mad about it like Bella did. Quite the contrary actually. She allowed that magnetism to blossom. And Bellatrix just had to take her chance.

Back there in the dark coziness of the Black Manor the girl was delicious. Staring at her with those darkened by lust, hazy eyes as Bellatrix paved the way through her lithe body with kisses and bite marks. The sounds she made were music to sore ears, and every single one of them was coaxed out by Bella and no one else.

Not the Weasel! Not the auror! HER!

That day if it wasn’t for the stupid boys, she was sure Hermione would let her do whatever she ever wanted to do to her. Despite the defiant facade, she was like putty in her hands. She wanted her just as much as Bella wanted her.

What scared her even more was the fact that this newfound physicality went way beyond sex and desire. Bellatrix wanted Granger to like her, to admire her. She wanted her to be near and to embrace her in her sleep like that night when Crookshanks refused to budge.

It dawned on her that she never wanted that from Voldemort, she never expected that of him.

In fact, the time she spent with Hermione locked in the Black Manor despite the minor inconveniences was the happiest she had felt since her trial and imprisonment. Perhaps even longer than that. With the Dark Lord around she was always tense, always afraid that she might say something wrong, act too recklessly. Hermione had seen her act in all manners and still decided to keep her alive even despite the Weasel's protestations.

The Dark Lord or the Mudblood?

She didn’t want to answer that one. Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes and drifted off. Away from all the dilemmas Hermione cursed her with.

The Ministry of Magic was livelier than usual. As if the horrid crime has invigorated the public and reminded them that such noble institution even existed, the wizards from all parts of the country came in droves, filling up the narrow corridors with a torrent of heads.

”Welcome, Minister.” Yaxley pushed through the crowd in order to greet her. “As you can see, the place has turned into a madhouse when you were away. Right now I bet St Mungo’s is more peaceful than this.”

”Unfortunately.” She replied, following him to the elevator. “Where did all those people come from?”

”All sort of places. Supposedly they heard about the Prime Minister’s sudden death and wanted to pay their respects. Why here remains unclear.”

”Are Muggles aware of…”

”Merlin forbid! They think he had a heart attack, let’s leave it that way.”

”Good. How is Dolohov doing?”

”Well enough. He had a very stressful week, but most of the job at the DoM is already done.” Yaxley hesitated, watching his own shoes with unprecedented attention. “Might I ask how is Mrs Lestrange?”

”Terrible.” They arrived at the floor her office was located. “They’re not allowing her to smoke, her trial is months away and Mr Lestrange refuses to sign the release papers.” She paused, looking him up and down intently. “Do me a favor and summon him to my office, please.”

”And what if he declines the invitation?” Yaxley gulped.

”He won’t.” Hermione replied firmly and closed the door in his face.

As expected, no longer than 20 minutes later Rodolphus Lestrange arrived accompanied by his measly brother. Both dressed head to toe in finest robes Galleons could buy. Strange considering that the first time she saw the aforementioned gentleman he was wearing a creased white shirt and a shabby waistcoat. Could it be that he hated Narcissa and her sister so much that he couldn’t care what he wore to their favorite family dinners or was he expecting an influx of funds with Bellatrix locked in the psychiatric ward? The answer came earlier than expected.

”A full pardon?” Hermione repeated, putting the documents they handed her aside. “You can’t be serious, gentlemen. Releasing Tom Riddle now will cause a political revolution! You might as well be asking for my resignation!”

”Well, point 14 if you may…” The younger of the brothers pointed to the bottom of the page. Sure enough, they were demanding her to give up her title and dissolve Wizengamot so that a new one could be elected.

”With Riddle’s exoneration and my resignation taking two of the… 20 points I’m afraid to guess what the other 18 are even about.” She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop an incoming headache.

”If Bellatrix means to you half what I think, then you will do as we say, or else she’ll rot in there to her pitiful trial. After which the only creature she’ll be kissing will be the Dementor waiting to take her soul.” A haughty smile appeared on Rodolphus’s face.

And rightly so. It was obvious that he had done his due homework and came up with a solid threat. His only mistake being however the ridiculousness of his demands. That and also the fact that Hermione already knew who was behind all this and had time to prepare herself for his next move.

”It’s lovely that you care about your wife so much, Mr Lestrange.” said Hermione with the most bored tone she could muster. “However, it’s not the reason I invited you here today.”

Here it was. The panic on Rodolphus’s face wiped the stupid grin clean off. Frantically he exchanged a conspiratorial look with his younger brother and was immediately startled as a heavy file hit the desk. It was Hermione’s time to rejoice.

”As you may know, Bellatrix’s departure caused a little stocktaking in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” She spoke lazily. “You would be surprised what kind of interesting documents we managed to dig up. But first, tell me Mr Lestrange, do you know what property tax is?”

”Of course I do! What kind of question is that?” The dark eyes squinting in suspicion.

”Splendid! Then I assume all of this will be a formality…” She replied handing him a thin stack of papers. “I will be needing your signature, gentlemen, as a confirmation that you received the documents.”

At first Rodolphus sat in complete silence, apparently too baffled to say anything, but soon as the last two brain cells in his mind finally managed to establish contact he started flipping through the pages. Constantly switching between the papers and Hermione’s smiling face. When he was done he threw the stack back onto the table and leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands defiantly.

”Those mansions are not mine.” He said flatly, clearly not in a mood for games anymore.

”They are someone’s.” The innocent shrug Hermione performed was downright devilish.

”Bellatrix’s, not mine. I’m not gonna pay her overdue tax!”

”Last time I checked Mrs Lestrange was incapacitated, unable to leave a psychiatric ward. As her husband and self proclaimed legal guardian you have taken over the financial responsibilities of your wife. That is obviously unless you would like to renounce those legal responsibilities, in which case Mrs Malfoy would be more than willing to replace you.”

A spark of understanding appeared in his otherwise angry expression.

”I see what you’re trying to achieve here, little girl!” Rodolphus growled. “But I will not yield. If anything you just made me realize how rich I’ve become with Bellatrix in the madhouse. Have it your way, I will pay the ransom. With dear Bella’s own money.” He sprang to his feet, urging his brother to do the same. “And then I will wait for you to come beg me on your knees to let you sign the deal we offered.”

Feigning a dissatisfied pout Hermione released a deep sight as if she was already getting used to the defeat suffered at the Lestrange’s hand.

”Good luck then I guess. You have time till the end of the week.”

”One trip to Gringotts and it will be dealt with.” Came the vitriolic retort.

It made the young Gryffindor even more excited for the final blow she was ready to deliver.

”Well… there might be a little problem with that actually.”

The footsteps stopped. Rodolphus slowly turning to face her again.

”What. Kind. Of. Problem?”

”Unfortunately, the Black vault has been sequestered until Bellatrix’s trial, which mind you has no set date yet.” Her heart was close to leaping out of her chest and judging by the sudden paleness on Rodolphus's face - so was his. Although for a completely different reasons. “The same goes for the Lestrange one as we were unable to determine which part of it belongs to Bellatrix.”

The veins on Rodolphus’s neck suddenly became very visible. His brow contorting in confusion and trepidation as he tried to understand the situation he found himself in. Just as his wife predicted, the dark wizard was never one to concern himself with legal loopholes and so when an occasion presented itself, he took it without a second thought. But Riddle’s influence and planning could only go so far, and so the final execution was always set to relay on Rodolphus of all people. And as it turned out - he was severely unprepared.

”Perhaps you would like to take your seat back and listen to what I have to offer?” The Mudblood kept prodding and the only thing he could do in this situation was let her talk.

She knew that her sense of time has long been distorted by constant darkness that since Hermione’s departure has settled over her cell like a shroud, and yet somehow Bellatrix knew that it couldn’t be night yet. Even though the celebrations have long since died out, she could still catch the sound of voices ringing throughout the house.

Sleep has refused to soothe her mind. Lasting no longer than a prayer would and leaving her with thoughts that she would rather banish than entertain.

It was in the moment of another mental crisis that the doors to her room squeaked open and Bellatrix's tense neck turned to see if the Granger girl has returned. Imagine her disappointment when the silhouette that slipped into her cell was only that of the muggleborn’s mother.

”Forgive me for the intrusion.” Mrs Granger hastily said. “I wanted to make sure that you don’t need anything. You haven’t eaten much, and Mr Black is…”

”Sirius!” Bellatrix cut her off, shielding her eyes from the sudden burst of light. ”You can call him Sirius. He dosn't like being addressed as Mr Black. And I’m fine.” 

”Oh…” The older woman deflated, awkwardly looking around as if she wasn’t sure whether she should leave her alone or keep pushing.

At times the muggle’s talkativeness reminded Bellatrix of Thursday afternoons she spent with her mother and sisters when she was still a child.

Every summer Druella would invite other pureblood ladies for the sole purpose of exchanging gossip. Naturally, it was expected of her daughters to participate, proving to her friends that they were capable of holding intelligent conversations. For people to marvel at them and the way they were brought up.

At first it infuriated Bella, who regarded it as time wasted on pointless blabber. But soon as Cygnus started engaging her more and more in politics, she found these little gossiping sessions to be an easy excuse to get away from it all. It allowed her to spend more time in the company of her sisters, while also avoiding the more irritating lessons her father wanted to force on her. Duelling wasn't that bad though.

A strange thing it was, to look at this peculiar woman, so different from everyone she grew up with and still find these little similarities. Mrs Granger was barely older than her, and yet in Bella’s twisted mind she became the epitome of motherhood, surpassing even Druella, who in comparison seemed cold and inattentive, more focused on the public perception of her daughters than their actual feelings and wishes. She would expect that sort of concern from her mother, let alone a stranger she befriended only to spite her stubborn daughter. And still, Jean treated her better than any friend she knew since she was born.

”Jean, wait.” She huffed in defeat.

Why, oh why was it always so hard to lie to the bloody Grangers?

“I’m not fine." She said. "In fact I’m not even ok.”

”Oh, darling.” Mrs Granger sat down next to her on the bed, looking at Bella with pity and concern.

Had she been anyone else Bellatrix would have lashed out at her, shouting that she doesn’t need her sodding sympathy. Rattling the chain in order to scare the olde woman, maybe even put up a show like she did with Kreacher and Hermione’s spineless friends. But it all appeared superficial and hollow now that she has embarrassed herself beyond repair. Now that she let her master die. Now that she was chained to a wall like a rabid dog. She no longer had enough strength for lying.

”Was he really that important to you?” The kind voice interrupted her musings.

There was a time when she would get offended at such foolish question. Now, all she could reply was a simple, unsure “Yes.”, and nothing more.

”Well, we all have to die one day, it’s the circle of life. Some of us live longer than others. They have more time to cherish life, spending it with their loved ones, but at the end of the day everyone has to let go and come to terms with that which is unavoidable.” The muggle woman explained, earning another deep sight from Bellatrix.

”He’s not dead, just resting.”

”That’s what we like to tell ourselves to better cope with these moments of hardship…”

”No. I mean: it's pnly temporary, he's unable to die. Quite literally.” Bellatrix drawled weakly, bracing her head on her forearm to have a better vantage point to observe the muggle. “He split his soul to these teeny-tiny pieces and hid them so that no man would be physically capable of perishing him for good. He’s practically immortal. All he needs is a ritual.”

Listening intently the older woman looked at her with puzzled expression.

"Oh.."

"Don't worry about it. It's complicated. I know. Many wizards even don't know such thing is possible. "

”What’s got you so down then?" Mrs Granger asked. "If it’s so easy to bring him back, surely it’s just a matter of time.”

”I’m not sure I want him back. That’s the issue.” Bellatrix shrugged, suddenly finding her nails extremely interesting. “Don’t ask me why, I’ve got no idea.”

”Maybe he wasn’t as important to you as you would think.” The older woman hesitated.

”He made me what I’m today. That’s more than most of my family ever did. Only my sisters ever cared for me and it didn’t stop them from stabbing me in the back at first convenient occasion.... Well, occasions. Bloody Cissy.”

”I’ve heard about them, you know.” Mrs Granger interjected, her ears perking up at the familiar name. “I’ve heard how Vol..." She stopped, pressing a hand to her still open mouth.

"It's ok, you can say his name. He's way too busy possessing some poor rat or a squirl to give a damn." Bellatrix gave a cluck of impatience.

"I've heard how He tortured one of your sisters." Jean continued. "Even Mr Snape was terrified by the sight. It went on for hours and she never gave away your location, not even when your lord was threatening her own son. I reckon - if she was willing to endure that for her sister’s sake, she must be the most loyal person anyone would want on their side.”

A look of pure panic distorted Bellatrix’s impassive face. She sprang to her feet, shaking the muggle by the shoulders as she looked for any hints of deception.

”Narcissa did that for me?”

”That’s what Mr Snape told us.” Hermione’s mother hurriedly replied.

”Merlin, I never thought she would do such a thing. Ever since I escaped Azkaban I was thinking that she secretly despised me. Always looking out for her idiotic husband and never for me.”

”From what I’ve heard she was quite worried about you. Snape mentioned once that she was afraid you were going insane and begged him to do something to save you.”

”But… she conspired with Yaxley… he… Circe’s ass, I was so stupid!” Bellatrix threw herself back at her cot, pushing her face into the linen cloth surrounding her. “I failed everyone! The Dark Lord, my sisters, even my cousin Regulus!”

”You didn’t fail me!” Mrs Granger cut in. “You saved me and my husband from the bad people who wanted us dead. Twice. I know what you did for us, and I will never forget it.”

”It was a coincidence. Yaxley was on my trail, and I had to throw him off somehow.” Bella waved her hand dismissively.

”You could have killed us and yet you didn’t. Despite knowing what would happen to you if your accomplices ever found out. It takes courage, Bellatrix. To mind other people’s safety when your own life is hanging on a thread.” Lestrange felt a strange prickly feeling in the corners of her eyes, but refused to cry in front of the kind woman. “Selfless or not, your actions have saved our lives. Don’t you ever forget it!”

”I- I…” Bellatrix struggled to get the words out. She wanted to thank Mrs Granger her friendship and support, but didn’t really knew how. Her empty stomach decided to swoop in and save her at the last moment possible.

“I’m hungry.” She finally said, feeling her body relaxing.

Before she wasn’t sure she could eat anything, refusing food not only because it was brought by the horrendous house elf, but also because she would puke it out anyway. The tightness in her stomach was enough to make her sure of it.

”No problem, I will go get you something to eat and then we can talk some more if you’ll be willing.” Mrs Granger said, standing up.

Bellatrix nodded her head eagerly, pacing around the room. The newfound energy was brimming inside her and she couldn’t wait for Hermione’s return. She wouldn’t tell her right away what she had came up with when the girl was gone, but she was determined to tell her at some point.

Seeing her excitement the muggle woman tiptoed closer to the door, only to be stopped by a white strobe of light emerging out of the dark corridor and rushing past her shoulder. Shielding her eyes from the painful glow, Jean soon noticed white hooves take form as a blaring horse strode through the house and stopped in front of her pacing companion.

”Where are you, Bella?” It spoke with a female voice. “The Dark Lord is dead! I fear something even worse might have happened. Dozens of Death Eaters are begging us to let them in. They look like they’re running from something. We can’t hold them back any longer. Wherever you are, I need you here! Bella, come back to us.”

And then the horse disappeared, leaving them in the dim guest room. Jean looked at Bellatrix  incredulously, waiting for her to explain what have they witnessed just moments ago.

”It was Narcissa.” Lestrange stated with trepidation. “Her patronus that is. I didn’t knew she could even cast one, but I would recognize that voice anywhere.”

Mrs Granger nodded in understanding.

”She sounded very distressed.”

”As she does whenever her family is in danger.” The dark-haired woman kicked a nearby book pile, sending tomes flying in all directions. The chain weighting her leg down, making it harder to walk with every step. “To hell with all this! I’m utterly useless! Might as well kill myself right now and be done with this. Useless! Useless! Useless!”

Her fingers tugged on the dark curls, ruffling and tangling them up in frustration as Bellatrix collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed with the shackles’s magically induced weight.

”Stop hurting yourself.” Mrs Granger pleaded, falling to her knees and pinning the furious hands against Bellatrix’s chest.

“Stop! Please! Bellatrix!”

Nothing worked. Even restrained and starving  the dark witch was too strong for her.

”What if I help you escape?”

The struggle stopped. Dark eyes gazing at her quizzically.

“Tell me what to do and I will help you get to your sister.” She offered sincerely, but the sadness on Bella’s face made her even more concerned.

”Jean, you don’t know how the rest of them will react. It’s treachery! I’m sure you heard them talking about Hermione.” Bellatrix argued.

”Doesn’t matter. I owe you this much.” Jean protested. “Go, help your sister. I can bear a couple of suspicious glares.”

”That’s it? Your not gonna ask me for anything?” The dark witch shouted indignantly. “I know how to bring back the Dark Lord! I’m hiding his horcruxes. I have them on me right now! You could ask me to give them in exchange for freedom.”

”I could… but I won’t.” The other woman replied. “You will do whatever you consider right. It’s a life for a life and I can’t demand anything more of you than a promise that you won’t hurt anyone in this building. Besides, you don’t look like you want to bring him back. I’m certain you will chose wisely.”

"I can't believe this!" The dark witch gasped, tears rushing to her eyes.

“I promise! I promise!” Bellatrix chanted, embracing the older woman. “I don’t know what to say except that I will repay you a hundredfold once all this is done. You have my word for that.”

”There’s no need for that.” Mrs Granger protested, pushing her gently away. “But how are we going to take these chains off?”

”Depends." A devilish grin spread all over the pale face. "How sound of a sleeper do you think your daughter is?”

Chapter Text

Hermione left the Ministry with a wide grin on her face. Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother might have been formidable foes in battle, but when it came to simple technicalities they were like a bunch of children fumbling in the darkness. With every second she spent tormenting them it was becoming more and more apparent that whatever happened that night in the Longbottom house must have been entirely Bellatrix's and Barty's idea.

As mortifying as the thought was, she had to put it aside for a little bit longer or else she would have to do things that would very much complicate her overall situation. And so, preferring to preserve the pitiful shreds of her mental health, she busied her mind with fixing the more recent case of Bellatrix’s recklessness, telling herself that one day there will be time to mend older wounds.

With the discharge documents signed and filed, the former headauror's release from St Mungo's was a matter of hours if not minutes. Now the only thing that had to be done was the impending Wizengamot trial. Having done some preliminary research, Hermione was feeling confident that with a right approach securing the dark-haired witch's pardon wouldn't be as hard as she  previously anticipated.

Finally, a job well done. She couldn't wait to tell Bella about how right she was about Rodolphus's cowardice.

She imagined they could find a nice, pleasant world to have that conversation in. Away from all the ruckus and clunking of chains. Somewhere where she and the dark-haired witch would be alone and safe. Maybe they could get some wine to loosen up the atmosphere or maybe even firewhiskey. Anything to break through the uneasiness that always disturbed the first minutes of their meetings.

Soon she would have to figure out how to persuade the witch into handing over the horcruxes. With Voldemort dead they’ve gained a bit of time, but not enough to start slacking again. Not after so many hardships they endured.

Despite the Death Eater’s declarations, Hermione knew that there still was some leeway for negotiations. Surely Bellatrix was smart enough to realize that after all she has done she would have an easier time finding help on Hermione’s side rather than Voldemort’s.

If she could only surrender the last pieces of his soul, the Order could turn a blind eye on  a good portion of her past crimes. It wasn’t beyond realms of possibility that they would even agree to a house arrest considering that Azkaban was more of a ruin than an actual prison now.

Her musings were suddenly interrupted by the loud snoring coming from the other end of the hall. Striding to the open door, she saw Ron hunched in a lavish armchair. The receiving end of a magical ear hanging off his limp fingers.

Harry told her how distressed the ginger boy was ever since the Gringotts fiasco. It must have been impossible for him to get some much needed rest with all the nightmares tormenting him every time he closed his eyes. Even though Hermione repeatedly assured him that she wasn’t mad about what happened between them in that vault, it was obvious that he himself hasn’t come to terms with what he’s done.

The longer she kept observing him, the more apparent it became how the war and stress accompanying it have taken the toll on the brave but brutish boy. With that in mind, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Ronald managed to drift off in the middle of a sunny day.

”Wouldn’t you prefer to sleep in a bed?” Hermione asked, seeing him stir awake. His eyelids opening at the sound of her voice.

”I - not sleeping…” He murmured, yawning ostentatiously. His mind barely catching up with where he was.

The hesitation that appeared on his face as soon as he noticed the magic earpiece now laying on the floor and then the utter panic was slightly comical, bringing a small smile to Hermione’s features.

Some things never change.

”Bloody hell! I was supposed to spy on Lestrange.” He cursed under his breath, pushing the end of the extendable ear closer to his head. A few seconds later a scornful grimace appeared with Ron tossing the cord aside in annoyance. ”It’s silent now. Blimey. Just as it was getting interesting.”

”Why are you spying on her anyway?” Hermione asked with a furrowed brow. “Please don’t tell me it’s a part of the horcrux hunt Harry keeps talking about.”

”Merlin, I wish.” He ruffled up his hair. “Sirius asked me to do this. It’s supposed to keep your mother safe while she’s in there. You know, to make sure that she doesn’t smother her with the chains or something. I thought it would be more riveting than that, but I drifted off as soon as they started talking about dinner.”

”My mother is in there?”

”Yep. Another friendly visit.”

”They do seem to have a peculiar relationship.” Hermione mused, not sure if she should be happy or concerned. “Last time I saw them together they were talking about oral hygiene.”

Ronald’s lips twisted into a devilish grin.

”No way!” He chuckled. “You’re sure it wasn’t a code? Lestrange doesn’t look like someone who knows what the hell that is.”

”But she does.” Hermione countered. “I know it’s hard to believe, but she’s very passionate about the subject actually.”

They exchanged amused glances, regarding each other for a while. It was a first friendly conversation they shared since she was rescued and everything was finally going in the right direction. Much of it was owed to Voldemort’s abrupt demise, easing the nerves and relaxing the atmosphere at Grimmauld Place significantly.

”Have you been able to contact your family?” Hermione broke the silence. “With Him gone it might be safe again.”

”Not yet.” Ron replied with sadness in his voice. “While you were gone they sent me short messages so I know they’re alive, but there’s not much more I can say.”

”I’m sorry to hear that.” Said Hermione. “Although now that Hogwarts is ours again, it’s only a matter of time until we hear from Ginny. And then you’re going to miss the quiet times.”

”Merlin.” He squeaked. “Did you know that Carrows put a ban on Quidditch? Can you imagine how long she’s going to yap about it?”

”We’re going to hear all about it, I’m sure.”

”Definitely.” Ron concluded. “So… were you going to visit Bellatrix?” He asked, staring at her with unreadable expression.

”Yes.” Hermione replied reluctantly. “Is there a problem with that?”

The flush of color that momentarily darkened the startled boy’s skin nicely matched the color of his hair.

”No. Nooooo.” He replied nervously, putting on a happy face. “It makes my work here done, I guess.”

”Why? Aren’t you afraid she might do something to me?” Hermione teased.

“I have enough of violating you two’s privacy. There are things I won’t be able to unsee for the rest of my life.” Ron looked away in embarrassment. “But I suppose I can escort you to make sure everything is alright in there.”

“Lead the way.” The bushy-haired girl stepped aside to let him pass.

They walked in silence, too afraid to mess things up again. As they reached their destination, they immediately noticed that the door to Bellatrix’s room was once again closed. Hermione didn’t find it suspicious per se, considering that she herself often made sure to give the other woman that sliver of privacy whenever she went inside. A little careless thing to do for a muggle, but Mrs Granger wasn’t the one to fear Bellatrix in any way. She hasn’t witnessed that side of her yet, and Hermione was foolishly hoping that she wouldn’t have to anytime soon.

”Should I?” Ron asked, seeing her hesitate and when Hermione agreed he gave the door a quick knock and swung it open, fully expecting Mrs Granger to scold him if he hadn’t knocked.

But no scold, nor praise ever came. The room in fact was pitch black with no signs of life and only a faint outline of a curtained window.

”Mom? Bellatrix?” Hermione tried, but gained no reply.

”Lumos.” Ronald whispered next to her and a bright ball of light illuminated the cluttered space.

A loud gasp could be heard at a horrifying sight that greeted them in that moment. The heavy chains previously strapped to Bellatrix’s wrists and ankles were now laying limply in the middle of the room with no witch in sight. In the farthest corner from the door, next to the waving curtain, a hunched figure was bound to a chair, her mouth missing and strange, old book resting at her feet.

It was Hermione’s mother. Without thinking the young Gryffindor leapt into action, kicking the book away and kneeling next to the woman. Before she could do much more Ron had already vanished the ropes binding her and ended the spell obstructing the woman’s mouth.

”Where is Lestrange?” He asked frantically.

With a nod of a head Mrs Granger pointed at the window. He drew open the curtains only to find the window open into the busy streets.

”She’s gone.” Ron whispered sadly, pocketing his wand and turning around. “I’m gonna go get Sirius.”

He left the room just in time to skip the complete meltdown Hermione suffered. The rage and sadness tearing her apart from the inside as she realized how stupid she was expecting Bellatrix to cooperate. Her mother trusted the witch and once again she abused that trust, using her like a mindless tool.

The book laying on the floor was a great example of that. Ancient, rotten and no doubt cursed - it could possibly come from one place only - Orion’s library.

”Let me guess: she wanted something to read.” Hermione murmured coldly, and the look on Mrs Granger’s face told her everything. “I thought Sirius told you not to go in there.” She let out a burst of sardonic laughter. “You could have died if she wasn’t merciful. Mind control is nothing compared to having all your insides turned upside down.”

Her mother stayed silent, watching her intently.

”How did you free her?”

Still nothing.

A flash of anger passed through her face as she growled, rummaging through her pockets. Perhaps the mouth vanishing spell the Death Eater chose to use had still been active in some way that Ronald might have overlooked. Whatever it was, she needed to check it for herself.

"Accio." Hermione she said and stretched out her hand expectantly.

Nothing.

The Gryffindor paled.

Indeed, the most vulnerable she was nowadays was while she was asleep. Only yesterday she laid down next to the Death Eater hoping to wake up with all of her arteries unopened. Oh lord, how wrong she was! How foolish! Thinking that Bellatrix would be merciful enough to slit her throat and deny herself a golden opportunity to torment the muggleborn.

Once again Hermione has been made into a laughing stock! And by her own mother at that! Bellatrix never had to plunge a knife into her flesh. All she needed was someone susceptible enough to fall under her spell and steal Hermione's wand while she was asleep, fixing her mess in another dimension. What a sick joke it was!

With just a couple of sweet words she let the other woman bamboozle her into believing that there could be something between them. A thread of understanding. Maybe even something more.

In the end none of it mattered. She wanted to get out of there and so she escaped. Now everything that will happen because of that will be on the Gryffindor.

Voldemort’s return will be on her!

Jean Granger observed her daughter carefully, her eyes softening in sadness as she witnessed her anguish. The betrayal. The pain. It was evident in her vacant expression as Hermione slumped to the floor, leaning her head against the wall in defeat.

She wanted to reach out to the younger woman and tell her everything will be alright, but the nature of the complex hex Bellatrix utilized would prevent her from speaking long after the curse has been lifted. It was another precaution she agreed to in order to make the scenario more believable. Perhaps the only part of the plan she found herself regretting.

But the fate has smiled at her once more in this gloomy day, leaving her alone with the crying girl long enough to carry out the final piece of the scheme Bellatrix had prepared for her. Wasting no time, Jean flung herself to the ground next to the sobbing girl, pushing a slip of paper into one of her clenched fists.

Momentarily the hazel eyes rose to meet her gaze. Initial surprise fading into mutual understanding as the claustrophobic space echoed with sounds of footsteps.

"You bloody idiot! What have you done?!?" Sirius roared, pulling the older woman away from the witch. "I told you not to trust her! You just lost us a war."

His voice rang around the chamber, blaming alternately Ron and Mrs Granger alike, but Hermione paid him no mind, crawling away from the room and into the hallway. She had no wand, no owl of her own. Whatever message Bellatrix left for her could have been her very last. For all she knew this could be their last goodbye.

Hermione shuddered, squeezing the paper in her hand until small drops of blood trickled down onto the floor. She desperately wanted... no, needed to know what was inside, but at the same time was too terrified of what the letter may entail.

What if it was another trick of the witch? Just Lestrange mocking her, having the last laugh, using her mother against her like she did stealing her wand.

But then again, what if it was some important clue she wanted only her to know? Maybe a meeting place where they could discuss the matters away from prying eyes and magical ears.

She couldn't wait any longer. Unfolding the note she lifted it to her eyes, drinking in the neat scrawl she could only suspect was Bellatrix's.

"Had to take care of some pesky business. Hopefully Jean is feeling alright. Tell Siri to not be a cunt about it. She only wanted to help.

BB

PS You have to be more careful. You’re such a heavy sleeper it’s a miracle no one had slit your throat yet." Hermione recited aloud.

”You have to be bloody kidding!"

“Gentlemen.” Linton greeted, entering the war room.

In the center of the room a round table stood, surrounded from all side by men in military uniforms. Their quizzical expressions spoke of the great uncertainty that accompanied the whole situation.

”I assume the public has been informed about the drills. What numbers are we talking about?”

”5 special forces units are at our disposal, along with three bombers, five helicopters and a fighter squadron. All as requested.” One of the generals answered, handing her the files with all necessary data.

”Splendid. I have drawn up a short list of the most dangerous individuals. I would rather have our men shoot them on sight as any hesitation can be detrimental.” Patricia explained. Behind her back the projector displayed a handful of photographs all taken straight from the Azkaban’s archive. Among those photographs was that of a raven-haired woman screaming at the person taking it. “As you may have noticed all of the targets bear characteristic marks on the left side of their necks. It shouldn’t be a problem to identify them, but if any uncertainties get in the way the commandos can always asked one of my accomplices to help them.”

The mention of her agents caused quite a stir among the men. The generals were already confused by why on earth would the British Prime Minister allow a stranger to take his place in military proceedings. The idea of some mysterious accomplices and informers being engaged in the operation as well was incomprehensible to them.

”As I’m sure you were already told, the attack will start here,” She pointed to an area on the map where a thick pine forest was depicted. Among the green a single red token marking their target. “It’s crucial that the pilots rely on the coordinates rather than anything else. The target won’t be visible from air, at least not until the defensive wards are still up. When it’s done notify the ground forces that will make sure that the target was destroyed.”

”What exactly are we bombing, Miss…” A stern looking man asked.

”Linton.” She offered. “In most cases: small residential compounds, in others - whole castles. The power those people amassed is terrifying, we can’t leave them a chance to counter.”

”Invisible castles?” Another man scoffed. “The Prime Minister has completely lost his mind.”

”I assure you, they are as real as you and I. You will see once the dust settles. Until then only my accomplices will be able to sense them.” She turned back to the war table. “It is of utmost importance that the pilots keep a high enough altitude, otherwise unwelcome thoughts may appear. Another defense mechanism put in place to deter strangers from the targets’ premises.”

”Will we have confirmation that the targets will be inside when the time to strike comes?”

”Unfortunately, we can’t be sure before the main defenses are destroyed. The prior reconnaissance will be based off of the heat readings and radar data. The only thing we will know then will be the amount of people in the building.” Patricia continued. “For those I want you to capture, the special forces will be led inside by two or three agents of mine. They’re wizards as well, but allied with us - the members of the former Order of the Phoenix. They’re highly skilled and will take care of dismantling the compound’s main defenses. Treat them with respect for they might just save your soldiers’ lives.”

The generals nodded thoughtfully, no doubt thinking about the right approach and the number of targets to bomb or to infiltrate. It was slowly shaping out to become a large, intricate operation stretching mostly through England and Scotland.

“We haven’t found our main target yet. We only know the general area in which it’s located, but soon we will know the precise coordinates.” Linton turned off the projector, searching through the generals’ faces in search of doubt. It was the first time she was coordinating such a complex operation. Usually SB would pull people into a car's trunk and ride away, on rare occasions they  would break into the target’s house and plant bugs and cameras, but never military action like this.

”Why is that? Your agents don’t know where that is?”

”A spell prevents them of sharing that knowledge. We will have to do with technology.”

”And how are you expecting to find something that’s invisible?” A man raised his brow questioningly.

”The same we find other things that we think are unseeable to us.” Patricia replied with a devilish smile. “I studied history and met enough archeologists to know that the only lens through which we can see the invisible is the eye of an eagle… or a hawk. In our case: a satellite.”

It felt glorious to finally yield that power again. Bellatrix could feel the steady hum of the magic flowing through her to her wand as she twirled it between her fingers. Breaking out of the Grimmauld Place proved no challenge for her. She only hoped that the morons wouldn’t doubt Mrs Granger’s sedated state. Having only a few minutes to come up with a plan to stage mind control, she did what little she could, but overall she thought it was good enough to fool at least the Weasley boy.

Not many people before had the opportunity to see Bella so vulnerable. Even fewer people were decent enough to help her without expecting anything in return. That circle consisting mostly of her sisters and now the Grangers as well.

And yet despite the charitable kindness of the other woman, Bellatrix couldn’t shake away the thought that Jean could have easily won them the war had she only been a little more selfish and asked for the horcruxes in return. She certainly wouldn’t refuse to comply. A travesty it was, leaving her with a burden she wasn’t sure she wanted to carry anymore.

But all her personal worries had to be pushed to the back of her mind the moment her feet touched the ground outside the Malfoy family residence. The first thing she noticed was the horrible state the main gate was in. Its bars molten at the top, hinges clearly abused as if someone was trying to brute-force them out of existence. Narcissa wasn’t kidding when she said that the crowd outside the manor started getting violent.

Fearing the worst, Bellatrix hastened her steps. Blood thumping in her veins as she strode to the mansion’s door, slipping on gravel as she ran. Finally, just as she was about to knock on the wood, the door swung open, showing a mortified Narcissa clutching her wand.

”Bella!” She yelled, drawing the older woman into a passionate embrace. “You weren’t replying to my letters, I thought you were dead!”

”Calm down, Cissy. As you can see I’m alive and kicking.” Bellatrix chuckled. “I bet Siri enjoyed your letters just as much as I would.”

An elegant brow arched questioningly.

”You were at the Grimmauld Place? How come? I thought you were with the girl.”

”Don’t worry, we’re tied at the hip. It’s only a matter of time until she makes an appearance. A tad more haste would be in order.”

The confused rictus on Mrs Malfoy face was enough to let her know how pointless the further discussion on the subject was. Trying to find something other to talk, blue eyes travel lower, finally taking in the Death Eater’s appearance.

”I would ask what the hell you are wearing, but something tells me that I wouldn't like to know.”

Bellatrix winced, realizing how ridiculous she must have looked wearing the muggle clothing Mrs Granger was kind enough to lend her. Still, it was wayyy better that showing up in her bathrobe and pyjama bottoms.

”My friend’s clothes. Long story. One I will tell you another time.” She replied, prompting the other woman to go inside.

”Right.” Narcissa closed the door behind her, latching it with her wand.

Momentarily a bunch of voices reached Bellatrix’s ears. It sounded as if the drawing room was occupied by the Death Eaters currently arguing with the master of the house. She knew their names before she even saw them.

Rookwood, Avery, Selwyn and  Macnair among the few.

”Has anyone checked the mansion? We need to make sure that we aren’t overlooking anything.” Rookwood emphasized. His appearance disheveled as if he escaped a hurricane of some kind.

”Severus did.” Lucius replied. “Nothing remained other than the ashes. The muggles must have torched it to the ground as soon as the job was done. We don’t even know if the beast survived.”

”Circe’s ass! What times have we lived up to see. One tragedy chasing another.” Macnair sighed in defeat. “What about Severus? Do you think they got to him too?”

”We don’t know. He went dark after the students rebelled. Nobody knows where he is. Not even Narcissa.” The sour frown distorting Lucius’s handsome face speaking of utter helplessness.

”The Dark Lord, Yaxley, Dolohov, Rowle, Greyback, Travers, Mulciber, the sodding snake and now Severus too. My friends, I’m afraid our time on this earth is coming to an end.” Avery chimed in. “Perhaps we should envy the Carrows for their cosy cells in Azkaban. We may not get the same amenities.”

”It’s better to rot in the ground than in Azkaban, I say!” Rookwood bellowed, banging his fist on the table as he sprang to his feet. “Karkaroff understood that all too well!”

”Are you out of your mind, Augustus?” Avery cut him off with a terrified gaze. “Karkaroff betrayed us! He sent you to that place. Surely you’re not suggesting we should act like traitors.”

”You do what you want.” Augustus replied, shrugging airily as if he had already made up his mind. “As for me - I’m not going back to that place and if the only way is to parley with the muggles - so be it.”

”You old goddamn fool.” Spat Avery. “Need I remind you you have nothing left? They leveled your home in a heartbeat and yet you still think that they’re gonna listen to you!” His voice cracking with resentment and contempt. “They killed my wife and children without giving them a chance to speak, and you think they’re gonna listen to a pathetic beggar like you? You’re nothing to them! I tremble in fear of what possibly you would try to offer them. Us? By the time you get the chance, they will already have all of us.”

”Avery is right. The only way we can survive this is together.” Selwyn said. “We need to bring back the Dark Lord and then we shall know what we should do next.”

The awe struck look that crossed Lucius Malfoy’s features spoke of internal panic.

”Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He told them hastily. “First and foremost we should find out more about our current situation, not waste time and resources on such… perilous initiatives.”

”Aha! I knew it!” Avery snorted. “So it’s true, dear Lucius is as much of a traitor as his wife and her whole family. No wonder our lord preferred a halfblood to your prestigious mumbo jumbo. If you weren’t the only one with a house and decent wards I would have put you back in your place, you disgusting excuse for a pureblood. You and that Black bitch of yours. All of you will pay for what you have done! You just wait until all this is over!”

”Why wait?” A voice interrupted them, and Avery momentarily withdrew the fist with which he was threatening the Malfoy patriarch just few seconds ago. Pale as a sheet he span around to face the doorway where Bellatrix Lestrange was casually swirling her crooked wand, apparently too bored to stand still like the rest of them.

Unbeknown to anyone else, she stood there watching the spectacle in silence, patiently waiting for a suitable opportunity to join the discussion. With all of them howling like a pack of rabid wolfs it was a miracle they even managed to hear her speak. Guess she had Avery to thank for that… assuming that he survives the encounter, which wasn’t much of certainty at that point.

”B-Bell… you’re alive?” The man in question stammered, looking around for anyone who could stand in his defense. If solidarity was what he expected, he must have felt very disappointed as the rest of the Death Eaters were too afraid to even look in his general direction, leaving him alone with the gnarled wand and its cruel mistress. “I thought…”

"Why wait?" Bellatrix repeated the question with a menacing glint in her eyes. Despite her casual, practically bored tone, she appeared extremely intimidating. "You can take care of the traitors right now. I'm right here and eager to see who’s the real pureblood, Tarquinius. All you need to do is ask."

If at that moment her wand made as much as the tiniest of swirls he would certainly shit his pants. With sweat soaking up his brow Avery struggled to come up with words good enough to pull him out of this mess. Finally, utterly dumbfounded, he lowered his head in defeat. Chin resting on his chest as he took a step back, away from Lucius’s equally as tense silhouette.

At first it was as if all of them were too shocked to say anything, if it wasn’t for Rookwood’s enthusiasm they would be stuck in this speechless catatonia like the victims of a basilisk.

"It's good to see you." Augustus strode to her side, pulling her into a grateful handshake. "A swift wand is what we need now more than ever."

"Look at him!" Macnair laughed. "Now that Lestrange's with us you suddenly want to fight? The muggles will have the laugh of their lives with all you morons allied."

"The muggles?" Bellatrix frowned. "You mentioned them attacking you before. What the hell happened while I was away?"

"The muggles killed the Dark Lord..." Selwyn provided, and Bellatrix was next to him before he could even blink.

"Impossible!" She growled directly in his face.

No muggle could possibly harm the Dark Lord, killing him was out of the question. Utterly unimaginable. Absurd!

Bella herself would have trouble holding up against him in a duel.

Although not really knowledgeable when it came to technique, Tom Riddle had unprecedented amounts of raw magic. It might have been not enough to defeat Albus Dumbledore, but for any lesser wizard, not to mention a muggle, it was more than enough. Whatever happened there must have been more elaborate than the others believed.

"They did! They killed him and then they razed my house to the ground. With me inside! We're all here because we were lucky enough to escape death as our houses toppled on our heads. All because of them!" Rookwood backed Selwyn up. "Why do we even bother? It's only a matter of time before they come to get us here and then you will see for yourself."

When in Merlin’s name did these pesky creatures become so proficient and organized? What brought their wrath upon them after so many years of abuse? What made them crawl out of their cradles of power and raise their hands against forces they couldn’t possibly comprehend?

The answers were all beyond her. Perhaps if she had been there to witness it, she might have changed anything, but it was the Dark Lord himself that robbed her of that opportunity. All she ever wanted to do was protect him and now everything became so jumbled up she couldn’t understand it all anymore.

But others did. The dust and ash on their clothes exalted them above those ignorant. Their squinting eyes watching her with a newfound curiosity and indignation. Freshly dried blood on their faces and the one buzzing in their veins ready to be spilled fueling their righteous rage for her unscathed physique. All they needed now was a bit of courage.

"She should know, she already looks like one of them." Avery perked up again, no doubt trying to erase the memories of his shameful defeat just few minutes ago. His words finally drawing everybody's attention to Bellatrix's peculiar robes. "Where have you been, Bella? Spilling all of our secrets to the enemy? Did you come to finish the job?"

Here it was, the biggest crack in Voldemort's armor through the years - the human factor. Without stern eye and iron fist keeping them in check, the Death Eaters couldn't agree on anything ever suspicious of everything and anything except those they should worry about.

Constant quarrels spoke volumes of the ages of distrust between the rivaling houses and varying goals. Thankfully, the last time it was this bad Bellatrix was locked in the Azkaban. The only mercy the Ministry has ever granted her.

"Enough!" Their self-proclaimed leader bellowed. "Until the Dark Lord is missing, we shall do everything we can to stop the situation from escalating further. Arguing and throwing accusations will lead us nowhere. Playing for time is the best thing we can do right now." Lucius Malfoy declared. "I suggest we start penning a letter to the muggle Prime Minister asking him what those barbaric attacks mean for us. If they want war, they'll have to formally declare it instead of hunting as like animals. We have hundreds of years of diplomacy between us. Let the filthy creatures know that wizards won't allow such transgressions."

"And who's going to give me my family back?" Avery argued, pacing manically as rage surged through him. "You want to pay me back for their death with truces? Only blood will pay for that! Write to the Merlin himself for all I care. The day our paths cross, I will not lower my wand."

And with that he stormed out of the room, slamming the door. Lucius and the others watched him go, before finally a piece of parchment landed on the table in front of them. The thin house elf bowing to his master before disappearing into thin air.

"Now gentlemen, Bella,” The master of the house said ceremonially. “let’s save this world from catastrophe. Shall we?"

They spent the next few hours discussing every single word of their letter. Reluctant to give the muggles any more ammunition than they already had, they ended up with a perfectly measured response to the blatant attack. It would have shocked anyone who knew them longer than these few past hours as it sounded nothing like what the Death Eaters would usually send. Bella herself even had a hand in that, noting that the authenticity of the letter might get put into doubt and suggesting that they should include a suitable paragraph and their seals as a corroborating evidence.

Not many people realized this, but the Blacks held so much power in the wizarding world mostly because of the ironclad documentation routine they cultivated ever since the middle ages. As a possible heir to her line, Bellatrix was since a very young age subjected to learn how a proper document should be formulated. Any lesser houses preferred to pay others for taking care of their chancellery and accounts which weakened the legislative capabilities of the Wizengamot as many seats were occupied by the pureblooded fools who didn't know how to write even the simplest of documents. It resulted in people like Yaxley rising to power as even a slight interest in the bureaucracy elevated him among his mediocre peers.

Nonetheless, it shocked even Lucius how involved Bellatrix became in the process. Before her fall from grace she was barely interested in anything other than carnage and destruction. Her sudden interest in muggles concerning both him and Narcissa. The clothes she wore were like a cherry on top, completing the highly suspicious image of blood traitor who lost her faith in the cause. Everyone could see it, not only him. If anything, Lucius was one of the few people in the manor who actually sympathized with the woman, most certainly the most influential one. Other than him, it was only Rookwood, Draco and Narcissa, everyone else was simply too afraid of her to express their dislike publicly.

Even with the muggle threat hanging over them, Lucius had to admit that he felt safer than when the Dark Lord was still alive. No longer people were challenging his leadership, easily falling back into the same scheme they knew for the last dozen of years before Voldemort's last return. Once again, it had fallen to him to organize everything and set their policies for the foreseeable future.

It was nothing he hasn’t experienced before. The quarrels and discussions raging over the most foolish little details. There was a time when he would wake up in the middle of night thinking about dozen different ways to bring the useless oafs together. Now however, he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. With the help of the new, less frantic Bellatrix he found himself strangely at ease. Especially when it came to exercising party discipline.

It was about time for the house of Black to reclaim its rightful position in the magical society, acting as a political whip that united the Sacred 28. Against their own will if the cause demanded it.

A strange thought it was. Only a few weeks prior he viewed Bellatrix as a deranged parasite who ought to be exterminated before it sucked his family dry. Now however, she was the only thing preventing him from his final collapse. The only person capable of preserving order. The only person capable of bringing back Voldemort and yet just as unwilling to do so as he was.

How low has he fallen to compare himself to Bellatrix Lestrange? To sympathize with her?

The longer he thought about it the more his head hurt.

"Bella’s been acting strangely, don't you think?"

They were sitting in the parlor, drowning their sorrows in the rich taste of whiskey when Narcissa decided to speak her mind.

"She's been uncharacteristically calm. Sad almost." Blue eyes shining with repressed worry.

"At last she grew up. It was doomed to happen one day. I don't think it should bother us. Not when the change is clearly for the better." He replied, rubbing his weary forehead as he spoke.

The following silence was brimming with uncertainty. It was obvious that Narcissa wasn’t ready to move on.

”Don’t you think that…” She hesitated for a moment, too afraid to let the words leave her mouth. “that it might have something to do with her?”

The glass in his hand made the slightest cracking sound as his fingers clenched around it, causing a small fracture to appear at its delicate rim.

”What exactly are you suggesting?” He asked in the calmest voice he could muster at the moment.

”Nothing you haven't signalized before." The woman hissed. "That it’s her influence. The Mudbl…”

”Obviously, and what does it change?” Lucius replied before she could even finish a sentence and left Narcissa completely stunned.

“Our lord is gone… for the time being at least.” He explained somberly, taking a swig from his glass. “We need Bellatrix sane and on our side to keep the cards stacked in our favor. Without her it will quickly become a free-for-all. That means chaos, trouble and uncertainty.” He winced wiping the beads of blood off his lips. “I think I can get over Bella acting reasonable for a change.”

”While I agree that she’s much more pleasant to talk to now, and a great asset in terms of political pragmatism…” Narcissa released a very distraught sigh. “I can’t forget that she’s also my sister. Not just another pawn on the checkerboard, Lucius. She is my sister and I demand to know what happened to her to merit that change! What has she done to her?”

”If you’re so concerned why don’t you ask her instead? She’s your sister for Salazar’s sake.” Lucius replied clearly fed up with the Black family antics. Rubbing his injured lip he almost bit his finger off when the door to the room swung open with a screech.

As if their chit chat could summon the devil : enter Bellatrix. Her back draped in a white, loose shirt that bunched up around a wide leather belt cinching her waist. A pair of tight ridding pants covering her shapely legs and disappearing inside brown knee-high boots. Physically she looked herself again, but little mannerisms betrayed the subtle change Narcissa as well as many others were quick to notice.

It manifested through the way she walked, the way she spoke during the discussion and even in the way she immediately went to pour herself alcohol. Even though she wasn’t saying much, everyone could sense her inner conflict that longed for a much needed release, frightening anyone who wandered into her vicinity unannounced.

For over an hour since the letter was sent she wandered through the marble halls stopping in front of ripped tapestries and neglected paintings that had long been abandoned by their magical inhabitants. Dusty frames showcasing the stagnant landscapes were only a small fraction of casualties resulting from the unusual menagerie of guests they obediently accommodated at the Dark Lord’s request.

Were previously used to be fauns, nymps and other magical creatures, now remained only empty forests and creeks. One could only frown upon the azure streaks spilling from the golden frame where Fenrir’s claws left an ugly mark on the canvas. The scorched spots on a medieval tapestry showing the Malfoys’ arrival to Britain reminding passersbys of the heated argument between Dolohov and the Carrows. It was a staggering display for anyone who had the opportunity to witness the manor in its days of glory.

Back in the time when the Malfoys would hold a winter ball. When war and Azkaban weren’t the only topics discussed over the heavy oak table Voldemort claimed as his own. Back when the ballroom served as something much more cheerful than a pitiful rally point for murderers and misfits hiding their depravities behind the pretense of blood purity.

Sometime it felt as if only she could remember those days… and yet here they were. For the first time in a lifetime she felt as if Bellatrix could actually relate to that. As if she too finally found it in herself to mourn the world they have lost in the pursuit of foolish values that soon will be easily forgotten just like the beauty of Malfoy Manor.

Completely unbeknownst to the sisterly scrutiny she became the subject of, the dark witch sauntered closer to the alcohol rack, pouring herself a glass of the first liquor her fingers touched.

”Funny how everyone suddenly stop talking when I enter the room.” Lestrange drawls sending only a momentary glance towards them and rousing Narcissa from her melancholic musings. “I was walking past Macnair and Avery no doubt gossiping about Lucius’s questionable tastes in allies. The moment they saw me they momentarily forgot how to speak.”

Silence.

”They think I’m a muggle spy, would you believe?” She chuckled with a dark glimmer in her eyes. “Honestly, I couldn’t even remember how many times they saw me flaying the measly creatures alive, and somehow they still believe that the muggles would let me live. More so, that they would let me work for them! Ridiculous!”

She let out a nervous laugh clearly expecting a response, but seeing the blankness in their eyes, she capitulated and very ungracefully threw herself at a nearby couch. How come she managed not to spill anything on the expensive fabric was a mystery Narcissa had yet to figure out.

“Between us traitors, I hoped that the two of you would show some compassion or at least understand the absurdity, but all I heard since I walked in here is the same silence they greeted me with.” Her words were just as bitter as the frown that marred her chiseled face.

”Maybe next time you should knock before you barge in here unannounced.” The Malfoy matriarch sneered, looking anywhere but in her direction. Her tone setting the onyx orbs on fire.

“Why would I?” Said Bellatrix. “It’s not like we have anything left to hide. At this point it’s all there for everyone to see. Hell, even the muggles have us figured out.”

”I would be surprised if there was a single person in the world capable of figuring you out.”

”By all means, Cissy, ask me whatever you want. Do so more often and maybe you wouldn’t have to sell me out the next time an opportunity arises.”

”Good.” Narcissa needed no further incentive. “Where is the girl?”

”At Siri’s.”

”Grimmauld Place?” The blonde head of hair rose from behind the cracked glass. “I thought it’s the Order’s now.”

”Why there?” Narcissa was relentless, completely ignoring her husband’s confused scowl. “Why not Black Manor?”

This actually earned her a chuckle.

”Let’s say I got evicted. Rather brutally might I add.”

”So you were brought there against your will.” Narcissa sent Lucius her sternest ‘I told you so’ look she could muster. “How come are you here with us? Are we to believe that the Order let you go as if you weren’t a dangerous Death Eater?”

”I escaped as soon as I got your message.” Bellatrix replied calmly. “Is the interrogation over yet? Or am I being under arrest, officer?”

”Come now, Bella, it’s only natural most of us find your story suspicious.” Lucius chimed in, at the last moment deciding to back his wife up in the argument. “We worry about you. That’s what family does.”

”By we you mean Cissy.” She pointed out without hesitation, throwing her head back and downing the liquor in one go. “Don’t pretend as if politics wasn’t the only thing uniting us right now.”

The blonde man’s eyebrow arched for a moment as if he was determining if he should protest, but then his face became impassive again and he gestured for an elf to refill his drink.

Having collected his glass, the creature wandered closer to the chaise longue the dark witch was occupying. Feeling extremely generous that day, Bellatrix momentarily complied and handed him her glass. Taking the opportunity to take the heat away from her for at least a second before the glass appeared back at her side.

”You shouldn’t drink so much.” Narcissa sighed. “Both of you. You know what I think about these reprehensible habits.”

”I haven’t had a drink in a few days now.” The older woman murmured. The glass leisurely hanging from her fingers inches above the ground. “And I still have an important meeting to attend today. Lots of things to straighten out and such.”

”A meeting? Isn’t it a bit unwise to go anywhere with half of England chasing after us?”  Narcissa’s worries multiplying with every second since they sent the bloody letter out.

”I’m not going anywhere. It’s more like a floo call. Too long to explain.” Came the reply.

”By all means, explain.” Narcissa Malfoy had no mercy.

Bellatrix looked miserable to put it mildly. With her eyes closed and an arm draped over her face, she looked strikingly similar to Druella Black suffering one of her legendary headaches. Her sister wasn’t the only one who noticed. Lucius Malfoy straightened his back, glancing at her uneasily, wordlessly pleading for Narcissa to let it go.

She wouldn’t.

”Is it Miss Granger that you are going to contact?”

”Maybe.” Bellatrix threw lazily. “I fail to notice how that matters.”

”And I’m trying to determine why exactly you haven’t been sent to Azkaban yet.” Blue eyes narrowing with every word.

“Neither me, nor her have any connections to the muggle shenanigans. I pledge my fucking word.” She was exhausted, and dealing with her sister’s questions was too much for her weary mind.

”You can’t actually know that.” Narcissa sneered, drawing dangerously close to the point of no return.

”Yes, I can.”

”How?”

”She was with me most of the time.”

”Are you fucking her?”

”Salazar’s balls, Narcissa!” Bellatrix’s eyes shot open abruptly. Her chest heaving fast as she propped herself higher, leaning on one elbow.  On the other side of the room, she saw Lucius almost choking on his whiskey with eyes as wide as the rim of the glass he was holding.

”So you’re not denying it.”

”I am!” The Death Eater hurried to snap back.

“She’s lying.” Narcissa said, turning to her husband.

”This is ridiculous.”

”No it’s not! Lucius was right all this time, and I was foolish enough to defend you.” Narcissa spat, her pale face now red with distress. “For fuck’s sake, Bella! She’s the same age as Draco. A child! A bloody schoolgirl! This isn’t another one of your bloody conquests! This is criminal!”

”Oh, not you too!” Bellatrix snapped. The memory of Sirius taunting her in Marseille still fresh in her mind. “She’s older than Draco AND of age already. Has been for years now. I wouldn’t touch her if she wasn’t.”

”Are you going to ask for her hand?” The timid voice of Lucius Malfoy interrupted their argument.

”WHAT?!?” Bellatrix blanked. The wires in her head frying and cracking as she tried to evaluate the thought process behind his question. “Have the two of you completely lost your minds?”

”No, no. He’s right.” Narcissa stepped in. “If you had as much as laid a finger on the girl you might as well go beg her for her hand, or you will ruin not only your own reputation, but also hers.”

”Oh! So now you care about her reputation, is that so?” The dark witch cried out, looking very much amused.

”Certainly not yours.” Her sister replied dryly. “That ship has sailed long before she was even born.”

”Mad! The two of you are mad!”

They might actually be. Asking her such stupid questions when the entirety of their world was hanging on a thread. There were millions of other things to worry about. Things that had nothing to do with her love life, allegiance or matrimonial plans for the future.

If she had to be honest, Bellatrix hadn’t paid the issue much mind up until now, but somehow the thought of marrying the muggleborn didn’t seem like an unpleasant one all of the sudden - quite the contrary actually.

The girl was a good match for her. A perfect balance between innocent and cocky to rival her own temperament. Even without the strings of magic tying them together Bellatrix was painfully aware of how beautiful the other woman was. But it simply wasn’t the time and place for such propositions. It all depended on what was going to happen next: who will emerge victorious and whatever Bella decides to do with the horcruxes.

With all the variables it was simply impossible to thing about such frivolous things. Not when those happy dreams could easily vanish in the blink of an eye. Not when so many people depended on her.

Narcissa and her husband had no right to interrogate her. And frankly, with their own marriage on the rocks, they had no right to critique any of her life choices. Having that in mind, she was just about to lash out at them, when a quiet crack announced the arrival of the family’s house elf.

With all eyes on him, the elf bowed courtly, handing Lucius a small, snow-white envelope- no doubt a product of muggle manufacturing. It was a fortunate distraction, but a frightful  one at the same time and so the mood in the room momentarily shifted.

”You may go.” His master said, taking the paper in his hands and tearing it open to get inside.

”Please tell me they’re going to leave us alone.” Narcissa strode closer to have a look.

But her husband’s face didn’t betray any happiness. In contrary, it was white as the page wiggling in his grasp.

”Lucius? What is it?” She cried, and Bellatrix finally sat up straight, watching the man with just as much concern as her younger sister.

”They’re unable to negotiate with us.” He said with a wavering voice. “They say they already cut a deal with a legitimate wizarding government and consider us a terrorists organization. If we don’t capitulate… they… they won’t hesitate to execute us.”

”Bloody hell.” Bellatrix exhaled.

“Master, Kirby…” The quiet sob next to her made Bella flinch.

”What the fuck is he still doing here?” The dark witch sneered. Startling the crying elf in the process.

Lucius tore his eyes away from the letter to see what was going on.

”I don’t know. I dismissed him.”

”Kirby knows! But Kirby is unable to disapparate, Master.” The creature prostrated himself below his feet.

The empty glass shattered on the floor, Lestrange’s fingers hanging limply above it. Before Lucius or Narcissa could even question her about it, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, brandishing her wand menacingly. The elf noticed it, momentarily curling up on the ground sure that he will soon be punished for being unable to follow his master’s instructions. But not a single curse was thrown his way. Instead a cloud of sparks appeared as the dark witch’s hand swirled in the air.

”The anti-disapparition jinx. They’re here.” Her explanation wiped the last amounts of hope they still possessed.

It wasn’t long before panic began. It started with an explosion somewhere in the gardens. Shortly after they heard a frantic scream of Augustus Rookwood trampling the peacocks as he ran towards the house.

”The wards! The wards have been breached! Treachery! The Order is with them!”

He didn’t manage to get too far as an errant bullet shot through his back, toppling him to the ground.

”Draco was with him!” Narcissa paled. Her shaking hands entangling themselves in Bella’s shirt. “We have to find him before…”

Another explosion sounded from the other side of the mansion. The damaged hinges of the main gate torn straight off alongside the iron bars. Enemies closing the ring around the mansion, surrounding them from all sides.

”No.” Bellatrix spat. “You’ll do no such thing. Get everyone to the cellar and disillusion the entrance. The muggles are no match for us, but we don’t know how many wizards they have on their side. We need to act rationally.”

”I don’t care what happens to anyone in this house! If they kill my son, they might as well kill me.”

”I know.” Said Bellatrix. “That’s why I will go look for him. He knows the grounds better than anyone. If he’s still alive I will find him and get him to safety, but I can’t do it worrying about the rest of you for Salazar’s sake!”

”Fat chance of that happening.” A male voice rang from across the hall. It was Avery, running to them with a couple of other Death Eaters trailing after him. Lucius stepped in his way and was brutally pushed aside as Avery stopped only when he was face to face with the dark-haired woman. “They killed my family. I didn’t come here to cower waiting for death. I’m going with you!”

“Out of the question!” Lestrange protested. “I don’t need you making ruckus where carefulness and discretion are required.”

”I can serve as a distraction then.” Avery offered. His palm resting anxiously on his wand. “Bella, I beg you, allow me to go. Do it for the good old times. I can’t die in a bloody wine cellar.”

From where she was standing Narcissa could swear that she was able to hear Bellatrix’s teeth grounding on each other as her sister seemed to ponder his request. Back in the day when they were still Hogwarts students Avery was one of her sister’s closest friends. Since then much has changed. After her wedding the boy sided more and more with Rodolphus. Until Bellatrix stopped hanging out with him, limiting their interactions to what the Dark Lord required of them.

”Fine.” She spat, already turning to the garden entrance. “But do as I say, or else you will have me to worry about and not muggles.”

Soon Bellatrix and Avery crouched down behind the hedges surrounding the gardens. A dozen of meters farther a special forces platoon glided towards them in a neat spear formation. Shaking her head forbiddingly Bellatrix took Avery’s hand in hers and wordlessly cast the disillusionment charm on them, making them invisible to the naked eye.

Reluctantly her companion followed her along the line of the hedge, the whole time carefully observing the approaching team as if expecting them to discover them at any moment. Suddenly Bellatrix stopped. It was so unexpected that Avery had almost crashed into her, barely regaining his balance as he looked around the witch.

”Who’s there?” The body in front of them croaked.

The spell they used wasn’t fool proof and so sometimes when moving too fast it tended to glitch out. It wasn’t clear whether he saw them or heard them first, but either way, Rookwood knew that someone was coming towards him.

”Bellatrix, is that you?”

Avery took in his appearance unsure what else he was allowed to do. The lavish robe Augustus wore was now completely covered in blood, sticking to his wet back so closely that they could practically see the outline of his shoulder blades. He was laying on his stomach, dragging on it actually. The red smear marks stretching behind him suggesting that he has crawled all the way from a tree next to which he was initially shot.

”I know it’s you. I can smell your perfume.” Rookwood hissed. “Help me dammit. Help me before I bleed out to death.”

Bellatrix remained silent. Avery haven’t known why at first, but then he saw them. Walking right at them were two muggle soldiers with their rifles drawn and ready. Rookwood must have heard them for he had rolled onto his back wincing loudly as the dirt and grass got into his wounded back.

”Here he is!” One of the soldiers yelled, striding to the dark wizard’s side with machine gun aimed at his head.

”I’m Augustus Rookwood, head of the Department of Mysteries. Spare me and I will tell you the whereabouts of…” He started saying, glancing at the space where Bellatrix and Avery were when the sound of a radio interrupted his speech.

”Augustus Rookwood, yes.” The other soldier said. “Do we have a confirmation? Understood. Identity confirmed, execute.”

The gesture of his hand was the last thing Rookwood saw before a series of bullets tore through his brain. The noise was so loud that Avery standing just a meter or two from his corpse could hear only a painful whizz as his eardrums raptured. They waited there unmoving, observing as the muggles searched Augustus’ body. Suddenly one of them looked in their direction and if Avery could see her, he would have known Bellatrix was already preparing to counter his strike.

The buzz of a radio interrupted the silence yet again.

”A cellar?” The soldier asked, looking around as if he was lost. “I don’t see an entrance anywhere here. Maybe they walled it up. Ok. We will keep looking.”

He turned around seconds away from noticing the slicing spell shooting his way. It took his head off his shoulders and cut the other soldier in half before he could as much as yelp. Lestrange lowered her wand, pulling Avery farther into the maze of green.

His heart was hammering in his chest faster than they were moving forward, but after their run in with the executioners they simply couldn’t risk the spell glitching on them again.

Finally, they arrived at another blockade. They’ve reached the end of the hedges shielding them up to this point. Before them, among the tightly planted bushes, a group of soldiers was clearly looking for something… or someONE.

”This will take forever.” Kingsley Shacklebolt drawled, taking the wand off its holster. “Allow me to cast the spell, and I’ll find him in a blink of an eye.”

It was a subtle shimmer, but Avery spotted it just like Bellatrix did. Someone was hiding behind a tree not far from where the auror was standing. His disillusionment charm much weaker than theirs and yet it proved enough to fool the muggle soldiers surrounding him.

It was Draco. Bellatrix shifted anxiously. If Shaklebolt casts the spell, he will have to fight all of them including the best dueler the Order of the Phoenix still had in store.

”Bloody hell.” Avery’s hand slipped from her grasp. If she wanted to reach Draco in time, she needed to act fast.

Avoiding the muggles in her way, she snuck from tree to tree, from bush to bush. Her delicate shirt torn in places the little branches got caught on it. She was only a few meters away when from the corner of her eye she spotted Kingsley waving his wand in the air in the way that only could mean the beginning of a human detection spell.

Without thinking she threw herself in Draco’s direction, barely maintaining her own disguise when everything around them lit up with flames. Shacklebolt stopped the incantation mid spell, turning away from them.

”Avery? I almost couldn’t recognize you without that conical hat and a mask.” The auror laughed standing between them and the dark wizard, obscuring their view. “Doesn’t matter now, you will be way more recognizable in the Azkaban garb once we’re done here.”

If Avery was scared after that taunt, he did a good job hiding it. Which wasn’t easy with the fiendfyre still roaring from his wand.

”Identity confirmed. The target is to be executed.” A muggle next to Kingsley chimed in.

”Hmmmm. My bad. You won’t have the opportunity to wear anything else after we’re done here.” Shacklebolt corrected, and the only thing that saved him from death were his quick reflexes as the fiery torrent rushed into his shield. Avery sure wasn’t playing around.

”Stop squirming, it’s me.” Bellatrix whispered, taking her palm off Draco’s mouth.

”Auntie? I thought you were with mom.”

”And I thought you were with Rookwood.”

”I told him not to run.”

”He’s dead. You’re not. We have to go.”

The boy hesitated. His gaze drifting in the direction of the duel where Avery was meandering between the bushes, leading the assault party away from them. Bellatrix knew what he was thinking about. If it was any other situation she would have thrown herself into battle and died with honor alongside her friend. But not today.

”I came here to save my family, he came to avenge his. Let’s not waste the time he so generously bought us.”

Jumping through the flames they soon found themselves away from the battle. The edge of the anti-disapparition area within a dozen meters ahead of them. Just few more seconds and she could send Draco on his merry way and go back to the manor to aid the rest. All she had to do was let him disapparate.

It was strange that the muggles were stupid enough to left the edges of the area unprotected - Bellatrix thought, dragging the boy behind herself.

They weren’t.

A curse powerful enough to throw her against the trees tore Draco away from the older woman.

Feeling every bone in her back pop, Bellatrix stumbled to her feet, facing the attacker with wand ready at her side. She shouldn’t be surprised really when she spotted the hint of purple hair sticking out from all the green surrounding them as far as the eye could see.

Nymphadora. Bellatrix smiled triumphantly as the name of her cur loving niece came to her from the depths of her memory. The bitch had nerve to attack Lestrange with no one to help her in sight.

”Drop your wands and we will resolve all this peacefully.” The fool said, taunting Bellatrix with her lack of fear. One against two and yet she was stupid enough to threaten her.

Tell me you’re Andromeda’s child without actually telling me you’re Andromeda’s child.

”We’ve seen what you did to the rest of us. Rookwood tried to parley with your muggle masters and they didn’t even let him speak.” The dark witch replied, slowly shifting closer to the stunned blonde boy.

”You’re not surrendering to them, but to me.” Nymphadora corrected her, slowly moving closer.

”There’s hardly any difference.” Bellatrix drawled. “Scratch that. There is a difference: a truce with them would matter at least, you on the other hand can promise me anything and it would be as good as nothing.”

”And yet it’s me whose wand is aimed at you.” Nymphadora didn’t let her taunts get to her head, moving accordingly with the other woman’s actions.

Draco’s stunned body marked the center of a circle stretching between them as they started their dance.

”I suppose it’s a waste of time to ask Andromeda’s halfblooded brat to honor the family and let us go.” Lestrange tried a different approach.

”Give me a good enough reason, and you just might be pleasantly surprised.”

With a suspicious glint in her eyes Bellatrix slowly lowered the crooked wand. Tonks following her example.

”My nephew hasn’t done anything.” The older woman started. “He doesn’t deserve any of this. He’s innocent. Let him go and then we will solve it among ourselves.”

”Will you surrender without a fight?”

”No.”

”Why?”

Bellatrix shrugged. “See for yourself. Contact your muggle overlords and confirm my identity. They’ll tell you to execute me.”

She took a step closer, watching the look of consternation develop on Dora’s features. The auror took out a shortwave transmitter, but hesitated as her fingers touched the button. She must have seen a similar scene already. Or perhaps she heard the numerous orders coming through the radio. Whichever it was, Nymphadora’s finger slipped off the button without her saying anything.

”Auror Tonks? Are you there?” The voice on the other side blared. “We’re picking up your signal albeit very poorly. You’re too far from the main target, turn around and go inside the mansion. Over.”

”Got it. How are we doing? Over.” The metamorphagus brought the radio closer to her face, side eying Bellatrix warily.

”We pumped a sleeping gas into the cellar. Now we need someone to identify them before they wake up. Over.”

The gasp that escaped the older woman’s throat was loud enough to be heard from the manor. With eyes as wide as saucers Bellatrix started nervously rubbing her forehead and pacing around the clearing. Long forgotten was their would-be battle, crooked wand finding its purchase in the leather holster hanging off her belt. Nymphadora watched the whole display with trepidation, unable to predict what the Death Eater was going to do next.

”You’ve got to arrest me at once.” Bellatrix declared when she finally gathered her wits. “We will send Draco away and then you’re going to arrest me.”

”What? Mere seconds ago you…”

”I know what I said, but the situation has changed drastically.”

”Aren’t you afraid that they’re going to kill you?”

”Clearly, you don’t understand! They have my sister. I can’t leave her alone, you have to arrest me too.”

”No!” Tonks frowned, pocketing her own wand indignantly.

”What do you mean bloody no?” Bellatrix snapped back at her.

”It’s not my fault you were so bloody convincing earlier! I’m not going to send you to a certain death. Not even you.”

Nymphadora cursed looking at her watch. She had no more time left to argue. If she doesn’t show up soon the muggles are going to suspect something.

“Listen, Lestrange… Bellatrix… whatever, don’t worry about Mrs Malfoy. She’s not on THAT list. Take Draco and go. I’ll send you a patronus when I know anything more.”

The older woman’s face softened. She wasn’t expecting this half-blood to offer her help like that. It appeared that not all members of Dumbledore’s pathetic fun club were perfectly fine with what the muggles were doing. Unwilling to let Andromeda’s daughter change her mind Bella nodded in agreement and soon she was left alone with only stupified Draco to tend to.

She squatted next to him, casting the counter spell to allow him to move. Immediately he tried to sat up, but the abrupt wave of pain caused him to fall back down with his face all scrunched up. It was the first time since the attack that Bellatrix had the opportunity to see him with the disillusionment charm off.

Her eyes widened as she took in the sticky red stain covering half of his abdomen and blending in with the black turtleneck he wore. The blood was slowly oozing out of the two bullet holes above his waist. Bellatrix flipped him over to see if there were any exit holes and momentarily felt all of her own blood freeze in her veins.

There were none.

”What are we going to do, Auntie Bella?” Draco asked and Bellatrix knew that there was only one way to help him. Without thinking much she hugged his shaking body closer to herself and disappeared.

The sight that greeted Nymphadora Tonks as soon as she entered the manor’s cellar was outlandish. Side by side bodies of the Death Eaters were laid out in neat rows. Between them walked soldiers with printed catalogues showing pictures and names of those who mattered. A tall blonde man with a German accent was leading the round, announcing then and again who the people were and what were they to do with them.

”Macnair - Luton. Selwyn - execute.” His voice rang imperiously. The soldiers promptly dragged both bodies outside and soon a single shot could be heard. “Now… Lucius Malfoy.” The man intoned, and Nymphadora inched closer to hear him better. “Luton. Same as his wife. They’re more willing to cooperate when they have something to lose.”

The soldiers gripped unconscious Narcissa by the silk of her delicate gown almost tearing it like brutes. Tonks could no longer watch the scene silently, she took out her wand and cast the levitation spell on the woman and her husband. It earned her a couple of terrified looks from the muggles, but nobody was brave enough to stop her.

”Where do you want me to put them?” She asked, trying to sound as eager to help as possible.

”In the truck outside. It’s just behind the main gate. Hard to miss.” The German lad replied.

Tonks followed his instructions, soon arriving in front of the said car. Not many people were kept inside. Apart from Macnair she managed to spot a few other influential purebloods. They were definitely people politically close to Voldemort’s cause, but a bit more pliable than the rest. Avery was not one of them. She found him on a heap nearby sprawled among the bodies that will soon end up in the ground or crematory.

Horrific.

Dora shuddered at the mere thought of the lives lost that day. Horrible as they were, these people still had their rights and deserved to be at least trialed before their death.

”It is a necessary evil.” A woman next to her drawled. Her voice was low and calm. Eyes fixed on the pile of flesh. “We had to take care of the most dangerous ones or they would have taken care of us.”

Tonks sized her up warily. She looked like a muggle, but there was an ominous feeling around her. It seemed somewhat unnatural, and Nymphadora had to made an effort not to flinch when the woman’s hand settled on her shoulder.

”I saw you handling the Malfoy lady.” She told her. “She’s your aunt, isn’t that right? I realize how hard it must be for you to have to fight against her, but I believe it will soon end. You’ll have to endure it for a couple of weeks only.”

”I don’t care.” Tonks replied with only a partial truth. “We were never close. Long before the war. I’m afraid no force could make her like me.”

”You’d be surprised.” The woman smiled sympathetically. “While we’re at it, haven’t you by any chance seen your other aunt. I have reasons to believe that she was here when the battle commenced.”

”Be- Bellatrix?” Tonks stammered.

”The same.” Her interlocutor replied. “The next time you see her make sure to mention that Patricia Linton has an eye on her. I do love it when they run.”

Chapter Text

Darkness as thick as death itself has engulfed Hermione’s body and mind.

Pointless.

It was all pointless.

Everything they’ve done. Every world they’ve mended and destroyed… all for nothing. For Bellatrix to abandon her as soon as she got the chance.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt half as much if they had at least found the horcruxes, least that’s what Hermione’s chosen to believe, masking her inner turmoil beneath the ever present feeling of incompetence gnawing at her from within.

Yes! Incompetence! What else could it be? She scoffed, cursing herself for being so foolish and irresponsible as to put her trust in someone as impulsive and selfish as Bellatrix Lestrange.

But the damage was already done and she couldn’t do anything to undo it. Even if she wanted to, Hermione had no way of tracking down the raven-haired sorceress as for once in her life, Bellatrix’s presence was absent from any realm within her reach.

Nothing. Null. As if her very existence was wiped from the face of the earth, leaving only a loose string that used to bind the two women together. And no matter how hard Hermione would tug on it, Bellatrix simply wouldn’t respond.

It was infuriating.

Maddening even. To think that, ever the jokester, fate, has left her there - in the claustrophobic halls of Grimmauld Place - with countless iterations of the woman she so craved and yet not a single one she actually wanted to see. Not the one she wanted to talk to. The very presence she had grown accustomed to. Who haunted her through the worlds and clung to her mind like a catchy tune that keeps coming back no matter how much you despise it… or love it.

At last her mind was as silent as it was before all the nonsense happened. Months… no… weeks ago she would have jumped at the opportunity to raze it from her brain and be free again. Only somehow that ”freedom” wasn’t exactly what she wanted right now.

Brushing the thought aside, she felt exhaustion she cultivated for so long overcoming her until all she could do was close her eyes and… fall.

„Girl. To. Girl.”

What was that?

The darkness shifted, booming with the screech Hermione knew all too well. Naturally, it wouldn’t be a proper trip down memory lane if the darkness didn’t shift into a sharp-clawed hand dragging her by the arm and a hardwood floor to match the aesthetic.

”The sword! It’s meant to be at my Gringotts vault! How did you get it?!?” Lestrange’s howl brought an involuntary smile to her face. A mistake she paid for dearly when the leather clad foot launched her insides into each other, rolling her onto her back.

”What’s so funny now, Mudblood?”

If only Hermione had known the answer to that, perhaps she could’ve spared  Bellatrix a bit of trouble, but for the love of God, the Gryffindor herself couldn’t tell why her current predicament seemed as amusing as it did.

Was it the fact that she’s been through this exact conversation more times than she could remember? Or maybe the fact that even after all she’s been through her twisted brain considered this farce a nightmare worthy material? Naaah, it got to be Bellatrix’s panicked expression - so serious and stern- no doubt realizing that she had just been outsmarted by a bunch of schoolchildren.

”I asked you a question, vermin! How did you get it?!?” A sudden burst of madness broke the Gryffindor’s happy moment as the skeletal form of Bellatrix Lestrange descended upon her with a murderous intent. “Stop laughing right now!”

It actually worked. Hermione’s smile disappeared. Although the abrupt closeness to the other woman’s too-soft-to-ignore, parted lips only made her want to laugh more.

When has she become so desensitized to Bellatrix’s mad antics that right now all she could think off was how hot she looked, straddling Hermione's hips in a way that tortured her way more than any curse she could throw? When has that happened?

”Pathetic little chump.” Hermione chuckled to herself as if Lestrange’s face wasn’t only inches apart from hers. “I’ve become so desperate I turned a bloody nightmare into a fantasy.”

”Unless your silly fantasy consists of me cutting you to itty bitty pieces, you should stop fooling around and answer my questions this instant!” Finally, the iconic cursed dagger has made an appearance. Hermione was baffled that the dark witch managed to refrain from using it for so long. “Again, what was it that you stole from me, youfilthymudblood?”

The air whistled, emphasing every slanderous word with a swish of the cursed steel, drawing nearer and nearer to Hermione's fragile skin.

And then it stopped.

A delicate hand has silenced it's song, knocking the dagger away from the deranged woman's grasp and far beyond her reach.

Clearly, Bellatrix wasn't prepared to have her food revolting against its fate. D ark eyes widening in disbelief as she tried comprehending what was happening. The silence, the blade lying somewhere in the corner of a gloomy drawing room, the sharp claws biting into Hermione’s skin as she held her in place. Finally, the insolent hand locked in the air next to hers - the last proof that she wasn’t hallucinating.

Before they knew it, the gnarled wand was right in the younger woman’s face. Determination in Bella's frantic grasp, etched in her sallow features, banishing any thought of good intentions.

”How dare you?!?” Bellatrix spat just inches away from her face. „I’ll teach you manners… Cru…”

What happened next may have been rash and uncalled for, but it worked either way. And so what should have been a devastating curse quickly turned into a mere whimper as Hermione’s lips captured the crimson ones right in the middle of the incantation.

Despite everything, the two women melted together, which only reinforced Hermione’s belief that it was nothing more than a figment of her twisted imagination. Projection of a lonely mind trying to mend itself. And the kiss did just that.

There was this delicious roughness to it that she had always associated with Lestrange’s dark side. That trademark desperation and wildness that lately became synonymous with the older woman’s lethal charm that decimated the Order’s ranks at every possible opportunity. It melted away Hermione’s worries and fears with each stroke and each little sound they made.

But the kiss has soon come to pass and the same frustration that festered in her for the last week or so has returned with twice the intensity. It filled her with so much grief and resentment that Hermione couldn’t possibly allow the other woman to get away from her again.

Pulling the witch closer to herself, the young Gryffindor angled her mouth towards the long column of Bellatrix’s throat, leaving scorching kisses wherever the awkward angle allowed.

The gnarled wand cluttered on the floor. Hermione hasn’t even realized it was aimed at her all this time.

It didn’t matter anymore as grief and astonishment transformed into the purest iteration of rage. Yes! Rage! Hermione hated Lestrange for everything she put her through in the past. She hated her for tearing apart her Ministry dream. For taking away her blissful vegetation in the other world. Finally, she hated her for stopping when the boys came to rescue her. She hated her for deceiving and leaving her just as she was starting to feel something!

The emotions emanated from within permeating her every move, making them desperate and frantic as the woman she lusted for.

One of her hands tangled itself in the raven curls, pulling on the unruly strands as if to make sure that Lestrange stays in place for Hermione to do as she pleases.

The oneiric projection clad in Bellatrix’s crazy good looks seemed to have enjoyed her ministrations, purring and moaning every time Hermione’s fingers gave her hair a tug or miraculously encountered skin on their way down the voluptuous waist. It was hard trying to reach her with all the fabric standing in the way.

Still, Hermione’s hands moved with unprecedented deftness, swiftly locating the clasps of the quilted vest and freeing the body inside. Before Lestrange could as much as gasp at the sudden boldness, Hermione had yet again latched to her pale neck, traveling downwards at a languid pace.

It was somewhere near the older woman’s sharp clavicle that an overwhelming urge to bite down paralyzed Hermione’s jaw, leaving her heaving into Bellatrix’s chest.

The perverse thought was enough to make her shiver. There was something possessive about marking another witch, branding her as Hermione’s, that made her heart skip a beat. A retribution of sorts for all the belittling and scheming on the Death Eater’s part. She wanted Bellatrix to feel the pain she felt when the other witch abandoned her. Wanted to make sure that wherever she goes and whoever she meets, she will always have a memento reminding her of Hermione’s existence and of the simple fact that they’re forever bound together by fate.

But it was futile.

None of it was ever real.

What good could a bite mark do to a dream projection? There wasn’t a world in which it could ever leave her mind and magically appear on the Death Eater’s skin.

And so Hermione was soon to discover that as all good things in life, this fantasy too was doomed to end immaturely as the pale limbs withdrew leaving her cold and needy again.

But the lustful haziness still hasn’t left her mind, making her so distracted that at one point she failed to realize the cursed dagger was back and has already began its ominous dance in the older witch’s grasp. Only when it’s tip bit into her skin did she realize how vulnerable she made herself.

Hermione’s eyes shot open. Panic rising in her chest as both of her arms were forcefully yanked upwards by the wrists where a thin rope of pure magic bound them together in a secure knot.

”Stupid bloody mudblood!” The apparition screeched, spitting on Narcissa’s impeccable parquet. Her shrill voice slightly disturbed by the greedy breaths she took to put herself together.

From where Hermione was hanging it looked like she was beyond furious, gripping the knife’s hilt with enough force to make her knuckles white as snow.

Knowing very well it wasn’t real she couldn’t possibly expect the fantasy to last forever and yet still her heart remained disappointed the moment the older woman started to get up.

”You’ll pay me for this, you damn whore!” The cursed blade cut through the air below Hermione’s feet with a terrifying speed. “I’m gonna gut your muddy ass for what you’ve done!”

”I beg you pardon?” Hazel eyes widened, her sluggish brain finally getting up to speed, piercing through all the lustfueled haziness.

Perhaps she should have bitten her just for good measure. Apparition or not, the bitch definitely deserved it.

“How dare you touch your betters?!? How dare you steal my belongings?!?” Lestrange kept yelling, but Hermione couldn’t pay her any mind as the magic binding her to the ceiling has suddenly became terribly cold.

It bit into her wrists just like the manacles that used to keep her tied up in Narcissa’s attic. Feeling every ounce like the heavy metal she knew so well.

Where did these rusty chains come from?

The veil of pleasure dispersed in a matter of seconds.

Gone .

Said the voice in her head.

Lestrange’s screams acting as no more than a static now.

The real, actual Bellatrix was gone. Even the chain couldn’t keep her near Hermione.

She’s gone.

Emptiness gnawing at her from inside.

It felt surreal to the point that even the nightmarish projection her brain tried to numb her with wasn’t enough to distract her from the gaping void that threatened to swallow her whole.

It was as if she was watching a slide show in which somebody swapped out half of the images as a prank of some sorts. With one eye she could see Lestrange brandishing a knife at her, with the other - the empty room at Grimmauld’s Place.

Bellatrix was gone, perhaps even for good and there wasn’t a bite deep enough to change it.

The realization piercing her like a knife. She could feel it in her chest. Sticking out from between her muscles and ribs. She knew the blade instantly- sharp and covered with swirls as enigmatic as the curse they held.

The apparition had followed on its promise and put that thing right between her bones.

Before she could do anything, the blade was yanked from her flesh. Its passing glint being the last thing she saw before it lodged itself back in her chest and everything went dark all of a sudden.

She woke up with a start, panting like a fish pulled out of water. A thin sheen of sweat covering her burning temple. Hermione pushed herself higher up the bed, squinting painfully as her eyes adjusted to the morning sun peaking from behind the heavy curtains. Her sudden movements causing the iron chain to rattle.

She fell asleep in Bellatrix’s bed, foolishly hoping that the scenery would help her concentrate. Closing her eyes that night after hours and hours of crying, she was near certain that she will open them in one of their otherworldly meeting points. Instead, she was greeted by this disaster of a nightmare - a cruel hybrid consisting of the foreign visions and her own fears brought to the surface.

Really, the proximity of Bellatrix’s belongings only making everything worse. She looked around taking in her surroundings, unable to stop her thoughts from wandering into the unwelcome territory. Everything seemed to be the same way as the morning when she woke up nestled into Bellatrix’s side.

The curtains, the bed, the hairbrush laying on the nearby night stand. Everything there looked the same. Everything except the obvious.

SHE was missing, and her absence was enough to make Hermione feel miserable somehow.

Pathetic. Useless. This is what she has become. Mopping around never solved anything. After almost a week of wasting time it was about time to get her shit together and find the witch.

Well, if only it was that easy.

Forcing her body to sit up, she slid her legs onto the ground and stretched her sore arms above her head.

Below her feet laid a dozen of different notes and books scattered all over the old parquet. The only proof of all of her hard work the day before.

Perhaps waisting time wasn’t a correct way of describing it then. But what anyone else would have considered a colossal effort to Hermione was nothing more than a colossal failure. A defeat she wasn’t ready to concede to just yet.

And to think that it all began with the stupid talk they had. Unfortunately for her, the dementor discovery they made in the marble palace had accidentally touched on Hermione’s Achilles’ heel - the soul crushing tendency to over analyze.

For example: if one of them could potentially summon at least a fraction of another being’s essence, then could it potentially be possible to actually transport something through different dimensions? Something or SOMEONE…

Ridiculous. It was all utterly ridiculous.

How the hell was she supposed to figure anything out without Bellatrix? It wasn’t as if there were numerous tomes on the subject just waiting to be picked up from the library! They had to figure it all on their own since day one. If anyone’s gonna write about it - it’s going to be them.

For all she knew no one before Bellatrix and her was able to travel to another dimension and then casually come back. Historical accounts mention a handful of wizards who tried and failed miserably, disappearing god only knows where with no hope of finding their way home.

The fact that the Ministry of Magic had a full department crammed with magic artifacts of unknown use and origin that upon destruction could potentially annihilated all life on earth was just as ridiculous as the blatant disregard these artifacts were being handled with.

Then again, pondering the idiocy of the Ministry of Magic couldn’t possibly bring her any closer to find the answers she was looking for. Neither could it bring Bellatrix back to her. Still it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try.

“The dinner is ready.” A voice from the other side of the room brought her back to reality. Her father stood among the scattered books looking at the mess with visible discontent.

”I’m not hungry.” She replied aware of the weariness that came with the hours of research. If she had to take a break she would rather spend it taking another nap. Even though the last one hasn’t ended pleasantly, it at least managed to replenish her energy reserves although only a little bit.

”You can’t starve yourself to death, darling. It’s not going to change anything.” The stern glare shifted into a pitiful stare. “Sometimes the most foolish thing to do is to lock yourself up and wallow in solitude. There are other people in this house who want to find her just as much as you do. Perhaps you should give them a chance.”

He was only partially right - Hermione noted with sadness. To Sirius and the boys finding Bellatrix was only a necessity. They couldn’t care less about her dealings with the Golden Girl or even the ancient thread that tied them through the universe constantly threatening to swallow the world. The only thing they ever cared about were the horcruxes - a mystery perhaps far greater than the cryptic message left for her by a Death Eater. Something they haven’t even known about.

As sure as she was that they couldn’t help her in any way, Hermione had to admit that the prospect of a warm meal wasn’t really as off-putting as she wanted to convince herself. What bad could it do?

„But we’ve already been there!” The sound of yet another argument swiftly disillusioned her and stripped of the foolish hopes of peace and quiet.

”That’s enough, Harry. You don’t know half the dangers lurking around that cursed house. Let the Order deal with it.” The dark circles under Sirius’s eyes spoke of exhaustion comparable to that of her own. His words seemed final with no room for discussion and yet Hermione knew Harry long enough to know that it wouldn’t stop him. Not even Dumbledore had that power over her friend. “Besides, you wouldn’t even know where to look.”

”Hermione would know. She knows Lestrange better than anyone else.” The dark-haired boy kept pestering.

They were talking about the horcruxes again. With Bellatrix out of the house and the entire Death Eater structure crumbling down, Ron and Harry had grown restless and eager for action. Even though there was no evidence that the horcruxes were in fact hidden somewhere among the ominous halls of Black Manor, they’ve got it into their heads that going back there was their best remaining lead. All based on presumptions and Harry’s conviction that he felt the closeness of one of the artifacts during the raid.

A cold tremor ran through her body at the thought of going back to the gilded prison she’d just escaped. Thankfully, Sirius wasn’t a fan of the idea either.

”Have you completely lost your mind now? After weeks of trying to break her out you would still send her back into that hell?” Momentarily Harry’s face lost all its colors. The adrenaline rush fading into oblivion as he realized what exactly he had suggested.

”Let the Order deal with it.” Sirius commanded, setting down his newspaper.

”But…”

”Enough.”

Harry hung his head in defeat. It wasn’t him who spotted her first, but rather the freckled boy next to him. It seemed like he too hadn’t yet fully recovered from Bellatrix’s escape. Lazily bracing his face on his palm, Ron appeared almost too ashamed to join the argument. When their eyes met Hermione saw in him the same insecurity and concern she herself was experiencing.

Both of them have failed. Although one more than the other.

”Look who’s finally decided to show her face. Luckily we saved you a seat, princess.” Sirius chirped, brushing aside the topic of horcruxes. “Ron, be a dear and fetch Miss Granger a plate. I would ask Kreacher, but the conniving bastard is hiding somewhere. Not that we miss him in any way.”

“That’s alright, Ron. I’ll get it myself.”

She could tell the boy was seconds away from jumping to her side. There was no need to trouble him anymore.

Quietly she took her place, hoping that the rest of the meal would pass undisturbed. And so it did. For the most part at least. She spent most of it chewing and carefully studying everyone else around the table. Each of them more brooding than the last one. Each of them just as bummed out as the rest. All of them limiting their interactions to furtive glances and dramatic sighs.

”How is your mother?” Harry’s voice broke through the silence reminding her of yet another victim of this catastrophe.

”Fine. The book Bellatrix chose was mostly harmless.” Surprisingly harmless - she refrained from adding.

It wasn’t that she thought Bellatrix would want to harm her mother for no real reason (they were long past that already), but the effects of the curse were practically undetectable in the muggle’s body. Almost as if she never actually touched the thing. Everything about this ploy was suspicious - especially her mother’s behavior afterwards. But who was she to incriminate her own mother?

It was already bad enough that they considered her foolish for trusting Bellatrix. Whatever Jean Granger did that night, she sure as hell didn’t deserved to be branded as traitor.

”That’s good to hear.” Harry smiled. “We miss having her around. We missed you, Mione.”

”I’m sure she will join us once she’s ready.” Hermione drawled, ignoring his comment. From the other side of the table, she could feel her father’s concerned gaze on her. “For some of us Bellatrix was something more than just a prisoner. It’s never easy to lose a friend.”

”A real friend would never do these things to her. It’s sheer luck that she’s even alive today. One book to the left and your mother would be only another name on Lestrange’s victim list.”

If anything could be found on that list, it would be Hermione’s willingness to continue this conversation. Looking around she prayed to whatever entity was listening to help her sneak back to her room where she wouldn’t have to bear the insufferable awkwardness of the dinner conversations.

Just as she was getting ready to leave without any further explanation - a miracle happened. It came with the sound of a simple doorbell. Not a very common sound when you live in a magically concealed building.

A folded newspaper landed on the wood as Sirius got to his feet quietly cursing.

”Merlin’s balls, Snivellus, I thought I told you to…”

”Language, Mr Black. I thought I taught you better than that.” The falsely stern voice made everyone snap to their feet. Of all the people in Wizarding Britain Minerva McGonagall wasn’t the person any of them would expect to see in that moment.

Hermione especially was flabbergasted when she heard the witch. A long time has passed since she saw her last. Well, perhaps not that long, but to her it all seemed like eternity without her favorite professor… maybe second favorite.

”Great timing as always. For once I could appreciate a nice, quiet detention.” Sirius chuckled.

”It’s good to see your wits haven’t diminished over time. Sadly, I reckon you’re a little too old for detention. Although I might just know what brought this onto you.” McGonagall replied, nodding a silent greeting to the Golden Trio huddled together in the doorway.

If someone offered any one of them money for telling how the hell they got up there so fast, they wouldn’t know how to answer. It was as if their bodies acted on autopilot.

”Oh, them???” The man let out a hearty laugh. “I love spending time with them. They’re always so careful and understanding. They always listen to what I’ve to say, fully aware that I only want the best for them. Veeeeery responsible.”

”I’m sure they are.” McGonagall nodded her head with pity. The discreet smile quickly disappearing as she remembered that joyful chatter wasn’t exactly what brought her there. “For the sake of us all I hope you’re at least partially right.”

”Has something happened, Professor?” Harry just couldn’t help himself. “Professor Snape was supposed to keep us updated, but we haven’t heard from him in quite a while now.”

”I’m afraid so, Mr Potter. Like other wizards  affiliated with You-Know-Who he has been unrightfully apprehended.”

Even the blue-eyed marauder, despite all the animosity he held for the Potions Master, seemed shocked at the declaration. Cold and unscrupulous as he was, Severus Snape was still a member of the Order and one that had sacrificed most of his life for Dumbledore’s sham. One would think that after all that he would be untouchable. Definitely not bundled together with the rest of Voldemort’s deranged followers.

But then again, Sirius himself has in the past suffered a similar fate. Maybe muggles and wizards weren’t so different after all.

”You didn’t know?” The regal brow furrowed.

”We only just read about the Ministry.” Sirius explained. The paper from before flying to his hand as he showed McGonagall the frenzied headline.

”They didn’t give up their positions willingly if that’s what you thought. What they write in that sad little newspaper is never even half the truth.”

”How did the Order managed that?” Hermione heard herself interrupt. The Headmistress’s gaze settled on her once again, and she couldn’t suppress the feeling of anxiety she used to experience during the Transfiguration classes. It was a shot of pure adrenaline. A greedy wish to be the teacher’s pet again.

Oh, how soon it had disappeared. Snuffed out by the nagging fear that McGonagall will see through her in a matter of seconds. That she will detest Hermione for what she has become.

”I didn’t think it had enough members to protect the school, let alone free the Ministry.” She mumbled so quietly it was a miracle the Headmistress could hear her.

”Excellent observation, Miss Granger. In normal circumstances I would have awarded you points.” A small smile crept onto the older woman’s face. “The Order has always been more cameral that we would like. However, to the chagrin of many of us, recently that has been remedied in perhaps the most reckless and shortsighted manner possible…”

Not many people had the opportunity of spending as much time with the transfiguration professor as Hermione did. After years and years of never ending struggle to keep Voldemort away from Harry she knew that serious look well enough to know that something horrible has happened. And judging by the meaningful glances Ron and Harry were exchanging - they too were able to sense it.

”I assume you haven’t heard about the barbaric attack on Malfoy Manor.” The Headmistress sighed.

Oh no.

The blood in Hermione’s veins suddenly refused to circulate.

”The muggles… slaughtered many of Voldemort’s most prominent supporters.”

The gears in her head were spinning at an ungodly pace.

”Unfortunately, some members of the Order have taken part in this shameful crime… this lynch. For the lack of a better word.” She continued, but Hermione’s attention on what she had to say was long gone at this point.

The Malfoy Manor.

Surely Bellatrix wouldn’t be mad enough to go back there. She wouldn’t be mad enough to try stop a raid all on her own.

”When was it exactly? I don’t remember any mention of it in the papers.” Even Sirius seemed slightly horrified.

”A week ago, few days after Tom Riddle’s death. They got them shortly before the sundown.”

”Thursday?” Hermione looked as if she was about to faint.

”It appears not all of you are completely clueless after all.” The older woman replied causing quite the commotion among those present.

At that point it wasn’t hard to put two and two together and do the math. She saw it in their eyes - the realization that Bellatrix Lestrange has escaped their custody probably a few hours before her sister’s house was attacked.

Voldemort’s most loyal follower massacred by muggles in the most spectacular display of karma returned in the history of Wizarding Britain.

That’s why she couldn’t contact her. Why the bond between them felt strangely distant. Weak. Unreachable.

Bellatrix wasn’t hiding from her! She was dead!

”Mione?” A warm hand landed on her sweaty brow. “You’re deathly pale.”

A mad cackle tore itself out of her throat. It was the last thing she remembered before everything around her turned white.

One week earlier

It was a very stressful day. Her muscles were still sore after her shift. Their painful protest spreading across her arms as she lifted the heavy bags full of groceries and hurried to the door.

It was a small mercy of the universe that she didn’t had to work overnight that day. Going back home she wasn’t even able to change into anything comfortable when the knock on the door banished her wishful dreams of rest further than she would ever like.

Remus and Nymphadora were off to some secret mission apparently. Someone had to take care of Teddy and that someone was obviously her.

She wasn’t mad at them. How could she be? The times were tough, and it was always a pleasure to spend time with her grandson. If anything she was afraid. Afraid that one day one of them wouldn’t return. That Teddy will have to live as an orphan purely because his parents weren’t able to stop themselves and sit the fuck down.

That thought haunted in the night, chasing away any hope of sleep. It festered inside her harder than ever before.

Luck can only get you far enough.

And that’s what they were for the last few years of this madness - lucky. With stubbornness of a madman, she kept counting all the times one of them was meters away from a certain death. Death more cruel and more determined than normally. Walking on two legs it strode past them on countless occasions, wielding the gnarled wood like a bloody scythe. Waiting for an opportunity to strike.

It had a name. Bellatrix.

Her awful sister.

She was the reason Andromeda never joined the fight. Not because she was afraid for herself. She simply didn’t want to give Bellatrix another reason to strike her family.

But the times were getting tougher and tougher. Her family more endangered than ever before. She did nothing to provoke that, but it came as no surprise when the Death Eaters killed her husband.

Now it was only her, Dora, Remus and little Teddy that she had to watch out for and she promised herself she’ll do anything not to let that tragedy repeat.

Putting the groceries on the counter, she rechecked the wards she put up before leaving. The store was only a few buildings away so she couldn’t have been out for longer than 5 minutes. Still, a lot could have happened in such a short period of time.

A flicker of light caught her eye. The wards seemed untouched, but somehow she could feel somebody meddled with it.

The light was coming from a room upstairs.

Teddy’s room.

Her head was spinning as she snatched the wand hidden in her handbag.

One step at a time she crept up, imagining all the worst possible scenarios. All of them paled in comparison to what she saw once she opened the door.

Right there, next to Teddy’s cradle stood none other than the Death herself - Bellatrix Lestrange. Heavily covered in blood, the dark witch had her arms crossed around a small body of a sleeping child, rocking back and forth as if she was trying to comfort it.

”Put him back down.” Andromeda growled, brandishing her wand at the swaying figure.

”Remember when Cissy was born and mother wouldn't let us hold her?” The other woman asked, completely unfazed. “She said it was beneath a witch to take care of her child, that it was an elf's job. I remember the elves trying to comfort her for hours on end, but our dear Cissy would only cry louder despite their efforts." The happiness in her voice was unsettling as Bellatrix continued. "She wouldn’t shut up, constantly screaming when she was left with them, but every time I took her in my arms she fell asleep instantly.”

”Put him back in the cradle right now, Bellatrix! I'm not in the mood for reminiscing!” Her wand was practically touching the older sister’s back. The Death Eater, however, seemed as careless as always, chuckling as if her threats were funny to her.

”That’s what you were always saying: Bella, put her back, or I will tell maman!” Bellatrix replied mimicking her voice. But it wasn’t the mockery that put Andromeda on edge, but rather the slight motion of leather clad feet that caught her attention. She was turning around and there wasn’t anything the younger woman could do about it.

”But you never did snitch on me.” She continued her monologue as if she hadn’t had a wand pointed at her heart.

Seeing her gaunt features after so many years was more than disturbing. Andromeda has of course seen Bellatrix’s photos in the newspapers, but she never expected the changes to be so obvious years after the other witch has escaped from Azkaban. Compared to the Bellatrix she used to know that woman looked a whole head shorter than the proud Slytherin she grew up with. There was a time when they easily passed as twins, not anymore, though. This time she couldn’t recognize much of herself in the ominous silhouette standing next to her.

Overwhelmed with emotions she had to take a cautious step back.

“I used to think it was out of some noble sense of loyalty,” The dark witch followed her, constantly maintaining an arm’s length between them. Taunting her to throw a curse. “but now I know it was because you have always been a coward.”

Something in her expression changed. Red lips forming a tight line as the last traces of smile disappeared.

”I didn’t come here to kill your grandchild.” The Death Eater spat advancing on her. “Nor do I want to threaten you.”

”Bollocks.” Andromeda spat in return. The tip of her wand leaving a light indent in an already pale skin. “What is it then? A family reunion? Spare me the bullshit, Lestrange. There’s no amount of time I would like to waste in your wretched company.”

”Too bad, you’ll have to stomach me somehow.”

With a slip of a hand so quick Andromeda could barely register it the older woman knocked the wand out of her hand. A pair of pale arms presented her with the still sleeping child as Bellatrix’s brows rose expectantly.

As carefully as she could Andromeda took the boy from her and was momentarily astonished as the boy woke up and started crying.

”Magic touch. Told you.” Bellatrix mumbled brushing past her with a haughty smile. “Deal with him and join me downstairs. Don’t take too long, though, I get nosy when I’m bored.” She paused, having a quick laugh to herself. “That and your couch might be beyond repair by now.”

It might have been the relief of having Teddy safe in her arms at last, or the sheer horror of the unholy sisterly reunion, that rendered her completely speechless at the time. But Andromeda knew there would be plenty of opportunities to argue. In the meantime, she had to calm a crying child. If only she knew how the hell Bellatrix was doing it, she would have a much easier time getting Teddy back to bed. She only hoped her sister wouldn’t use that opportunity to wreak havoc on her humble house.

The history of conflict is a treasury of knowledge, a repository of human experience. Nonetheless for some unfathomable reason people rarely resort to learning from it. Unfortunately for the Wizarding Britain, Patricia Linton wasn’t one of these people. Being born and raised in Poland she grew up with the stories of most heinous acts ever committed. And so when the time came, she knew the difference between good and evil intimately enough to do what had to be done.

She brushed aside other people’s concerns and complaints, considering them to be too soft to grasp the seriousness of the situation and the importance of a proper medicine. It wasn’t their fault obviously. It is only natural that those who care deeply for peace and stability will always refrain from violence and extreme solutions. Even if it’s what the current situation needs.

It’s what Chamberlain thought in 1938. The same fallacy that drove Churchill and Roosevelt to forfeit the whole Eastern Europe to Stalin’s rule. A pure pragmatism. A wishful hope for a peaceful outcome. The fear of losing more than you already have.

Patricia, on the other hand, could not bring herself to share that sentiment. To her there was no such thing as peace at all costs. If Voldemort’s followers wanted to forfeit it had to be on her terms.

Answering their desperate offer without the Prime Minister’s knowledge might have been her worst sin to date, but if she had to do it a second time she would. The dozen Death Eaters murdered in their homes as well as in the Malfoy Manor raid were sure to haunt her for the rest of her career, but it simply had to be done for the good of everyone else involved.

Those who were deemed useful enough were swiftly locked inside a secret compound and milked for information. If communism had one greatest power, it would be the regimes’ love for information. She spent most of her life harvesting intel and corrupting people to join her side. There was no reason to stop now that she was finally so close to victory.

Liberating the wizarding society wasn’t as easy as wiping out the Death Eaters or even the entire Sacred 28. If any change was to be made it had to be done with their participation, and she wasn’t worried. Not a single bit actually. That’s because she knew how eager her captives were to avoid Azkaban. Of over ten people they arrested for questioning only one person refused to speak with them.

But even that was doomed to change.

”You know, people here are astonished that I’m still keeping you locked up.” The doors have barely closed behind her as she started to speak. “Why would I need a hausfrau when so many ministry hotshots are eager to tell me everything I would like to hear?”

An icy glare regarded her with disdain, but no words escaped the scowling lips of her most difficult captive.

”I have men begging me to make a deal with them. They’d be willing to sell their own mothers if I asked them to. And yet I still waste my time coming to see you. Got any idea why, Madam Malfoy?”

Once again no reply was provided. Narcissa Malfoy didn’t even flinch as she wandered dangerously close to her.

The room they were in wasn’t the usual interrogation room she had those types of conversations in. A bed, a table, two chairs and a little toilet enclosure were stark in comparison to the opulent chambers in the Malfoy Manor, but for the prison of war standards were more than enough.

Then there was inmate 44 herself. Dressed in the same clothes they nabbed her in and with no shackles and chains in sight, the Malfoy matriarch looked as regal as she normally would while receiving a guest.

”Only yesterday your husband sworn his loyalty to me, asking only for his own life.”

If she wasn’t actively looking for it, she might have missed the twitch of the lip, the barely visible change in the eyes that kept following her as she moved around.

”Anything to say about that?” Patricia asked inches away from the defiant woman. “Speak!”

“If what you’re saying is true,” Narcissa said, her voice calm but laced with suspicion, “then I fail to see why you need me to say anything. Anything I know, Lucius has already told you. As for me—” her tone faltered slightly, but she pressed on, “I’ll sign whatever you want, as long as you promise to keep my son safe.”

A flicker of desperation passed over her face, but it was quickly masked by her icy composure.

“That might not be as simple as you think,” came the quiet reply.

The words struck like a blow. Narcissa’s regal façade cracked, the bravado draining from her expression in an instant. For the first time, a flicker of fear gleamed in her pale eyes.

It was the opening she had been waiting for—her one and only chance to shift the balance.

“Tell me where Lestrange is,” Linton demanded, “and I swear—not one hair will fall from his head.”

Silence.

”What does Bellatrix have to do with this?” Narcissa’s spiel was running short as desperation slowly crept onto her face. Between her sister and son, she couldn’t yet piece together what this muggle was asking of her.

”I know she was there that night.” Linton deadpanned and finally, the penny dropped. Blue eyes widening in realization.

”You don’t have my son.” Came the rattled whisper. It seemed that the shrewd woman was suspended between dread and relief.

”Not yet.” said Patricia. “But it is only a matter of time until we catch his trail. And when we do, you’re gonna wish you’ve cooperated when I asked you to.”

”I don’t know where my sister’s hiding.” Narcissa shrugged noncommittally, suddenly very interested in the peeling wallpaper.

Linton wouldn’t have any of that.

”You do.” She pressed.

”I had no idea she was even still alive until you brought it up.” Narcissa Malfoy protested, foolishly breaking the habit of keeping her mouth shut. “Why would I lie?”

”For her? Wouldn’t be the first time.” Linton snapped. With a swift motion she caught the witch’s forearm in a vice-like grip, brutally tearing the delicate fabric of her dress’ sleeve. Before Narcissa managed to free herself the silver scars on her arm were displayed for everyone to see.

“How did you…” the woman started saying, but was momentarily cut off.

”I have my ways.” Linton scoffed with a vicious smirk. “This time you’re not gonna have such an easy time lying your way out, so know this: your son has been taken away by a known deranged murderess. Both of their lives are now in your hands. Tell me where they went - Draco lives. Otherwise… well, you know the drill.”

With satisfaction she watched the fear in the older woman’s eyes as her fingers slashed the air across her neck in one of the oldest gestures possible.

”There’s nothing I can do for you, officer. The last time my sister was on the run she stayed in one of my family’s old estates. Believe me when I say that I would gladly take you there if only to get my son out of this ridiculous war once and for all, but Bellatrix has recently cut off my access to the residence.” The shaky voice replied.

”Now why would she do that?”

”I might have given her the idea that given the chance I would let Miss Granger free.” Narcissa replied, once more cursing the wretched girl’s name. If it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened.

Linton’s ears momentarily perked up at the mention of the young muggleborn. Shrewd eyes glinting with agitation.

”Could you please point to where the manor is located on the map?” She asked, providing Narcissa with a small atlas containing various maps of Great Britain. Narcissa flipped through it slowly, until her eyes fell upon the area she recognized from her tumultuous childhood.

”Here.” She pointed. “But as I said, you won’t be able to enter the premise anyway. Only Bellatrix can do that.”

”One more thing,” Linton’s narrowing gaze alerted Narcissa to the upcoming trouble. “Is this the place she buried Hermione Granger’s body?”

”Buried?” Malfoy matriarch was certain she misheard. “Why would she be buried? She’s perfectly fine!”

”Stop right there!” Now it was Patricia’s turn to be dumbfounded. Even in her wildest dreams Linton couldn’t have foreseen the magnitude of what Mrs Malfoy could drop on her so casually in that moment. “You’re telling me that Hermione Granger is still alive?!?”

“Put that thing down immediately! There’ll be no drinking in my house.” Andromeda strode through the room with thunderbolts shooting from her eyes.

”Why would you even have it then?” Came the annoyed response from the witch who only wanted to pour herself a quick shot.

”Baking. Not everyone is as irresponsible as you are.”

”What sort of baked goods require 2 liters of vodka I wonder.” Bellatrix scoffed, kicking her feet up onto a pristine glass table.

”None of your bloody business.” Andromeda spat and snatched the bottle away from her. “The last thing I need is for you to get hammered.”

She turned away ready to put the liquor back in the cabinet when a chuckle stopped her from doing so.

”If I was you I would keep the vodka right here.” Bellatrix sang, playfully drumming her fingers on the glass tabletop.

She was just about to put the older witch in her place, when she spotted a thin trickle of blood running down the armrest of her favorite sofa. The same sofa Bellatrix was currently starring at.

”It might just come in handy.” The dark witch added mischievously.

Afraid of what she might possibly find she slowly made her way around the furniture. Stopping right in front of a small crimson puddle that gathered around the sofa’s legs. Following the trail her eyes settled on a horrible sight she would rather not see outside of work.

”Bloody hell.”

The thin, blonde boy’s skin looked terribly pale. Judging by the damage done to her couch as well as the overall state of his wounds she knew that he must have lost ridiculous amounts of blood. There was no doubt he would be dead by now if it wasn’t for some kind of blood supplementation. Bellatrix must have raided a potions shop.

”Bloody hell indeed.” said the witch in question. Her tone not as joyful as few seconds ago.

Years of estrangement couldn’t dull Andromeda’s instincts regarding her sister. Even as a child Bellatrix had difficulties displaying meaningful emotions. Jokes and hurtful jabs were what she would always choose instead of grieving. The sadder she was the more she would laugh. The person she brought to her house that day must have been someone very important to her.

Blonde hair, grayish blue eyes. She had never seen the boy in person before, but she wasn’t living under a rock either.

”Does Narcissa know where her precious son was taken?”

”Would she let me take him if she knew?” Bellatrix finally stopped playing around and got closer to the injured boy.

"You would be surprised."Andromeda replied caustically. “Why didn’t you heal him? You replenished his blood, so I guess supplies weren’t the problem.”

”He’s been shot.” Bellatrix explained, pulling away the drenched cloth wrapped around the boy’s stomach. “The bullet is still in there.”

A memory came back to haunt her. That of the wailing Rodolphus begging her to get the bullet out. Back then she couldn’t care less if the thing caused infection or worse. With Draco she couldn’t possibly take that risk.

”He needs to go to the hospital.” Andromeda declared, causing the Death Eater to erupt.

”Out of the question! He stays here and nowhere else. No muggle will lay a hand on him!”

”What the hell are you expecting me to do then?” The other woman argued. “You can’t keep him on replenishing potions for ever, Bellatrix!”

”I expect you to help him!” The dark witch snapped. “I expect you to be useful for once in your bloody life! Aren’t you a goddamn medic? Muggle doctors do these things all the time!”

”I’m a nurse, not a surgeon, you daft cow! I work there only because your cronies took over the Ministry and kicked me out of my job!”

”Very sad!” Lestrange mocked, „Might I remind you, Andromeda, that you owe me big time for what I did?”

”I owe you nothing!” The youngest Black argued. Throughout her childhood, she followed Bella's commands to the letter. Whenever their father would beat the older witch into unconsciousness, whenever she would be cursed by the Aurors, or even shot at by the Muggle police, it was up to her and Narcissa to nurse her back to health. It was the reason both of them had become so skilled at healing in the first place. If anyone owed anyone here, it was clearly Bellatrix! „You were my sister! It was expected of you to stand in my defense.”

”It was expected of me to shut the fuck up and let you die!”

The air was thick with unresolved issues.

”Boohoo, I guess I don’t know how lucky I am to have a sodding Death Eater as my relative! Do enlighten me, Bella, should I thank you first for abandoning me on the St Mungo’s doorstep, or for allowing your friends to murder my husband? Which one should I be more grateful for?”

”Forget it.” Bellatrix grabbed Draco’s hand ready to apparate. “Mrs Granger will patch him up without complaint.”

”Hermione Granger’s mother? Isn’t she a dentist?” The brunette’s eyes widened in shock.

”Better than a nurse apparently.”

The pale hand reached out for a wand, but was momentarily stopped as Andromeda pulled on her wrist.

”I’ll do it.” The younger woman said wearily. “Just give me a second please. I have to go to the pharmacy real quick.”

For a second there they looked at each other in complete silence. Savoring the seemingly forgotten feeling of partnership. That was until the front door opened with a crack.

”No no no! You can’t be here!” The completely terrified Nymphadora cried. “She knows I helped you escape! Linton fucking knows!”