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The glint in Dumbledore’s eyes wasn’t comforting. Though ever-knowing, there was a darkness Hermione didn’t like.
Still, she reached out, grasping Bellatrix’s hand.
Dumbledore raised his wand, an incantation half-voiced when Hermione stopped him.
“Wait, I—” She swallowed thickly. “This will protect her?”
Bellatrix’s smirk wasn’t kind. “Give me what I want? You get what you want. That’s the deal, Granger.”
Hermione couldn’t help but think of a tinkling, musical laugh. Blonde hair and impossibly soft skin. Secret moans in safe houses.
“You’ll let her go? She’ll be free from Vol—him?”
“As I said,” Bellatrix agreed.
Blue eyes darkening with heat. Pink lips pulled into a smile. Subtle curves and delicate lace.
She shook those thoughts from her head; they had no place here, at the crossroads, accepting the devil’s offerings.
Slowly, Hermione nodded. Dumbledore raised his wand again.
The spell was quick.
The ropes were golden before fading across clasped hands.
The bond was an unwelcome warmth.
“Did you feel that, love?” Bellatrix pulled her close. “You and I are meant to be.”
Do you feel it, too, love? Narcissa had said in the soft moonlight. We’re meant to be.
Hermione could only hope Narcissa would forgive her.