A/N Welcome all to Monsters! For the time being, this story will receive weekly updates until my other story is completely written. Enjoy!

All rights belong to JK Rowling

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
― Friedrich Nietzsche

It wasn't supposed to end this way. She wasn't supposed to be taken out by a housewife that had gotten in a lucky shot. She was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory! For Merlin's sake, she was Bellatrix goddamn Black! Her husband was dead and she would never keep his name. Not when her own name carried so much more weight. Her husband was a weak, pitiful man who had used her to gain favor with the Dark Lord.

Her Lord! She had not seen the end of the battle but knew he had fallen. The Golden Trio was more powerful than they had thought. All of his Horcruxes had been destroyed so there was no chance he was coming back. Not that she could do anything to avenge her Lord. Her crimes were too immense to escape from Limbo.

"Ah, Bellatrix. How lovely to see you again. After the first time, I had not expected to see you until much later. You are not supposed to be here," a voice of dark chocolate spoke.

"You're damn right I'm not supposed to be here! The most feared Death Eater taken out by a housewife!" She seethed.

"Temper, child, temper. You have not mellowed out in the last few decades."

"You insolent-wait. Who are you?"

"You do not remember me? Pity. Think Bellatrix."

Bellatrix was quiet. The voice was familiar but she couldn't quite place it. It had to be from her childhood, that much was obvious. With a gasp, Bellatrix suddenly remembered the last time she had heard the dark chocolate vocals of Death.

"You useless girl! How will our line carry on if you will not behave the way you should? No husband will have you if you continue to behave this way!" Cygnus Black shouted, punctuating his screams with heavy blows. He had no restraint, releasing a flurry of fists upon her. He was livid and his drunken state did not alleviate the situation. Cygnus Black did not stop when Bellatrix was claimed by unconsciousness. He continued to beat his daughter until Druella Black came across him and he realized what he had done. She knew better than to say anything as he stormed off, merely calling for an elf to care for her daughter.

While Bellatrix was unconscious, she was in a place that was neither here nor there. A Limbo of sorts. She could not help the boredom that filled her while she was surrounded by white. She had no concept of time in this place, but it couldn't have been very long-at least, not in the waking world-before a figure of darkness spoke to her in a dark chocolate voice.

"Who might you be, little witch?"

"I'm Bellatrix. Who are you?" she responded haughtily.

"I am Death, child. You must leave now, you don't belong here. There is too much you have to do."

"Wait, how do I know what I'm supposed to do? And where is here? What is this place?"

Death had already gone. She had the strange sensation of being sucked through a straw before opening her eyes to see the ceiling of her bedroom.

"You're Death. But what do you mean I'm not supposed to be here? I'm dead! This is where dead people go!"

"You are not dead yet. That is much more unpleasant than this. Find the girl."

"What girl?! There are thousands of girls!"

"You'll know. The darkness is eating at her. Help her beat it so you can do what needs to be done."

Once again, the sensation of being sucked through a straw overtook Bellatrix. Opening her eyes, she saw she was still lying where she had fallen but there were no sounds of fighting. The bodies of her fellow Death Eaters had not been touched but the Order members had been moved. She saw the body of her Lord lying unceremoniously on the ground and she fought the urge to rage. It would do her no good, and she was not strong enough to fight right now. She didn't have her wand, but she had another. After standing, she turned on the spot and Apparated to Black Manor.

The Manor had been abandoned since her parents died shortly after she became a Death Eater. No one would think to search for her here, nor would anyone want to. One look at the house and it would be obvious no one had visited in decades. It was large and decrepit, not fit to be inhabited. Parts of the house had collapsed and Bellatrix smiled faintly at the reminder of her epic rage that had destroyed the house and killed her parents. Bellatrix didn't care. She didn't have anywhere else to go. The remaining Death Eaters were scattered and her sister had betrayed the cause. Hissing in rage, she threw open the front doors and stormed through the hallways, violently repairing the interior with the wand that wasn't hers. It worked fine and had the same core but the wood was wrong. Her wand was rough and bent. This one was straight and smooth despite the vine wrapping the length of it. She was tempted to snap it in two but then she would be without a wand and her current status would make obtaining one too difficult. She would figure out how to get her own wand back and then she could rid herself of this one.

Bellatrix felt better after using her magic. Even if it wasn't destructive, using what was left of her magic made her calmer. It would take some getting used to, but if any luck her house elf would come when she called. She would try later, right now she needed proper sleep in a place she would never be found. This was her home for the time being, while she tried to figure out what exactly Death had sent her back for. She had no clue who the girl could be and she didn't know where to start but she could deal with that later. Sleep was calling to her and she had no energy to resist the siren song.

Hermione wanted to feel victorious. She wanted to be happy that the war was finally over. She had never been a particularly happy person, not until she had met Harry and Ron. Not that it mattered now, neither of them survived the battle. She was the sole surviving member of the Golden Trio and she hated it. She never meant to be the face of victory, but with Harry and Ron gone, the world was looking to her as their savior. She didn't want to be. She never wanted any of this. So many people had died in this war but she was still here. Still alive, when she really didn't want to be.

It was stupid, really. They entered into a war they didn't even know about, oblivious to the cost. They had survived so much that should have killed them those few years ago. They thought they would be untouched by the tragedy of war but it was all a lie. A stupid, twisted, fucking lie. War does not recognize youth or innocence or good intentions. War destroys everything in its path and corrupts what it doesn't take. They should have known better, they had been so foolish. To think their luck would save them from their fate had been naive. It was always supposed to be this way. Harry was fated to die battling Voldemort. Ron was fated to die taking on more than he could handle. Hermione was fated to be the sole survivor, unable to help her friends when it really mattered. Hermione fought the bitter laugh that threatened to slip from her.

"There is still much to be done, Hermione. The Death Eaters the fled have to be caught and Hogwarts needs to be rebuilt. Since you played a large part in Voldemort's downfall, you do not have to take your exams if you wish to work for the Ministry," Kingsley spoke, looking at the downtrodden girl.

"Thank you, Kingsley. If it's all the same, I'd prefer to help rebuild Hogwarts and take my exams." Hermione's arms were wrapped around her and her shoulders were hunched.

"I understand. We all need time to mourn those we lost. Take care of yourself, Hermione." Kingsley placed a large hand on the girl's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. He could tell Hermione was devastated by the loss of Harry and Ron and knew she would need time to grieve before she could feel normal again. As McGonagall approached, Kingsley took his hand from Hermione's shoulder, turning her towards the new Headmistress.

"Hermione, how are you feeling?" the Headmistress asked, eyes flicking over her favorite student, a small frown on her face.

"About how you'd expect, I suppose. What do you need, Professor?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"I wanted to offer you a place in the castle if you plan to help rebuild."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You have always been like a daughter to me, Hermione. I know you have sacrificed so much for the war and I will do whatever I can to help you."

"Thank you, professor."

McGonagall placed an arm around Hermione's thin shoulders. The girl's face was devoid of any emotion and the gauntness of her features made her look like a corpse. Her eyes lacked their usual fire and McGonagall's frown deepened. The war exacted a heavy toll from Hermione. She had lost so many people she cared about, she had obliviated her parents to protect them, and she had been tortured.

Hermione grasped her left elbow with her right hand, staring at the bodies piled in the Great Hall. Those that were injured were being tended to by Madame Pomfrey and healers from St. Mungo's. Hermione watched blankly as the healers darted about, focusing on the most extreme injuries. Kingsley beckoned one of them over to look at Hermione. She didn't have any noticeable injuries but he wanted to be sure.

Hermione felt the arm around her shoulders retract so the healer could inspect her. Upon first glance, the girl looked mostly fine. She had some abrasions and was a bit too thin but that could all be taken care of. What was most concerning was her lack of reaction to any stimuli. The healer chalked it up to grief over the loss of her friends, thinking it would pass with time.

"She just has a few scrapes and could do with proper meals. She's a bit unresponsive but it shouldn't last long. She's been through a lot the past year. The scar on her arm can't be healed, it's too late, but it should fade as time goes on," the healer reported to Kingsley and McGonagall.

"Thank you, you may go back to treating the others," Kingsley spoke.

He looked at Minerva, eyes full of concern for the young witch. Her expression mirrored his. Hermione would have a long way to go before she was back to her old self but they had faith she could do it. She had always been strong. Hermione did not have the same belief in herself as they did. She could feel the beasts clawing at the back of her mind, around the edges of her psyche. She rolled the bent walnut wood dangling from her fingertips, not trying to ignore the stinging of her arm and voices in her head. None of it mattered now. She wouldn't lie and say it was uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, really. Even after all this time they were still with her, a demented sort of comfort derived from the fact that it would always be the one constant in her life. No matter how far she tried to run, she could only get so far before she couldn't anymore, and the beasts would always catch up to her, taunting her with truths and lies.