Strange and Beautiful

by The Karolingian

When Hermione hears rumours that the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange has been sighted lurking in the countryside around Hogsmeade, she sets out to challenge her and put in motion a plan that she has been devising in secret ever since that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries. But with the creation of an entirely new hex, has she bitten off more than she can chew?

1. Chapter 1

Strange and Beautiful

Part 1.

by Karoly Burnford

Tonight, she would weep.

For everything. For everything she had done, for all those she had hurt – or worse. For a lifetime of evil deeds in service to the Dark Lord. Tonight, Hermione Granger would see to it that the dark witch Bellatrix Lestrange would suffer for all the pain she had caused. She would make her weep!

The anger burned bright in the young witch as she marched through the darkened woods. The sound of her swift footfalls and her swishing robes were all that could be heard above a doleful breeze that stirred the trees above and the occasional call of a night creature. The lightest of mists clung to the ground and rain was in the air, storms from the north threatening to break at any time. It was an appropriately dramatic setting, Hermione thought, one that suited a confrontation with someone so evil.

When she had heard the rumours of Death Eaters in the forests near Hogsmeade, her interest had been piqued. When rumour had turned to talk of the darkest of dark witches spying on the town, she knew that her opportunity had arrived. Something she had secretly planned and plotted for weeks and months, maybe even since their first confrontation in the innards of the Ministry of Magic – at first only on a whim, then more seriously when she discovered the possibility it may actually work – could finally come to fruition. It had taken a lot of... special preparation.

She paused, listening to the night forest, hunting for sight or sound of her prize, then moved on once more.

It was no inconsiderable feat she was attempting. As far as she knew, it had never been tried, never even considered. There was no mention of such an undertaking in A History of Magic, nor in Hogwarts: A History. Neither had she found reference to any similar attempt in any of Bathilda Bagshot's other works, nor in Mumpwitch's histories, nor Flender's treaties on magic, nor in a hundred other sources both widely known and lauded or dark and obscure in the extreme. She knew, because she had done her research, and research was something she did very well.

The hex had taken a long time and a lot of effort to design, but was, in Hermione's opinion, potentially the most important – and the most controversial – of breakthroughs, perhaps since the invention of the very first hex!

Which made it all the more unbearable that she had had to keep it to herself, not even telling her closest friends, Harry and Ron, for fear that they may try to talk her out of it, or even inform on her to their teachers, parents, maybe even Dumbledore himself! The potential for good that might come from what she was attempting, in Hermione's opinion, outweighed any controversial aspect, and indeed any risk she was taking. And it also presented the opportunity to right a historical wrong... or at least to mete some form of justice for it.

Her long robes whispered over the fallen leaves of the forest path and, not for the first time, Hermione cursed herself for not wearing more appropriate clothing for the situation. What she was doing relied on stealth. Jeans and a warm jacket would have been perfect, but she hadn't had time to change. She had come directly from class, a late-night, outdoor Astronomy session – a subject Hermione loved and one she had started taking in addition to her regular subjects because she might decide to take the exams in addition to her other N.E.W.T.s. If she ever got to take them, that was. After tonight, that was far from a certainty.

There.

There was a sound, she was sure of it. Not a night bird, or a passing fox. It was a low murmur: Conversation.

She gathered her robes and crouched down. There it was again. Definitely conversation. At least two people then, maybe more. She began moving forward towards the sounds, then, realising her robes caused more noise dragging in the leaves when she was crouched than when she had been standing, she stood up again. Cursing herself once more, she bunched her left hand in her robes, lifting them from the forest floor and, keeping her wand held ready in her right, she crept forward as quietly as she was able.

It was a small dell, a glade open to the troubled sky but mostly hidden from the surrounding forest. A break in the cloud overhead briefly shone starlight across the clearing, illuminating the scene with pale silvery light: a fire, a cookpot, two small black tents. She judged from the cinders scattered about and the lived in look of the tents they had obviously been here a while, days perhaps, if not longer.

There were three people occupying the camp, all of them obviously death eaters, judging by their attire. Two were men that Hermione didn't recognise. The third was her quarry. Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman was instantly recognisable, with her wild black hair, pale face and ragged black clothing, and the mere sight of her made Hermione catch her breath in fear.

"Ah, what are we doing out here?" grumbled one of the men. "It's damp and I'm cold and hungry!"

"We're following the Dark Lord's orders," replied Bellatrix, icily. "He wants us spying on Hogsmeade in case that Potter boy and his little chums show their faces there."

"They wouldn't be so stupid!" muttered the second man, sourly.

"'Course they wouldn't," agreed the first man, "They'll be staying safe and warm in Hogwarts, while we're freezing our arses off out here, so I repeat: what are we doing out here, Bella?"

Bellatrix whirled on him, wand in hand.

"You don't get to call me that!" she screamed. "Filthy low-born snatcher like you, think you can get all comfy with me, do you?"

Before the man could react, she was peppering him with curses, making him dance, yelping, around the clearing, laughing at his pain and fear. The second man just watched on, not wanting to draw the dark witch's attention, and potentially divert her ire.

"All right! All right!" yelled the man. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I do what you tell me, Madam Lestrange! I'm your man!"

Bellatrix relented, her face a dark glower.

"You are the Dark Lord's man! Anything I would do to you pales in comparison to what he would, should you choose to disobey him. Remember that!"

The man had fallen to the ground, clutching a swelling face newly erupting with weeping boils.

"Yes madam, of course," he rasped, through thickening lips.

"Good!" said Bellatrix.

Hermione realised at that point that she had crept much closer, without really thinking about it, using the ructions to cover the sound of her approach. She now stood just beyond the edge of the clearing, out of the range of the light of the small fire, but close enough that if she were to cast a curse at any of the three, she would be almost certain of hitting.

Almost, but not quite. She had to be sure. She had to get just a little closer.

Raising her wand, she took a step forward.

*Crack!*

The snapping sound of the branch breaking under her foot almost seemed to echo in Hermione's ears. She looked down in disbelief, then back up into the clearing.

The second man looked around.

"Here, what's –"

"Stupefy!" cried Hermione, running forward. "Stupefy!"

In an instant, the two men were sent sprawling and unconscious. Quick as lightning, she had her wand pointed at Bellatrix, who was only now realising the danger she was in. She span to find Hermione's wand mere centimetres from her face. Her dark eyes travelled from the wand to Hermione's face and she took a stumbling couple of steps back.

"Don't... move..." said Hermione.

"Or what?" asked Bellatrix. Then she very deliberately took a step to her right.

"I said don't move!"

"And I moved," replied the dark witch, insolently, taking another step. Then another. She circled slowly, regarding her assailant, a sly smile sliding onto her face and recognition appearing in her eyes.

"'Ello girly. Hermione, isn't it? We met in the department of mysteries."

Hermione clenched her teeth.

"You killed Sirius Black."

"I've killed more than just him." She replied. Then she pouted, mockingly. "Oh, but did the black sheep of the Black family mean something to you, poor little baby?"

"Shut up!" said Hermione. "You killed Sirius Black. You tortured the Longbottoms until you drove them mad. You're an evil, hateful, vicious murderer."

The dark witch cackled.

"You trying to insult me, girly? 'Cos you aren't doing a very good job of it."

"Stand still!" shouted Hermione. She knew that she should have cast her spell straight away, but now that it came to it, she found it was difficult to use the hex she had spent so much time preparing. Finally faced, as she was, with her prey, could she really go through with it and damn the consequences? "Just stand still, will you!" she repeated.

"What if I don't?" replied Bellatrix, grinning in her mischief. "What if I just put my foot... here, then my other foot here, then here, then here..." She began a strange, jerky little dance, laughing in Hermione's face.

"I'll curse you if you don't stand still," said Hermione.

"And I'll kill you if you try it!" spat the dark witch, her mood instantly turning dark. When Hermione only stood there, a grin reappeared on Bellatrix's face. "You know you're out of your depth, don't you? Well, you better do something, girly –" she glanced slyly down a the wand held loosely at her side, "– or I'll end up doing it for you."

Hermione hesitated and Bellatrix saw that hesitation, her grin widening on her face. She tensed and brought her wand up to strike.

Adrenaline flooded Hermione's body, so that she saw the witch's move like it was in slow motion. Bellatrix was about to attack her. No, she was about to kill her. She would not hesitate where Hermione did. She would kill without pause or remorse – and knowing that fact decided her course of action.

Hermione would use it. She had to use it now.

"Moralus Conferi!" she yelled.

Light erupted from her wand in streamers that whizzed and spiralled around the clearing before dissipating and vanishing once more.

And nothing happened.

The unsure look that had appeared on the dark witch's face slowly cracked into an expression of genuine glee.

"What was that supposed to do, girly?" cackled Bellatrix, her wand now outstretched and pointed directly at Hermione's face. "Some secret weapon, was it? Well, it doesn't seem to have worked, does it? And you're all out of tricks, it appears."

Hermione stumbled back a step as Bellatrix drew her wand back to attack. She flinched uselessly when it came forward again.

"Av...!" said Bellatrix. Nothing more. She tried again. "Av... Avaa..." The words seemed stoppered in her throat. Her crazed eyes widened in annoyance. "AVAAA...!"

"Stupefy!" cried Hermione, regaining her wits, but Bellatrix flicked the spell away with a swift wrist movement. She tried again.

"Avvvvvvvaaa..." The word would not come out, the curse would not form. She screamed in frustration. "What did you do to me, you little bitch?!"

"Stupefy!" tried Hermione again. "Stupefy! Reducto!"

Bellatrix deflected each spell, the confident sneer now gone from her face. Then she was backing up, eyes still wide, her movements becoming clumsier as Hermione redoubled her attacks. When Bellatrix stumbled over a tree root, Hermione took her chance.

"CONFRINGO!"

The explosive blast erupted from her wand and struck Bellatrix full on. Light and heat filled the air and Hermione flinched away from the effects of the destructive curse.

When she looked up again, Bellatrix had disappeared. Where she had stood, the woodland smouldered in patches.

Hermione lowered her wand. For many moments there was no sound except the soughing wind and the gentle crackle of burning twigs.

"Did I do it?" she wondered aloud.

Had she really beaten one of the most dangerous dark wizards in a duel?

"I killed Bellatrix Lestrange...? I killed Bellatrix Lestrange!" The excitement at her victory caused her to do a little jig, until the enormity of what she had done struck her – hard. "I... killed someone. I killed a living human being." It didn't matter that she had killed as deranged and dangerous a person as Bellatrix. She had killed someone.

Her legs buckled underneath her and she crumpled to the forest floor, her dark robes puddling around her. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach.

"It was her or me," she told herself. "She would have killed me if I hadn't... killed her."

But was that really true? Bellatrix had been backing up, retreating. She hadn't cast a single curse at Hermione, and the look on her face... confusion, panic... fear...

Was the hex successful? she wondered. Was she defenceless? Did I just kill someone who didn't have to die?

Even if she hadn't, Hermione had set out to do this. She had set out to attack – and, yes, in the worst case, even kill – Bellatrix Lestrange. In the aftermath of the event, she found she didn't like the course of thinking that had brought her here. There was a name for those that took the meting of justice into their own hands, wasn't there? A name for ones who killed in secrecy, when their target was at their most vulnerable...

Assassin...

The word stuck in her head, accusing her. Was that how the forces of good fought? Was that the righteous course of action? She was finding it hard to breathe, the sickness in her stomach only increasing as another word whispered through her head.

Murderer...

Groans from nearby roused her. The two Death Eaters were regaining consciousness. How long had she sat on the ground for, feeling sorry for herself? Was it moments, or minutes? She couldn't say for certain, but she certainly couldn't stay here. Struggling to her feet, she quickly cast binding curses on both men, then set up alarm hexes that would attract attention once she had departed. Either the Order would find them, or the Dark Lord's followers, but whoever did, she doubted it would go well for the two Death Eaters.

It began to rain.

With one last look at the scorched ground and smouldering foliage where Bellatrix Lestrange had stood, only a short while before, she apparated.

---

Bellatrix twisted back into reality with a howl, before dancing around and beating frantically at the smouldering patches of her clothing, until they were nothing but smothered embers trailing wisps of smoke. Once the flames had been suffocated, she came to a complete stop and stood still in the darkness, her head turned to the floor.

She was still in the forest, several miles from where she had duelled the Hogwarts brat, at one of the many emergency apparition points she had set up in the unlikely event she would have needed to make a hasty exit. How 'unlikely' that had turned out to be!

It had been close. The girl had nearly killed her – would have killed her but for her speedy exit. Fortunately, whatever the girl had cast at Bellatrix hadn't stopped her ability to apparate, which was what she had done while the girl was distracted by her own fiery curse.

The girl...

The girl had hurt her. Not physically, though the burns caused by the blasting curse already stung beneath her patchy clothing. She had hurt her inside, done something to her. Bellatrix didn't know exactly what, but she felt different... wrong, somehow.

Her head snapped up and with a shriek of fury, she began firing curses at random around the darkened woodland. The spells detonated against trees and the leaf strewn ground, igniting small blazes amongst the damp leaves.

Her rage burned out quickly, and she stood, panting, in the dark, her insides churning. She felt sick. She tried to order her thoughts and found she could not.

A sound to her left caused her to snap her wand up, aiming it into the shadows.

A fawn, sleep dulled, doubtless scared awake and confused by the pyrotechnics, stumbled into view, skittishly jerking about as it sought a way to escape the myriad patches of burning forest. When it caught sight of Bellatrix, it froze.

Their gazes locked.

The dark witch drew back her wand and swished it at the baby deer. At the movement, the fawn broke from its trance, scrambling back into the darkness in a flurry of leaves and flailing legs.

Bellatrix watched it go, her feelings in turmoil. She had intended to kill it, but the spell had once again failed to form. She hadn't had the heart to kill the deer.

She hadn't had the heart...

Something was terribly wrong. What had the girl done to her? How had she stoppered her most destructive impulses?

As she thought on this, she realised she was shivering. Shaking, and not just from the cold and her narrow escape. From the nearness of death. She had meant to kill the fawn, under normal circumstances its death would have almost been automatic, but when it came to it she hadn't wanted to. The thought of killing it suddenly scared her. What was going on?

And then, all at once, visions were racing through her mind, images of suffering and scenes of destruction, faces pulled into expressions of terror and pain. Every one was a face she recognised: faces from her past, people she had inflicted tortures upon, people she had killed... and every one brought with it a crushing feeling of anguish, of terrifying despair.

She moaned.

Guilt? Was that what she was feeling? She had never experienced it before, so she had no frame of reference for the concept, except as a word that others used. But suddenly it was a concept that had meaning for her in the most extreme and painful sense.

She had tortured them, killed them. She had.

Clutching her stomach, Bellatrix crumpled to the forest floor.

"What did you do to me?" she whispered to the night.

High above, it began to rain. Fat raindrops penetrated the leaf cover, falling through the trees all around Bellatrix, steadily increasing in intensity, yet Bellatrix didn't move from where she lay like a bundle of black rags.

What would the Dark Lord do? If he knew she couldn't even kill a lowly animal – if he knew she had been defeated by a schoolgirl? Would he forgive her? Would he cure her? Or would he cast her aside like a broken doll?

And what of the other Death Eaters? From her privileged position at the Dark Lord's side, she had done little to ingratiate herself with them. In fact she had taken almost as much delight in mocking and inflicting pain on them as she had the Dark Lord's enemies. There were plenty who hated her, would take pleasure in her downfall. If the Dark Lord discarded her, she would be surrounded by enemies, in danger from their retribution. And that was just if the Dark Lord discarded her; if he saw what she had suddenly become, how she had been broken, would he have any second thoughts in simply killing her out of hand?

She couldn't return to the Dark Lord. She couldn't ask for help from the other Death Eaters. She only had one choice: she had to find the one that had cast the spell on her and make her remove the hex. She had to find the girl. She had to find Hermione.

The rain became a storm, pattering into the leaves all around her, drenching her clothing, and at last, she stirred. Slowly, unsteadily, she pulled herself to her feet, looking like a wounded and tattered crow. Bending stiffly, she retrieved her wand, absently dousing what few blazes hadn't been quenched by the rain with use of the aguamenti charm.

How would she find her? It was impossible to apparate into Hogwarts, which meant Bellatrix could only attempt to infiltrate the school grounds through the main entrance – or by walking from Hogsmeade. Either way, with the return of the Dark Lord, there were bound to be powerful protection charms that would prevent her from entering, or at least from entering secretly.

But surely that meant the same would be true for Hermione. Students weren't allowed off Hogwarts grounds without permission from teachers, so unless she had concocted some ruse to get out with her teacher's consent, she had to have some secret way in.

With a hint of desperation creeping in, Bellatrix realised that such a secret entrance could be just about anywhere. And to find the entrance, she would have to find Hermione first, anyway.

Her only hope was that the young witch would pass through Hogsmeade. It was a reasonable guess, as reasonable as they came, anyway, and with nothing better to go on, the decision was almost made for her. As the rain poured down around her, she raised her wand and disapparated.

---

The rain was coming down hard as Hermione hurried through the deserted lanes of Hogsmeade village. Her robes were already drenched as the rising storm swirled around her, as if it was an accusation, or a manifestation of her guilt.

Only a few lights shone from the windows of the cottages. It was well past midnight, after all. The Hog's Head was well lit, and Hermione briefly considered entering and warming herself up with a cup of butter beer. She immediately dismissed the idea, however: she was out of Hogwarts without license and well beyond curfew, even if she tried to remain incognito, she would set tongues wagging. Besides which, Firenze would be waiting for her at the edge of Hogwarts grounds. He was her means of getting in and out of the School and she didn't want to keep him waiting. The grounds were protected by many charms and spells that prevented people from getting in and out undetected, but the exception to this were the centaurs. They were a wild and free people, and though they remained in the Forbidden Forest on the whole, they would not be constrained to that enchanted woodland alone. The centaur tribes had negotiated their freedom from the sanctions placed on humans and other creatures when they took up residence on Hogwarts grounds, and as such, they could pass through the school's barriers without raising alarm, providing they didn't interfere in human business, something they were absolutely comfortable with, anyway.

All of this seemed to not be common knowledge, even though it was clearly chronicled in the chapter on centaurs in Hogwarts: A History. Hermione would never understand why the others never so much as glanced at the book when it had such interesting and useful facts contained within its covers!

The centaurs were a proud and reclusive race, but Firenze was different. He had taken a post at Hogwarts as Astrology professor after that insufferable Umbridge woman had sacked Professor Trelawny. He'd even saved Harry's life in their second year, carrying him out of the Forbidden Forest after he was attacked by the Voldemort creature. Firenze had turned out to be an unexpected ally in this venture (if she could still call it that), agreeing to carry Hermione off Hogwarts grounds and await for her return. He was still as inscrutable as the other centaurs however, and would not expound on his reasons for helping her.

She paused.

He would still be waiting for her, wouldn't he? Centaurs weren't so fickle that they'd go back on their word, would they?

As if triggered by Hermione's sudden doubts, the rain suddenly became a torrent, hammering down around her, dropping the range of her visibility to almost nothing. Quickly, she forged onwards, fighting through the sudden deluge. There was no way she would get back to Hogwarts like this. As she struggled up the lane towards the Shrieking Shack, she came to a decision.

If he was still waiting, Firenze would have to wait a bit longer.

---

There she was: the girl who had wounded her. Hermione.

She was forging her way through the downpour, heading towards her hiding place. It had been an instinctive decision to come to the Shrieking Shack, but not one that didn't make some sense. The Death Eaters already knew about the secret passage leading to Hogwarts from under the Shrieking Shack, although it was assumed that after Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban and been recaptured (however briefly) inside the shack, the tunnel had been blocked up. Perhaps that wasn't the case and Hermione had used it to leave the school tonight?

Not that Bellatrix could get into the shack to discover the truth. Powerful enchantments had been placed on the building, protection charms that even Bellatrix couldn't break – or not on her own anyway. There weren't even any working doors or windows: they were all false, glamours in some cases, simple façades in others, painted or nailed onto the otherwise featureless walls.

Bellatrix crouched in the gloom on the far side of the shack, beyond the meagre illumination thrown from the lights in the village, a tattered black shadow within the deeper darkness. She watched Hermione fight her way up the lane, then veer to her right and climb the wall that bounded the grounds of the Shrieking Shack. Her heart lifted. The young witch was coming straight to her!

The girl took out her wand as she approached the shack and, for a heartbeat, Bellatrix feared Hermione knew she was there. Instead, the girl lifted her wand and uttered "Lumos," pushing back the rain slicked night and lighting her last few steps to the front 'door' of the shack. Bellatrix shrank back against the side of the house and watched her approach.

Somehow, the girl seemed diminished since their confrontation in the forest. There was none of the swagger Bellatrix might expect someone who had just won a duel to have, in fact, her posture was slumped. She was bedraggled by the rain, but she also looked pale, even beyond the pallid light cast upon her face by the light from the wand, and her eyes seemed dark, haunted even. Had something happened to her?

Not that it mattered. Bellatrix had only one objective and that was to force the girl to fix whatever it was she had done to her. As Hermione began circling the house in an anti-clockwise direction, moving away from Bellatrix's hiding place, the dark witch pulled out her own wand and pushed herself from her hiding place, following silently behind.

---

"It should be around here, somewhere..." muttered Hermione to herself, shivering fiercely as she searched. Raindrops pattered against the ground all around her, beating an irregular tattoo that was almost soothing in its quality, even as it soaked her more thoroughly by the minute. Occasionally, the sky above would growl like a sullen beast, lighting the scene of her search with brief actinic flashes, as fleeting as they were uncommon.

The shack was her only realistic option for shelter until this rainstorm passed, anywhere else in Hogsmeade she invited discovery, scandal and possible expulsion from Hogwarts. In spite of everything, that was still her greatest fear. Had it been a year ago, she wouldn't have expected anything less from someone like Dolores Umbridge. She could just imagine the barely suppressed, yet hideously triumphant glee on the face of the temporary headmistress as she handed down such a punishment... so it was perhaps fortunate for Hermione that she had been suspended near the end of the previous school year. But she couldn't count on the fact that her punishment would be any less severe if she was caught, after what she had done.

The problem with getting into the shack was the lack of real entryways. All the doors and windows were, of course, fake, so she couldn't use any of them to gain entrance. However, that didn't mean there was no way to get in. Many people might naturally assume that the only entrance was underneath the Whomping Willow, especially if they knew that the place had been constructed specifically as a means to contain Professor Lupin while he was in his werewolf form.

Hermione, on the other hand, looked at it logically: if that was the case, why build such a prison in Hogsmeade at all? Why not build something in one of the more inaccessible places on Hogwarts grounds, where it would attract little to no attention at all? No, this was a two way tunnel, but the second entrance she was looking for wasn't one that a werewolf would have been able to make use of.

"This must be it!"

The yard around the Shrieking Shack was littered with detritus. Decades, possibly centuries of neglect had led to many of the wizards in the village taking to using the small patch of grounds surrounding the shack as a dumping ground for unwanted furniture, old fixtures and fittings, and broken magical objects, at least up until the point where it became widely accepted that the house was haunted, at which point people started steering clear of it. If it had been Hermione, she would have made use of this fact in the design of the secret tunnel and werewolf prison. She was hoping Dumbledore would have had the same idea.

She stood before a squat old brick kiln set into a small hollow in the ground hidden behind the shack, up against which someone had leant a broken down fireplace surround, almost in mocking evocation of a grand fireplace from some mansion or castle. It was half covered by rotting sheets and strewn about with leaves. She drew the sheets back and ducked under the mantel. The interior of the kiln went back several feet, and on the floor near the front, she found what she was looking for.

A small fire had been built in the middle of the kiln, like a miniature camp fire. It was probably a great many years since it had been lit, perhaps even before Hermione had been born, but it was not a part of the kiln itself, rather it had been built from small stones by some unknown wizard in times long past. Ancient cinders littered the floor, scattered by winds but trapped by the shape of the kiln.

She held up her wand and uttered a spell.

"Incendio."

The fire leapt from her wand and lit the little fireplace with twisting yellow flames. The fire burned unnaturally, there was nothing in the fireplace to provide fuel for the flames, yet the little blaze burned strongly, without looking like it was about to diminish and die. For a moment, the flame brought back the recent memory of the blasting curse she had used to... that she had attacked Bellatrix with. Hermione shook herself. It would do no good wrapping herself up in it now. If she had done something wrong, she would answer for it eventually.

For now, she had to escape the rain.

Tucking her wand into her sodden robes, she drew forth a small pouch that contained a glittery powder.

"Two sickles a scoop," she muttered, and the memory brought a slight smile to her face.

"Don't... move..."

The hoarse voice that sounded behind her made her freeze due to its horrifying familiarity.

"Drop whatever it is you're holding and turn round," said the voice. "Slowly."

The pouch dropped from her nerveless fingers and she turned,

Bellatrix Lestrange stood before her, and for a moment Hermione's heart surged with irrational relief. Relief that she hadn't yet become a killer.

That relief was quickly replaced by the realisation that her death was likely only moments away.

Bellatrix stood, straight backed and side-on amidst the deluge, wand outstretched and pointing directly at Hermione. Her other hand was held in the air behind her, as if she were a fencer about to parry and riposte.

It would have been a confident pose, if it hadn't been for the look on her face. She seemed to be having trouble keeping her features still, her brow furrowed and unfurrowed and her lower lip quivered.

Hermione lifted her hands into the air, not expecting any mercy from her opponent.

"You... what did you do?"

"What did I do?" asked Hermione, genuinely nonplussed at why the witch hadn't killed her yet.

"What did you do," nodded Bellatrix jerkily. Her face would still not settle. She lifted her chin in an unsteady approximation of defiance. "To me."

And suddenly Hermione understood.

"The hex..." she breathed. Her voice strengthened. "It worked, didn't it?"

"No riddles!" snapped Bellatrix, her tone brittle, on the edge of breaking. "Just tell me what you did!"

But the tables had suddenly been turned. Hermione realised what the play of emotion on Bellatrix's face meant, how much turmoil she must be in. Any thought of the danger the dark witch might pose evaporated.

"What's it like?" she smirked. "To be something so loathsome... and to know it?"

That was apparently too much for Bellatrix, she gasped and pitched forward, only just retaining her balance. She doubled up, grasping her stomach, still trying to point her wand at Hermione, but failing badly. When she looked up, the pure anguish on her face gave Hermione pause. This was exactly what she had hoped for when she constructed her spell, yet now, when she was faced with the pain she had inflicted, she found she could take little pleasure in it.

"What did you do to me?" moaned the dark witch.

"You can't kill me, can you?" said Hermione, her voice turning cold as her terror and elation ebbed away. She stalked around the witch, circling her as she huddled down clutching herself. Suddenly Hermione was the one with the power. "You can't attack me. You can't hurt me. They're talking to you, aren't they? All the people? All your victims? They're in your head, right now, accusing you. Damning you!"

"You have to fix me," groaned Bellatrix. "Please!"

"Fix you?" asked Hermione, coming to a halt in front of Bellatrix again, "I already fixed you." She regarded her coldly for several moments. "Compared to what you were, this is better for everyone."

She turned away, moving back to the kiln oven and the small fire she had lit. Bellatrix sank down to the ground as she stepped away from her.

"P-please!" she tried again. "You have to cure me!"

Hermione looked back at the pitiful black bundle on the sodden ground behind her of her. Above them, thunder rumbled once more.

"No."

She walked away, back towards the kiln, stooping under the surround and retrieving the pouch of powder. She reached inside and took a pinch in her fingers, then readied herself for the short trip.

"Wait! Don't go!" cried Bellatrix, desperately. "Take me with you!"

"Take you with me?" asked Hermione, looking around in amazement. She glanced up at the shack. "It's not as if I'm going far."

"I can't go back to the Dark Lord. He'll kill me. If he doesn't, the others will!"

"Which would be no more than you deserve," said Hermione.

The fight at last went out of Bellatrix at that statement. Her shoulders slumped, her arms fell limp into her lap and her head dropped to her chest. She looked like a broken doll.

"Please," she whispered. "I didn't know..."

Hermione watched her warily for a little while, but the dark witch no longer moved, nor said anything else. After several seconds of internal conflict, she stepped back out into the rain and marched over to the ragged form on the ground.

"I'm going to regret this, I know it!" she muttered. Then she grabbed Bellatrix under an arm. "Come on, get up!"

Bellatrix looked up, dark eyes wide and uncomprehending.

"I'm not leaving you out here, get up!" said Hermione. She half hauled, half dragged the woman towards the kiln.

"That's floo powder," croaked Bellatrix, seeing the pouch in her hand.

"Yes, I'm using it to get into the Shrieking Shack."

"But the shack isn't on the floo network..."

"I'm guessing it's on its own network," replied Hermione. "A network of two."

---

They tumbled from the fireplace into the interior of the shack in a cloud of dust and cinders. Hermione was immediately on her feet, leaving Bellatrix looking like a half-drowned raven in the middle of the dusty floor. Hermione relit the fire to get some warmth into the old place. It was exactly as she remembered it from three years ago. The room was rickety, but surprisingly free of draughts, with bare wooden floorboards underfoot. Broken down and dust ridden furniture were the room's only other occupants. It smelled of dry rot and age, but it was at least dry, with not a sign of a leak coming from the roof.

There was one major difference: when she checked the trapdoor that led down to the tunnel, she found it was filled in with earth beneath. There was no way of knowing if the earth stretched a couple of metres or if the entire tunnel was filled in, all the way up to the Whomping Willow.

Further searching uncovered an old cabinet with sheets and blankets in it. Professor Lupin had obviously had to make use of them from time to time after transforming back into human form. There were even a few towels. The various linen were almost as dusty as everything else, but once Hermione had shaken them out, she thought they would be fit for purpose.

Returning to the main room, she found Bellatrix shivering, still sitting where she had left her. Her hands were pressed to her mouth and she rocked ever so slightly back and forward, staring at an empty spot on the floor, a few feet away.

Hermione draped one of the blankets around her shoulders.

"You should move closer to the fire," she told the woman. "You'll get ill if you don't warm up and dry out."

Bellatrix didn't move, so she sighed and let her be. Moving to the fire, she peeled off her sodden robes and began attacking her hair with one of the towels. It was going to end up a frizzy mess, but she didn't suppose that really mattered when the only person to see it would be the dark witch.

The dark witch who tried to kill me, not long ago...

For some reason, that struck her as funny and she had to suppress a giggle. The sorry looking creature on the floor behind her certainly didn't seem capable of hurting anyone right now, even if she had the desire.

The sound of sobbing startled Hermione into looking around. A choking sound struggled from Bellatrix's throat and her shoulders hitched and shook. Hermione was shocked to see the most feared dark witch of her generation was actually crying.

"Why did you do this to me?" whispered Bellatrix, through her tears.

Hermione stood uncertainly, not knowing what to do. Her first instinct was to comfort the woman, but this was Bellatrix Lestrange! One didn't just give Bellatrix Lestrange a hug!

And yet, the woman seemed so unlike the murderous Death Eater of old, so frail and alone... She took a faltering step towards her, then suddenly walking became much easier and she crossed the room and knelt down behind the dark witch. Whatever she was, Bellatrix was in pain, perhaps greater pain than Hermione could conceive of. She was responsible for that, her spell had inflicted this pain, and now that she saw its effects, she found it difficult to reconcile with her own character. It didn't matter that this was exactly what she had set out to do, inflicting pain and retribution wasn't normally her way. Had she changed since that night in the department of mysteries? Had she become darker, herself? Crueller? Hermione didn't like that the answer to those questions might well have been 'yes'.

Could she make things better without returning Bellatrix to the way she had been? Magically speaking, she had no answer to that. In all honesty, she didn't understand the full effects of the hex she had created, its facets were complicated to say the least. So then, what could she do to ease the pain she had caused? Hermione could only think of one thing.

She reached out gingerly and put her arms around the woman's shoulders. Bellatrix stiffened at the contact, her sobs ceasing in an instant, but she didn't pull away, or turn on Hermione.

"I'm sorry," whispered the younger girl.

That was too much for Bellatrix. She arched her back against Hermione and shrieked at the ceiling, then fell into a dead faint.

---

Bellatrix awoke to find herself curled up deep within a comfortable armchair facing a crackling fireplace. A warm, but dusty blanket covered her from her chin to her toes, the same dusty blanket that had been draped around her shoulders by... someone. She frowned, sleepily, trying to remember who. It should have been Rodolphus, or maybe one of their fawning house elves, but that didn't seem right somehow. The fireplace was also wrong, it didn't have the grand surround or the imposing stone mantel of the Lestrange manor... in fact it was quite plain, dark wood that was dusty and cracked. It wasn't familiar at all...

The shack. She was inside the Shrieking Shack. The wooden walls and ceiling still creaked and groaned gently around her, the storm still raged distantly beyond. The girl, Hermione, had brought them both here.

She stiffened and looked around as memory returned in a rush. Something had been done to her, changed her in some way. And with the change had come... confusion... pain...

Hermione sat on the bare floorboards to the right of the comfortable armchair. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, her cheek resting on one knee. She was looking into the fire, with a distant expression on her face. The firelight shone in her deep brown eyes. For a long moment, Bellatrix was captivated by the sight, then she drew a breath.

"How long...?"

Hermione must have heard her stirring, because she didn't look up or appear surprised by Bellatrix breaking the silence in the room.

"A few hours," she replied.

Bellatrix looked around herself at the chair she was sitting in. It hadn't existed in the room before she passed out, in fact it looked totally out of place, brand new with no layer of dust, no stuffed padding bursting out of moth eaten upholstery. It was clean and new, with large plump cushions and coverings of a rich red and gold colour. The colours of Gryffindor.

"You made this chair?"

Hermione nodded.

"That's pretty impressive magic," said Bellatrix, straightening and sitting forward, the blanket falling forward, exposing her body beneath. "Well, for a muggle-bo–"

She was naked.

With a gasp, she pulled the blanket up and sat back in the chair. She looked at the girl, who had yet to even glance away from the fire. Could there be just the hint of a smile on her face?

"I'm naked," she said, flatly.

"Your clothes were soaked," replied Hermione, and this time she was really sure there was a smile on her face. "They're drying on that rack, over there." The girl gestured vaguely. "Don't worry, I didn't look."

"You didn't look..." said Bellatrix through gritted teeth. The old familiar anger, hot and quick, was rising in her. That hadn't changed, then...

And yet, the anger faded again as she thought about what had changed.

"What did you do to me?" she asked, after a long pause. At this, Hermione finally turned her head and regarded her. She seemed to be considering what she would say quite seriously, but when it came to it, her words were simple.

"I gave you a conscience."

Bellatrix sneered at this, but Hermione's expression remained resolutely serious. Her sneer became a worried frown.

"There's no such magic..." she said. It was true, she had not been made aware of anything like that, not in her time at Hogwarts and certainly not since coming to the Dark Lord's side. The mocking expression returned at the thought. "If there was, the Dark Lord would know it. I would know it!"

"You're right," replied Hermione. "No such magic existed. Which is why I created it."

"Nonsense! You can't just create –"

"Every hex and charm, every curse and jinx, every single spell that exists has been created by someone at some point," said Hermione, cutting her off. "The spell didn't exist before because nobody ever thought it was possible. Nobody even thought of it!"

"But you can't just give someone a –"

"You can make someone feel love," said Hermione. "All it takes is a potion. You can also make them feel happiness, fear, anger, guilt..."

"Is that what you did to me? You forced feelings of guilt on me?"

"No!" said Hermione forcefully. But she didn't go any further, seemingly couldn't explain herself beyond the simple denial, though she appeared to struggle with words for a while. Eventually, she turned back to the fire, leaving everything she had been fighting to get out unsaid.

"Will it wear off?" asked Bellatrix, filling the silence between them. Already, she could hear the accusatory whispers of the dead in her mind. All it would take for them to return full force was if she turned her thoughts towards them.

"I don't know," replied Hermione. She stood up and stretched. "I have to get going. The rain stopped a while ago and there's someone waiting for me. I hope..."

"So you're just going to leave?" said Bellatrix, the anger building again. She stood up, holding the blanket against her front. "You have to get back to your life, do you? Sorry darling, see yourself out and lock up behind you? You get to just do this to me and then run away?"

Hermione rounded on her angrily.

"You aren't allowed to lecture me!" she hissed. "After everything you've done? All the people you've hurt?"

And that was enough to break the dam and send the memories flooding back in. Bellatrix pulled up short, shocked into silence. And in the silence, the voices of the dead grew.

What made it worse was the way the girl looked at her. Distaste, mixed with pity, like she was something broken and ugly. Her. Bellatrix Lestrange. If she hadn't been taking such body blows since their duel in the forest, she would have been spitting in furious indignation...

No, that wasn't right. She wouldn't only have been angry. She would have attacked the girl without even a thought. Attacked and killed her.

Bellatrix slowly sat back down in the chair.

She was broken.

She was ugly.

She had never thought about it before, the way she appeared to others. How was it possible they could see her with revulsion? She was a Lestrange... more than that, she was a Black. Both of her families were ancient and proud. The whole wizarding world respected them – feared them, even.

And yet, that hateful expression of loathing and pity remained on the girl's face as she turned away, moving to the rack of drying clothing and retrieving her school robes.

"Wait..." said Bellatrix, almost too quietly to hear.

"You can stay here as long as you need to," said Hermione, "heaven knows this place won't help you get into Hogwarts any more, so I don't have to worry about that, at least."

"Wait," said Bellatrix again, with more strength this time.

"I'll leave some floo powder on the table here. When you've recovered sufficiently, you can use it to –"

"I said wait!" said Bellatrix, rising again and stepping towards the girl. This time, Hermione rounded on her, suddenly and fiercely.

"I'm giving you a chance to escape, Bellatrix!" she chattered. "Why don't you just take it? God knows I should be taking you to Dumbledore, or better yet the ministry! You should be punished for all the people you've hurt! After all the crimes you've committed, the dementor's kiss might even be too good for you!"

She stalked forwards as she ranted, and, unbelievably, the older woman gave ground until she fell back into the chair, her eyes wide. Hermione loomed over her, her chest heaving from the anger and frustration coursing through her, even when the words had finished flowing from her in an unstoppable tirade.

"Why are you doing this?" Bellatrix asked. "I'm beaten. You can do what you like to me, so why?"

Hermione turned her head away, her cheeks burning and frustrated tears starting in her eyes.

"Because it's my fault you're like this," she replied after a while. "I don't have the right to punish you when you're like this."

She turned away again, moving back to the fire and taking a handful of floo powder from the pouch.

"Where am I supposed to go?"

Hermione paused, but didn't turn. It was impossible for Bellatrix to know what expression was on the girl's face.

"To be honest, Bellatrix," she told her, "I really don't care."

Then, in a blaze of green flames, she was gone.

---

When she reached the border boundary of Hogwarts grounds, at close to four o'clock in the morning, Hermione found Firenze standing patiently in the darkness that was just starting to lighten as morning crept ever closer. He was staring up at the clearing skies and the stars beginning to peek through the breaking clouds, still as a statue, save for the occasional swish of his tail. Hermione could well imagine him standing in that position for hours, waiting for her to return.

The centaur bore her stuttering apology without comment, his face as inscrutable as she had ever seen it. When she trailed off, he asked her if she was satisfied with her endeavour. She haltingly told him that she wasn't sure, wondering to herself exactly how much the centaur knew of her encounter with the dark witch.

Then Firenze carried her swiftly back to the castle, once again demonstrating a lack of pride that would have brought scorn upon him from the other centaurs of his clan. She thanked him profusely, which he accepted with a gracious nod, then hurried back through the darkened school to the Gryffindor common room, avoiding Filch and the noisier suits of armour on her way. Then she fell, exhausted, into bed, where she slipped into an unhappy and restless sleep, almost forgetting to change into her night clothes before she did so.

The next day was murder, trying to stay awake through her lessons, as well as retain the facts her teachers were attempting to impart. Particularly difficult was History of Magic, which, for a normal student, was soporific at the best of times and downright excruciating on only a few hours sleep. Somehow Hermione managed to struggle through, although both Harry and Ron gave her some strange looks when her forehead banged hard on the surface of her desk in their shared charms class.

"Late night was it?" asked Ron as she reeled backwards, clutching her forehead. Hermione had only just repaired her friendship with Ron after the Lavender Brown episode, so she refrained from damaging it again with a scathing reply, choosing instead only to throw a dirty look at the boy. Ron merely grinned in reply.

The grin was replaced by a slightly more concerned look when her forehead again banged on the table twenty minutes later, but it was for Harry to ask more seriously after her welfare.

"Hermione, are you okay? You've been looking pale since this morning, and you've hardly put your hand up once to answer a question."

"Did somebody hit you with a drowsing charm, or something?" asked Ron, though not unkindly.

"I'm fine," replied Hermione. "I just didn't sleep well last night, that's all."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, but appeared to shrug it off, much to Hermione's relief.

When she wasn't banging her head on desks, Hermione found her mind constantly wandering from her studies, turning instead towards the Shrieking Shack and its occupant. Would Bellatrix have fled the place after Hermione left? Or would she still be there, even now, unable to act for herself after the damage Hermione had done to her? She found herself more and more preoccupied by the question as the day wore on, until, by the end of classes, she had resolved to return to the shack to see if the dark witch was still there.

It's just natural human concern, she thought to herself as she marched up the steps towards the divination tower. Besides, it's my fault she's the way she is. It's my responsibility.

She had considered asking Harry for the use of his invisibility cloak and the marauder's Map in order to get to Hogsmeade, but decided against it as it would involve a lot of questions she wasn't ready to answer yet. It was a wrench not having Harry and Ron at her side, but she had begun this undertaking without them and she would just have to see it through on her own, as well. Or at least for the moment, anyway.

She resolved instead to ask for Professor Firenze's aid once more. So preoccupied she was with Bellatrix Lestrange, that it didn't occur to her as she climbed the North Tower, that a centaur was unlikely to be able to reach the upper reaches of Hogwarts castle. As she reached the small landing below the Divination classroom, the last members of the previous class were making their way past her, muttering to one another. She didn't hear much, but caught one person saying what sounded like "...acting weird again..." Frowning, she climbed the silvery ladder to the circular trapdoor leading to the divination classroom and rested her hand against its surface ready to push it open. Before she could, however, the door was wrenched open, out of her reach and she was faced by Professor Trelawney, staring owl-like down at her.

The divination professor grabbed her by her robes and dragged her bodily into the classroom drawing a yelp of surprise from Hermione. The trapdoor banged shut behind them. As soon as it did, Trelawny released her.

"Professor!" exclaimed Hermione, backing up against an overstuffed armchair. Trelawney didn't answer. She was staring right at her, but her gaze didn't seem to touch Hermione. Instead it was as if she was looking straight through her, at something very far away. "Professor?" tried Hermione again, moving forward, curiously.

"She waits!" said Trelawney, suddenly, making Hermione jump. Her voice was harsh, half a gasp, half a hoarse shout, and it seemed to boom out of her, larger than the woman's small frame should have been capable of producing. Trelawney took a step forward, backing the terrified Hermione up against the back of the chair again. "She waits for the coming of her former master! The secret must be kept, the innocent saved, for much blood will be spilled if the dark witch dies. More and more again, as the Dark Lord wreaks his vengeance for his lost servant. Heart of black may yet be turned. The strange may save and the beautiful may yet destroy aaaaallllll..."

The crazed speech ended in a coughing fit. Trelawney hunched over and staggered several steps away from Hermione, wheezing. After a few moments, she straightened.

"Stupid bloody hay-fever! I swear it gets earlier every year. We're not even in April yet..."

She turned and jumped when she spotted Hermione by the chair. It took a moment for her misty far-off demeanour to reassert itself.

"Oh! Oh my... Oh, it's you, girl. What are you doing there? I didn't hear you come in. Did you need something?"

"I... I was looking for Professor Firenze," stuttered Hermione.

"Dobbin?" She looked Hermione up and down. "Well yes, I suppose someone of your paltry talent for far-seeing would need a more... basic grounding in the arts of divination. He has his own classroom – classroom eleven – though I believe the horse is in the grounds, somewhere. He mentioned something about a meeting with Hagrid."

Hermione nodded, shakily. Then she turned and fled the Astrology classroom.

She didn't stop running again until she was outside and quite out of breath. Several of the students she had passed had given her strange looks, but she hadn't even noticed.

What had happened in Trelawney's classroom? Had that been a real life prophecy, or had Trelawney simply been acting up to her role as divination professor? Hermione wasn't sure. Something about the words she had spoken felt very relevant to her current situation. The stuff about the 'lost servant' and the 'strange' and the 'beautiful' had to be talking about Bellatrix right?

I mean, she's both strange and beautiful, isn't she? And her maiden name is Black, as well...

But then again, Trelawney was a huge fraud, wasn't she? Nothing about the 'prophecy' had been particularly precise, all "this might be this, and that might happen if..." kind of nonsense. It was typical of the woman and the fakery she was prone to creating.

She leant against the standing stone she had punched Malfoy against in her third year, breathing heavily and slowly getting herself back under control. In the distance, she could see Hagrid's cabin. And now she looked carefully, she realised she could see Hagrid as well. The half giant stood amidst his pumpkin patch and, sure enough, so did Firenze. In that much, at least, Trelawney had been telling the truth.

Hermione straightened and, taking a steadying breath, set off down the hillside.

When she reached the modest gardens of the grounds-keeper's hut, Hagrid and Firenze looked up from what looked like an earnest discussion. Hagrid looked instantly pleased to see her.

"Oh, 'ello there Hermione. Not with Ron and Harry today?"

"Um, no... no, not really," replied Hermione, awkwardly. She had considered discussing Bellatrix with them, but had decided against it. It would have brought up uncomfortable questions about the spell she had created, and in truth it might have put them in more danger. Either that, or Bellatrix herself. What if Harry and Ron got it into their heads that this was the opportunity to take Bellatrix out of the equation?

What if they told Neville?

"Not had another fight, I hope? Such a shame if you 'ave, I do enjoy it when you three come traipsin' down 'ere. Makes the old hut feel much more like a home. Not tha' I don't enjoy seein' you on yer own, o' course, Hermione. It's just it don't feel right when the three of you aren't together. Anyway, wha' can I do for you?"

He beamed at her through his huge bushy beard.

"Oh, well, actually I was here to see Professor Firenze..." replied Hermione, suddenly feeling awkward. The smile vanished from Hagrid's face.

"Oh!" he said, trying to hide a look of disappointment. "Righ', if you say so..." He looked from one to the other and when neither said anything else, he got the message. "Well, I suppose I ought ter leave you two to it, then, oughtn't I?"

She felt quite guilty as she watched Hagrid lumber away, mumbling bemusedly to himself, but she had more pressing concerns right now. She turned to the centaur.

"Professor Firenze, I'm really sorry to ask this again, but..."

"You wish to leave Hogwarts once more. Something is left undone from your previous excursion."

"Yes," replied Hermione, slightly taken aback by his near perfect reading of the situation. Firenze nodded and knelt down in front of her.

"You don't have to carry me again," said Hermione, flustered, "I know the other centaurs give you a hard time about it."

But Firenze shook his head.

"It will be quicker this way," he said simply.

"Was I interrupting something important?" asked Hermione, once she had climbed onto his back and they were away, trotting swiftly in the direction of Hogsmeade.

"Hagrid is kindly being a mediator between myself and my tribe. Alas, it seems they are not ready to accept the way I see things. They do not read the stars the way I do."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione. Then she found herself thinking about divination and Professor Trelawney's outburst. "May I ask, Professor, what do you think about... prophecy?"

"It is an imprecise method of divination," replied Firenze, easily. "Though not without its uses. We centaur seek future seeing through reading of nature and the cosmos, but even we have had seers and prophets in the past."

"Then you think there's something to it?"

"Doubtless, however prophecy is a double ended arrow. It may appear at first to point one way, but often it in fact points another. And there is no way to draw and fire a double ended arrow. Either way you attempt it, it cuts the string you would try to draw against."

Hermione fell into an unhappy silence as she considered this. They spoke very little for the rest of the journey.

When they reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Hermione climbed from Firenze's back and thanked him for again helping her off the grounds. He nodded distantly, then produced a small shell like device. It had two holes in it and what looked like a tiny mouthpiece.

"When you need me again, blow hard into this," Firenze told her, placing the tiny whistle in her hand. "I will hear and come to your aid."

She thanked him again and turned down the lane that led to the Shrieking Shack, placing the whistle (if that was what it was) safely into a pocket inside her robes.

When she finally made it to the Shrieking Shack, it was getting towards late afternoon. The students at Hogwarts would be just starting to think about making their way down to the great hall to take their evening meal.

Hermione climbed carefully over the boundary wall, looking up at the shack and wondering if Bellatrix was truly still inside. It wasn't until she reached the kiln with the propped up fire surround before another thought struck her. She didn't know how permanent the spell she had created was. What if it had worn off and Bellatrix was back to her murderous old self?

What if she was waiting for her?

Nervously she pulled out her wand, then briefly thought about turning back. Then she shook herself. What if she hadn't changed back? Either way, Hermione owed it to herself, and to Firenze for his sacrifices, to check on the dark witch.

She quickly lit the fire and rummaged for her pouch of floo powder, then stepped through the boundary

"The Shrieking Shack," she intoned, and the green flames leapt up around her.

---

Screaming. That was what she heard. Screaming, wailing, sobbing. The sounds of grief, of death, of murder. They were all sounds that she was familiar with, songs she had once delighted in. What madness had that been?

Now the sounds crowded around her, the leering/anguished dead faces pressing against her from all directions, all times, even from within. They were at their worst within her head.

What madness had that been?

How had she been possessed to do the things she had done... and to like them? How could anyone of sane mind have revelled the way she had revelled in others' suffering? The answer was simple: They couldn't.

She was quite mad.

And with that knowledge came a fear of such sublime perfection, the faces around her laughed to see it, even as they screamed and howled. They knew what the fear meant. That their victory was close at hand.

The madness, the fear, the guilt, the death. They would consume her and destroy her, and she would welcome it in the end. She would welcome it now.

And yet...

The screaming faces shifted, unsure, close to victory, yet feeling a subtle shift that could yet misalign their vengeance.

Someone was coming.

---

Hermione stepped from the fireplace to find the interior of the Shrieking Shack apparently deserted. The fire that had burned behind her appeared to have long since died out, casting the room in a half-light of shadow and gloom, punctured only by chinks of light thrown from gaps in the rickety walls and roof. A chill hung in the air, and it was a chill that was made more penetrating by the mournful moaning of the shifting timbers.

Hermione shivered.

The large red and gold armchair she had transfigured from a mouldy pillow still stood by the fire, but the cheerful glow of it was diminished in the darkness. The items of clothing that had been drying on the rack were gone.

"Bellatrix?" she called, softly. Her breath misted in the cold air as she held her wand up, uncertainly, before her. "Bellatrix?" she called again, louder this time.

Something in the deeper recesses of the room stirred and Hermione whipped her wand around, pointing it into the shadows in the corner.

There was a dark shape there, insubstantial, almost invisible, but a shape nonetheless. It looked like black rags wrapped around the shadow of an old broken doll.

"Bellatrix?" asked Hermione, moving cautiously towards it.

All at once, the shape darted out of the corner. Hermione almost cried out as she recoiled, but instead of flying at her, the black shape scampered and flapped into a deeper corner further away from the girl, throwing itself into the darker shadows there.

She heard the sound of weeping. It trickled forlornly out of the darkness.

Gathering her courage, Hermione stepped more purposefully towards the sound, crossing the room in a few strides, arriving in front of the pitiful bundle.

"Bellatrix," she tried again, "it's Hermione. I came back to check on you."

Once again, the shape flew from the corner, but this time it came directly at her and Hermione really did cry out. A pale hand snagged the front of her robes as the girl stumbled backwards, tripping on the hem and falling onto her behind with a pained squeak. Her wand clattered to the wooden floorboards and rolled away from her.

"Make it stop!" gasped Bellatrix, her white face and wide eyes suddenly inches from her own, staring at her. The face was full of anguish, the eyes twin pools of madness and despair. "Make the screaming stop!"

Hermione cried out again and tried to scramble backwards, but the dark witch's hold on her robes stopped her where she was. She tried to prise the hands free, but Bellatrix's grip was like iron, her hands just as cold.

"My god, you're freezing!" gasped Hermione, without thinking. The dark witch's wild eyes gained some focus at her words, then a strange humour filled them.

"Ha ha!" she laughed suddenly. "Ha ha ha! Are you concerned about me, girl? Are you concerned about a dark witch who tried to kill you? That's quite funny when you think about it!"

"Please let go of me," tried Hermione, "just... just let me get up."

"And what?" hissed Bellatrix. "You'll curse me?"

"I'll light the fire," said Hermione, "we can talk."

But the mention of fire brought fear to the dark witch's face once more.

"No... no fire," moaned Bellatrix, "they're in the fire... they're in the flames, they're at the window, they're behind the door... they're all around me, screaming! Why won't they stop screaming?"

"Who won't?" asked Hermione as the dark witch's grip finally began to loosen. Bellatrix didn't have her wand and her own was only a short distance away on the floor. She reached for it and Bellatrix's eyes followed the movement. Their gaze locked once more.

"Do it," hissed Bellatrix, "you know it's what you want. It's what they all want."

Hermione grasped her wand and brought it up. Then she shook her head.

"No," she said. She took Bellatrix's hands in her own and gently but firmly extracted them from her robes. "I'm not like you. I won't curse you, I don't even have the right any more."

Bellatrix's face contorted in anguish, then she fell against Hermione, shuddering. Hermione put her arms around the woman. Even through her clothing, Hermione could feel how terribly cold she was.

"Why did you let the fire go out? You'll make yourself sick!"

"The faces..." whispered Bellatrix. Hermione frowned and tried to sit up properly.

"Come on, let's get you up off this dirty floor."

She began tugging at Bellatrix, who allowed herself to be pulled up and led over to the chair. With a swish of her wand and a squeal of wooden feet on floorboards, the chair stretched and reformed to become a cosy two seater, sprouting extra cushions to sit on. Another flick set the fire blazing merrily once more. Bellatrix whimpered at this and turned her face away, even as Hermione sat them down in the newly created sofa. She was shivering horribly, in spite of the new warmth the fire was casting.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, but the dark witch only shook her head, refusing to look at the fire. Hermione sighed, exasperated. "Is this how you're going to be from now on? Whimpering and trembling like a... a... downtrodden house elf? Don't you have any pride as a witch? As a Black? You lot are always going on about your precious 'blood-status' and how you're so much better than the rest of us. What happened to that?"

Bellatrix stiffened in her arms and Hermione thought she had gone too far. After a pause, however, the witch straightened, extricating herself from Hermione, though she still refused to look towards the flames.

"They're in the fire..." breathed the dark witch.

"Who are?" asked Hermione.

Very slowly, Bellatrix's hands crept up to her head, into the thick tresses of her wild, dark hair, and there they lodged, pulling at the roots. A deranged expression appeared on her face, wild and scared – she looked like the archetypal lunatic, ready to wail and pull her hair and tear her clothes.

"The faces," she said in a voice barely beyond a whisper. It was obvious the floodgates were about to break, and let loose the madness that Bellatrix had, until now, controlled with her cruelty and callous disregard for others.

In alarm, Hermione tried to reach for her, but Bellatrix shook off her questing hands.

"Faces in the window! Faces in the fire!" uttered the dark witch, her voice rising. "They're screaming at me! Burning! I don't even know how many there are... why are there so many? I killed them... I killed them all!"

"No, Bellatrix, listen to me! That wasn't you! That was another witch, one who didn't know what she was doing, one who didn't know right from wrong."

"No, no, no, no..." she moaned, shaking her head. "I knew. I knew! I just didn't care! I didn't... I didn't..."

She shrieked, her eyes wide as saucers as another vision assailed her, and Hermione was suddenly very aware of exactly the damage she had done to Bellatrix. How could she have even thought she was doing good, not just in using the Moralus Conferi hex in first place, but in subsequently abandoning her to her pain? She had left Bellatrix on her own for a night and a day in which she had slowly been losing her mind.

This isn't my fault, she tried to tell herself. But was that really true? The old Bellatrix might well have deserved punishment, even as severe as the pain she was currently going through, but this wasn't the old Bellatrix. This was a witch with a conscience and with feelings. She might as well have been an entirely new person, one struggling with the world she had been cast into, suddenly and violently and with no hope of help.

And the old Bellatrix would have been impervious to this pain. That was why she had required the spell in the first place, but Hermione's own set of values and morals had led her down a path that had created an innocent merely for the purposes of taking the punishment deserved by another. She felt sick.

"They want to hurt me!" cried Bellatrix. "They want to hurt me as I hurt them!"

"Then stop them!" shouted Hermione, trying to bring the witch's attention back to her. "You may feel you deserve their retribution, you may want to take on their pain and suffering, but it solves nothing! It just hurts more people!"

Bellatrix finally looked at her and Hermione took the opportunity to seize her hands, drawing them away from her hair and holding them securely. She tried to pull away again, but Hermione tightened her grip.

"Stop it, Bellatrix," she said in a quieter voice. "Throwing yourself into madness isn't the answer. Killing yourself isn't the answer. You're stronger than that."

The dark witch smiled, bitterly.

"Am I?" she hissed. "Who would my death hurt? I have no one that cares for me. Only rivals and the cowed and fearful."

"It would hurt me!" replied Hermione. Bellatrix's eyes widened at her words and Hermione hurried on. "I mean, I'm responsible for you now, aren't I? I'm the reason you're like this. How do you think I would feel if you ended up dead because of me?"

Bellatrix looked genuinely confused by that, as if putting herself in someone else's shoes was a concept she hadn't really considered before. But then she laughed, and Hermione relaxed somewhat. It was a sound that no longer seemed edged with madness, only rueful resignation.

"It would hurt you, eh, girl? My death?"

Hermione blushed.

"And what about your family?" she continued, in order to cover her embarrassment. "Won't they be worried about you?"

"My family?" frowned Bellatrix. "My parents are long dead, but I'm sure my father would have disowned me if he could see what's happened to me. Probably my mother, too. Rodolphos is the Dark Lord's man more than he's my husband. Cissy... well... perhaps. She didn't abandon me when I was in Azkaban, I suppose. She took me in after I escaped... although, I expect that was to stay in good standing with the Dark Lord. Still..."

What a breed these purebloods are... thought Hermione. Are they really impervious to love and warmth and uninterested in all but their pride and station?

No, surely not. They might have been misguided, even evil in some cases, but they were still human, Hermione reasoned. Even if they were hardened to such things, they couldn't be completely unaffected by love and the desire for human affection. Maybe that's just what Bellatrix needed. Maybe she could be helped to some degree and some good could come from this whole hex mess she'd got herself into.

But where would Bellatrix find such affection and love?

The answer was as obvious as it was troubling. It could come from nobody but Hermione herself.

I'm responsible for her now...

Bellatrix couldn't go back to her sister because of her proximity to Voldemort. She also couldn't be taken in by the Order, not after what happened in the department of mysteries. Not after what the old Bellatrix did to the Longbottoms and to Sirius Black. No matter how she explained it, she doubted any of her friends would ever accept the dark witch into their midst.

It was clear to Hermione, if she wanted to save the Bellatrix, she couldn't rely on anyone else but herself.

But to what end? Bellatrix couldn't stay in the Shack indefinitely, but likewise she couldn't leave it either. There wouldn't be anywhere she could go that would be safe, not even Hogwarts. There was also no one they could turn to for help. Not even Harry and Ron.

That thought gave her a sudden chill: this was the first time since coming to Hogwarts that Hermione had truly been on her own in an endeavour.

"What are you thinking about, girl?"

"What?" asked Hermione, blinking out of her reverie.

"You've had a stupid faraway look on your face for a while... is my family that much of a concern to you?"

"I'm trying to think of a way to help you!" replied Hermione, stung.

"You are?" Bellatrix looked genuinely surprised. "What for?"

"What for?! What do you think all this is about? Why do you think I came back here?"

Bellatrix drew herself straight, extracting her hands from Hermione's (she hadn't even realised she still held them) and looking haughty.

"I don't need your help," she arched.

"That's not what it looked like ten minutes ago," replied Hermione, acidly.

They glared at each other for several long moments. Then Bellatrix surprised her by laughing suddenly.

"Ha! Is this what it's come to? Being taken pity on by a muggle-born child with more hair than sense?"

"Speak for yourself," muttered Hermione, glancing at Bellatrix's own thick tresses. But then she found she couldn't hold on to laughter, herself, as it bubbled up unexpectedly inside her chest. After a few moments, it subsided. "It seems like you're feeling a bit better, anyway?"

Bellatrix frowned, thoughtfully.

"I don't know... for some reason, you being here makes me feel calmer." She regarded Hermione for a moment, her head cocked to one side. "Strange."

Hermione felt pinned by the older woman's gaze, like a small creature caught in the talons of a night owl. She cleared her throat, trying to dispel the mental image.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. Bellatrix shook her head.

"I don't know. Maybe there's nothing to be done. Certainly none of your friends at Hogwarts would help, no matter how nicely I were to ask them. Maybe it really would be better if I were to just–"

"Wait!" said Hermione, suddenly, her mind whirling. Ask for help... that was it!

"What is it, girl?" asked Bellatrix. "You've obviously thought of something."

"My friends might not want to help, but that doesn't mean Hogwarts is closed to us."

Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it...

"What do you mean?" asked Belltrix, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Hermione turned a winning smile on the dark witch.

"Dumbledore," said Hermione, beaming brightly.

---

"This is a bad idea," hissed Bellatrix as she edged along the stone corridor of Hogwarts castle a short distance behind Hermione. It was still broad daylight and the only thing preventing utter panic in the halls of the school at the sight of the notorious torturer and murderer was Harry's invisibility cloak. It had taken a couple of hours for Hermione to organise the whole operation – she had travelled back to Hogwarts, secured the use of the cloak from a bemused Harry Potter, then come all the way back to the shack to collect Bellatrix, before taking them (with an amazingly unruffled centaur conveying them both over school boundaries) into the heart of what had, up until very recently, been the deepest of enemy territory for the dark witch. Now they were creeping through the corridors towards the headmaster's office – or rather, Bellatrix was creeping and Hermione was trying to walk slowly and avoid looking conspicuous, whilst simultaneously attempting to keep people from bumping into the shrouded witch, something that was proving difficult, what with the sheer number of students and teachers abroad in the corridors.

"I know it is, but it's the only idea we've got, so we're doing it," replied Hermione, under her breath. A fellow student passed by and Hermione smiled brightly at the girl, backing up against Bellatrix so there would be no chance of the student bumping into her. The girl, a Ravenclaw, looked at her strangely, but carried on walking. Hermione let out a breath and resumed walking, tugging Bellatrix along behind her.

"Stop pulling me, girl, you'll pull this bloody blanket off me!" growled Bellatrix.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" frowned a Hufflepuff prefect.

"No, no!" twinkled Hermione. "Just talking to myself!"

She watched until the prefect had moved away. Then moved on, pulling Bellatrix along again.

"I said stop yanking on me!" Bellatrix snapped.

"How else am I supposed to know where you are?" replied Hermione, angrily. Bellatrix watched as she glanced about, obviously hoping nobody had seen her outburst. The girl then lowered her voice. "How am I supposed to know you haven't run off somewhere," she continued in a fierce whisper, "or got lost, or just decided you aren't really nice after all and gone off to cause some mischief?"

"Oh? You think I'm nice, do you?" asked Bellatrix, enjoying the way the girl coloured at these words. "Besides, you're forgetting I used to be a student here, too. I bet I know a lot more about this place than you do, girl."

"Stop calling me 'girl'," muttered Hermione.

"Why?" asked Bellatrix. "That's exactly what you are."

"But the way you say it... it's like you're looking down on me. Just remember what's going on here and what kind of a situation you're..."

A group of fourth year students came round the corner ahead of them and Hermione trailed off. Bellatrix growled audibly as the last of the children passed by, eliciting startled looks from the group. Hermione smiled sweetly at them and they hurried on, glancing backwards at their senior with confusion in their eyes.

"Okay, just stop it," whispered Hermione, "or I'll leave you here, and you can find your own way out."

"Works for me," replied Bellatrix, grinning. Her amusement, of course, went unseen by the girl.

"And I'm taking the cloak with me," shot Hermione, groping blindly, before snagging the garment and tugging hard. Bellatrix felt the material starting to slip free of her.

"All right, all right!" she said, quickly. "I get the message, girl, you're in charge – for the moment, at least. I'll do what you say."

"Good!" harrumphed Hermione. "And you called me 'girl' again."

"Fine! So what should I call you, then? Dearie? Sweetie?"

"Just... Just call me Hermione," said Hermione, looking more and more flustered, much to Bellatrix's returning amusement. "Come on!"

They set off again, through the winding corridors of Hogwarts castle, towards the gargoyle corridor and the twisting stone steps that led to the headmaster's office.

By the time they got there, the corridors, thankfully, were emptying. Evening was setting in and the students had started to make their way to their respective common rooms, or the library to study, or to the great hall to eat.

At the thought of food, Bellatrix's stomach twinged fretfully. It had been more than a day since she had eaten. Childhood memories of mealtimes at Hogwarts flooded back. She had never had a particularly happy time at the school, but the food had at least been excellent and bounteous. Sitting with her fellow Slytherins and working through chicken pies and Cornish pasties and cauldron cakes and spotted dick. Sometimes it had been hard to keep her figure with all the food presented to her!

Her stomach gave another lurch at the memory, but if Hermione heard it, she didn't comment. In truth, hunger pangs didn't affect her all that much any more. Azkaban prison had taught her that hunger could be the least of a person's torments.

Hermione stood in front of the gargoyle and looked from side to side, making sure no one was around. Then she spoke the password.

"Toffee eclairs."

The gargoyle guarding the stairs sprang to life and stepped aside, revealing the spiral staircase. They stood in silence for a moment, Bellatrix watching Hermione. Now that it came to it, the young girl seemed reluctant to enter.

"Come on then, Hermione, hop to it," said Bellatrix, making the girl jump. "We've come this far, no sense having second thoughts now."

"R-right," said Hermione, and with one last look around, they began climbing the stairs.

---

Her mind was a whirl as they climbed. They were about to request the headmaster's aid, but in doing so, she would have to reveal all that she had done, the spell she had created and the use of it outside of Hogwarts grounds. Neither of these actions would garner her any merit, indeed she had broken wizarding law, so she could reasonably expect expulsion and, at worst, incarceration in Azkaban prison. Any positive that had come from her action was, she now realised, probably irrelevant. Knowing this made every step Hermione took an effort. She would have been happy if the stairs had gone on forever, but in no time at all, they stood before the headmaster's door.

In response to her light knock, the oaken door swung smoothly open. Hesitating one last time, she stepped over the barrier and into the Headmaster's office, knowing that Bellatrix would be following closely behind.

The headmaster of Hogwarts rose from behind his desk as she entered.

"H-hello Headmaster," began Hermione, "sorry if I'm interrupting anything..."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Good evening, Hermione," he replied. "I presume from the look on your face that this is not a social visit and you have a matter of some import to discuss with me."

"I... er... yes." She stumbled over her words, trying to think of a way to start.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked, indicating a fresh pot that was steaming where it sat on his table, next to several china cups and a small crumpled paper bag. "Perhaps a sherbet lemon? I find important news is always made more easy in the conveyance if it's spoken around something sweet."

"No... I mean, thank you, sir, but... the thing is... it's not just me that's here to see you..."

"Ah yes, I gathered from the way my doorway chose to remain open a little longer after you had passed through, and from the slightly unexpected odour of dust and mildew that accompanies your companion, that was the case. Tell me, though, why have they chosen to conceal themselves from me?"

"Well," said Hermione, suddenly feeling panicked at the man's clear reading of the situation, "we didn't want to alarm you... I mean, it's a bit... difficult..."

"Oh, hang this!" said a voice next to her, and with a swish of fabric Bellatrix appeared next to her, an annoyed and somewhat defiant look on her face.

To his credit, Dumbledore only looked mildly surprised at the dark witch's sudden appearance and he didn't immediately reach for the wand that was lying on his desk.

"How interesting," he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, Bellatrix? I hope you haven't been making my students do anything against their will?"

Bellatrix snorted.

"You always were about control, Albus. But no, this time it's your student that's done something to me. And you can stop thinking about going for your wand, I'm not about to attack you. I can't, see? Not after what she did to me." She jerked her head at the young girl.

"I see." Dumbledore looked searchingly at Hermione for a moment, then gestured to his desk. Two overstuffed stools, complete with padded backs waddled up and plonked themselves down in front of it. "Why don't you sit down and tell me just what is going on?"

Hermione and Bellatrix glanced at each other as Albus took his seat once more, then moved to sit down.

It took a little over twenty minutes to relate all that had happened to Dumbledore, including the predicament they were now placed in. Hermione didn't think it important to relate how she had comforted Bellatrix in order to keep her from going crazy (well, more crazy), nor did it occur to her to mention the encounter she'd had with Professor Trelawny in the divination classroom. She did relate how she had found her way into the shrieking shack, and how Professor Firenze had helped her and Bellatrix on and off the grounds on multiple occasions. Hermione had considered leaving this detail out in order to protect the centaur, but reasoned that it was an important detail and that Firenze hadn't really done anything wrong, nor was Dumbledore likely to do anything to him while he was effectively exiled from his colony.

Through the whole tale, Bellatrix maintained an unusually composed silence, not interrupting, even to add her own sarcastic comments. When Hermione finished speaking, there was a long silence before Dumbledore spoke.

"That is quite a tale," he mused, "I can't begin to imagine the number of school rules you have broken to accomplish this feat..." Hermione burned with shame as he continued. "If I were to consider appropriate punishment–"

"Don't you dare talk about punishing her!" exclaimed Bellatrix, suddenly. "Your 'little miss perfect' here has done more for your cause against the Dark Lord in two nights than you've managed in five years! And don't give me that about 'school rules'! How many rules did you break when you were a student? And afterwards! What about Grindlewald, eh? Yet you get to sit there being pompous when someone like her is trying her hardest to protect someone like me..."

"Bellatrix..." tried Hermione, placing a placating hand on the dark witch's arm. The witch stilled, but still trembled with barely constrained indignation. Dumbledore regarded her, seriously.

"I assure you Bellatrix, the rules are for the students protection, not for the teachers' amusement and certainly not for me to feel self-important. I was going to say, under normal circumstances expulsion would be the appropriate punishment for actions such as those Hermione has undertaken–" Bellatrix looked like she was about to explode again, but Dumbledore held up a placating hand, "–however we are all very well aware that circumstances are not normal in this case. The wizarding world is at war." He looked so pained at this statement that Hermione suddenly thought her heart might break. She looked down at the surface of the desk, and for the first time noticed the headmaster's hand where it clutched the handle of his teacup. It was withered and blackened, the fingers almost skeletal, little more than bones under taught skin, thin as paper.

Sensing her gaze, he withdrew his hand into his robes, but not before Bellatrix saw it, too.

"That's some injury you've got there, Albus," she said suspiciously. But Dumbledore again waved this away.

"A foolish accident, nothing more. A timely reminder to me that even great power does not protect one from stupidity."

"You're not stupid, Professor!" said Hermione, shocked. The pained look left his face and a warm smile replaced it."

"It is good of you to say so, Hermione, but even the very wise are capable of foolhardy action. But never mind this, we have a conundrum before us. What are we to do about about the unfortunate Miss Black, here?"

"Oh! Yes..." said Hermione, snapped back to the matter at hand.

"You have a suggestion?" asked Bellatrix, looking curious in spite of the annoyance still evident in the stiffness of her posture.

"Of a sort," agreed Dumbledore. "You're quite right, Hermione. There's nowhere in the wizarding world that Bellatrix will be safe."

"I thought so," said Hermione, crestfallen.

"But knowing that to be the case, the solution you seek should be before you," continued Dumbledore, a gentle smile on his aged face.

Hermione furrowed her brow.

"What are you talking about, Albus?" started Bellatrix, before Hermione cut her off. She was thinking hard.

"No, wait..." she said. "Away from the wizarding world, somewhere that isn't on the wizarding map... somewhere unaffected by the war, because it's not important to it. A place I've worked hard to keep out of sight from everyone, even from a lot of my closest friends..."

She looked up at Dumbledore, realisation transforming her features into a look of astonishment. He couldn't really mean... could he?

Dumbledore was smiling at her.

"I think punishment might be in order, after all," he told her with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps a nice relaxing suspension, away from Hogwarts and the rest of the world of magic. A chance, maybe, to see your family and introduce them to a new friend?"

A strange clutch of emotions leapt up inside her, all clamouring for her attention; apprehension, consternation, anxiousness... and a curious kind of elation. She looked at Bellatrix and, barring the strange excitement, saw similar emotions clearly displayed on the woman's face.

"My parents!" she exclaimed. "Home!"