prompt: i always bend when it comes to you/i think you'll change, but you never do/you never do, i enable you/let me down, let me down like only you know how / forgive and forget - a day to remember
Three days pass without word from Hermione while Bellatrix owls everyone she can think of, looking for some sign, some idea of where she is, growing more and more anxious. The Weasley girl responds to her letter with a terse "she's fine" which allows Bellatrix to breathe a little easier but a different sort of dread rises in its place, seizing her by the throat, choking her.
When she hears the door open on the fourth day, Bellatrix leaps from her chair in the drawing room and sprints down the stairs. She stops dead when she sees the Girl Weasley stroll across the threshold, back straight and shoulders squared, her eyes sweeping the entrance hall until they land on Bellatrix. There's a hard edge to her glare that makes Bellatrix uneasy. It isn't helped by the way Potter and Weasley flank her.
It takes Bellatrix a moment to realize that Hermione stands behind the three of them, mostly hidden from view.
"Hermione," Bellatrix breathes, feeling a rush of relief, "I was - " She can't bring herself to say worried sick or terrified in front of Hermione's friends, no matter how increasingly shaky and nauseous she's been since Hermione stormed out. "I had no idea where you were," she settles on instead, hoping Hermione will understand.
Hermione takes a deep breathe, not meeting Bellatrix's eyes. "I know. I didn't...I didn't want you too."
Bellatrix inhales sharply. Dread creeps up her spine, through her veins.
"Hermione, I'm..." She glances at the small group watching them. Swallowing her pride, she says, "I'm sorry. I should never have said - I didn't mean - "
"You're always sorry."
Hermione doesn't raise her voice, doesn't shout, doesn't accuse. A single sentence spoken heavy with defeat. All the air rushes from Bellatrix's lungs. It's like a wall springs up between them at those words. Her hands tremble, and the thought to hide them in her pockets never crosses her mind. Everything is cracking, crumbling around her.
"Hermione - "
"I know you lash out when you're angry," Hermione says, lifting her eyes but not quite looking at Bellatrix. "You...you always do it, and you're always sorry."
She looks on the verge of tears, and Bellatrix takes a step forward, instinctively moving to comfort her. But Hermione takes a step back, and her friends close in around her, and Bellatrix stops dead.
"I am sorry, I didn't...I shouldn't have said those things, I'm so sorry - "
"I know you're sorry, Bella, and I know you regret it, but... But that? With Andromeda's letter?" Hermione raises her eyes and looks at Bellatrix for the first time, meets her gaze with steel and fire. "That isn't happening again. Ever."
The shaking gets worse. Her hands trembling, fear choking her, Bellatrix pleads, "It won't, I promise, just can we - please, can we talk about this privately - ?"
Hermione shakes her head, the fight seeming to drain from her. The Girl Weasley steps up and places a hand on her shoulder, and Hermione straightens again, drawing strength from the touch. Bellatrix recognizes the gesture, has done it before. When Hermione feels uncertain, her resolve crumbling, Bellatrix could restore her confidence with a single touch. Seeing it now... Bellatrix can't breathe, doesn't want to hear what Hermione needs support to say.
"I'm leaving, Bellatrix. I'm getting my things, and I'm going somewhere else."
Bellatrix's insides turn to ice. "Hermione, please, I - "
"I can't - I won't do this, Bellatrix. I deserve better."
Bellatrix slumps, lowering her eyes. Her eyes sting, her throat closes up tighter, she can't pull enough air into her lungs. "You do," she whispers, because what else can she say but the truth. "I'm so sorry."
"I know." Hermione closes the distance between them and brushes the hair away from Bellatrix's face, looking up at her with eyes shining with tears. "This...this doesn't have to be the end, Bella. I just..."
She swallows and tears slide down her cheeks. Bellatrix brushes them away, noticing only then, in a distant way devoid of feeling, how badly her hands are trembling. Tries to steady them to no avail and settles instead for resting her knuckles against Hermione's cheek.
"Things have to change. I need...I need more than just empty promises."
"They aren't empty," Bellatrix whispers brokenly. "They were never empty."
Hermione takes a deep breath, another tear rolling down her cheek. "Maybe you don't mean for them to be empty, but...am I supposed to let you lash out at me all the time because you're sorry after? And that - with Andromeda, Merlin, Bellatrix, that - that was so far out of line - that was worse than anything you've ever said to me and - " She cuts off, her hand sliding from tucking Bellatrix's hair behind her to settle against Bellatrix's cheek.
Bellatrix turns her face to kiss Hermione's palm and close her eyes against the stinging tears. "I didn't mean. I love you, I swear it, Hermione, I love you, I do." Her speaks in fierce whisper, too choked up to speak any louder.
Hermione smiles sadly. "I know. But sometimes..." She trails off, and Bellatrix doesn't want to hear what comes next, doesn't want to know how the sentence ends. But Hermione continues despite Bellatrix's silent pleas.
"But sometimes...it's just not enough. It isn't - it isn't enough that you love me, Bella, you have to show it."
Bellatrix shatters. "I don't?"
"You...you do," Hermione chokes out through tears. "You're so...you're so sweet and kind and thoughtful, and you make me feel so safe and loved, and then..." She swallows hard and continues, her voice growing firmer as she speaks, "And then you turn around and verbally and emotionally abuse me when you're hurting,"
Bellatrix flinches, but what can she say to defend herself?
"I need more than promises, I need you to follow through now, Bella. But for now...for now, this - us - it's over. Maybe someday we can...but not now."
Bellatrix can't breathe. Hermione lowers her hand away from her face and steps back, and Bellatrix thinks distantly she might be crying. Every step Hermione takes away from her feels like a growing chasm she can never hope to cross.
"This doesn't have to be the end," Hermione's voice echoes in her head as she watches Hermione leave the room with Potter and the Weasleys to begin collecting her things. "Maybe someday..."
Despite Hermione's words, it feels like an end.
Bellatrix returns to the drawing room, her feet carrying her without conscious decision, grabs a bottle of Firewhiskey and throws it back, relishing the burn in her throat. A few of Hermione's things are scattered around the room: a Gryffindor scarf, a few of her favorite books - Bellatrix smiles slightly remember the nights she watched hermione scribble annotations in the margins, her tongue poking between her teeth and her face scrunched up adorably in concentration - a few quills and a well loved sweater that is about two sizes too large but which Hermione swears is the most comfortable thing she owns. Bellatrix gathers them and hides them away under a seat cushion before sitting down.
Only seconds later, Weasley enters the room. He glares at her.
"What do you want, Weasel?" Bellatrix snarls.
"Hermione said she left some stuff in here. She asked me to get it. She doesn't want to see you right now."
Bellatrix grits her teeth and clutches the neck of the bottle of Firewhiskey so tight she's afraid she might crack it. Then a thought occurs to her. It burns like bile in the back of her throat - or maybe it's actual bile, she thinks, as she starts to feel nauseous again - but she swallows her pride and forces out, "How do I make it up to her?"
Weasley stops dead, a book Bellatrix had missed dangling from his fingers. She resists the urge to snatch the book from him. He stares at her in shock.
"What?"
"What," Bellatrix grinds out, "can I do to make it up to Hermione? You're her friend. Merlin only knows why, you've had enough falling outs, surely you have some idea."
Weasley blinks and then snorts. "You need some serious fucking therapy, Black - especially if you think you can ever make this up to Hermione."
"Well, you obviously managed it, Weasel, and you're the most useless waste of space I've ever met so - "
"Sweet Merlin, you can't turn it off, can you?" Weasley runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends slightly. "Even now you're just snapping and insulting people and - you think insulting me is going to make Hermione forgive you?"
Bellatrix falls silent, ashamed and hating it.
Ron stares at her, considering, his expression torn. He lets out an aggravated sigh. "Hermione still loves you. But she's run out of options. So pull yourself the fuck together, Black, because you're not the only one hurting."
Bellatrix grits her teeth. Ron stays only a few minutes more and then leaves, tossing her one last glare over his shoulder.
Bellatrix isn't sure how long it takes for them to gather Hermione's things. She hopes Hermione will come see her before they leave, but when Bellatrix finally ventures out of the drawing room, the house is quiet and empty once more. She watches the front door from the top of the stairs for several long minutes.
It doesn't open. She knows it won't again.
She collects the things she'd hidden under her seat and wanders to her room - what used to be their room, though it was only unofficially. Bellatrix had never asked Hermione to move it. Had thought it unnecessary as Hermione effectively moved in on her own.
Bellatrix places Hermione's belongs on her night stand, goes to bed - the bed she used to share with Hermione - and lays staring at the ceiling for a long time, hugging Hermione's pillow to her chest.
It still smells like her.
I should have done something more, she thinks, the thought running circles around her head. She wants to feel anger - at herself, at Hermione, at Potter and the Weasleys - but she just feels empty and tired.
I should have fought harder, I should have swallowed my pride, I should have - Bellatrix takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
"This doesn't have to be the end...maybe someday..." Hermione said, but no matter how Bellatrix wishes she could draw strength and hope from the words, it feels like everything is over, destroyed beyond repair.
"You need some serious fucking therapy," Weasley snapped, and Bellatrix turns that thought over in her mind. Hermione does not want words, doesn't want groveling. She wants action.
A thought occurs to her, the stirrings of an idea, and she drifts off into a fitful and restless sleep against her will as the exhaustion of the day bears down on her. Her last conscious realization is that she needs to pay Andromeda a visit.
She just needs to pluck up the courage first.