Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

Rating: M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

Warnings: Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we are talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

Pairing(s): Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

Thursday morning dawned to sheeting rain and bitter cold. The old house became impregnated with the weather, walls swollen and damp, floorboards biting at Hermione's toes with the nippy chill. On her way to cook something nice and warm for herself and Bellatrix, she spotted Andromeda and Lucius heading for the stairs, the witch's hand clasped firmly about his elbow, leading him. He tried to shake her off. "I'm not a child," he hissed.

"Then stop acting like one," she snapped, and they were gone.

The house was eerie, like this. Her footfalls echoed, dying out so slowly that Hermione could never actually tell when she stopped hearing them. Just as the library felt so strange without Narcissa, so the house felt… darker… without Andromeda. The rain did little to help, pattering mind-numbingly against the glass, blanketing the rooms in a sense of isolation.

After breakfast, she drifted listlessly, feeling an all-encompassing uselessness settle over her. Noticing her thoughts adjusting towards the mood the dreary weather had created, she was pleasantly surprised to hear a loud tapping at the nearest window.

There was her bird, feathers plastered to the bone by the rain, jabbing impatiently at the window to get her attention. She hurried over, scrambling to find the latch and allow the five-odd feet of miserable feathers to flap resentfully into the hall. The owl was too tired to be mischievous, allowing Hermione to remove the parchment he carried before flapping up to a beam overhead and tucking in for an owlish nap. The scroll he clutched was waterlogged, but the writing had been mostly protected from the damp.

Her mother wrote that she was well, relieved that Hermione was settling in nicely at her new job, and extremely grateful for the sizable sum of money she had received. Hermione wondered vaguely exactly how much Andromeda—or, Narcissa, or whichever bloody witch it was—was paying her, but decided not to ask; if it seemed too much, she would have a hard time accepting it, but her mother sounded so thrilled so… best to leave things be.

Setting down the letter, a scrap of paper drifted off of the back where it had been stuck to the dampened parchment. She felt an odd thrill, almost a shock, race up her fingers as she lifted it from the floor. This paper was entirely too dry to be possible, so it was with some trepidation that Hermione unfolded it along the single crease.

Visit me.

That was all. Two words. Yet Hermione knew exactly what was meant by them, exactly who had sent them, and exactly why now of all times.

Bellatrix.

She stood there for some immeasurable span of time, clutching the scrap in lightly trembling fingers. She wasn't thick. She knew better than to actually pay such a command any heed, especially after all Andromeda had said, and yet…

Hermione couldn't put the note down. She couldn't so much as focus on anything else. Every time she took a few steps in any one direction, she found herself opening it again, reading it over. The words seemed to engrave themselves onto her mind, paths of nerves blackened with the ink of that child-like scrawl. Visit me.

Hermione could tell something was wrong. It shouldn't seem so inescapable to her, but no matter how many times she started out for the kitchen, the library, her chambers, her feet led her time and time again to the base of one staircase or another. Visit me.

The words were like a leash of spider-silk, drawing her imperceptibly towards the third floor, so gently she did not notice her own missteps until the moment when her toes bumped the bottommost stair. She could turn back, head off down another corridor, but it would be only a matter of minutes before she would find herself peering once more up along a flight of steps into the shadowy recesses of the third floor landings.

Finally, Hermione decided enough was enough. Bellatrix wanted her to 'visit'? She'd bloody well visit. She'd visit and demand an explanation for these cryptic notes, the secrecy spell, the strange, compulsory demand to visit her… Compulsory, Hermione realized with a spark of intuition. Compulsion… By then, however, it was far too late. Her feet had strayed along with her mind, and she was already halfway up the stairs.

She stood on the last step for quite some time. She could feel whatever Bellatrix had done to that note tugging at her, but was unwilling to make the final motion, unwilling to commit herself fully to this clearly counterproductive path. Still, she couldn't very well stand here all day, and she could admit a twisted sort of curiosity had already been tempting her, so she summoned her courage, dismissed her common sense, and allowed herself that last footfall.

The moment her foot struck the landing, she felt that all-pressing need dissipate, gone as suddenly as it had come, and she knew she stood there completely of her own volition. She half expected a figure to jump from the shadows, perhaps with a sharp, "Boo!" or, then again, perhaps with a flash of green light which would mark the end of her life. But there she stood. She could turn about, walk down the stairs, and pretend this little transgression had never occurred. And yet… here she was, having already committed half of the crime, and, practicality be damned, she wasn't about to leave without reaping at least part of that reward.

Just a glance, she thought, peering down the darkened hallway.

The next footfall was her own, a stride taken entirely by her own will. She could not dismiss her curiosity lightly, and those twisted little thoughts which had become so utterly fascinated with this haunting non-persona drew her forward, onward.

The hall in which she stood was noteworthy only in the way it perfectly mirrored those below. The same sort of gaudy-framed family portraits and age-worn tapestries marked the only splashes of color on the bare stone walls, and a large swathe of carpeting covered only the very center of the chilly corridor floorboards. Her bare feet fell lightly as she walked cautiously forward, peering from side to side at the closed doors lining this wing.

There was dust, here, but not the decades-worth that had accumulated in the library. Just enough to note that the house elves had not touched these halls in the time since Bellatrix had arrived.

Halfway down that first passage, she was confronted with a choice. The hall branched, here, offering her a path to her right which would lead deeper into the center of the house, or the path along which she already walked, leading her to the stairway at the far end, a perfect mirror of the one from which she had arrived. She sensed continuing forward would end this little adventure soonest.

She turned instead.

This hallway was different. The portraits here were only empty frames and canvass, the occupants having fled whatever curse had left blackened streaks of charred stone along the walls and melted the gold filigree that had been their protection. The floor was intact, but the carpet was ripped to shreds. There were no windows, either, as this hallway bordered no outer walls.

Hermione swallowed audibly, reaching reflexively for a wand she no longer possessed. Just as she was going to turn back, the door to her left swung wide by some unseen hand, spilling firelight out to where she stood with an ominous creak.

There was a figure leaning against a wall by the open fireplace, dark, heavy curls silhouetted against the dancing flame. She faced the fire, seemingly unaware of Hermione's presence, though the opened doorway suggested otherwise. Hermione held her breath. She watched as the witch drew a line of flame from the fire with the tip of a crooked wand, letting the fire dance between shadowy fingers for a moment before falling back behind the metal grating.

Without a conscious decision to do so, Hermione stepped closer. She had barely taken a step across the threshold when her feet flew out from under her and she found herself slamming jarringly into the far wall, far too close to the eldest Black sister for comfort. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you to knock?" Bellatrix said without turning from the flames, voice lilting, mockingly pleasant.

"Wha-" Hermione spluttered, unable to move anything save her face, spitting hair from her mouth. "Let me go!" she managed, voice quavering too much for her liking. She felt true panic in that moment, not a calculated, human fear, but the incontrollable, inescapable fear of a hunted animal, cornered, trapped, and about to be eaten alive.

Bellatrix laughed; a raucous, wild sound. "Oh, the little Mudblood pet's scared, is she?" She turned and stepped closer, bringing herself into Hermione's line of sight. She looked absolutely gleeful, a grin as true as it was mad stretching across her lips. "The little Mudblood thought she'd just waltz in and say, 'hello,' nice as she bloody well pleased?" The final, hissing words were punctuated by the feeling of a wandtip tracing the outline of Hermione's lips before slipping down her exposed throat and settling against her fluttering pulse-point.

"Well, I'll give my darling sister this much; she has picked a tasty little morsel."

Bellatrix's face was only inches from Hermione's, breathing the same air. Hermione was frozen more fully by her fear than by the spell, her lips trembling too much to even attempt to speak. She clamped her eyes shut when the wand was raised once more to jab against her cheek, nearly hyperventilating.

"But my sister is making a mistake, and I simply can't allow that, now can I, my pretty little Mudblood?"

Hermione felt a whimper slip past her lips, uncomprehending. This was just what Andromeda had warned her of, after all. She'd been drawn up these stairs with words which—though admittedly strange, taunting—had seemed no less sane than any she herself could have written, yet she had found herself in the lair of a madwoman.

"CAN I?" Bellatrix repeated, louder, slipping a hand into Hermione's hair and yanking the younger woman's head back, fighting against the magnetism of her own spell.

Hermione felt sounds clawing their way up her throat, but they were not words, and she knew, if she let one out, she would lose all of them in a rush of fear. Not to mention, she had no idea what Bellatrix was asking her. Swallowing down what panic she could, she gasped out, "What do you want from me?" Her words were shrill with fear, and she could hear the approaching tears in her voice.

Bellatrix's grip tightened, pulling cruelly at the roots of her hair, making the first of Hermione's tears those of pain rather than fear. "Oh, I don't want anything from you. I want you gone. My sister can deal with me for the rest of my life, for all I care; I won't degrade myself to so much as use you, Mudblood."

Hermione whimpered.

Bellatrix's wand abandoned its home at the nape of Hermione's neck to accompany a muffled spell from the dark witch's lips. Hermione shut her eyes as she saw ropes beginning to wind their way up her legs, feeling them crawl across her torso and bind her arms together behind her back, setting her off-balance. She fell to the floor, feeling something crack in her elbow and letting out a cry of pain just in time for a rope to slash its way between her teeth, effectively gagging her.

Bellatrix was laughing. "Ah, I do like Mudbloods better when they're all nicely wrapped up for me, like a dirty little Christmas present." She punctuated her words by crouching over her and giving a quick, harsh slap to Hermione's cheek. The elder witch's hand followed the blow, however, lingering against the smarting skin in a dreadful parody of a caress. "Almost a shame I'm going to have to kill you."

Stepping back in a half-skipping motion, she waved her wand with exaggerated flourish, grinning widely as the ropes jerked Hermione upright once more. Feeling the movement jar her elbow, Hermione let out a muffled cry of pain through the rope in her mouth. Eyes gleaming madly, laughing, Bellatrix cawed, "Look at the puppet dance!"

The wand's haphazard motion led Hermione on a painful jaunt before halting abruptly, leaving her swaying in the center of the room. She could do little more than squirm and glare through watering eyes, the magical bindings far too secure. She tried to scream, tried to call out, but there was no one there to hear her.

Bellatrix was conjuring another rope, and the sight of it intensified Hermione's struggles. Her chest now shook with the force of her terrified sobs. It was a noose.

"Shame, dearie, that I've got to be so medieval," she taunted, stepping closer and running the deadly coil up along Hermione's cheek. "But the Ministry didn't trust me with any of my favorite spells." She pouted, like a too-grown child denied a piece of chocolate.

"Mmmph!" Hermione was screaming through the rope, tears streaming down her cheeks. She called out for Andromeda, for Narcissa, for anyone, anyone, but the rope slipped unarrested down over her head.

Pale, slender fingers traced a taunting line along the skin of her throat, back and forth, back and forth, just beneath the rope. "Nothing personal," Bellatrix murmured, voice suddenly soft.

The other end of the rope flew up to the ceiling, slipping through the ring from which an unlit chandelier was already hanging.

The dark witch drew the coil of rope tighter about her throat with shocking tenderness, gracing the younger woman with an almost apologetic smile.

Oh, no, please, no. Hermione thought, giving up on her useless cries, mind running in helpless circles.

Just as Bellatrix waved her wand, drawing the rope taut, the door banged open against the wall in a flash of golden light. "Put her down, Bella."

Narcissa stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed in anger, wand aimed directly at her sister.

Bellatrix merely laughed, a swish of her wand drawing Hermione to her tiptoes, frantically struggling to find purchase for her bound feet against the smooth floorboards.

With a wave of Narcissa's wand, the rope was severed, and Hermione crumpled in a heap. She cried out as she fell once again on her injured elbow. There were flashes of light in the room as the two sisters exchanged a quick volley of silent spellwork, but it ended before she could turn her head enough to witness the brief duel.

When she managed to squirm her way other side, she found Bellatrix pinned against the far wall, just where she herself had been only moments before, Narcissa's wand pressing into the hollow of her throat.

"Oh, come now, Cissy. Why must you ruin my fun?" Despite the precarious nature of her situation, Bellatrix's eyes were bright, her chest heaving, grinning.

Narcissa's voice was scornful and bitingly cold. "Because Andromeda does not take as kindly to your games as I do, Bellatrix."

The dark-haired witch pouted. "Cissy—"

"Not another word, Bella. She doesn't belong to either of us."

Hermione supposed she ought to have felt indignant at the way Narcissa addressed her as though she were nothing more than a thing to be owned, but at the moment she could only feel excruciatingly grateful to be alive.

Narcissa silenced her sister with a spell and turned briskly to Hermione, banishing the ropes that still bound her. She gasped in heaving breaths of air, hands flying to her throat despite the agony such a motion triggered in her elbow. She sat up slowly, curling her knees up against her chest and resting her face against them, trembling.

Narcissa knelt beside her, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Can you walk?" she asked frankly, and Hermione was glad for the practical question, as it drew her back into the moment at hand.

She nodded slowly and stood, cradling her injured arm tightly against her stomach. "Thank you," she gasped out. "Thank you."

Narcissa inclined her head, acknowledging her thanks.

Reaching the door before the fairer witch, Hermione turned around and found her eyes locked into those of the dark woman against the other wall. She was smiling, still, laughter dancing in that hooded stare, though she could make no sound. Her curls fell down across her face, a face Hermione was able to take in for the first time without being in immediate fear of her life. There was something there reminiscent of Andromeda; the pale skin, the dark rings of sleepless nights that had so bruised the space beneath her eyes. Yet where Andromeda's face was softened with kindness, Bellatrix's had been hardened, sharpened, weathered by her own actions and her time in Azkaban. The high cheekbones, trademark to her family, were sharper, here, and her high, aquiline nose almost painfully proud. She had recovered some of her beauty since the pictures Hermione had seen when she first escaped from Azkaban, but it was a sharp, haunted beauty, and all of that inexorable madness remained.

Narcissa was speaking to her sister. "Andromeda can deal with you," she said, turning away and ushering Hermione from the room.

Andromeda met them halfway up the stairs, clearly hurrying towards them. "Oh, thank god," she cried, pulling Hermione into her arms. Hermione couldn't hold in a small yelp of pain, prompting Andromeda to draw back. Her eyes were dark with a sort of rage Hermione had never before seen on this sister. "What did she do to you? Are you hurt?"

Unable to summon words to her mind, Hermione simply nodded.

"Where?" Andromeda prompted sharply.

"My elbow," she managed. Now that the adrenaline had stopped racing through her veins, she was feeling the pain much more sharply. She didn't think she could straighten it if she tried. "I-I think something might be broken."

Andromeda drew in a hissing breath, and her hands were trembling with anger as she laid them on either side of Hermione's injury. Narcissa was silent as Andromeda began a healing spell right there in the middle of the stairway. Hermione could have cried in relief when she felt that beautiful, comforting warmth spreading through her, soothing her frayed nerves as surely as the physical pain. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt herself swaying backwards as the heat grew, concentrating within her arm and leaving her feeling utterly boneless elsewhere.

Andromeda murmured something to Narcissa, and Hermione felt the younger sister grasp hold of her waist, gently holding her up. The heat was stronger, growing, spreading, seeking out each and every smaller injury as well, rope burns on her wrists, her ankles, her neck, the reddened skin where Bellatrix had slapped her, the skin on her toes which had rubbed raw scrabbling against the floorboards. She felt her knees give out and her head slump backward, but Narcissa kept her from falling. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Slowly, the heat was fading into warmth, as though Andromeda's magic were leaving her with the gentlest of caresses against her very blood and bones. As she recovered, she noticed how much she was leaning on Narcissa and tried to pull away too quickly; finding herself instead slumping forward into Andromeda's waiting arms. The healing had left her feeling almost giddy, and she found herself smiling up at the older witch, raising a hand to her cheek and whispering, "Hello."

Though Andromeda was still clearly upset, she managed an amused smile in return, grasping hold of Hermione's hand and helping her stand.

"Let's get you downstairs," she replied, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. "Then, we can talk."

Andromeda's words pierced the gleeful bubble left by the healing spell, suddenly reminding Hermione of exactly what she had done today. She had disobeyed the one and only thing Andromeda had asked of her, and could not even blame it on Bellatrix, at least, not entirely.

The three women descended the stairs in silence, each lost in her own thoughts. At the bottom, Narcissa led them into a sitting room, one of the many scarcely used places tucked behind a featureless door down an unremarkable passageway.

While Hermione and Narcissa seated themselves at opposite ends of a lengthy sofa, Andromeda began to pace. She started to say something two or three times, but cut herself off before even a complete word could fracture the silence. Her every motion spoke of agitation, of lingering anger, and Hermione felt herself curling backwards into the cushions behind her, afraid for the moment when some of that rage would turn to her.

Finally, Andromeda faced her. "What on earth could have possessed you?" she hissed out, clearly trying to keep from snapping entirely.

Hermione drew herself upright, determined to explain at least what part she could. "She sent me another note," she said, forcing herself to meet the fire in the older witch's gaze. "With my owl. Her owl. I think she spelled it."

Just like that, all the fight went out of Andromeda. "Do you still have it?" she asked, settling between her sister and Hermione on the couch.

Hermione fished the now well-worn scrap from the pocket of her robes. Andromeda passed it to Narcissa, who held it for only a moment before setting it on fire with her wand. "Compulsion. Strong. It was still active," she explained.

Andromeda groaned, letting her face fall into her hands. "Damn her. Damn my sister and all of her bloody games. She knew I'd let you keep that bird. Here I've been, trying so hard to keep you away from her, and she knew just how to spirit you off anyway."

Narcissa added, "It was just a compulsion, Andromeda. It would only work if some part of Hermione wanted to go up there in the first place."

At Andromeda's questioning glance, Hermione nodded reluctantly. "I'm sorry, really, I am, but I… I've always been curious. Just… knowing she was up there, never having seen so much as a glimpse of her… I had no idea she would… I couldn't imagine that she'd…"

Andromeda reached over and stroked the back of Hermione's hand. "I'm not going to scold you," she said. "I have a feeling you've more than learned why I wanted to keep you away, after all of this."

Hermione nodded, feeling such relief wash over her. She had been most afraid she would have lost Andromeda's trust. Andromeda gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, and Hermione wished idly that they were alone, that Andromeda could pull her into her arms and make her feel safe, so impossibly safe, in that way only she could.

Narcissa rose from the other end of the couch and took over the pacing from Andromeda. "You can't let her off that easily, 'Dromeda," she said. "I'm not sure she understands how very lucky she was today, how very dangerous Bellatrix can be. If the Ministry hadn't hobbled her like this, if she could still cast Unforgivables… I never could have gotten here in time."

"How did you even know to look for me?" Hermione asked. She didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but as far as she knew, there was no reason for Narcissa to have been anywhere near here when she managed that miraculous rescue.

Narcissa began to worry at the handle of her wand in an odd, agitated motion. "You were screaming for me," she answered.

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Or, rather, for either Andromeda or me, or anyone else who could help," she added. "I—I become very… attuned to the people I spend time around." This was the first time Hermione had heard Narcissa sounding anything less than perfectly put-together.

When her voice trailed off, Andromeda finished the explanation. "Narcissa is a skilled Occlumens and Legilimens. Though she doesn't often practice Legilimency, she can always hear when someone she cares—" Narcissa was giving her a chilling glare. "—when someone she has spent time around needs her help. I had no idea you would notice at such a distance though, Cissa." Andromeda seemed to almost be… needling at her sister, one eyebrow quirked mockingly.

Narcissa's glare remained firmly fixed, and Hermione wondered if this skill was something she should not have known about. "It is difficult not to hear when a mind is screaming as loudly as Hermione's, today," she hissed out.

Unsure of the dynamic in the room, Hermione tried to diffuse the odd tension. "I'm very grateful, regardless," she interjected. "I'll try not to bother you with my, ah, thoughts too often."

To her surprise, her weak attempt at a lightened manner drew a fragile laugh from Narcissa. "Don't worry, girl," she replied. "Unless you feel as much terror as you felt today, I doubt I'll hear anything from you. I know better than to listen to the average thought; that would be the perfect way to hate everyone around me and be driven out of my own mind."

Hermione was relieved. Though she knew she would always be grateful for Narcissa's Legilimency saving her life, she was unsure how she could have functioned had the witch been in the habit of prying into people's minds on a daily basis.

Andromeda's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere at the moment, staring off into the distance. Her voice was heavy. "If you hadn't found her… Would I have gotten here in time? What did she do, Cissa? When you sent me that Patronus… Hermione's in trouble…" she shuddered. "I Apparated here as quickly as I could, but…" she trailed off again.

Narcissa sighed, face impassive. "I think the two of you should talk."

With that, she made an abrupt departure, leaving Hermione and Andromeda alone in the nameless room.

The two witches sat in silence for a long moment. Then, to her own surprise, Hermione started crying. She tried to stop, tried to tell herself it was over, she was alright, but it didn't seem to help. Now that Narcissa was gone, she couldn't seem to summon enough strength to keep her emotions from spilling to the surface.

Andromeda reached over and pulled Hermione into the circle of her arms, which only made her cry harder.

"Shhhh," she murmured, stroking Hermione's hair. "She's not going to hurt you again. I'll never let her hurt you again."

Hermione trembled, tears falling noiselessly down into the collar of Andromeda's robes. Andromeda held her close, one hand wrapping itself in Hermione's hair, giving her an anchor, the other stroking up and down her back, giving her comfort. "I thought I was going to die," she gasped out. Saying it aloud finally let some of the horror dissipate.

Andromeda allowed her to pull back, but when Hermione tried to scoot back to the side, she gently pressed the younger witch's shoulders down, settling her head into her lap and resuming the gentle task of running her fingers through Hermione's hair. Hermione found herself curled up against the back of the sofa and Andromeda's side, and she finally felt safe again.

"Would you tell me what happened?" Andromeda asked. "I'm not going to press you, but, please, I need to know."

Hermione found the words came easily. She left nothing out, not even her admittedly idiotic decision to continue to Bellatrix's chambers, even after the compulsion had ended. Andromeda did not so much as flinch in her soft, even strokes along Hermione's scalp as the young woman spoke, not until Hermione recounted part of what Bellatrix had said to her.

"She said you were making a mistake." Andromeda froze. "She said she couldn't allow it."

Though the reaction was brief, Hermione filed it away in her mind as she continued to recount what had happened. In the end, Andromeda was trembling more than Hermione, with clear anger. "How dare she," she spoke, voice rough with clear restraint. "When I go up there I—"

"—Please," Hermione interjected. "Please, don't do anything you'd regret come morning."

Andromeda did not even seem to hear, so Hermione tried distraction, instead. "What did she mean by your 'mistake'?"

There it was, that freeze, that tensing of reflexive muscles crying out against something the older witch clearly would rather not hear. After a moment, Andromeda offered a stuttering explanation.

"Bella has always known that I have certain… proclivities. Despite the strange dichotomy of our relationship now, she was always my big sister. We… talked, at Hogwarts. While she was seducing every pureblood in the Slytherin commons, I was admitting that I never felt a thing towards boys, pureblood or no. She was always kind to me, when it came to that one matter, even encouraging. But when, in a terribly clichéd moment, my father caught me kissing a close friend, well… Bella couldn't protect me. She would have tried, though. She always wanted to protect me… and I couldn't stand to see her hurt in trying. I suppose you know the rest. I ran off, married a boy I loved as a friend and had a child with him, purposely alienating myself from my family, alienating myself the only way I could from Bellatrix, doing the inconceivable in marrying a Muggle-born."

Hermione's eyes were wide; drinking in all of this sad, haunting past, wondering at the world the sisters had grown up in.

"Now, when I brought you here… Bella must've realized I would be… interested in you. She couldn't care less who I chose to pursue, so long as I never disgraced the family name like that again," she closed cynically. "My sister does not approve of your blood status," she added, voice flat. "And apparently, she would kill you rather than allow me this."

Something was off, Hermione knew. There was something about that that didn't ring true, something much deeper, something more. She knew it was there, hiding in that flinching reaction not entirely explained by such a tale. The calculated manner in which Bellatrix had attempted this spoke of something more than a mere hatred of her blood. Something in the way Bellatrix had insisted that she would not so much as use her. Use her for what? No, Andromeda was not telling her everything.

Andromeda, however, seemed to be in another place entirely. "She nearly took this away from me," she whispered, leaning closer.

Andromeda broke Hermione's concentration with a kiss, drawing her upright and claiming her mouth in a single breath. Her lips were insistent, commanding; demanding Hermione open to her and give in. She did so willingly. If her lips tasted of safety and desire, Andromeda's mouth tasted of passion. She was unapologetically possessive, knotting her fingers in Hermione's curls, telling her with every press of lips, every brush of tongue, every stolen breath that Hermione was hers, and no one, not even Bellatrix, was going to take that from her.

And oh, it was just what Hermione needed to feel, this easy, rich desire. The mindless wanting that the older witch drew from her with those vixen-like teeth nipping at her bottom lip, that soothing tongue that melted her vague, half-formed questions or thoughts of resistance.

Neither woman heard the door open, but the sharply cleared throat startled Hermione into yanking back, glancing around and scrambling to pull herself together.

Narcissa stood in the doorway, expression unreadable.

Hermione started to put space between them, throat suddenly dry, hands shaking.

To Hermione's surprise, Andromeda did not seem upset in the slightest. She calmly slid over by Hermione once more, wrapping an almost protective arm about her waist.

"Let me speak to the girl, Andromeda," Narcissa said coldly.

Hermione stifled a whimper. This day had already held more than its fair share of improbable situations, and this was quite possibly one more than Hermione was capable of dealing with.

Andromeda gave her sister a calculating look. "Don't terrorize her, Cissa. She's been through quite enough today."

Without further ado, she stood and departed, leaving a furiously blushing Hermione to cling helplessly to a couch cushion as Narcissa sat in a chair beside her.

"I—This isn't—You don't—" Hermione stammered, then stopped, realizing that, in all honesty, she had absolutely nothing to say for herself. Trying not to tear up, she finally said, "I can pack and be gone in the morning,"

"Oh, no, I'm not here to fire you, girl," Narcissa assured her. "No, I knew from the moment my sister brought you here that she meant to pursue you, even if she hadn't decided it yet herself." She chuckled. "It runs in the family, after all."

Despite the peculiar nature of that cryptic remark, her next words were enough to make Hermione all but put it from her mind.

"No, my sister can do what she would, even with a Mudblood. She's done it before, and I'm not likely to chase her away again over something so comparably... trivial. There isn't a pure-blood left alive who can afford to be… picky. However, seeing as I've grown accustomed to having you around—I'll even admit you've earned my grudging respect—I thought I ought to warn you: my sister is not as... pure in intentions as you might think."

When the words clicked into place in her mind, Hermione wanted to protest, to defend Andromeda, but Narcissa had not finished.

"Oh, I do believe she means well enough by you, but you mustn't forget that all of us who dwell here are in some way ruled by our eldest sister."

"I don't—"

"Ah-ah-ah. You understand perfectly well what Bellatrix is capable of."

Hermione shuddered. That much was true.

"Just... keep that in mind, the next time my sister offers you some place in her life. As surely as Bellatrix is trapped in this home, Andromeda is trapped as well. Bellatrix owns her, darling, owns her mind, life, and soul."

Too engrossed in individual thought, neither woman caught Narcissa's odd choice of address.

/

Feeling a soul-deep weariness after the many confrontations of the day and trying not to wonder what sort of discourse was happening upstairs between Bellatrix and Andromeda, Hermione turned in early, soaking herself for far too long in a scalding bath, as though the heat could scour away the phantom touch of heavy rope and mock-gentle fingers she could still feel about her neck. Andromeda's kiss had been a much more effective cleansing, but Narcissa's words had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth and far too many thoughts to allow such comfort to seem as simple or as freeing as it had only hours before.

She tried to sit awake and read, but found herself jumping at the flickering candlelight until she had slunk herself so far down into the haven of her blankets that there was no longer enough light to see the text.

Sleep came with shocking ease. So too did dreams.

As was so oft the case in dreams, the setting was a peculiar hybrid of generic places she had perhaps been, perhaps seen, but could not hope to pinpoint amid her sleeping memories. It was an enclosed space, rather like a piece of the London underground, yet it was clearly lit by some unseen sun, and the turf beneath her sprouted spring-green grass.

She could not feel the grass. She was not truly present, here. No, she was merely an observer, while the characters her mind had summoned were the three sisters, placed in a parody of nonsensical action. There was Andromeda, standing barefoot in the grass, looking with anger down upon something clutched in her hand… rope… no, a leash. Following the line that led from Andromeda's fingers revealed a cruel choke-collar wrapped about the neck of Bellatrix, her pale, sharp-nailed fingers needling the edges of the thick band at her throat. Though it clearly bit into the flesh at her neck, she was fighting the collar calmly, and in doing so, Bellatrix was clearly the one directing their motion across the grass, dragging a reluctant yet helpless Andromeda along behind her, cutting off her own air to do so.

And there was Narcissa, sitting in the grass across the way, staring at her sisters with a look of truly heart wrenching sorrow, eyes brimming with despair, filled with emotion she would never have shown in reality. She made no move towards the cruel scene between her other siblings, and, upon closer inspection, Hermione could see heavy gilded manacles binding her slender wrists and hobbling her earthbound ankles. The shackles dripped strangely in the sunlight, and Hermione saw they had been carved of shimmering ice.

With a sort of indifference found only in the dreamscape, Hermione watched for another moment, watching Andromeda stumble against Bellatrix's demanding motions, watching Bellatrix scrape a red line down the side of her own neck as she fought to fit her fingernails beneath the cruel circlet of her collar, and watching a single tear drift aimlessly down Narcissa's cheek to join the small puddles of melting ice on the grass around her.

She turned away.

The dream was already fading when she woke, leaving only a lingering feeling of confusion and the knowledge that the three sisters had ingrained themselves once again into another part of her existence.

A/N for the chapter: Holy sheep, guys. Over 100 reviews in just five chapters? This is madness! But, of course, madness of the Bellatrix sort, the sort we all fall in love with. Really, though, my most precious reviewers, I'm absolutely flattered and honored to have gotten this much attention from my little project fic. I'll admit, you've done a wonderful job of seducing me over to a more permanent residence in the Bellamione world. Thank you again.

On another note, I've gotten a few questions on the ages, here. As you've possibly noticed from some of my little details, this AU is closer to book-verse than movie-verse (Narcissa's blonde hair, Ron's freckles, etc.) so ages are WIZARDING AGES. As JK has said, wizards have significantly longer lifespans than Muggles, meaning a twenty-year age gap might be closer to ten in the Muggle world. The sisters appear as they would in the books, not exactly like the movies, so some of how that age manifests is up to you. If you have a problem with the age difference beyond that, well, what in Merlin's name are you doing reading Bellamione in the first place? Not everyone can be expected to use convenient anti-aging plot devices all of the time!

Ahem.

I love you all,

-Zarrene.