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.

Determined to turn the kitchen into a cozy haven from the still miserable weather, Hermione cleaned the layers of both magical and earthly soot from the central fireplace. Though magic made an open fire unnecessary, she summoned logs from the cellar and set the fire purely for comfort, starting a hearty stew simmering over it for lunch, filling the room with scents of childhood while she set about her morning breakfast-making routine. Footsteps echoed on distant flagstone, but Hermione paid them no heed, not particularly inspired to engage in human contact. The steps drew closer, though, and Hermione wondered if Andromeda would be joining her for breakfast. The thought drew a heady mixture of longing and apprehension, and she quickly bustled over to stir the stew, determined to distract herself with menial tasks.

She was bent over the fire when she heard the door let out its signature creek. Turning with a greeting and the closest she could summon to a smile, she was unprepared for the shadowy figure her gaze encountered.

There stood Bellatrix, as casual as you please, leaning against a countertop, twirling a lock of untamed hair about the tip of her crooked wand, a faintly condescending smirk quirking up one corner of her mouth.

"Hello, pet."

Though Hermione had been frozen with blinding, instinctive fear, Bellatrix's words seemed to unbind her, and she staggered back a step, nearly searing a hole in the back of her robes against the stewpot. "Wha—h-how…?"

Bellatrix stepped closer, chuckling gaily. "You didn't think I was trapped up there, did you?"

Hermione's mind was racing. She still had no wand, an oversight amid the turmoil that had consumed the last day, but there were carving knives on the wall behind her, and she thought herself just closer to them than Bellatrix was to her. In a frantic dive, she clasped the closest one in her palm, snapping around and holding it out before her in trembling fingers. "Don't come any closer!" she managed, shocked that she hadn't been cursed when her back was turned.

To Hermione's further astonishment, the older witch merely chuckled, not even leveling her wand.

"Ooh, fierce, this one," she said with a smirk. "You can put down the toy; I'm just here for a friendly little chat… girl to girl."

"Why do I find that hard to believe," Hermione muttered under her breath. Still, the tension was fading from her wrist, fingers unclenching about the handle of the knife as the woman kept her distance, remaining unaggressive.

Bellatrix shrugged. "Believe what you will. In the end—" She let her wand fall to the countertop. "—I haven't got magic down here."

Hermione's breath stuttered, more at the look of untempered rage that flashed through the depths of the other woman's eyes than at the startling revelation.

"That's right," she continued, regaining her composure, voice strained with the sheer force of will it took to retain her signature nonchalance, fingers twitching despite her tone of just how much she didn't care. "The Ministry and I aren't exactly peachy, and since they only trust my little sister so far, well…" Bellatrix turned, shrugging her shoulders in a fluid motion that ended with her leaning just too far back to be casual, elbows pressed into the counter to support the weight of her flung-back head, cocked just enough to keep a side-eyed stare on Hermione. "…they decided she ought to have somewhere to run off and hide from me. Of course, if Andy's not here, I can't come downstairs at all."

Despite herself, Hermione was intrigued. Though Bellatrix still moved like some large predator and spoke like an overindulgent child, the degree of madness she had witnessed in her chambers was tempered slightly by the relative normalcy of the conversation. The younger witch was having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that here stood the woman who had tried to kill her a scant day before, now chatting aimlessly by firelight in the kitchen. Hermione kept eyeing the wand nervously, worried that her flippant explanation was merely a half-hearted ruse.

"Why are you here, then?" Hermione asked, keeping a firm hold on the handle of the knife.

Bellatrix curled herself upright again and prowled forward, prompting the younger woman to hasten a pace backwards until it became apparent that her destination was the fireplace, not the other witch. She bent towards the fire and extended her hand, touching the flames for a moment before drawing back with a hiss.

Hermione stared, eyes wide, recalling the ease with which she had been playing with fire when Hermione had found her upstairs.

Bellatrix sighed. "Sometimes, I forget that no magic actually means, well, no magic." Still watching Hermione, she slipped her singed fingertips into her mouth, a hint of tongue chasing them back out, glistening and pink.

Still frightened and not the least bit confused, Hermione blushed at the oddly vulgar display.

Bellatrix moved to the table. It seemed standing still for any length of time was truly beyond her. She sprawled out into a chair, dominating the space, as if the furniture existed for no other purpose than to serve as her throne. She cocked her head, dark, endless eyes staring up at Hermione quizzically, as though the younger witch were a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together.

"Things really would be so much simpler if you'd just… disappear," she said, waving her hand as though shooing off some invisible wisp of smoke. Her tone hinted she would be quite willing to assist in such a disappearance, especially a disappearance of the most permanent sort. "But I suppose if my sisters are so determined to keep your dirty little heart beating, well, I'll just have to come up with something else."

Andromeda's words from the previous evening rang in Hermione's head, reminding her that all this was a matter of Andromeda's pursuit of her… her and her impure blood. Though part of her was still trembling and cringing away from cruel memory, another part of Hermione was determined not to spend the rest of her time here living in terror of the eldest sister, shying away from every shadow. Maybe if she just talked to her, convinced her that… what? That she wasn't a blight on the family reputation? That she wasn't just a filthy little Mudblood who had no business being courted by a beautiful, wealthy, highborn Black? It was nothing Hermione didn't already know, nothing she knew she shouldn't have already used to talk herself out of allowing anything more to happen between them. But Andromeda was her safety, and was already becoming so much more, so, hell, she had to try.

Stepping cautiously forward, keeping a firm grasp on the knife, she settled in the chair directly across from the darkly-cut figure. She had learned from a young age that the best way to face her fears was to meet them head-on, and though her fears were not often psychopathic, powerful, murderous women, she was determined to treat Bellatrix as just another trial to overcome.

"Bellatrix—ah, Ms. Lestrange, or, ah, Black?" Hermione stammered over her faux pas, unsure what name to even address this scrambled piece of history by, though her first name was presumptuous in the extreme, even if the woman had tried to kill her only yesterday.

Bellatrix looked amused. "It is Black now, seeing as the bastard's dead. Since I don't really care to have your lips dirtying my family name, I'd say you could call me Bella, but I'm afraid you might faint."

Hermione thought that was distinctly possible.

"Ms. Black, then." She couldn't bring herself to address her as "ma'am." Not after their first encounter. No birthright earned her that respect. "I… your sister and I…"

Bellatrix smirked, leaning forward and twining her fingers together to make a resting place for her chin, exposing a nearly indecent amount of fair skin on her chest, which Hermione couldn't fail to notice, as her black, corseted robes were designed for little else besides showing off those particular assets. "What has my dear sister been whispering in your ear, eh? How much of a monster I am?"

Bellatrix hissed out the word monster, accompanying it with a dart of the head and a snap of her surprisingly well-kept teeth, ending with a wild laugh when Hermione jerked back, heart racing.

"N-no, actually. She tried to, ah, explain you. I understand that you don't approve of us—"

Bellatrix silenced her with a wave of her hand and a highly incredulous look. "Always putting words in my mouth, my little Andy." She stood once again, moving back to the fireplace and dipping a long-nailed finger into Hermione's stew, tasting it with a low hum of approval. "I couldn't give less of a damn if my sister wants to fuck you." Hermione's found herself flinching, curses seeming somehow more vile, more violent, issued from these particular lips. "It's no concern of mine what she chooses to dirty her tongue on."

Hermione felt strangely vindicated. She heard no hint of artifice in Bellatrix's voice, and it suggested that her suspicions had been right, that there was some further degree to Bella's hatred towards her, something else that had triggered such a complex, well-timed plan to see her dead.

Gathering her thoughts, Hermione wondered if she dared ask why she had tried to kill her, then. Somehow, the thought of bringing up their encounter yesterday made it too real. Hermione feared that, should she mention how single-mindedly the other woman had pursued her death, it could bring the idea back to the forefront of her twisted mind.

"I… I suppose I'm relieved, then."

Before she could form any further reply, a swirl of color and displaced air signaled Andromeda's Apparation into the kitchen. She looked haggard; hair disheveled, robes askew, inky circles smeared painfully dark beneath sharp, angry eyes. Her wand was out, and she honed in immediately on her sister.

"We talked about this last night," Andromeda snapped out, voice nearly a growl.

"Oh, hello, Andy. Have to say, I'm a bit surprised to see you here." Bellatrix didn't so much as turn to face her, only acknowledging her presence with her words. "Thought you'd still be sleeping off that healing hangover. Must've been a nasty one. I'm sure this little toy was a bit more… chewed up when I returned her yesterday, so someone must have made quite the effort to… fix it. Besides—" She sauntered over to stand just behind Hermione's chair, bending down and plucking the knife from the younger witch's unsuspecting fingers. "—you know how I am." She casually hung the knife back in its proper place on the rack, leaving it with a lingering stroke down the length of the blade. "I so often… forget the little things you tell me. So many rules…" She sighed dramatically.

Andromeda's eyes were flashing fire, yet it seemed to drip right off of her older sister as easily as the flames she had played with in the fireplace upstairs. Bellatrix's unflappable cynicism was undaunted by her own lack of magic and Andy's hissed, "Get out, Bella."

With an exaggerated pout and a cheeky little wave, Bellatrix sauntered from the room, scooping up her wand as she went and twirling it up into her mass of curls like a crooked, oversized chopstick. The door swung shut behind her, leaving only the lingering words, "We'll be talking later, pet."

Bellatrix's departure seemed to return the air to the room. Hermione slumped forward, resting her forehead on crossed arms and letting out a shuddering breath towards the tabletop. Andromeda quickly took over the space behind her, resting her hands on the younger witch's shoulders. "It's all right, she's gone."

Hermione let out her lingering fear in a pained burst of laughter. "Sure she is. For now. But she'll be back – and now I know she can find me anytime, how can I ever—"

"She can only come down when I'm here, and even then, she has no magic."

Hermione found it strange, hearing Bellatrix's own words echoing from the younger sister's lips, affirming their truth.

Andromeda paced around to take over the seat across from her.

"And every time she does come down, every time she leaves the third floor, I know. It's part of what the Ministry did to her magic, like a little alarm that goes off in my head whenever she steps off the top stair. If she were ever to leave the grounds, a beacon alert would go out across the entire wizarding world, and the Ministry could track her immediately."

Hermione felt torn for a moment, wondering at how caged the eldest Black must feel, knowing she could never so much as leave a single floor without notifying someone. Still, in a cruel way, it was a sensible precaution, and it did make her feel marginally safer.

Andromeda continued, "The only reason it took me so long to react today was, well—"

"Healing?" Hermione inquired, cutting her off. "It takes quite a lot out of you, doesn't it." It wasn't really a question.

Andromeda nodded. "There's a reason that most healers work in large wizarding hospitals like St. Mungo's, surrounded by aids and potions and all sort of things. You probably know that one of the most basic magical rules is our inability to create food. Healing is like that. It isn't possible to simply magic away an injury, though you can hide the pain or stop the bleeding. Actually convincing a body to fix itself takes energy, life energy, and, in an emergency, trained wizards can draw it from themselves."

Hermione had run into this side of Andromeda before, the side that felt the need to use every opportunity to explain some piece of magic or another to her student.

"As an Auror, I was trained to use it in battle, in the field, and I always had a talent for it, but healing any major injury… it exhausts me. I was so deeply asleep that Bella's alert barely registered as anything more than a blip in bad dream."

"I'm sorry… if I'd have known it hurt you to heal me, I never would have—"

"What? Gotten hurt?" Andromeda smiled at her to soften the derision in her voice. "You never asked me to heal you; I was glad to. It's a rush of its own, healing. Nearly addicting."

Hermione recalled the flush of warmth she had felt—the headiness, the strange joy—and thought she could see the draw.

"I'll never regret healing you, only that you were hurt in the first place," she finished softly, gazing at Hermione with unconcealed tenderness, an emotion the younger witch had not often seen from her.

Hermione decided it would do no good to ask her not to heal her again; she would just do her best to stay out of trouble. Seeing Andromeda this exhausted was pain enough. "Should you be resting?" she asked, though she didn't want her to go. "You look dreadful." She added hastily, "I mean, dreadfully tired, exhausted."

Andromeda pursed her lips. "Yes, I know, but I've gotten more sleep than my body would usually allow me, so it would be no good going back to bed." A quick smile flashed across her lips. "It would be marvelous, though, to get some fresh air. If you wouldn't mind putting that delicious-smelling stew on hold and don't think you'll melt in the rain… I think we ought to have our lunch."

Hermione felt her mood brighten, an almost physical thing, lightening her heart and drawing a real smile to her lips. Oh, it would be heaven, to get out of this house for a while, to leave behind all the many complexities it held, to put aside the fear now simmering just behind each closed door. Practicality, however, demanded she ask, "What about the others? Won't Narcissa—"

Andromeda cut her off. "Lucius and Narcissa are off somewhere arguing about Draco and which of them it was who royally fucked his life up the arse. If it were me, of course, I'd just blame the Dark Lord and be done with it, seeing as he is conveniently evil and very conveniently dead. However, the two of them can go at it for hours; no one will miss us."

Except Bellatrix, Hermione startled herself by thinking. She wondered what on earth the oldest sister did up there all day, alone save the occasional visit of one sister or the other. Destroy things, I suppose. A moment of pity flashed through her, but she pushed it aside. Even if Bellatrix deserved Hermione's pity, the young woman knew she wouldn't want it, and it did no good to dwell on a situation not of her own making and far beyond her control.

"If you give me a bit to… sort myself out, I'll meet you by the main doors and we can head over to Diagon to have brunch."

"I'd like that," Hermione answered, rising with the other witch.

Andromeda turned to go, then turned back, taking Hermione's hands and staring into her eyes beseechingly. "My sister… she… she can't be trusted, Hermione. When she isn't screaming bloody murder, she has a golden tongue; she's fooled many a bright witch with her lies."

Hermione met those pleading eyes and wanted to simply nod, to accept Andromeda's words at face value. Yet there was still that nagging sense that something wasn't right. There was something Andromeda wouldn't say to her; something she was afraid Bellatrix would reveal instead. Still, she pushed her doubts aside and gently squeezed the older witch's hands with her own. "I trust you," she said.

It was true. Despite whatever was hiding behind that imploring gaze, Hermione trusted that there was a reason she couldn't know, a need for the strange secrecy. She hardly expected any one of these women to treat her as a confidant, to let her in on all the deep, dark secrets haunting the family name. She trusted Andromeda to tell her the things that mattered, and she trusted herself to take anything Bellatrix deigned to give her with a grain of salt. Perhaps there were truths to be found from the eldest sister, but perhaps they were truths she was never meant to know.

Andromeda nodded briskly, gaze darting back and forth between Hermione's eyes, searching for something Hermione hoped she found, then she was gone, leaving the kitchen filled once more with nothing but the warmth of the fire, the scent of garlic, onion, and pepper, and the ever present shadows lingering in the silence.

/

Upstairs, Hermione sat on the corner of her bed, staring at the three options she had of what to wear. She knew she was being illogical, worrying about this as though it were some sort of fancy occasion. She knew they were eating at a very casual spot, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to do something different. Her only robes were of the practical sort, acceptable for staffing a manor or walking about wizarding London, but rather depressing to wear on a date. She's left her dressier robes at home, as they were hand-me-downs from her mum and had never quite fit properly. At home, she had plenty of the more everyday sort of clothing one wore to pass about in the Muggle side of London—after all, everyone knew that it was cheaper to buy herbs at a Muggle grocery than in a potions store or an apothecary—but she had only brought a few things with her. She finally settled on the only dress she had packed; it was too light, really, for the damp autumn day, but with her cloak slipped overtop, she could hide from the rain.

Andromeda was waiting at the end of the stairs. Hermione felt her mouth go dry at the sight. It seemed that they were of similar minds, as she had forsaken robes as well, favoring instead dark, tailored slacks and a plain fitted blouse, cut to draw the eyes first to the waist, the neckline high enough that impolite glances would be merely an afterthought. She looked poised, elegant, yet the lack of robes seemed somehow more indecent than even the nightwear Hermione had found her in on that one, memorable occasion. She looked younger. She looked beautiful.

Hermione flushed, realizing she had been stalled on the third step, staring. Andromeda gave her a very genuine smile and her own appreciative look before extending her arm. "Shall we?"

Hermione smiled back. "Yes."

/

Hermione had a feeling she had rendered Andromeda slightly speechless at several occasions throughout their meal. She had decided that, if she were to do this, she would do it her way. She had never been a naturally shy child, or even a particularly subservient woman. When around people who she trusted, liked, and was on relatively equal footing with, she could be casual, could converse with ease, could laugh and smile and joke widely and freely. Though she still felt herself to be the courted party, and though Andromeda was clearly directing the encounter, if the older witch had been expecting to dine with the girl who was her servant and student, she was destined to be surprised. Oh, no; Hermione would do this fresh or not at all.

Thankfully, Andromeda didn't seem to mind.

While waiting for their meal, the two witches shared those delightful little stories everyone has, the ones of no real importance, the details of their lives that held no bearing on either of their futures, but which gave the other party that sense of knowing them more intimately that the average bystander. After Hermione shared her memory of another child in her Muggle orphanage catching her reading before bed… with the book floating in the air six inches above her face, Andromeda spoke a bit of her time training as an Auror and how it led her to work closely with the Headmistress of Hogwarts, who was then no more than the Head of Gryffindor House and the enterprising Head of the Transfiguration Department.

Of course, in the more hesitant conversation over the food, there were moments when words faltered, when a line could be seen leading off into the distance where a subject stood which was not to be discussed… Bellatrix, the War, Hermione's job… The happiness Hermione found lay in the fact that Andromeda had been correct; they were able to separate it all.

It felt new.

By the time Andromeda ordered them a pot of tea to linger over, Hermione had relaxed into the booth seat, leaning in the nook between the backrest and the wall, one ear to the rain and the other to her company. Andromeda was leaning close across the space, laughing brightly, playing one fine-boned finger along the rim of her cup.

"I could get very used to this," she said, taking a lingering sip.

Hermione smiled. "That… yes." She was surprised by how much time had passed, the clock over the bar reading well past noon. "This was…" Easy, she thought. Easy to sit here, to smile, to laugh, to pretend neither of us had a care in the world. "…lovely," she said instead.

Andromeda leaned closer. "It isn't over yet," she murmured conspiratorially.

Hermione felt crimson work her way up her cheeks. There were always these sudden moments with Andromeda, moments that were so charged with that powerful, sensual energy she had, moments that made Hermione want to throw caution to the wind and kiss the older witch until she had forgotten how to breathe. The look in Andromeda's eyes hinted that Hermione's desires were more than mutual and if she didn't tread with caution, well, Andromeda wouldn't be responsible for the consequences.

Before the tension in the air could find an outlet, a silvery form, a shimmering blur with wings, flittered around the corner of the opening door and settled in front of Andromeda's face, revealing itself as some sort of small hawk. Quickly setting aside her teacup, she slipped to the edge of the booth and stood. "This is from Cissa. I need to step outside."

Hermione nodded, though she wasn't sure the other woman saw as she headed briskly for the exit, Cissa's Patronus soaring after her.

Catching the door just before it could close behind Andromeda, a group of four entered. They were student-age, perhaps, and included two figures Hermione vaguely recognized, even from behind.

There were two girls she'd never seen before: a blonde with long, wavy hair and the largest spectacles Hermione had seen outside of tourist shops and a ginger whose hair matched the first of the two boy's. It was these boys who looked familiar, and it took the dark-haired one turning around and facing her to place it.

That was Harry Potter.

And that was Ronald Weasley.

And he was the one who had kissed her under the mistletoe three years ago.

Somehow, despite the many times she had seen their pictures in the papers, it had never clicked for her. Perhaps it was the magic-touchup's in the photographs, perhaps it was just not something that would have crossed her mind, but now, faced with a visage she had seen peering out at her from Undesirable No. 1 posters and ducking from camera flashes on the cover of the Daily Prophet, looking into the face of that freckled youth who had blushed so adorably before pecking her on the lips, now she made the connection. It was certainly something.

A wry smile twitching about her mouth, she turned back to her tea, laughing internally at the fact that she, of all people, had once kissed the Ronald Weasley, and she could hardly be bothered to care.

They chose a table well within Hermione's line of sight. She watched Harry nudge his friend in the side with his elbow and jerk his head none-too-casually in her direction. Ron visibly started when he saw her, meeting her eyes for an awkward moment before jerking around and shoving Harry's shoulder. Hermione was even more amused to see that even the most famous wizards of her generation were still little more than teenaged boys.

The girl with Ron's hair laughed at something Harry had whispered in her ear and the two of them proceeded to shove Ron out of his seat, despite his visible protests. Giving in, he finally stood on his own, straightening his button-up shirt and shoving his hands deeply into this pockets. His unfortunately pale complexion was sporting a shade of red more commonly belonging on the coat of an Irish Setter.

To Hermione's further amusement, he approached her table, sitting across from her without invitation.

Hermione supposed she ought to have felt flattered, or honored, or shy, or something more fitting being seated across from a celebrity, but all she felt was more of that peculiar amusement.

"Hullo, again," he said, voice only slightly strained. "Fancy meeting you here."

A whole plethora of replies darted through Hermione's mind, and she almost decided on "Do I know you?" but decided that would just be cruel.

Instead, she merely nodded. "Yes, hello. I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Hermione Granger." She took a sip of her rapidly cooling tea.

"Ron. Ah, Ron Weasley."

Hermione smiled. "I know."

He gave an exasperated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Hard not to, eh? Still getting used to this whole 'famous' stuff."

His normalcy was charming, refreshing after her rather impossible year. He wasn't cocky about his fame, seeming truly embarrassed that everyone knew him on sight.

She didn't reply, unsure what purpose this conversation could have yet unwilling to end it rudely.

"Harry saw you and thought I should ask if you wanted to come sit with us?" He spoke rapidly, tripping over his words.

"I'm sorry; I'm actually just… waiting for someone. Thank you, though."

The look of disappointment on his face was almost comical. "You could wait with us?"

Hermione spared a rueful smile and shook her head.

A look of determination crossed his face. "I'll wait here, then. No use leaving a lady sitting alone."

His insistence was beginning to become less charming.

Unsure of a polite way to get rid of him, Hermione remained quiet.

He, however, started chattering.

"I know we don't know each other well or, eh, at all, but I wouldn't mind seeing you around again. I figure it was pretty rude of me to kiss you like that and not even stay and talk, but, well, mistletoe is a bugger sometimes." He looked at her pleadingly, as though expecting her to have some insight to offer into their one, distinctly less-than-memorable kiss.

"Already forgotten," she said with an accommodating smile.

If anything, he looked almost comically stricken. "But it isn't though! I, ah, I mean…" He flushed even further, the tips of his ears blending into his hair. "I thought maybe we might…"

His words were interrupted by Andromeda's reentrance, sliding into the booth beside Hermione and placing a possessive hand on her thigh with a murmured, "Have I missed something?"

Ron's eyebrows shot up for a moment, though he couldn't see the reason for Hermione's sudden blush Instead, an odd look of relief crossed his face. "Oh, hullo Andy."

Hermione glanced askance at the other witch, but Andromeda's attention was focused on Ron. "Ronald, how nice to see you." She didn't sound particularly warm. "And how is my grandson doing?"

"Oh, he's good, really, I'm sure my mum and Harry'd love it if you stopped by."

She nodded absently, glancing between Ron and Hermione with sharp eyes. "Of course. And how do you know Hermioine?"

Ron had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Well… Just, you know. I've seen her around. Talked once… or twice."

Hermione bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but Ron seemed to take her smile for further invitation rather than amusement at his expense.

"Look, we were just wondering—Harry and I, that is—if Hermione might want to come have lunch with us, if you could maybe… ah… spare her for a bit?" Ron's words sputtered out under the cool look Andromeda was giving him. Her hand slipped from Hermione's thigh and settled instead at the small of her back, bringing them closer together.

"I already ate, actually," Hermione interjected, trying not to squirm. "Thanks, though."

Andromeda added, "We were just leaving."

To Hermione's astonishment, Ron reached over the tabletop and took her hand. "Brilliant! If you're going, Hermione can just bum around with us for a while."

Hermione withdrew her hand hastily, shaking her head. "Ron, I—"

"I'm afraid Hermione's afternoon is spoken for," Andromeda murmured, a tone of warning in her voice which Ron either did not hear or chose to ignore.

"Aw, c'mon, I'm sure whatever business you two've got can wait a while. Let her have some fun."

Andromeda's patience had worn thin. Her fingers were tracing distracted lines up and down the column of Hermione's spine, and it was wreaking havoc with her concentration. "As much as I'm sure you think you're the only one who can show her a good time, Mr. Weasley—"

Hearing the danger in the other woman's voice and feeling a spark of stray magic darting between Andromeda's fingers as her temper rose, Hermione quickly cut her off. "Ron I… I think you have the wrong idea."

Ron, however, had grown improbably more confidant during their exchange. He made the unfortunate choice to turn flirtatious, arching an eyebrow as he asked, "And what idea might that be?"

Andromeda sighed. "Didn't want to have to do this…"

Turning, Hermione found Andromeda only a breath from her face, and then the breath was stolen, and Hermione was being kissed—gently, chastely, but kissed all the same—in a café full of people.

Hermione's face was burning, her lips were tingling, and her breath was short when Andromeda drew back after only a lingering heartbeat of connection.

Across the floor, Harry and the redheaded girl burst into astonished laughter after an instant of stunned silence, while the blonde's whimsical voice said, very matter-of-fact, "They make a lovely couple."

Ron's mouth was hanging open, and he seemed too stunned to be angry or embarrassed. "You… you and…"

Andromeda stood, extending her hand to Hermione as she slid from the booth behind her. She intertwined their fingers as she left a smattering of Knuts on the table for a tip.

"Do say hello to Teddy for me," she spoke, as casual as could possibly be.

As they headed to the door, Harry's raucous laughter echoed behind them. "Whoo, Ron. She's a bit out of your league, huh?"

Hermione couldn't decide if the warmth she felt at having such public acknowledgement of Andromeda's affections and the hysterically stunned expression on Ronald Weasley's face should make her feel so giddy, but she couldn't help it. Even if a hint of guilt and embarrassment needled at her gut, it was quickly drowned out by the warmth of Andromeda's hand in her own.

It felt wonderful.

Suddenly, she noticed that Andromeda's distracted expression, standing under the awning to keep out of the rain as she quickly drew her wand from the clasp which held it at her belt.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I'm afraid we'll have to hurry back."

"Is this about the Patronus?" Hermione asked. "What did Narcissa want?"

Andromeda nodded and sighed. "No one's hurt but… Bella burnt half the house down."

A/N for the chapter: Don't even know what to put in this author's note because I'm afraid you'll all kill me regardless. I'm sorry that I'm a hypocritical, lying asshat who never updates and who is basically the worst person in the world. But I'm back, eh?

Really, though, I'm sorry this took so long. Being, well, younger than I probably should be, May is the busiest time of the year for me, and I was drowning in real life insanity for far too long to indulge in the more pleasurable sorts of insanity found in my writing. I missed you all terribly.

A few warnings: I'm registered for a fic-a-thon in another fandom, so my next chapter may also be delayed, and in early July, I'm off into a land without internet, computers, or cell phones for two weeks, but I should hopefully eek out a few bits and pieces in between all of that. I promise I haven't abandoned you, and my darling reviewers are absolutely the best positive reinforcement I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Best wishes, kindest regards, and all my love,

-Zarrene.