A/N: This feels so strange... I am actually posting a new chapter before 3am. I must be sick or something. :D Anyway, it was a long time coming. Writer's block has got me by the bollocks. Lol. For everyone who has reviewed, favorited, alerted...I adore you. I am not going to respond to the reviews here, as I am just eager to post this chapter. BTW, imperfectionisunderrated...You are right about the whole calling him Father thing. An oversight on my part which was fixed immediately. And yes, I VERY much wanted the foray into Bella's memory to feel like the Tom Riddle incident...Good eye. :D So, without any more chatting, here we go. Let me know what you think.
Oh, and if anyone can catch my reference to The Lion in Winter (not that I figure any of you have seen it) I will personally come to your house and give you a lap dance. LMAO! (I have actually used a couple of references to that movie throughout the story. Can't help myself!)
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn
And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
-Shake it Out, Florence and the Machine
The air was filled with deafening silence. The type of silence that follows extinction. The dark witch had descended like a meteor, wrought havoc on a fragile young mind, and withdrawn into the safety of a shadow-strewn room. Bellatrix left the destruction for another's hands to clean. Hermione sat in the living room unmoving, save the salty tears rolling down her face. Her body shook with sadness she had never known, unable to dispel the memory that had been placed upon her.
She had asked for it, even wanted it, at the time. Eager eyes had not been prepared for what they had seen. Hermione could not erase the images of young Bellatrix Black whimpering on the floor in what could only be described as agonizing pain. Even that was a pale description of what had been witnessed. The way the raven's flesh had been peeled back, like the discarded rind of an orange, disturbed all rational thought patterns. It burned into the young witch's brain like a brand, boiling above the surface.
It was scarring.
When initially free of the memory, Hermione instantly wanted to chase after Bellatrix; to cradle her in safe arms that would never let go. She wanted to offer a shoulder to cry on, protection, her love. But she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to move. It's no wonder she behaves the way that she does, inflicting pain on everyone around her. It's the only way she knows. The Gryffindor had finally gained a bit of understanding that was laced with disbelief. She was punished because of a book? It was ludicrous. She couldn't fathom such severe punishment for such a small transgression: wanting to read. She found it difficult to believe that anybody could be so cruel, but she had witnessed the brutality firsthand.
Hermione's brown locks fell in front of her youthful face like a shield. She made no effort to move them out of the way, hoping that somehow they would serve as an invisible barrier to guard her from her own thoughts. They did not. The sun shone brightly outside, but Hermione Granger was now cloaked in darkness. A darkness that she had never been prepared to wear.
Bellatrix had gone. Locked away, suffering a prison much more constricting than the room she now occupied. It had been over an hour and the echoes of the painful memory still played loudly in Hermione's ears. Each strike across the face resounded with the dull thud of a mournful bass drum; every slash into tender flesh shrieked like a guitar shredding an ear-splitting solo. No matter how hard she tried, the memory would not be silenced.
Hermione sat, sobbing and confused. Her eyes moved across the tent for some form of comfort and found none. The walls started to cave in around her, suffocating her slowly. With each passing second, she felt the emptiness of her surroundings shatter her psyche until it became too much. The brunette made a decision to speak with the raven. Hermione knew full well it was useless. She would be dismissed as she had been so many times before.
The young witch got up and grimaced as her foot hit the ground and sat back in the chair. Her leg had fallen asleep during her period of being alone. She rubbed it and tried to shake the sensation away. Within a minute, deadened nerves had come back to life. The constriction in Hermione's hoarse throat had morphed. It had turned into a large weight and now resided in the pit of her stomach. Hermione held her head high, nonetheless, and moved towards Bellatrix's quarters.
She reached the door, completely unsurprised to hear the accustomed sounds of glass shattering, wood splintering, random things breaking and fists being thrown into bed and walls. She's having a full blown 'Bellatrix Breakdown'. Hermione cracked a tiny smile despite herself at the name she had thought up for these semi-frequent attacks. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and decided to give the door a knock.
The crashing noises stopped long enough for Hermione to call out. "Bellatrix," she said with determination, "can we please talk?"
She waited in silence for an answer. She had expected it. Bellatrix Lestrange would never do anything if it were not on her terms. The breaking noises began once again. Hermione took it as a 'no,' and retreated to her own room to clear her mind. The brunette was riddled with questions she would likely never ask. She tried to think only of the beginning of the memory, the part that Elizabeth had been in. That portion had been happy at least.
As she fell onto her bed, Hermione closed her eyes tightly. At first she only saw the brutal beating. She only heard the sound of Cygnus' hateful words and the sound of things being broken; bones, lamps, innocence. The young witch meditated on young Bellatrix's face. She conjured a picture of her lying on the grass with a friend. She smiled to herself, thinking of how young Bellatrix had been, temporarily forgetting the murderer she would become. Gone were the black hole eyes that ate weakness as an appetizer. Bellatrix was untainted, then.
At the time, Bellatrix Black was no closer to becoming a Death Eater than Hermione was to becoming a man. The future Slytherin laughed freely with Elizabeth in a way Hermione had never experienced. It pained her to think about. Recalling the childhood experience, the brunette noticed something she hadn't noticed before, something foreign in the other witch's voice. She worked to find the anomaly like a surgeon looking for a lump.
She ruled out joy and abandon. She had heard the Death Eater howl with laughter while fighting at Hogwarts, even if it had been for all of the wrong reasons. Hermione easily ruled out abandon as the cause. She doubted Bellatrix could possibly live any other way. The debate continued in this manner: Hermione proposed a reasonable theory and promptly ruled it out.
A feeling of sadness took hold of the Gryffindor and she opened her eyes. She had come to a sound conclusion, convinced of its truth. The difference between the younger and older Bellatrix was hope. At one point in her life, Bellatrix had been filled with noticeable hope. It was gone, now. Hermione guessed that Bellatrix had lost hope long ago. If the memory she had shared of her childhood was any indication, she couldn't blame her. It's sad. The human mind is a complex organ. A person can only take so much.
The younger Bellatrix was completely unrecognizable when compared to the crazed woman who now tormented Hermione. Her dark eyes shone with certain brilliance, once. There was life in them. There was freedom in them. They were irregular, but familiar to the brunette. Hermione had seen the eyes before. They were the same eyes she had seen anytime she experienced kindness, or rather, indifference from her counterpart. She shuddered. I know you are still in there, I've seen it. What happened to you, Bellatrix? She continued asking questions that silence would not answer.
Hermione felt a million things all at once. She was charged with emotion and struggled to settle on just one. She closed her eyes and reviewed the exchange between Elizabeth and Bellatrix again. The brunette couldn't help but be drawn to the feelings emitted between the girls. It was an overwhelming feeling of nervousness and excitement. She wondered if there wasn't something more to the friendship than what she had seen. Hermione even felt a flush of jealousy towards Elizabeth, forcing her to blush with embarrassment. Don't be stupid, Hermione. She was a child then. Are you honestly jealous of a child? Pointing this fact out didn't help any. If anything, it made it worse. Why her? Why did she get to see that side of Bellatrix? Why couldn't it have been me?
She knew it was this question, more than anything else that plagued her. It was this question that brought about her irrational feeling of possessiveness. Hermione had given up everything only to suffer repeatedly at the older witch's hands. She had gained nothing in return. Not even a hint of honest kindness. Hermione's jealous side wondered what had become of Elizabeth and her relationship with the young Bellatrix. Did Elizabeth get more from the raven than what she had been allowed to see?
She thought of the girls kissing. It had been harmless, of course. Still, Hermione couldn't help wishing it had been her. She imagined herself in Elizabeth's position, the things she would have done differently. Her brown eyes looked at the Mudblood scar on her arm and inattentively rubbed it. She became aware of pleasurable warmth burning low in her belly. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably on her bed.
She imagined herself lying in the grass with Bellatrix, reaching over to kiss her, locking her fingers into soft black curls, pulling the dark witch closer. Hermione shivered slightly as her body filled with want. She moaned softly as she imagined her tongue dipping into Bellatrix's mouth, her hands scratching her back, her leg pushing between Bellatrix's legs. She imagined the dark witch grabbing her forcefully, taking her right there in the field. She blushed furiously and bit her lip. Get a grip on yourself, you sound like a slag! Don't forget, she was also tortured shortly after your little fantasy romp in the grass.
Hermione stood up, realizing she was border-line obsessing. She attempted to distract herself with the radio. She fumbled with it for several minutes before surrendering. She couldn't get a single station to come in clearly. Just as the radio was almost sent hurtling towards a wall, Hermione forced herself to put it back down. She didn't even know she had grabbed it. She balled her fists together as the burning grew warmer and warmer in her groin.
The solution, she conceded, was to read. It had always been a retreat, a way to disappear into another world. Now, more than ever, Hermione needed out of her head. She needed out of her body. A frustrated hand found its way into the charmed bag and gripped a large book at random. The young witch was on autopilot, unaware of anything except lethal, crimson lips and the need to feel warm skin against her own. She shook her head as she opened the book and started to read. The thoughts broke in, but she felt she was finally getting a little control over her mind.
Hermione forced herself through the first chapter in a haze. She gave up upon, noting that the only information she had retained from the book was that there was a dog named Lucky…or Duke. She didn't know. Looking at the clock on her nightstand, Hermione realized it had taken far too long to read one chapter. Unknowingly, she had only been able to make it through three or four lines before her mind took her back to the field, back to her deepest desires and into the arms of Bellatrix.
She needed fresh air, she decided with certainty. A little piece of clarity. She got up from her bed and made her way to the door. She pressed an ear to the door and listened. She was surprised to find she no longer heard Bellatrix having her meltdown. In the past, dramatic events had always been followed by hours and hours of the sounds of things being thrown and screaming, sometimes lasting for days.
Hermione heard none of these noises. She was, therefore, cautious in exiting her bedroom. She worried that Bellatrix was waiting on the other side, hidden in the shadows, prepared to attack. The brunette held her wand tight in her hand, opening the door exceptionally slowly and quietly.
She didn't step out immediately, opting to wait for something to happen. Nothing did. She poked her head out of the door, wand at the ready. Hermione glanced down the hallway and spotted emptiness. She listened carefully and heard nothing. It was unusual, even eerie, the calm that filled the tent. As though nothing had ever happened. The young witch stepped out of her bedroom, moving close to Bellatrix's door. She moved her ear close to the door hoping to get some indication that the raven was inside.
A moment later, Hermione heard it. A noise that sent a chill through her body. Her legs turned to lead as panic set in. Her breath hitched in her throat as she listened for confirmation that she had actually heard the noise she thought she had. It happened again. Hermione's hands began shaking involuntarily. She heard an unmistakable groan coming from the dark witch's room. It was Bellatrix. She was in pain.
Hermione was sent back to the Black family manor. Bellatrix was writhing on the floor, whimpering and groaning, while her Father pretended she did not exist. The noise Hermione heard now was nearly identical. The young witch had to do something. This was her chance to right some old wrongs. She figured that the door would be magically locked and protected, and didn't have a backup plan in such a case, but decided to give the door handle a try anyway. It couldn't hurt.
She gripped the handle as though her life depended on it, and turned slowly. She nearly fainted when it actually moved. In her haste to leave, Bellatrix had forgotten to lock it. Or, she knew that Hermione wouldn't attempt to open the door in a million years. The young witch's heart beat dangerously fast. She held her breath and pushed the door open a couple of inches. She was shaking with fear.
Her brown eyes scanned the room through the small crack, searching for any sign of trouble. The room was bathed in a soft light coming from the small lamp across from the bed. At first glance, the room merely looked to be a mass of shadows. Hermione's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside. Once they did, she quickly zeroed in on the Death Eater. She wasn't moving.
The young body buzzed with anxiety. The sensation was paralyzing. Bellatrix was lying on the bed, head tilted back in a strange manner. Hermione could only see the bottom half of the raven. She gasped silently as she made sense of what she was looking at. It was unreal, a nightmare turned to reality. She saw blood, everywhere. Bellatrix was covered in it. The brunette's mouth hung open. She felt little pinpricks as her body covered itself in goose bumps. Her head screamed contradictions. Go! ... Stay! …Go! …Stay!
Bellatrix shifted a little but her face remained out of view. Good, she's still moving. Hermione couldn't think of a time she had been more frightened. She looked closer, solely focusing on the long arms draped over the edge of the bed. There, Hermione found the source of the blood. Bellatrix was definitely hurt. There were several open wounds spread across the Death Eater's upper and lower arms. Blood flowed from the lacerations, down the pale arms, covering corset, skirt, bed and floor. Hermione began to reach for her bottle of Dittany but stopped, recalling a recent encounter with Bellatrix.
She remembered pulling up the raven's black, velvet sleeves at the table days before. She recoiled as the visual of the numerous scars came to view. They had been surprising, at the time. Now, they were all too real, disbanding any remaining illusions the youth still held. The wounds before her were almost certainly self-inflicted. Bellatrix, bloodied and suffering, had done this by choice. Hermione was torn, at a loss for what to do. She knew that if Bellatrix had caused the injuries and was actually alright, she would be tortured for intruding. On the other hand, if all was not well and Bellatrix needed help, she needed to move to action quickly. Hermione took one last look before deciding to enter.
What she saw stopped her dead in her tracks. Bellatrix was stirring. Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the Death Eater's arm raised to face level. Her nimble fingers hovered over an open mouth. The raven stuck the bloodied fingers into her mouth, and sucked on them for a moment, clearing them of crimson. Is she…licking her own blood? The Gryffindor shuddered a little with intrigue and repulsion. Her question was answered almost instantaneously.
Bellatrix pulled the fingers out of her mouth and moved them deliberately down her body. She writhed a little, before pulling up her blood soaked skirt and bunching it around her hips with the other hand. Hermione let out another silent gasp as she stared at the pale but muscular exposed legs of the Death Eater. They were not the legs of a woman her age.
The young witch's eyes were glued to the Death Eater, roving over every bit of bared flesh possible. Soft, brown eyes widened in awe as pale, slender fingers delved past the black skirt, prodding for entrance. Hermione was stunned. Bellatrix didn't wear a stitch of fabric under her skirt, exposing herself completely to eager eyes. Hermione couldn't have spoken, even if she had wanted to. It would probably have come out in awkward stutters or ridiculous statements about the weather in Iceland.
The young witch's face flushed red, burning with intense heat. She had never seen another girl fully naked except for herself. She felt a perverted sense of embarrassment as she watched. The inner voice was muffled with secret longing to touch and be touched. You need to leave, right now! Close the door, close the door, close the door! Try as she might, Hermione couldn't move. Bellatrix was beautiful.
The brunette squirmed as she watched experienced fingers slowly dip inside velvet, slick folds. Heaven, help me. The tantalizing fingers moved gracefully, in and out, in and out. The Death Eater moaned softly with the contact. Hermione felt an unmistakable wetness gather between her legs, mesmerized by the fingers searching for pleasure. Bellatrix brought her other hand to her clit, and circled it rapidly.
Hermione clenched her stomach, mouth still wide open. Her tongue was dry, but she didn't pay it attention. A lion could have been chewing on her leg and she wouldn't have noticed. She was frozen in place, watching something she knew she should never have seen. Bellatrix bucked her hips against her hand, and moved her fingers faster against her clit.
The circling fingers stilled. Please, don't stop. Please don't stop. Bellatrix made a noise of frustration. She raised the hand on her sex high above her, into the air. Blood dripped onto the bed below as she held it there. The Death Eater brought the hand down quickly, smacking it into her throbbing clit. She repeated the action, whipping it punishingly. Hermione could hear the smacking noise from where she stood in the doorway and cringed a little.
Oh my god, does she have to feel pain to get off? She received her answer, as once again Bellatrix slapped her hand against herself. Light, brown eyes locked onto the hand administering the unremitting abuse. Damn, that's harsh… She shivered, thinking of the time she had actually gotten into physical combat with the older witch and how turned on Bellatrix seemed to get, just by being hit. I didn't think she was serious! This is so wrong…you need to leave…
Hermione began to regain her senses and got a hold of herself. She started to close the door quietly. She couldn't help looking back once more as Bellatrix thrust her fingers deep inside of herself and crashed her palm down again. Her hips pushed forward, grinding against the hand inside. The raven arched her back. Her head tilted to the side of her pillow and a soft moan fell from her lips. Hermione nearly had a heart attack as Bellatrix's face came to view.
Run! She can't see you here! She will kill you! This was a private moment, and Hermione couldn't imagine the countless forms of punishment she would have to endure if the dark witch knew of her voyeurism. The brunette breathed a sigh of relief. Bellatrix's eyes appeared to be sealed firmly. Hermione wordlessly gave thanks to every deity she had ever heard of as she closed the door securely, heart beating abnormally fast.
She turned away as soon as the door shut. Her fingers outwardly refused to detach themselves from the handle. It's okay. You're safe. Let go. They finally submitted. The instant Hermione's hand was liberated, she was on the move. Her legs took long strides, carrying her from the tent hurriedly.
The clear blue skies seemed to mock Hermione as she struggled for comprehension of her feelings. She was filled with desire, terror, and sadness. A walking mass of confusion. The coastal winds pushed Hermione's curls to dance around her. She swatted at the strands tickling her face before tucking the energized locks behind her ear.
She turned, from the tent to the dunes, with no plan whatsoever. She wasn't sure where she was going, how she would get there, or how long she would stay. She only knew that she needed to go, to get away.
Inside the tent, in an uninviting room, Bellatrix cried out raucously. Her legs convulsed as she reached the summit, climax manipulating the body.
At that very moment, Hermione's eyes filled with tears. Despair had won the battle for 'Chief Emotion in Charge.' She walked to the desolation of the dunes and haphazardly apparated with a soft 'pop.'
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As she was met with the feeling of something pulling her from behind the navel, she felt the sudden urge to throw up. She was lightheaded and in need of water. Her mind had wandered and at this point she wouldn't be surprised to find she had accidentally taken herself to China. She wasn't prepared for arrival. She landed much less gracefully than she anticipated and fell to the ground. It jarred her stomach, and she became extremely ill, barely getting on all fours before her sickness covered the soft earth below.
Her nose filled with the scent of the new environment. It was a smell so familiar that she knew where she was before even glancing at the surrounding landscape. It sent her mind reeling with her past. The young witch was not surprised that she had ended up here, only that she hadn't accidentally splinched herself in the process. Hermione stood up, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. Her legs buckled as she attempted to walk. She wanted to leave as quickly as she had come, but couldn't. She needed to feel this. She needed to see it, to know it was all real. Shaky legs slowly carried the witch down a winding country lane towards her destination.
When the aroma of food filled her nostrils, Hermione knew she was close. Her heart raced as she approached. The smell of baking bread and potatoes made the brunette forget life for a second, forget Bellatrix, forget her mistakes. It was comforting, warm. Her nose greedily inhaled the scent, wanting to remember it forever. Hermione's deliberate steps slowed even more as she drew closer. Her legs were weighed down with impending doom. She lurched around the final corner and a lopsided, towering home came in to view. It felt like a mirage. Close enough to touch. Hermione feared that she might blink and open her eyes to find it gone. Reality came back kicking and screaming.
Hermione's heart tucked itself safely in her throat. She looked towards the front door and for a brief moment thought about making a run towards it. The young witch knew that just beyond the door were faces she knew well, arms that would collect and comfort, eyes that would cry with her, fingers that would wipe away the burning tears. It was so different to her living circumstances now. The people inside of the house wanted her near. They actually missed her when she was away. They didn't ignore, hurt or taunt her. They only loved her.
Unfortunately, it was not enough. They didn't draw her in like a fly to the spider's web. They weren't mesmerizing, able to overwhelm her with emotions she had suppressed long ago. They didn't make her feel the strange things Bellatrix did without having to try. Hermione was certain about some things. She would never give up everything to be with the people beyond the door. She wouldn't die to understand them. Only Bellatrix held that power over her, and Hermione didn't know why. It crushed her to put the situation into such blatantly harsh terms. She was revolted with herself. It couldn't be denied, though, no matter how ugly the truth was.
She dug her fingernails into crossed arms, trying to draw blood. She needed to feel some sort of punishment for her actions. She needed to suffer for the pain she had inflicted upon others. She couldn't breathe as the tears streamed endlessly. Her puffy, bloodshot eyes had difficulty seeing properly. She almost tripped over a garden gnome and cursed it quietly. She wiped her eyes so she could see.
Time seemed to still. Birds stopped chirping, trees no longer swayed with the wind. The only movement was Hermione's chest, heaving with guilt. Seeing The Burrow for the first time in so long filled the youth with uncomfortable sorrow. At one point in her life, this had been a second home to her, a sanctuary of safety where laughter bounced through every room. Since starting Hogwarts, she had spent a part of every summer, before school, in this very house. During all of those times, Hermione couldn't recall ever once feeling the emptiness that now weighed her down. The Weasley's were her family.
Arthur and Molly had protected her, fought for her, treated her as their own child. Hermione had repaid their kindness with abominable mutiny. Doubt filled her mind. She began to question every decision she had ever made. She didn't know who she was anymore. Her old self would have never given up everything for Bellatrix Lestrange. The brunette wasn't sure she would even recognize herself in a mirror. The fingernails dug deeper and droplets of blood rose from the broken skin. Hermione's soft eye filled with more tears, defying the laws of nature. Surely she had no tears left to cry. But they did. Her muscles clenched. Her stomach twisted into knot upon knot. Her skin felt too tight for her body. She wanted to rip it off. The weight of her choices crashed down on her like an anvil. The decision had been made and the guilt would plague her until she ceased to exist.
She heard voices in the distance. Bile rose into her throat. She forced it down, moving quickly behind some bushes not far off. Her heartbeat echoed in her head. Her ears throbbed with the sound. She couldn't be seen, she knew that. She crouched low, fingers shaking, and listened.
"Mum, I swear, I will come back. Right now, I have to keep looking. The longer I stay, the further I am from finding her." It was unmistakable. Ron.
Hermione had almost forgotten what his voice sounded like. When he spoke, it was a punch in the face. The young witch had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Ron's voice seemed like a lifetime ago. She had loved him as a brother, and for a time, as more than that. Now, hiding from view, she didn't know what she felt for him. She didn't know if her feelings for him had ever been real. Was this all just part of some exaggerated dream she was soon to wake from? The entire moment unfolded in waves, revealing bits and pieces of truth to Hermione. It was surreal.
"Be careful, dear. I worry about you," Mrs. Weasley sounded like she was on the verge of crying. She took a deep breath. "Just bring her home safe." They were talking about her. Other than her parents, of everyone she had left behind, Hermione missed Mrs. Weasley the most, her second mother. She wanted to disappear and never return. Not just from here but from everything and everyone. She wished she could Obliviate herself. She sat still, wanting to forget everything she had ever known, live in ignorance for the rest of her days. At least she wouldn't have to feel anymore.
"And give Harry a hug for me," she added hopefully.
"Mum," Ron groaned impatiently. He clearly had no intention of giving Harry a hug, or passing along the message.
The image of Harry came into the brunette's mind unexpectedly. It felt wrong, imagining him and hearing Ron speak at the same time, knowing she could not reach out and reveal her presence.
"I know, I know. It's just hard. The three of you were always so-"
"…close," Ron finished softly. Mrs. Weasley sobbed quietly. "Don't cry. We'll get her back," he said with fake enthusiasm. Hermione could imagine Ron holding Molly close, to soothe her. Selfishly, Hermione wished she were being held and comforted. But, she had given that luxury up when she kidnapped Bellatrix and vanished without a trace. It was disturbing to really think about. While her best friends were out looking for her, mourning her absence, Hermione was camped out in a tent across the world, vying for the attentions of a Death Eater. Not just any Death Eater, but one that had caused devastation directly to the ones she considered friends and family. One who couldn't even seem to feel human emotions. It felt immoral, sick.
Hermione punished herself by remembering the past she had once shared with her closest friends. She thought about hunting the Horcruxes with the other two, constantly searching for the end. At that time, the only people she had were Harry and Ron. She trusted them with her life. She remembered, with sadness, how painful it had been when Ron had left. This time, she had been the one to leave. She had done the same thing to her friends, without the decency of an explanation. Hermione crouched lower, flooded with shame. She knew the hurt Ron's absence had caused. She had experienced its devastating effects. At the time she could have never anticipated willingly giving that pain in return.
The memories poured in, tiny snapshots of different times, quickly changing. Hermione remembered the first time she met them both on the train at school, fighting in the Ministry of Magic as a team, laughing late at night about Ginny's crush on Harry. It was all over now. The adventures and hours of endless amusement were gone now. She had traded them for the swirling exhilaration of a hurricane. One that could kill her at any time, without warning. Hermione had chosen and in doing so, had lost her innocence. A soft cry escaped trembling lips before it could be stopped. Was that me? Oh God, please, no… Mother and son moved in the direction of the sound. Hermione panicked. She stood, eyes darting in every direction. She instinctively backed away as the footsteps drew closer. She saw Ron first, about 30 feet away. He looked like a ghost to the brunette. A figment of imagination. Ron's eyes were wide with disbelief as he tried to form a sentence.
"Hermione? Where...how did you-" He didn't finish. His jaw locked into an open position and stayed. Mrs. Weasley was right behind him and shrieked loudly with joy and relief. She was noticeably shaken, running awkwardly towards the brunette with arms opened wide, saying something. The brunette saw her lips moving but couldn't hear the words. It was all a blur. Hermione fought to keep her feet still, to keep from running to the waiting arms. The closer Molly came, the harder the fight to keep distance. Hermione wanted to let the matriarch grab her in a death lock and cling for dear life.
She knew what she had to do, and a piece of her broke apart.
The young witch was aware that it would be impossible to explain her actions to anyone, let alone to the people who had cared for her so much. It was difficult, but she refused to hurt her loved ones any more than she already had. She also knew that if she could explain what had actually happened, both she and Bellatrix would be in a world of hurt and never see one another again. The biggest factor in the decision was Bellatrix. Hermione couldn't leave the older witch. The connection she felt with the Death Eater had only increased as they spent more time together. Bellatrix was a lost soul, a wounded animal in need of care. Hermione would not abandon her.
"I-I'm sorry, Molly. I can't…" Hermione's voice sounded desperate as she pleaded for understanding through a flood of tears. Mrs. Weasley's countenance displayed her obvious confusion. Hermione focused her eyes, trying to memorize the faces, to absorb them. The last image she would be left with of Ron and Molly would be their puzzled expressions and she hated herself for it. Hermione apparated.
The moment the outside Namibian air hit her face, Hermione disintegrated into the sand. Waves crashed nearby, the dim glow from a lighthouse in the distance shone, but Hermione was numb to their presence.
Once again, the young witch had chosen Bellatrix over everyone else. She fled the only life she had ever truly known for the cold comfort of the Death Eater's disdain. Hermione choked on the tears, heaving for gasps of air as a panic attack took hold. She was blanketed in isolation, curling under it like a small child. After today, Hermione knew she could never go back.
A/N PLEASE REVIEW! In the great, big, wide world of fanfiction, reviews = love. :D Hell, review if you hate it!
Special thanks to Florence and the Machine and the movie, The Lion in Winter. Without them, this chapter would still be floating my my head space.
