With Minerva having disappeared to Merlin knows where, and Kinglsey refusing her offer to help both the Unspeakables and the Aurors, Hermione was rather daunted to find herself with free time on her hands. She hated days off, she needed to be working. She'd unpacked the last of her possessions. She'd cleaned. She ate a reasonable breakfast, for a change, instead of her usual large coffee and nothing else. Even Crookshanks had been brushed, much to his displeasure – he had taken to scowling at her from underneath the television unit while she was curled up on the couch with the Daily Prophet. She had taken to reading the paper again for any hint of a scandal breaking about about Bellatrix being alive, or that the Ministry was investigating Death Eaters once more.

As much as she tried to avoid it, her thoughts kept on returning to Bellatrix, trapped in a mind that was not her own. With the age theory now discounted, the latest was even worse. Voldemort wanted her power for himself, essentially, and was willing to do whatever it took to keep her loyal. She felt nauseated that she had been practically a child at the time – 15. In her fifth year at school. She never had a chance. With her intelligence and magical prowess, Bellatrix could have gone on to achieve Masteries, worked for the Ministry, developed ways to fight Voldemort, even. Yet she spent the best years of her life locked in a cell, slowly going madder and madder, both from the Mark, and the Dementors.

And now she's trapped in a hospital, not even understanding what was going on because her mind's so broken.

She sighed, stretching her back as she closed the newspaper. She wanted to see Bellatrix. Observe her. Try to find a way to break through those maddening walls the darkness had created. And to do that, Bellatrix needed to get used to her presence. While Kingsley had said she couldn't do any work for the case at the Ministry, he never specified anything about St. Mungo's. As she stood up to get ready and face the day, she turned to look at the still-scowling Crookshanks. "Get over it," she told him. "All the lady cats will love you now that you don't have dreadlocks in your fur."

He snarled.

I'm talking to my cat, and I'm about to willingly visit the woman who tortured me. I truly have gone mad, she thought, before heading over to the table and writing a quick note to the Healers, asking if it was okay for her to stop by at some point during the day. She sent it through the fire, and started anxiously waiting for a response. She started doubting herself – was this strange? Too forward? She felt she didn't know her own mind any more; this case had distorted everything. Especially with Prue's revelation about Antonin Dolohov, a Death Eater remarkably similar to Bellatrix.

Like Bellatrix, Antonin had left his mark on her flesh. In the Department of Mysteries in her fifth year, he had cursed her with a cruel spell of his own invention, and she bore the scars to this day – scar tissue in the shape of swirling flames across her chest. While it wasn't as ugly as the one Bellatrix had given her, it was still a reminder. If he turned out to be innocent, however, the Weasley's would now be in the same position as the remaining Longbottom family; Antonin had murdered Molly's two brothers during the first war. And while Molly had been understanding at the Order meeting about Bellatrix, Hermione doubted whether that would extend to the man responsible for killing her family, even if the man was dead.

But if he was controlled...

Merlin, it was all so messy.

Green flames brought her out of her thoughts, and a piece of parchment fluttered through the grate.

Fine by me! Come over in an hour, Hermione. She's still in pain from the surgery, so she might like to see someone who isn't poking and prodding her constantly. -Daphne.

Plans for the day set, Hermione hurried to the shower, and was only briefly stopped on her way there by Crookshanks swiping at her from his hiding place. Once more, she politely but firmly told him to get over himself. "Most cats like being brushed, you know," she informed him pointedly.

This time, he hissed.

"You're impossible," she said, rolling her eyes. Whatever did I do to get such a grouchy cat?


As soon as she stepped out of the fire grate, Hermione found herself enveloped in a rib-cracking hug from Daphne. Slightly taken aback by it, she gave an awkward laugh. Before she even had a chance to ask what brought that display of affection on, Daphne launched into an excited spiel.

"This is off the record, ok? Right now, we're just friends, not nurse and Ministry investigator, got it?" she asked, grinning.

"Okay...?" Hermione said, a little warily as they made their way over to the couch. While she and Daphne knew each other, it certainly wasn't as well enough as this display of emotions entailed. However, as soon as Daphne had flicked her wand to bring over a tray of tea and began to explain, Hermione understood perfectly.

"I've been given permission to tell you – Draco's proposing to Tori. And he needs our help."

Hermione actually squealed, grinning just as widely as Daphne. "Are you serious? That's fantastic!"

Daphnee nodded excitedly, positively bouncing on the couch as she spoke. "I'm meeting him for dinner tonight, and I've been told in no uncertain terms what will happen if I don't bring you along. So try not to get murdered by Bellatrix today, please."

With a laugh, Hermione said, "I'll do my best. How is she doing?"

At this, Daphne gestured to the display screens. "She's dozing. Her left arm is in a significant amount of pain – much more-so than her right. We've got her on pain relieving potions, but they're not helping, so we've got to sedate her instead, just to let her sleep it off. She's tough, though. She's also-" she accioed some papers from the main desk, and started reading from them; "gained 2 pounds, had a successful iron transfusion and is managing to stomach more than just soup and bread – we've started her on mashed vegetables and small bits of chicken. As soon as she can eat chocolate, we'll be happy – it'll slowly negate the effect all those Dementor's had on her. But that's still at least a week or two away. For the moment, though... Things are going pretty well."

Hermione nodded, giving a smile as Daphne passed the papers to her, reading the charts for herself. "How's the physio coming along?"

"Well," Daphne began, "she's perfectly fine pacing in the confines of her room, but walking in the corridor – in the open space – seems to terrify her. I think it's maybe because if she needs a break, the bed's right there, but the corridor is empty. So we'll have to work on that. Maybe you could do that today? Walk with her around the corridor?"

Hermione riased her eyebrows, considering it. Yes, she thought. The perfect trust exercise. "Sounds like a plan, Daph," she smiled. "Thanks for this – I offered my services to the Ministry, but Kingsley told me to take the day off."

Daphne sniggered. "You? Day off? Not bloody likely. Oh well, saves me from going barmy all on my own here. Jackson, the auror on guard, isn't all that talkative."

They finished their tea, Daphne filling Hermione in on the latest gossip – not that Hermione knew most of the people she was talking about, but she listened anyway, looking scandalised at the appropriate moments. Truthfully, it was nice spending time with someone who didn't expect her to be up-to-date with the latest news, or to be the fearless war-hero people believed her to be. She felt at ease. No wonder she went into Healing, Hermione thought, Daph has a way of relaxing you – perfect for a hospital bedside manner. She hoped this case would fast-track her graduation – working on a confidential investigation for the Ministry was no small feat. Compassion for the most hated of humanity was hard to come by.

After learning that Pansy Parkinson was Rita Skeeter's new intern (dear God, is there no mercy? she wondered, rather horrified at the future of journalism in the Wizarding world), Hermione made a point of glancing at the monitors and, upon seeing that Bellatrix's eyes were open, decided that it was probably time for her to get to work. "How should we approach this?" she asked Daphne, after the Healer noticed Hermione's gaze. "Should you warn her, or do you think she'll be fine if I just walk in?"

Daphne considered for a moment, and rifled through some of the papers she had previously summoned. She twisted her mouth as she read, humming occasionally. "Given the fact that, underneath, she does seem to like you to a degree, I think it would be good to watch her reaction if you did this on your own. Jackson will be on guard should anything happen. Leave your wand here, though, just in case. But I know you're a beast at wandless if she tries anything, anyway. I'll be watching, of course," she added, pointing to the monitoring screens, "So really, you're safe. I promise."

Hermione nodded. "I trust you," she said, handing over her wand and shrugging out of her jacket. She smoothed over her jeans before taking a deep breath to ready herself. There was still that part of her that was scared, however it was getting slightly smaller each day. The only violence Bellatrix had shown so far was towards herself, rather than those around her. Good for her Healers, of course, but still concerning nonetheless.

"Ready?" Daphne asked, opening the office door.

"Ready," Hermione said, walking out with falsified confidence. Bellatrix was staring at the ceiling, and didn't notice someone was in the ward until Hermione had opened the glass door to her room.

The witch frowned slightly upon seeing her, and slowly sat up in her bed, cocking her head to the side.

Hermione smiled. "Hello, Bella," she said, walking slowly as to not spook her. She came to a stop next to the left bedside table, and dropped to her knees, so that she was looking up at the Death Eater. "How are you today?"

Bellatrix hummed darkly. "Sore arms," she said. "Haven't scared you off yet, then?" she asked, the hint of a smirk on her pale lips. For once, however, the snark wasn't laced with venom. More...disbelief.

Curious, Hermione thought, filing that bit of information away for later. "Not yet," she said brightly. "Took an oath, I told you. Do you feel up for a bit of a walk?"

Slowly, Bellatrix nodded, and began to swing her legs out from under the white hospital sheets. Hermione helped her to her feet, taking care to only touch her hands, rather than her bandaged forearms. She winced as she saw the hints of red under the bandages on the left – for the blood to still not be clotting properly, the Darkness must be so potent. Even George's ear had stopped after 24 hours, and that was without coagulant gel.

"Do you want me to tie your hair back?" Hermione asked her, noticing how it kept on getting in Bellatrix's eyes. Given she herself was familiar with wild, unruly curls, she knew how irritating it could be and, for the moment, the less irritants Bellatrix had, the better. At a nod from the dark witch, Hermione took a tissue and wandlessly transfigured it into a hair tie, then quickly scooped up the curls into a pony tail. "There you go," she said softly a moment later. "And don't say 'thank you'," she added quickly, "we don't want to risk you getting a headache."

Bellatrix chuckled, having watched the display of magic. "Wandless transfiguration...you know, they said you were smart," she muttered.

Hermione didn't know which 'they' she was talking about and, after thinking on it for a moment, decided she didn't want to. Instead, she said, "Yup, seven NEWTs, all 'outstanding'. What did you get on yours?" As she spoke, Bellatrix took a few tentative steps, and Hermione made a hasty plan in her head – if I keep her talking, she'll be distracted. Hopefully, that'll let us get out of the room, and she'll see that the corridor is safe.

"Seven," she said. "Four E's, three O's. Old Sluggy was pleased – only took him seven bloody years to realise that Black's are more than a name."

They were nearing the door now, Bellatrix managing to walk on her own without assistance, despite her pencil-thin legs. Instead of heading to the corridor yet, Hermione turned her, so that they walked around to the other side of the bed, taking it one step at a time.

"Were you in his Slug Club?" Hermione asked as they turned again, and paced back to the other side of the bed.

Bellatrix snorted. "I hated that club. He only asked me to join because of my lineage. Didn't give a fuck about my marks." While her jaw had become set hard, it softened before she spoke again. "At least when McGonagall praises you, you know you've earned it."

Once more, Hermione found herself surprised by Bellatrix's priorities. She was studious. She wanted to succeed because she earned it, rather than because her last name made things easier for her. Merlin, the sooner she can talk to her sisters, the better, she thought, realising that she saw elements of both Narcissa and Andromeda in this hidden personality of hers.

"Minerva's fair like that," Hermione agreed fondly, hoping that wherever in the world she was, the Hogwarts Headmistress was safe. She'd heard rumours of the lengths several Auror's and Ministry officials had gone to to dispose of some of the bodies – deliberately hidden and buried in placed almost completely inaccessible. After the meeting, however, she had reason to believe it had been Minerva herself running that particular operation herself. She could almost hear Minerva's voice in her head; well, it seemed like a good idea at the time...how was I to know we'd have to dig them up again?

"She still teaching?" Bellatrix asked as Hermione steered them towards the door. The older witch stopped briefly, fear flickering across her face, but Hermione placed her arm around the older woman's waist and directed her out of the room. Bellatrix flinched at the initial contact, but relaxed into it after a moment. They managed five steps before she stopped again, leaning against the wall and catching her breath.

Remembering the question, Hermione answered. "She's still teaching the NEWT students," she said, "but her Headmistress duties take precedence. The school is running brilliantly under her leadership." She paused, looking at Bellatrix once more, dressed in a simple white hospital tunic. She looked exhausted, but as she brought her dark eyes up to meet Hermione's, she saw a bit of fire hidden in their murky depths. "You like Minerva, don't you?" she asked tentatively, wanting to gauge Bellatrix's true feelings for the woman; wondering if Bellatrix, like her, admired her for her skill and power, or whether it was maternal, or romantic, even. Bellatrix's mind was full of endless possibilities, and Hermione was willing to bet Minerva was even more striking than she was now at the time Bellatrix attended Hogwarts.

Bellatrix nodded quickly, a small smile on her lips, but otherwise looking lost in thoughts. "She's a good person," she said after a long silence. He witch said no more, and started walking again. Hermione knew there was more to the story, but didn't want to push it. She made a note to ask Minerva some more questions – it wouldn't surprise her if the Headmistress had omitted more personal information when Hermione had originally enquired about Bellatrix.

Once Hermione had caught up to Bellatrix, who had grown slightly unsteady on her own, Hermione quickly replaced her arm around her waist again, which calmed the older woman. Together, they walked in silence for a while, Bellatrix stopping every now and again to peer inquisitively at some of the medical equipment in the ward. Hermione didn't stop her; she was just glad Bellatrix was up and out of bed.

"Tell me something about yourself," Bellatrix said after they'd done another lap of the corridor. She stopped and stared into Hermione's eyes, scrutinising her features. "We're on uneven grounds here, Hermione Granger. You know a lot about me, and I know very little of you other than your blood status, choice of-" she grimaced slightly as she said the next word. "-friends, and your NEWT scores."

Hermione tried to hide her surprise. That was the longest bit of speech Bellatrix had managed so far, and it was completely coherent. It was a phenomenal improvement. Perhaps distraction was a way to break down the walls and chains holding her? They resumed walking while Hermione thought for a moment. "I have a pet cat," she said eventually, deciding that pets were a safe subject. "His name is Crookshanks. He's part Kneazle, and he's currently very angry with me because I gave him a long over-due brush this morning. He prefers the 'matted pile of fur' look," she explained, with a laugh. "My duvet cover, however, doesn't, nor do my pillows, couch and cushions," she grinned, watching Bellatrix's face closely to see her reaction.

The older witch smiled, than a look of realisation dawned on her. Her eyes turned mischievous. "Is – is that the cat that tried to eat Pettigrew? When he was the rat for all those years?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Hermione tried – and failed – not to laugh. "Yes," she admitted.

Bellatrix cackled, and Hermione got the feeling she didn't like Peter Pettigrew very much. "Do thank – Crookshanks, was it? – for his admirable efforts," she smirked. "I-" she stopped, hands flying to her head and she doubled over. "God – fucking – damn it," she grunted, and Hermione realised what was happening. The look of agony twisting Bellatrix's features said it all; she had lost control once more. The dark matter was seeping back into her mind.

Heart racing, Hermione ran back to the office to get help, however Daphne and Uritch hurtled out in a flurry of green Healer robes before she got there, picking up the fallen witch in one fluid motion and tipping a potion down her throat. Immediately, she slumped, unconscious, as they carried her back to her bed, Hermione following behind, watching sadly. They had been going so well. She knew it couldn't have lasted much longer, but it was still disconcerting to see how quickly she changed. She seemed to have enjoyed herself, which brought her some measure of relief. I must bring a picture of Crooks to show her, she mused. It'll brighten up her room...

"Great work, Hermione," Daphne said over her shoulder, as they tucked Bellatrix into her sheets. "I'm honestly surprised she managed for so long. Every day, she's improving. Prue will be thrilled."

"Seconded," Uritch said, shooting her a smile. "Good to see you, Granger."

"You too, Rosier," she said, leaning against the door frame. "Will she be ok?" she asked, concern clouding her features.

He nodded. "We just have to knock her out for a few hours and then she's fine again. Since the extraction," he continued, "We've noticed that her pain is worse, however, her episodes of normality are longer. Cruel, really. It's such a complex bit of magic. You have to admire Him for his skill."

He said it with a little bit too much awe, and at Hermione's scathing look, he blanched, and quickly busied himself with running some more diagnostics, while Daphne hissed, "Rosier, shut up."

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione decided to respond. "Yes, Voldemort was intelligent," she said coolly, "but it was his arrogance over that fact that was his undoing. Even with Bellatrix here – I don't think he ever thought she'd be strong enough to fight his control, yet she has."

Daphne nodded. "And she's getting stronger each day," she said quickly, trying to alleviate the tension. "Aunt Prue knows how to look after prisoners really well. Azkaban isn't designed to keep them even remotely healthy."

After making one final note, both Healers turned and, after gesturing for Hermione to go through the door first, lead the way back to the office, jabbering away in medical terms Hermione was a bit too distracted to pay attention to. She was doing the calculations in her head over what Uritch had said about how Bellatrix had changed since the extraction. If the pain was getting worse, and there was still so much of the matter to still purge the woman of, Hermione shuddered to think of how bad it would be until it got better. Sedating her was merely blanketing the problem – the pain was still there, and along with that, the body's natural response. If they weren't careful, it could become very dangerous, very quickly...

Hermione was surprised to find herself sitting in her usual armchair in the office, absent-mindedly stirring sugar into her tea, having been completely lost in her thoughts for a while. Daphne and Uritch seemed to be attuned to her ways now, as both were leaving her be. She guessed Daphne remembered how she worked from school; for that, she was grateful. She knew she could be grouchy when people interrupted her thinking, especially about work. She reached for a biscuit, hoping the Unspeakables were making progress with some of the books Minerva had loaned them. The tomes were surely dark enough to have an answer lurking somewhere, she thought.

"Back with us, Hermione?" Daphne asked from the desk, shooting her a grin.

"Yep, just thinking," she said, hiding her blush by taking a sip of tea. "I should go, I don't think Bellatrix will be well enough to see me again today. Can I come again tomorrow?"

Daphne and Uritch looked at each other. "We'd best ask Prue," Uritch said, a little uncertainly. "She might take a bit longer to recover this time, because she's still so weak from the surgery.

"Ah, of course," Hermione said, understanding completely. "Well, let me know."

"I'll owl you," Daphne promised. "Or I'll tell you at dinner. 7.30, Monte Carlos in Diagon Alley. Blaise and Neville will be there, too-"

Hermione coughed. "Those two? In the same room?" she interrupted incredulously. While Neville and Draco had gotten over their differences and became quite good friends during their eighth year at Hogwarts, Neville and Blaise still didn't see eye to eye.

"I know," Daphne said, in a low voice. "But I'm sure they can put their differences aside to help with this proposal. Draco is important to them both. And if they – well, if Blaise acts up, I'll hex him," she added cheerily. "No one is getting in the way of my little sister having the most perfect engagement."

The gleam in her eyes made Hermione remember why Daphne was a Slytherin. Whatever she and Draco were planning for Astoria, Hermione would, for once, follow directions without question.

"Remind me not to cross you," Hermione laughed, taking a pinch of floo powder and stepping into the grate. "I'll see you tonight."

As she re-appeared in her lounge room in a swirl of flames, she was greeted by Crookshanks sitting on the couch, still glaring. "Oh, grow up," she snapped at him, before scratching behind his ears.

He purred, despite himself. That made him, if possible, even angrier.


AN: What's this? An update? Sorry for the silence, lovelies – real life happened. I hope you all had a great holiday season, and you enjoyed this chapter!

I've also started a new story – a Hermione/Minerva one called A Question Of Time. Do check it out if you're so inclined! (Can you tell I love strong female characters paired with each other? Can you?) I just loved writing her in this fic so much that I wanted to give her her own story.

Love,

Lily x

PS: Don't forget to review! I love hearing your thoughts.