Salvation

by attches

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione finds that the outcome is not what she had expected. With her best friend six feet under and a feeling of pervasive loneliness, the war hero finds herself on a wild goose chase through time and space with the last remaining perpetuator of the dark. Bellamione of course.

5. Part 4

Less than a week passed since Kingsley was appointed Minister before Bellatrix was contacted by the ministry regarding her rehabilitation. She's to begin tomorrow with some halfblood soul healer named Ivo Walsh. The letter stated the wizard would floo to Malfoy Manor in the afternoon. Truth be told, the dark witch had rather hoped to have to go somewhere, anywhere, for the program but found everyone else to be rather insistent she stay put for the time being. At least the world still feared her. She smirked at the comforting thought. Cissy already had the elves prepare the north wing to be used during this time. Honestly it seemed like her sister was more excited about this than she was. But to be fair, it's not like Bellatrix dreaded beginning the program. After all, Black's excelled at everything they did and it wasn't as if healing— this is a strong word since Bellatrix isn't damaged or broken or whatever descriptor of the sort— one's soul is an arduous task or anything.

The next morning came and went far faster than she'd prefer. The sun sat firmly in the middle of the sky, indicating it's near noon— Lucius' familial grandfather clock stopped working at some point towards the end of the war and Cissy's too sentimental to get it fixed. Bellatrix sat, really it was more of a sprawl, lounging on the sofa in the drawing room. They were having tea when a whooshing sound in the entrance hall indicated an arrival through the floo network. Bellatrix sighed. So much for relaxation. Cissy, always the dutiful pureblood, went to greet the guest.

Presently, a tall man strode in behind the blonde. He wore traditional wizarding robes, adorned his lapel with a small golden pin, and had dusty brown hair. The man sent her a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He's too formal.

"Bellatrix—"

"Madame Black," she corrected before adding, "you will refer to your betters with respect or not at all."

The wizard's jaw tightened ever so slightly. Bellatrix smirked at the sight, she's getting under his skin. Behind the tall man, Narcissa frowned slightly at her sister's antics. Leave it to Bella to antagonize the healer instructed to reintegrate her back into society.

"As I was saying, Black, I am your healer Ivo Walsh," his voice was like steel.

Bellatrix huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, "Yes yes, you're here because you think you can fix me. We all understand. Now when can I leave this blasted manor? It's been dreadfully boring here and I desperately require some new entertainment."

"You can leave when I deem you fit to reenter society as a contributing citizen."

"Boo, you're no fun," she fake pouted, "At least Muddy was more interesting than you. Talking to you is like talking to a dull slab of granite."

"Ah yes, I've already had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Ms. Granger. She was able to provide me with some very helpful information." Walsh smiled at the memory.

This infuriated Bellatrix, nobody plays with her toys except for her! Having noticed the snarl on her sister's face, Narcissa quickly spoke up, "Mr. Walsh, I'd like to request a written formal agreement stating that Bellatrix will stay out of Azkaban now that she's agreed to this program."

"Of course, Madame Malfoy—"

"It's Black now," Cissy corrected the man. When did she do this?

"My apologies, madame. I will be more than happy to provide you with such documentation granted Black actually contributes an honest effort towards the program. And unfortunately, this will only be seen as time progresses."

Cissy paled but nodded. Bellatrix, however, was not pleased whatsoever.

"Damn you blasted halfblood! Muddy already agreed to the unbreakable vow condition that I help her with her work if she keeps me out of Azkaban!"

"Well unfortunately for you, that is no longer in Ms. Granger's control. Now, Black, your future rests with me." The dark witch sulked, glaring daggers into the man's head. Walsh took this as a sign of cooperation and continued his well practiced spiel, "Without any further interruptions, I will explain to you the course of this program. The first thing to occur will be a soul healing spell that I will cast on you. Then—"

"Stronger wizards than you have tried and failed to control my mind," she hissed.

"The spell won't affect your cognition, rather it will work to lessen the effect of years of regular dark magic usage. Essentially, it is not your mind that needs to change, but rather your heart then soul that will heal. After that, we will begin by viewing the events that led up to your current predicament. Spaced out in between will be your mandatory community service. These acts which you will perform are non negotiable and have already been decided for you. Of course, I will be attending every time. The only exception will be if another qualified individual has chosen to accompany you for whatever event you are present for. Once we have finished accurately gauging your progression, you will then meet up on a biweekly schedule with your appointed psychiatrist to discuss your reintegration and anything else you may want to bring up. By this point, the healing spell will allow you to truly express yourself rather than hide behind a mask of rage and old mantras."

Bellatrix glared at Walsh but remained silent. After a bit more preliminary information— really it was just Cissy doting and asking for more evidence on Norway's success— the three headed to the specified wing for the rehabilitation to begin. They stopped at the first door. With a faint tremble, Cissy enveloped Bellatrix into a loving hug before she and Walsh stepped past the metaphoric threshold.

The room was less furnished than it'd been before. Inside sat a large pensieve placed in the middle of the space and two chairs resting on either side. Bellatrix huffed.

"Right then, let's get this rubbish over with."

Walsh nodded. He brandished his wand and aimed it immediately at her heart. The dark witch's hand hovered near her own curved wand, waiting for any hints at betrayal. Perhaps this isn't the healer. Maybe he's some fanatic from the light who's been sent to erratic the former lieutenant before she even began her rehabilitation.

"Relax. I'm going to cast the spell that will begin to reverse all that dark magic currently surrounding you. You shouldn't feel anything per se, but your emotions will be slightly dampened as you reflect on the scene I'm about to show."

"Shouldn't I have any say in the memories chosen? After all they are my experiences," she drawled.

The wizard shook his head. "There isn't a wizard alive who doesn't know you. Therefore, the Ministry felt it best to present you with specific instances to best hone your awareness."

Before she could say anything else, he began weaving an intricate pattern around her chest. The corresponding spell sounded like a celtic origin, but she couldn't place her finger on which specific language it was. A faded green hue absorbed itself into her thoracic cavity. Bellatrix waited, with bated breath, to see if there'd be any repercussions to the unknown magic. But when none came, she let out a small breath and nodded to herself.

Walsh produced a set of six numbered vials. As a highly skilled occlumens, the pureblood wondered how the memories were procured. Did someone delve into her mind? And if so, who and when? But nobody had been able to gain such access since she was a child. Or were they memories of others… Though that would stem the question of if another's memory could even affect her in any way.

"Before you ask, Black, I am under oath not to tell you how we got these vials. Best just to trust the system on this one."

Well that's not very enlightening or reassuring. Had she held any power in this situation, Bellatrix would have refused to participate, demanding answers instead. But when she saw the image of Black Manor begin to materialize, curiosity got the better of her. Walsh's words about withholding the written security regarding her evasion from Azkaban still rang fresh in her ears.

The weather reflected a typical day in England. The sun was hiding behind clouds as it rained on and off. An imposing mansion stood at the forefront, displaying unimaginable privilege and grandiose wealth. But despite the beautifully intricate stonework that laid the foundations, the manor was somehow more efficient at dispelling sunlight than the clouds above. From a bird's eye view, the home— it was more of a building, really— was surrounded by a vast forest on one side and a steep cliff that dropped into a valley on the other. Other properties were scattered about. It's obvious this was a remote area where only the most elite pureblood families resided.

Inside the manor, in an alcove of a grand library, were two figures. It was a mother, pregnant of about five months, and her young daughter who looks to be ten years old. The woman was a statuesque example of aristocratic beauty; she had long blonde hair that was neatly pinned up and wore only the most expensive jewelry. Rings rested on every finger of both hands and a pendant lay on her chest. The necklace was golden and depicted an image of three crows beneath a wand; it was the family crest of House Black and sported the proud motto: Toujours Pur.

The woman's face, though delicate and graceful, was firm and her eyes were emotionless. Born a Rosier, Druella Black had never been a woman to mess with. No, even before marrying into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the pureblood had already gained the respect of her male counterparts— or, as much respect as one could get in such a situation. In fact, her husband Cygnus was given the task to woo her before marriage contracts could even be mentioned. Beside her, sitting respectfully with her legs crossed, was her eldest daughter.

The girl had wild curly black hair. Her still body juxtaposed the excited gleam that her eyes showed. Oh yes, today was to be a fantastic day for young Bellatrix. After months of cunning persuasion, she'd finally managed to convince Druella to show her some of the Black family's dark magic. Of course, it was a rather simple spell seeing as she was still a child. When cast effectively, she'd be able to infect one's dreams and implant subtle manipulations of the mind to ultimately change the course of the target's decision making. And Bellatrix knew exactly who she was going to test the new spell out on: her horrid cousin Sirius. Sure he'd only just turned three, but he was still an absolute pain in her ass. This ought to teach him a good lesson.

"Now, Bella," Druella's cold intonations cut off her daydreaming, "you must be completely focused for this spell to work. If not, the magic could easily overcome your willpower. Any wizard who becomes overcome by the power of the magic being used will have their soul erased and their mind taken from them. You mustn't let that happen, darling, you're a Black and you have a proud lineage to carry onwards and upwards. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded. She's so giddy with anticipation, she's practically jumping.

"Yes Mother, I will be careful."

Druella gave her a soft smile, though it didn't reach her eyes— they never did— the girl could tell this was a brief moment of sincerity between her and her mother. Clearing her throat, the proud blonde began slowly weaving an entangled thread of magic while her body twisted at an unnatural angle. With a clear voice, she spoke the archaic words, and released the spell with ferocity mimicking a viper protecting its territory from enemies. She looked at Bella expectantly, waiting for the young girl to replicate the action. And she did with perfect precision.

"How was that, Mother?" She asked proudly.

"Adequate at best. Again."

And so she continued practicing until Druella was sure the girl would never embarrass the family name, should she attempt the spell publicly. After hours of straining spellwork meant to build endurance and protect the soul from such parasitic magic, the woman finally released her daughter for the day. Bellatrix calmly gathered the Rosiers' heirloom tome on dark magic before thanking her mother politely. Once reaching the edge of the room, she sprinted into the hall with feverish excitement.

Cygnus Black was a proud man. Why wouldn't he be? He's tall with short, wavy dark brown hair, and resided as the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It's been his duty to protect and continue their prominent lineage. So far, with three daughters, he's not done a great job producing a promising heir, but that could all change very soon. Oh yes, he's absolutely ecstatic— not that his darling girls weren't appreciated, it's just that he wanted the Black name to pass on as well and no girl could ever carry the name alone.

Sipping on a beetle berry whiskey, he's relaxing after a long day negotiating marriage contracts for his eldest daughter Bellatrix. The sudden scurry of small feet brought him back to the present as the aforementioned child approached his private study. The exuberant girl came to a halting stop before resuming with a calm stride. Bellatrix strolled into the study with a nonchalant expression as she approached her father. Cygnus levitated his glass away before ushering his daughter to come stand by him.

"Bellatrix," he greeted, distantly.

"Father," her voice was formal and emotionless, but there was a glimmer in her eyes.

The wizard's face broke into a broad smile as he enveloped his daughter in a stiff hug, patting her on the back warmly. The two had played this game for as long as Bella can remember; the rule is simple: formality first before deciphering friend versus foe.

"My my little warrior, you're practically glowing. What has you so excited?"

"Mother taught me a new spell," she beamed.

"Oh? I forgot that was today," he muttered before addressing her once more. "Well don't leave me in suspense, Bella, do demonstrate your knowledge."

The girl nodded diligently before concentrating on casting the spell. The corner of Cygnus' lips curled as he watched his daughter's eyebrows furrow from the intense focus. Then, her practice wand— something all pueblood children are entitled to before receiving their true wand from Ollivander when starting school— lit up. A bright, dark red spell shot across the study before fizzling out harmlessly against the protected armor.

"Excellent job, Bella. You'll make an excellent wife."

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose, shaking her head, "But Father, those Lestrange boys are simply detestable. They can hardly cast a simple lumos, they're so weak. I could outduel them any day. Why must I marry either of those pathetic excuses for purebloods?"

"Because, dear Bella, they're one of the few remaining great houses with viable options that haven't sullied themselves by mixing with impure blood." They'd had this conversation many times before. "Besides, darling, you have the easy job of producing an heir. Therefore, you must never duel your husband to win, you must be gracious with these things."

It happened so fast. The words rushed out of the girl's mouth before she had a chance to dam the dialectical floodgates. "But I want to be an Auror so I can show the world just how powerful we Blacks are. I can reclaim the glory for ourselves and we'll never have to worry about lesser houses like the Lestranges."

"You have no need for a job when you're married."

"But Father, I want a career. I want to prove to the world that I am more than a wife. Mother did so, why can't I?"

Cygnus' countenance grew cold and he looked like stone. He began to tremble with barely contained rage. In a calming effort, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Because, Bellatrix, your mother never spouted such nonsense about a career. She still knew what she needed to do and did it. And besides, I've told you time and time again that gallivanting across the country with halfbloods in chase of creatures is not proper for a lady of your status. You need to come to terms that this is but a foolish dream, you must let it pass."

Bellatrix grew still and her eyes hardened. "And I've told you before, Father—"

The young girl was interrupted by a harsh slap. She refused to whimper at the discipline and chose to glare defiantly instead. Cygnus sighed.

"How many times must I tell you before this gets cemented into your mind, Bella? I love you and only want the world for you," he spoke the next part quietly, "If it were up to me, you'd have been born a boy."

The girl wiped the trailing blood away from her cheekbone— the family ring had snagged her skin— before straightening her shoulders. She adopted an air of cruel indifference.

"Regardless of my gender, Father, I remain the eldest Black and such privileges that come will never change. And if I wanted to, I'm sure I could redefine the bounds that restrain pureblood women. They'll have no choice but to listen to me, I could—"

She never got to finish that thought. Cygnus' face morphed into an expression of clear, unadulterated rage. With little hesitation, the man raised his wand to his daughter. An irate stream of red erupted from the end. The girl yelped from the initial shock of the spell before her expression morphed to pure pain. Her eyes closed and her jaw clenched as she refused to show the affliction the curse was causing her.

"Please believe me, Bella, I didn't want to have to do this but you left me no choice. Soon you will turn eleven and leave for schooling, I cannot have you spouting such nonsense at Hogwarts. We have an image to maintain and you'll do well to remember this lesson. You will never become anything other than a wife and a mother, as your mother did and as your daughters will do. We are purebloods and we must have pride in our traditions. If we abandon our heritage now, we're no better than those loathsome, god-fearing mudbloods."

By this point, Bellatrix was beginning to whimper from the prolonged torture. It felt like she was being stabbed everywhere by searing knives while simultaneously being pulled apart and reassembled haphazardly. All other senses were beginning to fade as the pain gave way to a lasting numbness. In the faint forefront of her consciousness, she heard the swish of cloth rush into the room. And with vague awareness, she saw her mother.

"What do you think you're doing?" Druella hissed as she retrieved her own wand.

"My love, I must do this. What do you think will happen when she arrives at school spouting blasphemy? If the families will rescind their marriage offers, Bella will never gain the respect she deserves. She'll become a pariah and will die a lonely spinster!"

"Regardless, Cygnus, I will not have you using the cruciatus on our children. There are other ways to teach her."

"But Dru, father did this to me when I was rebellious and his father to him. It's just the way these things go. Please understand."

"Cygnus," Druella's voice was low and her tone was unforgiving. The blonde aimed her wand threateningly to her stomach.

The wizard faltered slightly, but refused to release the spell. By now, the corners of Bellatrix's mouth were starting to foam from the sheer lack of control she had over herself.

"Don't you dare."

"Then release the spell immediately."

Still Cygnus hesitated. "Dru, please."

The witch shook her head vehemently, "You're too late. Fuck you, Cygnus." The tip of her wand lit up in a furious maroon. She flinched slightly and her eyes watered as she shook from the impact. Immediately, blood began to drip between her legs and she wobbled before gripping a nearby chair for support.

Cygnus released the spell as she ran over to Druella, inspecting the damage she'd caused as he looked on mournfully, "Oh Dru, what have you done?"

"What should've been done long ago." Was the ruthless response.

It was too late and they both knew that. Off to the side, Bellatrix lay panting on the floor as she recovered from the prolonged torture.

The memory faded. The image of her angry father and scornful mother burned itself into Bellatrix's memory. She hadn't thought about that day in many years. It was weird to look back. Once again, the dark witch found herself wondering just how exactly the Ministry'd been able to procure the vial for such a specific moment.

"How do you feel after seeing that, Black?" Walsh asked. The man gave absolutely no indicators about his own state.

"I'm fine."

"You don't feel anything?" There wasn't any judgment or disgust in his voice.

"Nope," Bellatrix popped the 'p' sound as she spoke.

The healer nodded, "I'd expected as much." Then he produced a quill and parchment to jot a few notes down silently. "Well, we're done for the day. Do you mind pointing me to your sister? I have a few things to discuss with her that the Minister has requested I pass on."

"That's all?" Bellatrix parroted skeptically. "You have me view forgotten, trivial memories and then play Shacklebolt's errand boy?"

"As I've stated before, I'm the soul healer, not the psychiatrist. My part is finished for the day. The soul charm is working its way through, and you'll soon begin self-healing."

With that, Walsh nodded and calmly exited the room in search for Cissy. For a brief moment Bellatrix was annoyed the man had been unwilling to even try, but then she decided it's ultimately easiest this way. At least now she doesn't have to sound like some melodramatic teen. Yes, now she can enjoy the rest of her day. She can relax by the fire and finish her tome.

---

The Burrow stood haphazardly on stilts. It honestly looked like it was about to collapse at any moment. She wouldn't be surprised if it did. Around mid morning, Walsh had arrived at the manor. After a few moments spent to collect herself, the two headed off to this hovel of a home.

The witch slowly trudged through the marsh— it's more like a swamp if anything, it's absolutely disgusting— with her counterpart as they made their way to the door. She loathed to be anywhere near the pathetically massive Weasel brood; there are already too many of them as it is, so why did she have to be in a concentrated area of them? As they approached, the chattering from inside grew louder. It's a horrible, cacophonous noise. When Walsh knocked, everyone grew silent.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes when the door slowly creaked open. Tentatively, a red mop of hair and the right eye of Molly Weasley appeared.

"H-hello?"

"Hello Ms Weasley, I'm Ivo Walsh… I stopped by the other day to inform you that I'll be bringing Ms Black over to begin helping repair your home, remember?"

"O-oh yes. I remember… And you're sure it'll be safe to let her roam outside? I mean, what if she escapes?"

"You speak of me as if I'm cattle," the dark witch hissed.

Walsh stepped in front of Bellatrix. With his height, he easily towered over Weasley. The witch shrunk like the infuriating, submissive housewife that she is. In the back, two Weasels— there's no point in attempting to differentiate them, they're all the same— are watching the interaction. Laughter sounds from further within the hovel.

The noise made the pureblood tighten her jaw in barely restrained annoyance.

"I can assure you, Ms Weasley, that everything will be fine. Black is under control. She is only here to help repair the damage she gave to your home and from the looks of it, she really did a number on it."

"The shack was already falling apart," she chortled. Molly Weasley's face grew red— her skin now matched her hair— at the insult.

But before either witch could escalate it, Walsh quickly ushered Bellatrix away from the door and towards a gnome-infested garden. The pureblood scowled at the sight. The Ministry better not expect her to pick gnomes like some common peasant. That's Molly's job.

"Surely the Ministry could think of something more useful of my magic than this," she drawled, eyeing the pests warily.

If Walsh was cross, he didn't show it. "Actually, your job is to reset the Burrow's foundation. It's a powerful enough spell that you were chosen for this. Once you're finished, you'll replace the stilts and relevel the brick from the second floor upwards. That won't be too hard for you, will it?"

"Of course not," she spat.

Construction spells are quite demanding in concentration and power, so this will take the majority of the day. She sighed exasperatedly; it was very melodramatic. At least this is better than being holed up in that dreadful manor with only Cissy and the house elves for company. Although, the Weasleys might not be a step up after all.

The first thing she did was switch out the tired wooden stilts with new, polished metal— it's suspiciously muggle, but Bellatrix knew better than to comment on this. She'll no doubt be mentioning this to Cissy in the evening once they're relaxing with a nice wine by the fire. Once she finally finished the first task, which ended up being more grueling than expected, she quickly began releveling the bricks. Unfortunately, the dark witch had to begrudgingly ask Walsh for assistance since the Weasleys were stupid or selfish enough to continue using all seven stories of the home. This made it infinitely harder to get any work done considering the sheer weight and space their multitudinous, fat bodies took up.

The healer was levitating the second to sixth stories while Bellatrix had to meticulously line brick after brick underneath each floor. The two had to work slowly and with great caution as they made progress little by little. Merlin, she'd rather kill herself than live like a muggle. They were able to get to the third floor, about to begin the fourth, when brown hair appeared. Granger walked out of the Burrow levitating a tray of sandwiches, a pitcher of water, and some crackers. She's wearing a thin tank top, slacks, and her hair is pulled back.

"What are you doing here?" Bellatrix blurted out. Her eyes glanced over the witch's body, noting the interesting choice in attire.

The brunette smirked, "Nice to see you too, Black. I was just catching up with the twins and everyone when Molly happened to mention this is your first day of community service." She looked around and admired the progress the two were able to make.

Bellatrix looked around. Wow, based on the low sun's placement, it's already late afternoon. Had she really taken this much time?

"Hey Ivo, how's it been?"

Walsh smiled. "Well, Eileen's returning tonight from her tour and Black got a lot done today, so not too bad. Word around the Ministry is Bode's retiring soon and you're up for promotion. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll beat out the competition in no time."

Granger's smile faltered for a second. Walsh didn't seem to notice but Bellatrix did— after all, you don't spend six months with someone without learning how to read them.

"Oh, erm, thank you…" she trailed off, seemingly lost in thought, before snapping back to reality. "I'm sure you're excited for Eileen's return, why don't I take over for you and watch Black so you can go home and prepare? I'm sure you'll want something extravagant set up."

The healer broke into a wide grin— since when was he such a jovial person?— as he nodded. "You're so thoughtful, Hermione, always looking out for others. Right, work on the fourth floor was about to begin and I doubt she'll finish completely before the sun sets. Whatever is left, we'll come back to another day."

Walsh turned to give Bellatrix a silent death stare in warning of any repercussions should she decide to act out. The dark witch only scoffed at this and waved him off. With one last hesitant look and Granger's encouraging smile, the healer apparated away.

"Eager for some alone time, Pet?" Bellatrix smirked. She was only half joking.

The brunette scowled a little, "I hope you know that's not nearly as endearing as you think it is."

"And who said I was trying to endear myself to you?"

Granger laughed a little. "You've finished off most of those sandwiches, do you want help finishing? I know Ivo was keeping the upper floors leveled."

"Oh yes, I do require a helping hand," she raised her eyebrow.

A slight tinge appeared on the witch's face before she looked away. Truthfully, Bellatrix wasn't sure where this was coming from, but figured it wasn't great that she hadn't gotten off in well over a year. And sure, whatever happened in the veil was to stay in the veil… But she'd be a fool not to acknowledge beauty, even if deplorable blood status is involved. Although, Granger's managed to impress her in the past so she's definitely not of common ilk. For the first time, pureblood considered the possibility of the witch coming from some different, unknown pedigree of a magical nature. After all, no mudblood could ever rival the magical prowess of a Black and yet the brunette had been able to remain on par with her level.

But since her first approach at— what was this?— banter didn't work, she'd try something more blunt. "Why do you not want the promotion? It means more status and wealth, I can't imagine any downside."

Granger hesitated. "There has been some, um, political strife lately regarding the veil."

"Bode's covering for your very public necromancing and the public's demanding he resign?" Bellatrix took a shot in the dark.

"I- yes." Hermione was glad the pureblood was too busy focusing on her leveling work to pay too much attention to her distressing, ransacking guilt.

"Well regardless of the reason, I'm sure this would've happened eventually. The process was only sped up and for that, you should be thankful. Bureaucracy is grueling work."

"I'd rather be a bureaucrat than a soldier," Granger joked.

Bellatrix felt a deep rage overcome her before an overwhelming indifference suppressed it. "I wasn't just a soldier, I was the Dark Lord's most trusted," she gritted out.

Muddy looked like she wanted to argue back, but chose to remain silent. The two worked in irritated silence for the next hour and a half until the sun finally began to set. The Burrow's repairs'd only progressed to the fifth floor.

"Whew, I'm impressed you were able to get so much done today. This is tiring work," Granger said as she wiped away small beads of sweat off her brow.

"Yes well, it's not as if we Blacks are known for our magical prowess or anything," Bellatrix, with her chin raised indignantly, said sarcastically. Unfortunately her point wasn't as strong as she'd hoped, considering she then became distracted by a lone sweat bead that slipped beneath the brunette's shirt.

The witch noticed her faux pas and creased her eyebrows. She looked like she's contemplating something, if the way she bit her lip and looked around was anything to go by. Presently, she shuffled closer to the pureblood and spoke softly, "Erm, Bellatrix, about everything that's going on in the Ministry… Well, it's just that I'd rather not our, um, fornication be revealed, and, erm… I guess I just want to make sure your indiscretion is secured…" Granger trailed off as she fidgeted with her wand.

"Yes, fine. I have an image to uphold as well, you know, and it's not as if I want the whole world knowing I fucked a mudblood in a moment of weakness." The implication hurt more than she'd care to admit, but she reasoned it's her pride that took the hit. After all, in her younger years, suitors— it didn't matter what gender— would line up, jumping at the chance to spend the night in the beguiling Bellatrix Black's bed.

Granger looked saddened and she couldn't care less. Before anything else could be said, the dark witch turned around and apparated back to Cissy's— it's the only place she has access to anyways.

---

The next day, Walsh arrived at a similar time. Bellatrix was still in a sour mood from the previous day and it showed. But to his credit, the healer was able to professionally ignore all barbs sent his way. The two were prompt to head over to, what Cissy dubbed, the rehabilitation room. The dark witch was ready to get the boringly arduous task over with.

"Right, Black, you know the drill."

The pureblood scoffed and waited for the memory to swirl into appearance in the pensieve. She sighed at the first sight of the memory. They're really jumping into it.

Inside Black Manor, Cygnus was sitting with an unidentified wizard who has yet to be announced. Their conversation was muffled by a charm placed around the room. Presently, a head of curly black hair appeared in the doorframe. Bellatrix was in her seventh year when her father owled for her to return home during the yule season to come home and meet a rising star in the pureblood community. There'd been rumors about him throughout school, but it'd only been mentions of a Dark Lord. Of course, she found the whole idea to be laughable. While she wished for reprisal from all the mudbloods she's forced to associate herself with— honestly, there should've been separate wizarding schools for purebloods and mudbloods— Dark Lords ended up only ever being power hungry men who're too afraid to delegate.

"You wanted to see me, father?"

"Ah, my darling Bellatrix. Come in dear, there's someone I want for you to meet."

The wizard stood up, turning to face her. He stood tall and imposingly with a demanding elegance to him as well. His hair was dark and his cheekbones were prominent— Bellatrix figured other witches would find him attractive, but she never could tell with men. He extended his hand for her to kiss his ring. The young pureblood couldn't help but gasp at the sight of the ring. There's a golden band in the shape of a double-headed basilisk and a black diamond in the middle with the Deathly Hallows symbol etched on top. It's the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin's, the Gaunts, house ring. The man is practically royalty.

"Greetings Bellatrix, my name is Lord Voldemort." His voice was quiet but powerful.

"Are you this so-called Dark Lord everyone's been talking about?" She drawled.

The wizard chuckled. "Ah, so you've heard of me, that'll make this easier. Simply put, I am here to offer you a promising future fighting for a just cause. It will be far better than the dull marriage the eldest Lestrange boy could ever offer."

Cygnus paled a bit at the mention of his eldest becoming an esteemed fighter. He knew it was for an important cause, but she was still set to marry Rodolphus in the summer. "My lord, you do still intend to respect their union, yes? Arrangements have been made and her dowry has already been paid, it would be most unwise to pull out now."

"Of course, Cygnus, I wouldn't dare violate the sanctity of marriage." The proud patriarch nodded, happy with the answer. In a smooth movement, Lord Voldemort turned to address Bellatrix once more, "It's important to maintain tradition, Bella. I can call you that, no?" It wasn't really a question.

Bellatrix nodded, unsure of how to respond. The man had certainly been able to assert himself enough to seem legitimate. But she still had some reservations, especially if this Dark Lord was supposed to be the one to bring her ancestors out of the dark age.

"What kind of person calls himself the Dark Lord? The last one of those we had was Grindelwald and we saw what happened."

"My dear Bella, what Grindelwald lacked, I supply in greatness. I have great things in store for this nation and I want you to join me."

"Ha, as if I'd listen to some hack. You've hardly given me a convincing reason."

"Bellatrix, don't be so quick to dismiss him. He's got wonderful plans for you, my brave warrior." Cygnus' warning was gentle, but evident in the tone. The Dark Lord simply waved him off, unconcerned with the brash behavior the witch displayed.

"Your wariness is the exact reason I seek you out. Sure, you're at the top of your class and display prodigal talent in duels, but if you didn't question our meeting then I would have found another lackey. And while there exists a plethora of Crabbes and Goyles, what I seek now is a leader and I see great things in you, Bellatrix. Now if you still don't believe me, well, how about I demonstrate my power for you." Lord Voldemort nodded to one of his henchmen— Death Eaters— who then left the room.

After a moment, there came a weak whimper from the doorway. It was the mudblood prefect who'd tried to get even with Bellatrix because of some political sway the Blacks had on the Ministry. Even as a first year, the pureblood was able to get rid of the threat with relative ease, so she had no idea why he was here now. Except now, the mudblood was naked with his mouth gagged and his arms and feet bound by rope.

"This mudblood boy has been trying to gather others of his ilk to fight the spread of my influence and recently came into contact with Albus Dumbledore." Cygnus grimaced slightly beside the Dark Lord, but Bellatrix didn't notice.

With a wave of his hand, Lord Voldemort released the gag and ropes. The mudblood scrambled to his feet while covering his exposed crotch.

"P-please…" It was all the mudblood'd been able to say before a jet of bright red shot from the end of the Dark Lord's wand.

Immediately the cries ricocheted off the walls of the room and the sound permeated throughout the manor's floors. The writhing mudblood was foaming at the mouth and his eyes were crossing from a sheer lack of concentration. The Dark Lord turned to gauge Bellatrix's reaction and was pleased to find her staring on in abject wonder. Deep, angry red lines began to form across his torso— they looked like roots of a grand tree spreading in search of stability. Lord Voldemort's magical might was clearly demonstrated in the depth and length the scarring had spread, especially since only powerful wizards and witches were able to force a physical, permanent reaction.

Of course, Cygnus, had he deemed it necessary, could have increased his spell strength when he first used the cruciatus on his eldest. But this was different. Bellatrix could see the sheer strength and rage being channeled through the wand's core. It was far more impressive than anything she'd ever seen displayed besides Dumbledore's wand wielding.

"Bella, Cygnus informed me that this is the same mudblood who also tried to lead a mutiny against your reign at Hogwarts."

"Yes, but I've already dealt with him," she responded somewhat uneasily.

Lord Voldemort tutted. "So I've heard, but if that's true then why did his mind reveal plans of sabotaging your upcoming wedding before turning to more debaucherous activities."

Bellatrix's eyes widened before glancing at the boy lying in his own filth and narrowing her eyes. "Show me the memory."

"All in due time, Bella. But first," the Dark Lord gestured towards the mudblood, "I believe there is something more pressing at hand."

Bellatrix nodded and readied her wand. "Crucio," her voice wavered but the red jet shot forth and shook the mudblood.

"You have to mean it, Bellatrix. If you can't do this now then you will have no future as my right hand. If you don't do this now then how will you ever prove pureblood supremacy with such a weak effort towards spellcasting?"

The witch hardened her gaze and steadied her breath before whispering the curse. The intention increased tenfold and the mudblood immediately began screaming so loud that their ears started ringing. Lord Voldemort watched, pleased, as a manic joy appeared in her eyes. When she released the spell, Bellatrix's hands were shaking from the adrenaline rush. Beside the Dark Lord, Cygnus nodded approvingly at his daughter.

"Excellent Bella, you'll make your way through my ranks in no time. Now, Nagini, come." The wizard then made a discordant hissing sound. As it's commonly known of any true Slytherine heir, the man's a parselmouth.

There came a low hiss entering the room, revealing a large snake. Bellatrix watched in rapt fascination as it unhinged its jaw to swallow the barely breathing boy alive.

Walsh was jotting something down when the memory ended.

"Now I'm no mind healer, or whatever term the muggles call it, I forget, but I'm more than a little surprised you didn't even bat an eyelid during the entire ordeal."

"Why would I?"

"Well you had to torture an old classmate and watch him get eaten alive by a snake."

Bellatrix just shrugged nonchalantly. It never affected her then so why would it affect her now? And besides, if she couldn't handle that, she would've never progressed through the Dark Lord's ranks so speedily. He said so himself and she was inclined to believe his word.

"Well the past is forgotten for a reason. Now, is there anything else?"

The healer nodded. "The Burrow is being used tomorrow for a family event so we'll be continuing on with the memory viewing tomorrow. That being said, this next memory will mark the halfway point of the soul spell's effect. And because dark magic is such a volatile essence, it is unclear how you'll respond to the change once the barrier around your soul begins to crack."

Bellatrix still didn't feel anything, but honestly how powerful could this so-called dark magic toll really have on her. She's a Black for Merlin's sake and Black's excel at everything. The dark witch couldn't help but note a miniscule increase in her heartbeat, but that's probably the remaining excitement she felt from viewing the old memory. After all, it had been an exciting turning point that marked her newfound independence.

---

The past week had been a horrendous mess and it's all because of that damned journalist, Skeeter. Ever since that vile woman made the necromancy comment, the public's been vying for Bode's head. Of course, everyone assumed it was the Head Unspeakable's secret mission since specific positions are never revealed. In fact, for everyone with a position lower than Gareth Greengrass, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, it's impossible to even find out what each Unspeakable studies. The security is so tight that when a Head is replaced, the previous person's memory will be wiped and the secret knowledge will then be transferred to the successor. Though, to be fair, Hermione was the one to recommend leaking the story to Skeeter based on her history of "juicy gossip" as it were. But that's just a technicality. Besides, she never planned for the journalist to make such an impact in the political sphere.

She and Bode had already discussed this possibility, it wouldn't be in the department's best interests if they hadn't. The Head's already agreed to take the fall and, judging from public polls, the likelihood that Hermione will take his place continued to increase by the day. It's all been so stressful recently. And it's not like she could speak to Harry or Ron about the guilt. The boys have been too busy prematurely congratulating her. Plus, with one dead and the other constantly on the hunt for fugitives, it wasn't like either were able to find out exactly what all Bode was able to accomplish during his career. But that's not it. There's also been the issue of a certain dark witch who's been plaguing her mind lately.

The other day, she saw the pureblood and the comments didn't do anything to ease her libido. Hermione figured Bellatrix was only acting like that because she'd been cooped up in the manor with only Narcissa Black, the ice queen, as company for six months. And because a grand mansion isn't indicative of enjoyment, the pureblood's loneliness was more apparent than ever. The muggleborn briefly wondered if the witch's banter was a sign of something greater like depression. But even so, then what? The magical world never saw the need to develop mental healthcare and that'd be assuming Narcissa actually feels things, such as worry or compassion.

Hermione frowned when she remembered the disgust that Bellatrix spoke with. The careless comment stung more than she'd care to admit. Maybe a small part, something insignificantly miniscule, wished the dark witch would have reacted differently. But that'd be crazy, right? She just had to keep reminding herself that this was for the best.

"Merlin, I'm going mad," she whispered to nobody in particular.

"What's that? Speak up."

"Nothing."

Right, she forgot she moved to Grimmauld Place where the portraits always eavesdropped. She didn't even know who it was, none of the paintings are labeled and it's not like she could ask someone.

With her Unspeakables research put on hold while she waits for Bellatrix to finish the first part of her rehabilitation, Hermione, the avid overachiever, has been left with nothing to do but wait for others. And she absolutely hated it. If her attempted flying was anything to go by, the witch felt like she's beginning to go mad. With Harry finally getting to join Ron and the Aurors, she's the only one now regularly present at the flat. It's incredibly lonely.

This is how Hermione found herself standing in front of the Minister's door, silently preparing herself to knock. But as she raised her hand, the door swung open.

"I want a meeting with Ragnok set up immediately and make sure to— Oh. Hello Hermione, it's a pleasure seeing you here. What brings you by?" Kingsley's voice boomed in the empty corridor.

"Sir Shacklebolt, what was that last part? Finky is sorry, Finky didn't catch everything you said." A small house elf appeared behind Kingsley.

Ever the activist, Hermione couldn't help but look disapprovingly as she tutted slightly.

The Minister chuckled, "Don't worry, I employ all my elves. Actually, we're finally about to pass a law that requires a minimum wage be paid to all house elves, no matter what the capacity they serve in."

The muggleborn didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered about the man knowing her so well. "Well good, it's about time," she responded.

Kingley's laugh was sonorous. "You're always such a joy, Hermione. Now, what can I do for you? I know you weren't just in the neighborhood."

"I would like a portkey to Australia."

"Sure, are you planning a vacation?"

"No, it's just that I-I'm hoping to find my parents."

His eyes softened. "It's really been that long, huh, why didn't you say anything before? Surely we could've tracked them down by now."

"I don't think I was ready before. And I know there's no cure for the obliviate spell, but, I don't know, I guess I just think that if I see them then everything else will calm down." The sentence shouldn't have been so hard to say, but the lump in her throat made her voice waver and she cringed at the sound.

"When do you need it by?"

"Um, I'm hoping to leave by tonight."

The wizard looked at the large clock in the corner— when the hour turns, miniature magical beings fly around the room before returning promptly at the minute change. "You can expect my personal owl to deliver it in two hours. It'll be a two way portkey that will bring you back to your office here."

After she thanked her friend, Hermione returned back to Grimmauld Place. She wrote a short note to the boys that she's away and will be back soon. While she waited, she pulled out the old picture of her family. It was the only one that was kept when she was erasing her existence before leaving for the Burrow. The picture was taken around the time Hermione's magic started showing; they went out for fresh fruit because ice cream rots the teeth and the Grangers like to celebrate. This now-crumpled photo accompanied the Golden Trio almost four years ago. It's been so long.

A tapping sounded from the nearest window as a large, long-eared owl appeared. The bird dropped a rolled parchment and small box into her waiting hands.

Hermione,

Great news! Magical Transportation was able to expedite the required paperwork. We're dropping you off in Melbourne. When you arrive, just tap the bar with your wand and say "derivo" to deactivate it. When you're ready to come back, say "reserare". Let me know if there's anything else you need.

Kingsley

She smiled. The portkey is a mars bar. It'd be early morning when she arrived, but that should give her some time to scope out the residential areas. Since her parents have always been fond of cities, Melbourne was a good place to start. Well rested and increasingly bored, Hermione didn't waste any more time.

The air was crisp and the climate temperate. The muggle city was well lit and alive with activity. The brunette looked around for the tallest building— she'd read about it before— the 108 skyscraper. It was easy enough to differentiate and she immediately apparated to the tip of the building. Honestly, she wasn't too sure how to find her parents.

Hermione had no idea what new names her parents chose and no idea what area of the continent they decided to settle into. She only had a few small hints to go off of. First and foremost, the Granger's have always been city folk who prefer the hustle and bustle compared to a sleepy town where hardly anything changes. Secondly, Gene and Emma Granger have very specific desires when it comes to proximity to certain amenities. Specifically, her mother always loved being near libraries while her father adored crafting— wood, electronics, anything— spaces. And thirdly, while it's not possible to run an office like before, she knew neither dentist would be able to resist living in a more health conscious area.

Having studied a map of the greater part of Melbourne, she decided to start at the city center and work her way outward until she reached the suburban desert. There's a specific spell she found one day while pilfering through Grimmauld Place's library that would allow the caster to search out a specific family name within a five kilometer distance. And this was her exact plan on finding her parents.

There were five last names with some sort of personal significance to the family that she knew she could begin with, luckily none of the related memories included her. The Watson families would be first— they're old family friends of the Grangers, basically family at this point. When she cast the spell, two families showed up as red markers, invisible to muggles, that pointed to the locations directly below.

After consulting the map, the first marker appeared around Prahran. Luckily with this spell, she's able to apparate directly to the point of interest without having first visited. But when she arrived, Hermione found herself in a cemetery. In front of her stood a weeping family of five who surrounded a gravestone adorned with colorful flowers. Shaking her head before resuming her search, the muggleborn left the family to mourn.

The next marker deposited her near a small home except, inside sat a single old man. This was not her father. And so she continued onwards and upwards in search of her parents. The next name to search was the Wilkins, but they ended up being a young family around her own age. It was a strange sight to behold considering how stagnant she'd felt for the past few years.

The process continued as the sun rose higher, she worked her way through the last names: Watson, Wilkins, Kennedy, Robertson, Fry. When the greater metro Melbourne was thoroughly inspected, she moved onto Sydney then Perth, ending in Adelaide. She was just about to give up on the last Fry marker when she heard a voice that sounded vaguely like her father's. She stopped to listen.

"—Granger in the states."

"Sounds like yakka's hard, so you came down here for a piece of piss?"

"Yea, it was a lot at the factory. We were all dyin' to get a break and then one day they said the company's goin' under so me and the wife decided to come on down under and get a taste of the good life."

The Aussie lifted a boxed wine to the man who's back remained turned away, "Well we got some goons and are having a piss up later today, you're welcome to stop by."

The more she listened to the conversation, the more she began to differentiate the subtle American accent. This wasn't her father. Having searched the major cities and still being unable to find her parents, Hermione had no idea how to find her parents. Of course, she could continue searching the entire continent for her parents but then a terrible idea made itself known in the forefront of her mind. What if her parents left Australia? It'd been over three years since they moved, perhaps they decided to continue traveling.

Hermione felt the dread begin to sink into her heart as images of her parents scattering themselves across the ends of the world played in a loop. A girlish giggle sounded from behind her and she turned around to find a young family walking down the street together. This definitely didn't do anything to dissuade the yearning she felt for her own family reunification.

Dejected and with tears prickling at the corners of her eyes at the thought of never seeing her parents again, the witch found a deserted alleyway to reactivate the portkey and head back to her home. When she arrived, she was greeted with a barren office. The death chamber never felt so lonely as it did in this moment.

---

After spending an indefinite time crying in the bath— an activity she'd become a regular at— Hermione decided it'd be best if she went out to try and distract herself from everything that's been happening lately. It was nightfall when she arrived back. After checking the boys' rooms and being cursed by the paintings for interrupting their peace, the muggleborn decided to go out to the muggle part of downtown London to distract herself with mindless sex.

This is how Hermione Granger, the acclaimed wizarding world war hero, found herself in the lesbian bar she'd wanted to visit since becoming of age many years ago. The inside was dimly lit with a red light as soft, sensual pop music played softly in the background. There were sofas, tables, and a fully stocked bar— really, it was just like the others she'd visited except a little pricier. The brunette decided to sit at the bar and casually look around.

A few women'd been eyeing her appreciatively, but they were all waiting for her to approach them which was something Hermione wouldn't go for. However, there was a strawberry blonde sitting quietly in the far corner. They made brief eye contact before the woman smiled and looked away, she must be shy if the way she frequently sipped her drink was anything to go by. Gathering her nerves with a shot or two of liquid courage, the brunette slinked off the chair and approached the blonde.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Yes- wait, I mean no, uh, please sit." The blonde's nervousness was cute. It was a far cry from the behavior that Hermione's usually been attracted to, but maybe the change would be a good thing.

She chuckled as a faint blush rose on the woman's face. "I'm Jean, what's your name?"

The few times Hermione had gone out to the muggle world after winning the war, she'd used her middle name for fear of a wizard learning of the great war hero's debaucherous activities. Paranoia did weird things to a person.

"I'm Sadie… so, um, come here often?"

"Not often enough if I'm only now delighting in your presence. How about you?" She knew she was laying it on thick, but she knew the type and this was the only way to get a reaction. Plus it didn't hurt that she enjoyed the way the blonde would blush at every little thing.

"Oh I come by sometimes, but I've never had someone so beautiful approach me before. It feels nice," she laughed.

Hermione leaned in, smirking, "You know what I bet would feel nice?"

Sadie shook her head. The brunette scooted closer, closing the distance between them. She then reached out and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Sadie's eyes flickered to her lips before connecting with hers and licking her lips.

"No, why don't you tell me."

"How about I show you?"

Before Sadie could respond, Hermione softly pressed her lips against the blonde's. The two started slowly but the pressure began to build and soon enough, they were exploring each other's mouths.

Images of Alessandra appeared and the muggleborn scornfully pushed them away. Sadie wasn't Alessandra, she's a muggle and Hermione was the one who approached her. There was no way the blonde knew anything about her.

"Do you want to go back to my place? My roommates should be gone for the evening." Hermione husked against the witch's neck.

The woman frowned and pushed her away, creating distance between the two. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do this."

"What do you mean? Why?" Hermione tried to reinitiate the lust that had so quickly dissipated.

"You're not obviously not into this."

"W-what? But I approached you and just offered for us to leave, I don't understand." Hermione tried to make sense of interaction through her drunken haze.

"I'm a thanatologist, I study death and the rituals associated with it, and it's obvious you're in mourning."

Hermione groaned. Of all the women she could've met that night, it had to be someone who's knowledgeable on grief. She didn't even think that was an emotion that'd been circulating because her parents weren't dead, so was grief really the correct descriptor? She shook her head to dispel the thoughts.

"But that doesn't make sense…"

"Oh Jean," Sadie grabbed her hands and leaned forward intently, "grief can appear in many ways. You've been distracted all night and your eyes keep skirting to the shadows as if you're seeking someone out. You're here physically, but not mentally. Where are you?"

Immediately, an image of her parents flashed through her mind. They're all sitting comfortably in the living room, reading quietly.

"I—" She hated the way her eyes teared.

"You don't have to explain anything to me, it's okay. I'll see you later, alright?" The woman kissed her on the cheek before trailing her hand across Hermione's arm as she walked away, smiling softly with her eyes full of understanding.

It felt like pity and Hermione hated it.

Put off by the blonde's intuitive eyes that peered into the depths of her soul, the brunette decided to just give up on any conquest for the night and head back to the flat. Even as she walked home replaying the events in her mind, she still had no idea what just happened. The look Sadie gave her was unnerving. It reminded her of all those times Luna would peer off into the distance, pointing dreamily at nothing and speaking of make-believe creatures.

"Harry? Ron? Are you home?"

"We're up here, 'Mione!" Harry's voice called out.

She found the boys in the drawing room sitting by the fireplace and chatting.

"You just getting back from your trip?"

"Yea… How about you guys? How's the training been?" Hermione asked, eager for a change in subject. Luckily those two never did pry or dredge up forgotten memories.

"It's been loads of fun. I've been learning under Achebe because he helped organize resistance movements in Africa's wizarding communities when Voldemort was trying to secure agreements for more troops."

"Yea, the other day Mad Eye mentioned how Harry should be able to join in the raids with me and Tonks soon."

Hermione smiled. She was glad the boys were having such a great time with their work. The three continued talking, their stories proved to be a wonderful distraction.

"Oh, Ron, I'll need to check in with Shacklebolt soon regarding Black's progression."

"Right, I spoke to mum today and she said the reconstruction has really helped the Burrow's stability. The house doesn't sway in the wind anymore and we don't have to step carefully on the stairs. Do you know when she'll be back? They're hoping to finish the floor renovations in time for Bill and Fleur's visit."

This was good news indeed. It seemed the Weasley's were all rather excited with the changes that'd been done to the rickety home. She'd need to speak to Kingsley about the rehabilitation progressing on track. In fact, everything seemed to be working out better than initially intended. But of course, she'd had little to go off since she only received reports from Ivo. Though it'd only been a few days since she last spoke to Bellatrix, she felt she'd unintentionally cut off ties with the beautiful witch.

An image of the compromised pureblood squirming beneath her flashed through her mind and Hermione blamed her past two failed hookups for it. Intrusive thoughts kept arising ever since she saw the slightest sliver of vulnerability in the former lieutenant. And it was in moments of weakness when she'd reconsider her request for discretion. But considering Black's reaction, it was likely the witch would've turned around and done the same had Hermione not been the one to halt communication.

---

Bellatrix had been in a bad mood since viewing the second memory. Cissy suspected it was because of the memory itself, but why would that upset her? It never did in the past so what made this time so different? No, she'd been in a particularly foul mood because she'd had a rather fitful sleep. Ever since Walsh showed her that damned memory, the dark witch hadn't been able to identify the subtle feeling inside of her. It was weird and felt like her heart would explode from the rapid beating. She was trying to calm down with a nice tea when Walsh arrived.

"Alright, you know the drill by now, Black. We'll see you shortly, Narcissa."

The two headed to the room in silence. Walsh looked like he wanted to say something, but never did. The pensieve stood, glimmering with activity in its bowl. And as the memory started to swirl into existence, Bellatrix sighed. This was perhaps the only thing that she felt rueful over; such recollections were never easy.

A cacophony of sound came from inside the grandiose Black Manor. It was a mixture of hushed whispers and urgent pleas as the voices began to rise, reverberating off the imposing, empty walls of the grand foyer. A young Andromeda Black stood facing the grand entrance door. Her path was blocked by her disheveled father, Cygnus. Beside him stood his wife, Druella, and their eldest daughter, Bellatrix. The youngest Black daughter, Narcissa, stood teary-eyed behind her older sister as the scene unfolded.

"Please, my darling girl, think about what you're doing. You know what we'll have to do if you leave," Cygnus pleaded softly.

"Don't go, Andy, we all promised we'd stay together no matter what," Cissy said in between sniffling.

Bellatrix remained silent, glaring defiantly at her younger sister as she processed the news that had just been announced.

Andy shook her head sadly. "I-I can't. Ted… He proposed to me and I've already accepted. He's found a nice cottage for us and with the war on the horizon, it won't be safe for him anymore."

"But my dear, you've only just finished your sixth year. Please, at least wait and spend your remaining years with us and then we can find you a new suitor if you don't approve of the Lestrange boy," Druella said kindly— or what was kindly for her.

Cygnus frowned a little but remained silent.

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Andy said, tears forming in her eyes.

Before anyone else could respond, she spun on her heels and, pushing past the gaping Cygnus, the middle Black daughter rejected her proud lineage.

The vision swirled.

The clouds were grey, the sun was hidden, and the dreadful day seemed to drag on forever. Bellatrix followed Andy outside of the manor. They stood at the edge of the forest facing each other in a silent standoff. The sisters could've passed for fraternal twins; they both have dark curly hair, but the difference is like night and day between the two's temperaments and paths taken.

Bellatrix Black stood staring at her sister in disbelief. She was in her eighth year, wearing the Lestrange house ring beside her own, and just a few months away from being married. In front of her, Andy still wore her house Black ring, but now it looked foreign on her. Andy's lip quivered as she tried to ignore Bella's piercing gaze. The sisters were so close growing up together that this was the one interaction Andy feared the most— the moment her sister would see through everything and unravel her to a string.

"What is it you're not telling me?"

"I," Andy whimpered, "I haven't had a period for a while now. At first I thought it was late, but then the sickness came…"

"You're pregnant?"

Andy nodded hesitantly.

"Why don't you get rid of it? You know there's a potion for that."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I know it sounds strange, but I already love this child. How could I not? This is a result of Ted's and my love. And when I told him about it, oh Bella, you should have seen the excitement in his face."

Heavy rain started coming down as the sky darkened. Lightning flashed, illuminating the scene, and Andy frowned when she saw her sister's beautiful features morph into a furious snarl.

"If that's true then I'll only tell you this once. If I ever have the displeasure of meeting your dirty halfblood brat, I will not hesitate to kill it."

Andy gasped. "Bellatrix Druella Black, I will never let you harm my family."

"But what about us, Andy? Aren't we your family?"

"Oh Bella, you will always be. But Ted and our child are also family, can't you see that? I-I need him right now and I can't do that if I stay here."

"If you walk away now, you will never be my sister again. I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do. I love you and I'm sorry." Andy sniffed, stepping away.

"You don't get to be sorry. Go on and leave while I'm feeling merciful because the next time I see you, we will be enemies and I will not hold back. I'll view you as the rest of those horrible blood traitors and I'll be at the Dark Lord's side when he will put you in your place."

"When you find love and have children of your own, I know you'll understand."

She scoffed as Andy began walking into the forest, reaching closer towards the apparition point. And when there came a soft pop, an unadulterated rage came across Bellatrix's face as magical energy began rolling off her in waves, pulsating and spreading its tendrils throughout the Black's vast property. Drenched to the bone, she released a spell so powerful that it lit the sky in a false color as she screamed a frightful pitch knowing nothing would ever be the same again.

When the memory ended, Bellatrix turned a murderous gaze onto Walsh.

"Do you think my life is a joke to you? You think it's funny to remind me of house Black's downfall? We're a proud house that will rise again and when we do, I'll personally seek out whoever's been toying with me."

The healer raised an eyebrow. He was unimpressed. "The Ministry decided which memories were important for you to reexperience with opened eyes."

"What in Merlin's beard does that even mean? Tell me which lackey suggested such a trivial memory so I can personally castrate him."

Walsh smirked a little. "I doubt you'll be able to get close enough to get within castration distance."

Bellatrix scowled at the halfblood's audacity to joke. As she was about to pull out her wand— truly, it was an instinct— the healer cleared his throat and continued to speak.

"With this memory, you've reached the halfway point in the beginning stage of rehabilitation. This means the soul spell is going to start allowing you to make real progress. That being said, everyone's reactions are a little different and it can depend on the degree of dark magic used and the timespan spent being surrounded by it. Based on these factors, we're estimating the shield of dark magic that surrounds your soul will result in quite a volatile reaction once it begins to crack. Should you find yourself taken aback by the fractures that will begin to form shortly, you are set up to mine and a few other volunteers' floo networks."

The dark witch scoffed, "I'd rather be shagged by a troll than come to you for guidance. And besides, you forget who you're speaking with, halfblood. I am a Black and we excel at everything we do."

Walsh pursed his lips but didn't say anything. After speaking to Cissy for a few minutes, the wizard was gone.

As the day progressed, Bellatrix began feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Her mind was reeling from the memory and there was a vague palpitory feeling in the recesses of her heart. No matter what she did, the blasted memory of Andy leaving played on a never ending loop. Her veins pulsed in anger at the intrusion.

Some hours later— sometime when the sun would begin to set— Bellatrix felt a weird sensation that stemmed from her chest and spread outwards until it reached her mind. It felt parasitic; like a great torrent being released upon her, the metaphoric dams opened up as all inhibitions spilt forward. She was no longer able to repress anything that'd she felt. And right now, angry at everything, Bellatrix knew who she wanted to address such woes to.

With a look of grim determination, the dark witch quickly strolled to the main floo network. Now she would find out just who exactly allowed her access into their space.

---

After returning to Australia and being unable to sleep at all during the night, the next day, Hermione decided to visit the only friend she knew who would be able to empathize with her situation. It was a nice day, the sun was slowly sinking towards the west when she arrived at the cottage and nobody was home except Andy.

"Hermione, hey, what are you doing here? Not that it isn't nice to see you or anything, come in," Andy rambled as she hurriedly ushered the brunette inside upon noticing her disheveled state.

The muggleborn simply nodded numbly as stepped past the entrance and into the kitchen where Andy'd been brewing tea and arranging sandwiches.

The two sat in an extended silence while Andy waited for her friend to decide when to speak. Though she hid it well, Hermione had only been like this a scant few times. She felt bad for the witch in front of her who sat so still looking lost. They remained this way until the kettle sang on the stove— Ted had taught her that not all muggle things were bad and, in fact, the slowed speed of it all could be rather calming sometimes. It wasn't until the two'd had their tea when the brunette finally spoke up.

"I just got back from Australia," her voice croaked.

Immediately, Andy could feel her heart sink. She braced the frail witch who looked like she was about to crumple under the weight of her own words.

"I-I don't understand it, Andy. I scoured the four largest cities and still couldn't find them despite preparing for multiple names…"

"Do you think they're gone?"

"Yes… no… I don't know. It's just that I thought I knew them well enough. I thought I could wait all this time and that they'd remain the same, unchanged by the ravages of time. But now I realize I was foolish to believe that." Hermione started tearing up.

Andy knew it was a privilege to see such a strong woman be so vulnerable. She took the act of trust in stride and was quick to envelope her friend in a comforting hug. The two sat there; the only other sound in the room was occasional sniffling.

"Does it still hurt? Being disowned and estranged for decades now?"

"Sometimes, but then I look around and see all that I gained along the way. How could I deny something so beautiful for the sake of greed?"

She watched as her friend's thoughtful composure morphed and the brunette's body shook, wracked by sobs. "This is my fault, I abandoned them when they needed me most. I should have kept them near or I should have sought them out sooner."

"None of this is your fault," Andy said as she pulled back from the hug to look her friend in the eye. "You did what you had to do to keep them safe."

"I'm a terrible daughter," the brunette wiped a tear away.

"Stop that, they don't blame you for anything. None of this is your fault and I won't allow you to beat yourself up over this."

"How do you not let these things affect you?"

"You should know better than anyone not to force words into the mouth of another. I'd be lying if I said this doesn't hurt every day, but at a certain point, I realize I lost them," Andy said, gazing into the distance.

Hermione frowned as her friend worried over her sisters. The three'd been separated for many years now. Deep in her mind, she thought it sad how she'd interacted with the eldest Black sister more than Andy herself had since separating from the family.

"I don't think you'll remain like this forever… It just doesn't seem likely," she mumbled the last part.

The two women stood in deep contemplation as they absentmindedly sipped tea. Andy was thinking back to when she'd met Cissy for tea while Hermione found her mind strayed to a certain chaotically compelling dark witch.

Presently, a large rush of green fire appeared in the living room's fireplace. The brunette crouched down to swiftly wipe her face, removing all traces of the earlier breakdown, as Andy got up to greet whoever'd appeared.

The estranged witch could do nothing but stare, gaping, in disbelief at the sight. Before her stood a furious Bellatrix who'd arrived ranting and raving and was currently walking towards her with the curved wand pointed threateningly.

"—HOW DARE YOU! YOU TREACHEROUS BLOOD TRAITOR, HOW COULD YOU TEAR THE FAMILY APART LIKE THAT?"

The two sisters stood toe to toe. Bellatrix's chest was heaving from the excessive output of energy while Andy remained unphased as she continued to sip her tea.

"Would you like to have a seat?" She remained stoic despite her eyes betraying a deep sadness.

It was a foreign feeling. Standing in her estranged sister's room, Bellatrix internally felt like she was wildly spinning out of control. There was a deep aching sensation, like parts of her were breaking away as she stubbornly tried to hold on and keep everything afloat.

"No," she hissed. The dark witch walked around the living room, scowling at pictures of the Tonks' friends and family. "I've come to demand answers. I seek the reason why you left."

Andy's eyes softened. "Oh, Bella, it's the same as it always was. You know I couldn't've stayed. Why do you refuse to look to the future when you continue to be hurt by the past like this?"

"You don't get to stand there on your mighty hill and look down on me. You chose this, you allowed our great house to fall into shambles and now house Black is the subject of ridicule. You destroyed our family's future."

"You portray me so harshly," she spoke sadly. "We couldn't have remained at the top forever, you know, I—"

"Don't you dare try to feed me that rubbish about 'diluting magic by interbreeding for multiple generations' again. Everyone knows about how you…" Bellatrix's eyes strayed, finding Hermione standing awkwardly in the doorway. Her eyes narrowed as she hissed, "What is she doing here?"

Hermione sighed when the witch directed a disapproving glare at Andy. "Andy was helping me with something."

"Keep your muddy hands to yourself where they belong. I'll not have you manipulate my sister with your mudblood wiles like you did me," the witch spat ruefully.

Either Bellatrix didn't notice the slip or didn't care, but the flash in Andy's eyes said everything. Maybe there was still a chance the two could find their sisterly bond once more.

"I-I didn't use my 'wiles' on anyone!"

"You're the one going around seducing pureblood women for elevated status. I knew you fucked your way to the top, but I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that you'd cling onto anyone who gives you the time of day."

"I didn't do anything and you know that. Why are you lashing out like this?" The brunette repressed the blush that rose as Andy tried to catch her attention, daring Hermione to meet her questioning gaze. But she refused to meet her friend's searching eyes.

"Mudblood, you should be grateful I even let you near me!" Bellatrix cried hysterically. "You're nothing compared to me, nothing! Do you realize how many suitors I had lining the halls on a daily basis? Look at yourself. I bet Potty and Weasel shared you like sloppy seconds."

Hermione steeled herself. "Why are you spouting rubbish, Black?"

"You were in no position of power to request discretion," the words came out as a growl as Bellatrix's eyes flashed dangerously. "You should be grateful, I should've thrown you to the Dark Lord when I had the chance."

The brunette stole a glance at her friend. Andy's frantically looking back and forth trying to catch someone's eyesight while Bellatrix's eyes remained unrelenting.

"Then why did I have you willingly beneath me," Hermione's voice was cruel and her eyes glinted, revealing a viciousiousness that not many had seen before. It made Andy shiver at the sight. This must be why she did so well with the Unspeakables.

"That's hearsay. And besides, I know how you manipulated the strings to place Shacklebolt as Minister. You don't have the cleanest record for these things," she sneered.

Hermione bit her lip. Those hard set irises were penetrative and reaching into her soul. Andy looked like she was going to explode.

"I-I…"

"No, you don't get to make excuses. You have to live with all the shitty things you did just as I must. This is our consolation prize, you see."

"Bellatrix… why don't we go outside to speak?" She glanced at her friend. "Alone."

The two women tersely sat side by side outside on Andy's back step. The cool air blew softly as the sun began to set. At least Bellatrix calmed down a bit. It was the bare minimum, but it was just enough for a conversation reminiscent of the ones they had in the veil.

"So I guess you also know about the memories?"

"You're the one who chose that?" Bellatrix sighed. "Why am I not surprised, you've been everywhere lately."

Hermione licked her lips. "Why did you ignore me all those times?"

Bellatrix petulantly lifted her head up. "You never reached out."

"What? But I was there when you—"

"Already being present doesn't count when you kept me in that manor with Cissy for half a year with nothing to do. If I never helped you, I could still be hunting those spineless wizards."

"But you'd still be on the run… Would you really rather be used as the Ministry's secret hunting dog than gain your freedom back?"

The dark witch scoffed, "Freedom is but a mere illusion. I was never free so how could I be now?"

"Then why did you agree to the vow?"

"Did I ever have a choice?"

Hermione frowned as she tried to ignore the slight pang in her heart at Bellatrix's dejection. "I'm sorry."

Bellatrix was about to incredulously refute the pity, but when she turned to face the witch, all she could see was a refreshing sincerity within those kind hazel eyes. It was odd, really, that when she looked into Hermione's eyes, she felt like she was floating atop a depthless, serene body of water and that she'd never drown. She blamed the soul spell for such feelings.

The two continued to sit, watching as the stars began to glimmer, and a prevailing chill settled deep into their bones causing them to creak at the slightest movements. Hermione's mind raced to discover another way she might find her parents. Bellatrix remained a whirlwind of emotion, but found that the crumbling feeling in her heart didn't gnaw as severely while she sat with the brunette. In this moment, it felt like they were still in the veil discovering infinite, new worlds of possibility together. The comfort each witch's presence brought the other was a foriegn, but welcomed, experience. They remained like this until Andy came outside to inform them that the household would be returning soon.

---

Steeling her nerves from any unpleasant reactions, Hermione arrived mid morning at Malfoy Manor. It was strange being in the home— if that's what it could even be called at this point— after everything that'd happened. But this was the one time she would gather her nerves and brave the entrance, even as she repressed memories of the last time she'd visited. In the back of her mind, she felt herself laying on the floor being straddled by the infamous death eater… But she was different now, stronger, and Bellatrix was growing saner by the day. The brunette focused on her breathing as she approached the manor. Narcissa greeted her at the door. It was awkward for the both of them, but they're cordial enough.

"Bella will be out in a moment, she insists on dawdling."

The blonde, out of social courtesy and nothing else, offered her tea which she politely declined. The two stood in uncomfortable silence until Hermione cleared her throat.

"How is Draco doing? None of us have seen much of him since…" she trailed off, unsure how to finish the statement.

Luckily, after practicing the art of conversation for many years now, the pureblood dutifully ignored the way she trailed off in apprehension. "He's been well. Actually, he recently was accepted into a potion apprenticeship in Paris."

Hermione smiled as Narcissa's eyes shone with pride. Truthfully, she was glad the wizard's future hadn't been marred by his involvement in the war. This gave her hope for Bellatrix and any other death eaters who might choose rehabilitation.

"I'm happy to hear that."

"Yes, and how about you? I hear you're up for a promotion in the Ministry."

"Oh, uh, yes, I believe the vote will be taken later this week and from there—"

"You're not Walsh," Bellatrix's arrival surprised both witches.

"No, I'm not. I agreed to watch you at the Burrow to let Ivo spend today with his family."

The dark witch rolled her eyes, petulantly saying, "You make it sound as if I'm some irresponsible babe."

To Bellatrix's infinite annoyance, Hermione merely shrugged at the comment. And to her credit, Narcissa remained stoic despite the glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

The two witches floo'd to the Burrow this time since Molly finally allowed Bellatrix entrance into her home— before, she'd been very careful about letting the former lieutenant anywhere near her or her family. Ever the researcher, Hermione took note of this. It was a good sign that the Weasley household were starting to accept the witch's return to society.

"Hermione dear, it's so good to see you," the Weasley matriarch said as she enveloped the brunette into a tight hug.

When they parted, the redhead uneasily nodded towards Bellatrix— which, to her credit, merely grunted in response as she walked around looking for things to carelessly poke and prod.

"It shouldn't take too long to finish the last two floors."

Molly smiled and patted the brunette on the shoulder before walking off, allowing the witches to begin their work.

"The Weasel seems rather docile today," was Bellatrix's snarky comment when they stepped outside and out of earshot.

Hermione scowled gently, "Be nice, Bella."

The dark witch raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, ignoring the small flutter in her heart. Bellatrix shook her head to clear her thoughts, despite memories of their time at Andy resurfacing and playing on an endless loop.

With Hermione supporting the structure and Bellatrix leveling the foundations of the sixth and seventh floors, the two worked perfectly together. Considering the incredibly rickety state the top floors had been left in, this was especially reassuring. Honestly, she wondered how the Weasel spawns were ever able to inhabit that area of the house.

Finishing the Burrow only took a couple of leisurely hours. When they finished, Hermione headed inside to inform any Weasley she could find about the completion as she left Bellatrix outside to admire her handiwork.

"Hey Black," the girl Weasel called out to Bellatrix.

She didn't respond as she glanced over towards the redhead's direction.

"The twins and I are gonna play a game of Quidditch, wanna join?"

"You don't have an issue with me?" Bellatrix couldn't stop the surprise from showing.

"I never said that, but," she shrugged, "I know how you used to play, plus George and Fred always insist on a two-on-one game which isn't fair, so I figured this was the easiest way to get them back without involving my blokish brother, Ron."

The dark witch nodded, still somewhat taken aback by the boldness of this girl Weasel. Out of the entire, endless brood, this might be her favorite one.

"Sure, Red, I'll play."

"Ginny. My name's Ginny," the redhead asserted.

Hermione walked outside just as Bellatrix was grabbing the broom from Ginny.

"What's going on?"

"Hey 'Mione, we're gonna play a two-on-two game of Quidditch. I'd ask you, but I've seen you with a broom before and I don't fancy dying today," Ginny laughed.

"I guess I'll just stand here and watch then," the brunette muttered to herself.

"Are you ready to be defeated?" George's voice rang out as he and Fred walked onto the open field. Each twin is holding his broom in one hand and a chest in the other.

When they opened the container, five balls flew out: three aggressive bludgers immediately began circulating dangerously around the goals while the lone quaffle slowly made its way to the middle of the field. The snitch was so small that sight of it was immediately lost the moment it was released.

"You talk a big game, but I got Black on my side and we'll obliterate you. Isn't that right?"

Bellatrix nodded slightly, her eyes darting between her broom and Hermione. It was obvious to the brunette that the dark witch was still hesitant about this new development. But, to her credit, the witch was quick to mount the broom and join Ginny when she saw the faint smile on Hermione's face.

When the four players gained sufficient height, they began to fly the course of the pitch as they formulated a plan of action. Both Bellatrix and Fred held bats while the other two had a glove on one hand in preparation for any quaffle handling. And then it began.

Ginny began by speeding towards the goal while George flew to catch up. She then grabbed the quaffle and scored a goal before her brother was able to block the path. Fred headed towards the bludger with the intention of keeping the ball nearby in case his sister tried anything sneaky again. The only one who remained in their initial place was Bellatrix. The witch appeared seemingly frozen.

"Get your head in the game, Black!" Ginny called out to her teammate as George weaved across the field with the quaffle now in his hands while Fred hit a bludger to prevent the witch from chasing after them.

This continued for a while as the twins steadily racked up points. Then, George began to dive towards the ground and it was then that a vague fluttering of golden wings. It was this moment that Bellatrix truly sprung into action. With speed that none of the Weasleys thought possible, the former beater dove at a breakneck speed before pivoting the broom at the very last minute. The snitch was now within arms reach and behind her flew George who was trailing right behind her. But it was obvious who the victor would be even now as the witch gingerly stretched her arm out— the action looked so slow from a distance, almost as if she was teasing her opponent— and grabbed the snitch with ease.

Hermione watched on from the ground, it was a good distraction from thinking about returning from Australia empty handed. The dark witch had surprised everyone in the first game, but after some persuasion from the twins, they all agreed to play two more games. As the day progressed and Bellatrix got more used to playing like she used to— ruthlessly unencumbered— it was clear that she was now very much enjoying herself. In all honesty, it was heartening to watch as the witch began to open up to the Weasley siblings without fear of reprisal.

The twins won the second game, Bellatrix and Ginny still hadn't fully figured out how to work together as a team yet. The third game would define who'd win for the day. The two teams were tied and each had their own strengths: the twins were able to work in unison, building off the other, whereas Bellatrix and Ginny were both strong individual players. Both teams began by trying to rack up points with the quaffle, as they did this, the two beaters worked diligently to deter their opponent from scoring.

And then the defining moment of the game occurred. Ginny was chasing the snitch at a breakneck speed with her brother sending bludgers her way. Bella was hot on George's tail who was aiming a quaffle at his sister because anything helps when there's a tie. But when he threw it, the dark witch was able to perfectly time and aim so that the bludger hit the end of the broom and cause the player to spin wildly. This distraction gave Ginny the perfect opportunity to crash into Fred and force him off. And it was lucky that Hermione was watching carefully. The brunette caught the wizard with ease, levitating him slowly down to the ground.

When the four players reached the ground, they were each congratulated by Hermione. The twins went to put up the equipment while Ginny grabbed some snacks for everyone. Both witches stood near each other as they stood in suspended silence. When the brunette glanced at the witch beside her, her heart fluttered at the sight: the corners of Bella's lips were slightly upturned and her eyes shone excitedly. It was far more endearing than she'd ever admit.

"The girl Weasel c-"

"Ginny," Hermione corrected.

"Yes, Red, could go professional with her skills."

The brunette nodded in agreement. Ginny's quidditch skills had always been skillful— she assumed it was due to being raised the only girl in a household of boys.

"Well I thought your playing was very impressive." Hermione added, unsure why she felt it necessary to praise Bella.

"Of course you did," the dark witch smirked.

Both witches shared a look together. They hadn't talked about what happened at Andy's the night before, but it didn't seem necessary. Something changed between them and there was a stillness that surrounded the two. The unencumbered joy on the witch's face as she flew across the sky as if born to soar was heartening. For the first time since returning from the veil, Hermione was able to see the witch, though hidden deep beneath layers of cruelty and something so carefully crafted that it's unassuming, still held a spark that had yet to be extinguished. They were glimpses of her truest self and it's impossibly rewarding to witness. But the thoughts of what her life could've been had Voldemort never gotten ahold of the witch continued to plague her mind as she saw endless possibilities.

"Alright, I've got butterbeer and sandwiches. Is there anything I forgot?" Ginny's voice interrupted her musing.

"Do you have firewhiskey?"

Hermione scowled, nudging Bella gently for asking.

"I don't think anyone's ready for that yet, Bellatrix," Ginny laughed.

Offput, she sighed and took the offered food before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like thanks. The redhead failed to repress her shocked expression, but the dark witch didn't notice.

The three stayed outside to catch up for a bit. Really, it was just Hermione and Ginny talking while Bella seemed content to just listen quietly. Occasionally she would wander over to the edge of the woods to inspect some sound that'd caught her attention. It all felt very domestic.

After a while, Hermione decided it was time to head back. Plus, she promised Narcissa that she'd return Bella back to Malfoy Manor in time for tea.

---

Walsh was back the next day. The wizard seemed more at ease than Bellatrix'd ever seen. He was relaxed, even. It was a strange sight.

"How has Eileen been?" Cissy asked. Did they all have regular correspondence or something? Since when did Cissy, the fabled ice queen, ask about another's wellbeing?

"She's settled back into a comfortable routine quite nicely. In fact, we're planning a trip to Africa in a few months' time."

Cissy nodded approvingly. "As expected, all things considered."

"Her more so than me," Walsh laughed, turning to Bellatrix. "Are you ready?"

"Obviously. Let's get this rubbish over with," she hissed as she swept past the healer and towards the rehabilitation wing.

Malfoy Manor appeared in all its glory. It stood imposing, but not nearly as obtrusive as Black Manor— which made sense, considering the Blacks were above the Malfoys in the pureblood hierarchy.

Bellatrix, in her mid thirties, stood eerily still in front of a repeating prophecy. The ball floating in the middle of the empty drawing room. It spoke of a dark lord impending fall at the hands of a boy. Honestly the idea was laughable, or it would be if it wasn't for the Dark Lord's extended absence. She looked down at her left forearm. The dark mark no longer showed prominently on her arm, it'd been greying for the past day.

Rodolphus Lestrange walked hurriedly into the room, his eyes searched and scoured every corner as if trying to detect the unknown.

"Bella, we have to go."

"What are you blabbering on about, Rodolphus?" The witch didn't turn to acknowledge her disheveled husband.

"The Dark Lord has fallen, Bellatrix. Rab went by the Potters' house and found it swarming with Aurors."

"What," she hissed, turning thunderous eyes on the wizard who gulped at the ferocity.

"We're going to the Longbottoms to avenge our lord."

"Then what are we waiting for," Bellatrix asked. Her eyes glinted dangerously.

Not a second later, Rabastan ran into the room slightly out of breath. The three nodded at each other— each sporting a crazed gleam in their eyes— before the memory swirled and reformed once more.

They stood in front of an unassuming house in a muggle suburb. It was one of the Order's safehouses and because there was only one at disposal, the Longbottoms, being of higher rank than the Potters, were designated as the sole inhabitants. So without further ado, Bellatrix confidently strolled through. With the twirl of the wrist, the complex charms were disarmed and she, flanked by the Lestrange brothers, approached the front door.

They were met with minimal resistance. Honestly, it was a miracle the Order was able to become such a threat, especially considering the door could easily be unlocked with a simple alohomora.

Frank Longbottom was sitting, reading the newspaper, in clear view of the door. When the man looked up, he was met with the business end of Rodolphus' wand.

"I wouldn't do anything rash," Rabastan threatened quietly.

While the brothers kept Frank occupied, Bellatrix went upstairs in search of Alice. There was a light emitting from the first door to the right. She pushed it open cautiously— they're senior Aurors, after all. But inside, she was met with a scene she had no idea how to respond to.

The room was a nursery and in the middle of the room stood Alice with her back turned and a baby peeking over her shoulder. Bellatrix was stealthful as she approached the Auror before pointing her wand at the neck of the witch. Alice stilled, immediately aware of the predicament.

"Put the boy down and come with me."

The Auror gulped and very gently planted a kiss on her son's head before placing him down in the crib. Before the boy could react to the threat, Bellatrix flicked her wand and placed young Neville in a deep, restful sleep. He would not be giving away the Lestranges' position.

With Alice in front, the two witches slowly made their way downstairs. Frank's eyes flashed in excitement at the sight of his wife before all hope came crashing as Bellatrix followed, the curved wand still pointed at her back. The Auror was then instructed to sit beside her husband. Flicking a hand leftwards, a pensieve appeared in front of the group.

"Show us."

And so the two Aurors showed the Lestranges the memory of them arriving at the Potters' house in time to see a brilliant green light emitting from the top floor. When they finally reached the room— Harry's nursery— Lily Potter lay dead in front of her son who was peering over the crib, crying and reaching for his mother. But this wasn't what caught the Death Eaters' attention, for beside her was the most interesting sight. There was a crumpled robe and a dropped wand beside her. It was the Dark Lord's, but his body had dissipated completely.

Bellatrix screamed in utter fury at the sight, desperation alight in her eyes as she came to grips with the crashing reality. That was the only warning the Longbottom's had before the bright red cruciatus curse shot forward and encased them both.

Sure, the Longbottoms were well versed in magic and highly trained to resist any effects of the two, reversible Unforgivables, but this spell was on a whole different level. The outpour of Bellatrix's wrath was like nothing the two Aurors had ever experienced before. It was all encompassing and they knew they'd never escape uninjured.

The lieutenant neither wavered nor lifted the spell as the two brothers joined in and focused specifically on one Auror. Instead, she cackled to release the pent up anger that'd been building ever since the news of her lord broke out.

"How dare you?" Bellatrix roared, unsure of what she was referring to exactly.

But it didn't matter. She watched uncaringly as the Longbottoms plead their case, begging mixed with sobs only to be interrupted by screams as the spell was dropped and reignitiated tenfold. Except, this time the cruciatus was mingled with a form of the obliviate spell. This was done in case of any Order members trying to find information, particularly, even Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to unscramble the nonsense that replayed endlessly in the Longbottoms' mind.

The torture felt like hours, though in reality, it only lasted a few minutes before Bellatrix's wand began to vibrate. Her charms were tripped and the Aurors had arrived.

"Shit Bella, we gotta go," Rab said as he nervously glanced towards the door.

Any second now, the Aurors would burst through the door and trap them with an anti-apparition charm. Except the dark witch didn't move, merely sighed in defeat.

"Drop your wands immediately and put your hands where we can seem them!"

Bellatrix simply smiled in a terrifyingly predatorial way that sent shivers down the Aurors' spines and gave way to a moment's hesitation. It was like everything happened in slow motion. She raised her wand, notioning that she wouldn't go down without a fight. Behind her, the brothers did the same.

Spells were exchanged as backup was requested by every member on the team. The fight was a brilliant clash of lights that sizzled and scorched the nearby walls and chairs. Nothing in the immediate area remained untouched. By the end of everything, it took four teams of senior Aurors to subdue the three distraught Lestranges. And when it did finally end, Bellatrix's eyes showed no emotion as her wand was confiscated and magical chains were wrapped tightly around her wrists. Her head was held high as she was led out of the destroyed home.

The memory ended with Bellatrix looking into her past self's deadened eyes. She remembered that day so clearly. How could she not? It was burned into her mind like a brand she never wished to receive. For the first time since beginning her rehabilitation, Bellatrix felt off. Something she'd yet to pinpoint was askew.

"I find it interesting that you found the boy and did nothing," Walsh's musings interrupted her from thought.

"It wouldn't have been necessary," Bellatrix shrugged as she nonchalantly inspected her nails.

"Even if he was the boy from the prophecy?"

"The Dark Lord had already been vanquished by then, it would have done nothing more than to soothe our paranoia. It was already done, so what would have been the point?"

The healer didn't say anything as he acknowledged the response. Had the witch been looking, she'd've seen the minutely upturned corners of the wizard's mouth. And had she seen the sight, this would've given her pause at the encrypted meaning.

"Well, Black, I'd advise you to get some rest. You'll be meeting with Longbottom tomorrow to review his research."

"Will Granger be there?" Bellatrix could kick herself for asking such a stupid question.

"Yes… But why do you ask? You're already set up to her floo network, you know."

This gave the witch pause as she made the mistake of looking towards Walsh in surprise. The wizard raised an eyebrow, silenting measuring her foolish inquiry. She met the questioning gaze with a pointed stare, daring him to say something. But he didn't, instead, the man simply shrugged and began to move towards the door.

For the rest of the day, Bellatrix's mind revolved around the memory she'd just revisited. Of course, not many days could go by before her mind would inevitably wander back to that fateful day, so why did this time feel any different? But even now, she didn't feel any regret because if she did, then that'd render everything meaningless and she couldn't do that. As she pondered the ramifications of such a damming idea, the witch's mind whispered of betrayal as unrelenting hazel eyes slipped into the forefront of her thought. She'd been allowed access.

---

Walsh arrived at his usual time to escort Bellatrix to wherever the Longbottom boy was. After a brief exchange with Cissy, he turned around to face her.

"Seeing as the Burrow's complete, you'll be helping Longbottom today. They're hoping to begin preliminary trials today and want you to review it all. And…" he said, trailing off as he tried to remember what else to include, "Ah yes, the Weasley's are grateful for the hard work you put into their home. Just don't burn it down again or you'll have to start over from scratch."

"No promises," she sniggered.

The room wasn't the same as the last time. It was open, almost spacious. Light filtered in through the large windows and each wall was either lined with an extensive bookshelf or a table containing numerous plants, jars, insects, and body parts.

Neville stood in the middle of the room facing a table that held a large, boiling cauldron. He was reading calmly, not paying her arrival any heed. Well this was a welcoming change.

"Oh, hey Bellatrix." Hermione greeted her offhandedly, not noticing either of the other two occupants' surprise at the innocent casualty.

The muggleborn was busy skimming over a textbook for any extra clues it might offer. It made the dark witch smirk, the brunette always had her nose in a book. So Bellatrix didn't do anything, instead, she just watched the two friends work in unison. If the way they moved with confidence was any indication, it looked like they'd made good progress.

"There's not much that can be done to reverse the cruciatus effects. So instead, we're going to create a potion that will allow for a rapid regeneration of the mind," Neville spoke, turning around to face Bellatrix. "Hermione can explain it better."

He didn't look too thrilled to see her, but he also wasn't actively vying for her. Despite being one of the most prominent victims of her reign as lieutenant, the wizard wasn't consumed by wrath. It was a foreign sensation and almost felt like acceptance. This was all new territory.

Bellatrix wasn't sure if her surprise revealed itself clearly, but she hoped with Merlin's might that it didn't. It was just so… What would the correct description for this even be? disarming how everyone suddenly stopped trying to burn the witch at stake— she still had her fair share of despisers, but the number wasn't nearly what it could be. First she played Quidditch with Red and now Longbottom's stopped shaking in her presence. Something was different, or maybe it was her.

"We're going to restore a part of the brain that deals in new long-term memories called the hippocampus. Oh, and the brain is like a meat pilot… um, it controls or defines us."

"I know what that is," Bella scowled, not caring to elaborate what she was referring to. "You're such a know-it-all sometimes."

"I am not, you take that back!" Hermione said, flabbergasted.

"She's got you there, 'Mione, no point in lying now," Neville chuckled.

The brunette huffed before getting up and stomping across the room to where Neville stood. The two then exchanged a quiet rapport before turning back around to face Bellatrix. It was all rather enjoying to witness.

"Anyways, you're here today because we've already come up with rudimentary instructions but seeing as you're an accomplished potioneer, you can look over everything."

Hermione brought a ragged notebook over to her. The page's contents contained suspected proportions and ratios, as well as preparation instructions for each ingredient. There were nearly a dozen elements in total that ranged from dragon liver to lavender.

"If you're going to use nirnroot for its shock properties, you should also include bezoar to mitigate the poison intake. Also I'd increase the unicorn blood proportions."

Neville nodded as he skimmed over his own notes. The wizard continued to work in silence, only clarifying the occasional ratio with Bellatrix. Once all measurements were reviewed, the three moved closer to the cauldron. They would attempt to brew the potion today.

"Oh, 'Mione, I forgot to ask, but were you able to find your parents when you went back to Australia?" Neville asked, not looking up from the fluxweed he'd just ground.

Hermione frowned at the unexpected question. Her expression only deepened when Bella directed curious eyes onto her. "No, I've no idea where they are."

The defeat in the Golden Girl's voice gave the wizard pause and an awkward silence ensued. The atmosphere remained tense until Bellatrix snapped her fingers, summoning Kreacher, when the potion was nearing completion.

"How can Kreacher serve Lady Black?" The elf bowed deeply as he spoke.

"Stand there. I will cast a spell on you, then you will drink from the cauldron." As if anticipating her reaction, Bellatrix turned to Hermione before clarifying, "It won't harm him… I know how you like to cling to your elf equality rubbish."

The brunette chose not to respond, but her slight blush made the dark witch smirk.

"Erm, right, well, let's begin." Neville's voice shook as he spoke.

The dark witch cast a spell to erode pathways in the brain. She wasn't too sure how it worked, it was a lot of muggle technicalities, but it was something about neurodegeneration or what have you. Honestly, it all sounded like nonsense at a certain point. Curse the muggles and their technogy.

The elf looked to be in a similar state to the Longbottoms. It was almost too much for Neville. Hermione noticed this and immediately gave Kreacher the potion to drink before it all became too much for the traumatized wizard. The effect was slow but obvious. Clarity soon returned to the elf's eyes as the cloud dissipated.

"How can Kreacher serve Lady Black?"

"You may go now, elf."

With a deep bow, Kreacher disapparated.

"How interesting. It seems he didn't remember the moment leading up to the experiment."

"This doesn't guarantee mum and dad's memories. I'll look into vampire dust, its regenerative properties might help with the restoration."

Neville and Hermione continued to take more notes as Bellatrix just wandered around the room aimlessly. The wizard was the first to call it quits. He gave his friend a brief hug, and the dark witch a nod before leaving. After everything was cleaned up and only the two witches remained, Bellatrix calmly turned to face Hermione.

"When did you go to Australia?"

"A few days ago… I'd rather not discuss this."

She ignored the request. "Was this why you were at Andy's when I arrived?"

Hermione nodded sadly.

Without considering the repercussions or elucidating a hidden meaning, Bellatrix quickly strolled over to the witch and before either could process what'd just happened, she enveloped Hermione in a hug. And although Hermione initially froze at the contact, the touch was soft and comforting, causing her to lean into Bella's embrace.

Carefully, so as not to scare her off— especially considering physical affection is new territory— Hermione slowly slid her arms around the dark witch's waist. And when there came no attempt to push her off, the brunette nestled into Bellatrix's neck as she planted a soft kiss and whispered thanks. From how they stood, she could feel the pureblood's heartbeat increase and she wondered what'd caused such a quick response. She felt Bella sigh and… What was she doing? It felt like the witch was inhaling the scent of her hair… But that wasn't right, she would never do such a thing, right?

Before either could figure out what was going on, Hermione's lips were on Bellatrix's and the two were carefully exploring each other's mouths. It wasn't a new experience for either of them, and yet the kiss felt like the first time they'd ever truly accepted the other. Neither witch would ever admit this, but each kissed the other with a newfound passion.

When Hermione brought a hand up to cup Bella's face, it was like something clicked between the two. Their bodies fit perfectly against one another and their lips revealed a hidden compatibility that neither knew was possible. Moving slowly, Bella kissed a trail down to the brunette's neck as the hand that wrapped around her waist began to snake upwards. Her hand hovered at the top of Hermione's zipper on the back. The intention was clear and the witch nodded her consent as her hands grazed the corset's intricate lacing. As Bellatrix's hands slowly unzipped the blouse, she felt rough lines of protruding skin.

"What is this?" She asked, blindly running a hand over Hermione's shoulders.

The Golden Girl didn't respond. Instead she turned around and shrugged the shirt down. Letting the fabric rest on her arms, she gathered her long hair off of her back.

Bellatrix couldn't help but gasp at the sight. Spread across the shoulders and extending downwards to her protruding blades was a phoenix. Its wings were spread as if in flight.

"It's a magical branding of my patronus that was done for me as a gift a few years back."

"I lost the ability the moment I met the Dark Lord," the former lieutenant whispered softly.

"What was it?"

"A Wyvern of Wye." Bellatrix smiled as she reminisced: the teacher nearly fainted upon seeing a ferocious, dragon-esque creature spring forth from her wand.

"Have you tried to cast the spell recently?"

"There's no use, it won't work."

The brunette accepted the defeated answer, not wanting to push the dark witch. She frowned when she saw the sun had set through the roof's small skylight. Narcissa would be expecting Bellatrix very soon, if not already, and the blonde was never one to trifle with in an agitated state. So the two headed their separate ways for the day after sharing an awkward hug.

---

Hermione sat at the table sipping coffee and chewing thoughtfully on a biscuit. So far, Kreacher hadn't shown any adverse effects to the potion. The elf was still continuing about his business as usual— he'd kept the house tidy and provided meals while muttering about mudbloods and halfbloods soiling the Black family name. He also hadn't shown any cognition or memory issues yet either, but she'd continue to keep track in case anything were to arise.

When the food was finished, the brunette stood and stretched. Pulling her arms to stretch out her shoulders, the witch's hand grazed over the topmost part of her patronus branding. It made her think back to Bella's admission about losing the ability to cast such an important spell. Patronuses were the only protection against dementors, a lifeless creature that very well could be the dark witch's only true fear. Pondering her own branding gave Hermione an idea. She quickly scrawled a note out before using her wand to emit a high pitched sound that's imperceptible to the human ear.

Sisyphus, the striking falcon flew in with more grace than Hermione had ever seen a bird fly with— even Hedwig, bless her, wasn't always the steadiest. He landed in front of his owner, delivering the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. After offering the bird a treat and some head rubs, she tied the small letter onto his leg. As Sisyphus disappeared into the sky, the witch then forced her attention onto the glaring article plastered across the front.

GOLDEN GIRL GRANGER BECOMES THE FIRST MUGGLEBORN HEAD OF THE UNSPEAKABLES IN AN OVERWHELMING CONSENSUS

Last night just before closing time at the Ministry, the final votes were finished tallying. Ever since Chosen One Potter's return, the public has sought action against the Unspeakables department for delving into necromancy behind closed doors. While the Department of Mysteries adheres to its own standards and guidelines, and we the masses are almost never privy to such information they gather, this particular "research" has grounds for immediate termination.

We at the Daily Prophet speculate this is merely a symbolic representation of establishing the public's rights to veto anything deemed "immoral". That being said, our scapegoat Broderick Bode has gracefully stepped down from the position since it is the majority opinion that he was the one to suggest the mere idea of necromancy.

And so begins Hermione Granger's, muggleborn of the year, role as Head Unspeakable. We at the Daily Prophet wish her the best of luck, though we are wary she may try to follow in her predecessor's footsteps.

Below the article was a picture of her the first day she joined the Unspeakables. Hermione grimaced at the photo of Bode congratulating her, but it wasn't her mentor that was the issue. Her eyes were dead and the smile was out of place. She remembered the day so well. She'd been trying all morning to contact Harry through the resurrection stone, only to receive radio silence. Just then, a hand to her shoulder pulled her out of her musing.

"Congrats on the promotion, 'Mione, " Harry said as he read over her.

"Thanks Harry," she said, glancing at her friend. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he shrugged, sitting down to join her at the table.

"I'm sorry… Is this still an issue?"

This reminded Hermione of all those times she'd find Harry sitting on the window sill of Gryffindor tower when all the others were asleep. It was always just the two of them, alone, watching the sun rise as she distracted him from Voldemort's prying.

"Well, erm, Hermione, I-I…" It was obvious Harry was struggling to tell her something.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"I've been having weird dreams lately," he whispered quietly.

"Are they the same as before?" An involuntary shiver went through Hermione. Was it possible that Voldemort was still around? But that couldn't be true, they destroyed all the horcruxes before vanquishing the Dark Lord.

"No, well, sort of… I find myself somewhere I've never been before. Everything is dark and there's a pulsing energy coming from all directions. I find myself walking aimlessly, but I can't even tell if I'm going anywhere, everything is dimly lit. But then I heard a faint whisper. It's as if the wind is calling my name and my ears strain to detect the sound."

Truth be told, this worried Hermione greatly, though she would never admit this to her dear friend who's been tormented enough to last a lifetime. She would have to do some research on what this might be, that is, if she could even find where to begin. What Harry described sounded like nothing she'd ever witnessed, and she doubted there was anyone who would have an answer. She hated how her mind strayed to a certain omniscient, dead wizard who'd orchestrated the war effort and used lives as chess pieces, sacrificing pawns all for the greater good.

"That doesn't sound like anything I've heard of, but I'll look into it... Uh, Harry, there's something that's been bothering me that I need to ask."

"Sure, go ahead," Harry said, relieved to have such a brilliant mind willing to help look into the issue for him. Hermione had always stood her ground when it came to their friendship and he loved her like a sister. How could he not? They'd been through so much and never once turned their backs on the other.

"Why did you never respond to me? Did you even know what I was trying to do? All those years I spent trying to contact you through the stone and all I ever received was glass silence. It was damning and I thought I'd never see you again."

"How many times did you try? I was only ever notified one time then they ceased altogether, I thought you'd stopped caring… In the beginning, Dumbledore gifted me a small stone. I still have it if you want to look at it, he told me to keep it with me for protection from any errant residual fragments of Voldemort's soul. But come to think of it, once I held the stone in my possession, I stopped receiving your signals."

"What do you mean by signals?" Hermione asked as she conjured a small notebook to jot small observations in. Internally she chuckled, her workaholic behavior and need for knowledge primed her perfectly to become head of the Unspeakables.

"Well, erm, it's like a faint sensation here," Harry said, pointing to his chest.

"Your heart?"

"Sort of? It felt like when I spoke to mum and dad for the first time in the Forbidden Forest. Even then there was a soft nudge and I knew the connection was established."

"Do you mind if I run some tests on the stone?"

Harry shrugged carelessly before placing the small rock in front of her. Interestingly enough, it looked similar to the resurrection stone.

"I'll have to take this back to the Death Chamber to fully analyze it, shouldn't take long."

"It's fine, I'm back now so you can keep it since it's not as if…" he suddenly gasped. "You don't think that's what my dreams are, do you? Could they be Voldemort trying to contact me like he used to?"

"I doubt it, we made sure to cover our bases before ridding the world of him forever. And besides, you're a master occlumens now so that wouldn't explain the connection," Hermione murmured, unable to hide in her eyes the fury she felt towards the meddling coot.

It all made sense now. Merlin, it seemed Dumbledore hadn't stopped interfering even in death. It gave her sick pleasure to have breached the veil in ignorance because had she known, as the Master of Death, Hermione would not have hesitated to banish the wizard to the netherworld. Beside her, Harry shuddered at the dark look in his best friend's eyes as he silently thanked Merlin that she was on his side during the war. After losing herself in violent fantasies for the better half of an hour, Hermione finally decided to head over to her office to better investigate the new stone's properties.

---

Bellatrix had just finished reading the Daily Prophet when Walsh arrived. Not that she'd ever admit this to anyone, but secretly she was proud of muggleborn for everything she'd accomplished. The witch had quickly proved her worth and standing up to the former lieutenant was never an easy task, especially given their history. So it made sense that Granger was the most qualified for the job, she'd already met and exceeded all the requirements.

"I see you read the great news."

"Yes, well, it seems mudbloods will take over the Ministry any day now," Bellatrix responded vehemently. She hoped the spite she still clung to was enough protection from the healer's inquisitivity.

Walsh didn't respond, but there was an imperceptible twitch at the crass comment.

"I believe what Bella is trying to say is that we all look forward to seeing muggleborns continue to rise in their positions at the Ministry," Cissy corrected.

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, Merlin forbid Cissy find herself agreeing with the unpopular opinion."

The dark witch didn't see it, but the smallest fraction of a smile appeared on Walsh's face. The two headed to the rehabilitation room, both in deep contemplation. They didn't say anything as an image began to appear in the pensieve. Bellatrix shuddered at the sight.

The cell was cold, damp, and dark. Rats scurried across the floor and through the lukewarm, bland porridge as they approached closer, trying to pick little crumbs off the stale bread. On the floor beside a bug infested mattress sat Bellatrix. The witch was a far cry from her former glorious self. She was huddled into herself, trying to generate any form of body heat as the dementors approached the cell's window for their regular snack. But she was far too frail for anything not sedative or stationary.

Her dull eyes flashed as she hissed at the rats that nibbled on her ankles and wrists. The rodents were so plump and well fed compared to her gaunt form that exasperated her high cheekbones. When she was younger, she possessed the appearance of a poised aristocrat. But now, all that remained was a gaunt shell of a pitiful figure.

Patiently she waited for a rat to make the wrong move and come too close. When one finally did, pale arms extended outwards as skeletal hands gripped the rodent. Ignoring the biting to her hand, Bellatrix threw the rat against the wall across the cell.

"Not so mighty now, are you?" She hissed when she saw the body slump to the floor, causing the nearby rats to briefly pause in their scattering.

"Please tell me you're not going to eat that," Rab, from the cell across hers, whispered into the silence.

She scoffed. "Of course not, though, it would still be more edible than the rubbish they fling at us."

The prisoner laughed breathlessly, but the sound came out more as a strangled wheeze.

"How's Rod holding up?"

Bellatrix looked into the dark cell beside hers. Inside lay the huddled form of her husband. She kicked the bars, causing electricity to jolt throughout her body.

"Rod, you lazy sack of shit, are you still alive in there?"

Incoherent mumbling ensued and she smiled— but it was probably more of a grimace than anything else. Just then, the desolate rock started to shake slightly. It felt like they were finally being swallowed into the ocean and the witch wondered if their bodies would be preserved in the salinity should they sink.

Her cot began to shake, as did the food bowls and she finally realized that Azkaban was under attack. The rock wasn't sinking, it was being struck in various places!

"Somethings coming… things are changing," a strangled voice spoke eerily in the darkness. Nobody had ever heard the prisoner speak before, and judging by the croak, the wizard hadn't even remembered the sound of his own voice.

Before she could respond, she found herself blasted into the metal bars of her cell in the supermax ward. For a moment, all sound has but a faint ringing in her ears before everything rushed back in a cacophonous roar. Prisoners all around were screaming, laughing, and crying. They were all eager for escape.

A flash of blonde appeared and Bellatrix had never been so glad to see the pompous fool than at that very moment. He didn't say anything, merely handed her the curved walnut wand before turning his attention to the other prisoners.

"If you want to be freed, stand up and you will swear loyalty to the Dark Lord."

Everyone stood up.

Bellatrix cackled with maddened glee as she stood surveying the damage to Azkaban. As she was about to release a spell into the sky, the dark mark began to wriggle as the death eaters were summoned. The witch didn't hesitate to respond. Pressing her wand to the mark, she apparated to Malfoy Manor.

Upon arriving, Bellatrix splinched on the right side of her torso. She stumbled a little on impact; the witch was very weak from fourteen years of sedentary malnourishment. Immediately she dropped into a deep bow— it was the type of bow a peasant might perform in the presence of a royal leader blessed with divine right.

"You may stand, Bellatrix." Lord Voldemort walked into the room with Nagini trailing close behind him.

The wizard didn't look at all like he had when she'd last seen him: a reptilian nose and a bald head, his eyes gleamed as they gave off a manic performance.

"M-my lord, it is wonderful to see you again. Fourteen years and I never doubted your return. What will you have me do?"

"First heal yourself and regain your strength. At the beginning of the yuletide season, you will lead a mission to the Department of Mysteries to retrieve the prophecy."

"Yes my lord," Bellatrix said hesitantly.

"Your loyalty to me wavers?"

"Of course not, it's just… Well, shouldn't we be gathering forces from the east? If Dumbledore is to die then—"

"Silence! You dare question me? Tsk, Bella, I expected better of you. For your insolence, you must be punished. Crucio!" Lord Voldemort didn't give Bellatrix a chance to brace herself before casting the cruciatus on his most loyal servant. "My command is your wish, do not forget that," he said as he strengthened the spell.

A small, callous smile appeared on his face while he watched the witch writhe. As expected of her, she remained silent and refused to give any indication of the true pain.

"My lord, please let me heal her," Narcissa hurriedly requested.

The dark lord turned fearsome eyes onto the blonde. He released the spell, but struck the witch so hard she stumbled to her knees. Lucius looked like he wanted to rush to her aid, but remained still out of fear while Bellatrix recovered her senses.

"Do not interrupt me again, Narcissa." Voldemort warned quietly, his voice came out as a hiss. "Be that as it may, I've had enough of this. Do as you will. Come see me once you are healed, Bellatrix."

Narcissa, with a red welt forming on half of her face, rushed over to her sister. The two witches were crouched together on the floor as the blonde began to mutter healing incantations.

The memory was draining. Why couldn't there have been other moments that were shown in between? Bellatrix dread to think what the next and last memory would be; she didn't think she could stomach experiencing a third war.

"His sanity must have long since eroded," Walsh said quietly as they walked back to the main part of the manor.

And for the first time in a long while, the former lieutenant didn't rush to defend her lord. She had no response and instead let the comment wash over her.

"The dark lord was already gone by the time I escaped… In fact, he never returned, not truly anyways." Bellatrix's voice came out no louder than a whisper after a moment's hesitation.

"Ever since Voldemort regained his body, he was hellbent on destroying Potter, a mere schoolboy. In fact, I'd venture to say he didn't even care for the cause anymore," Cissy said, ignoring Bella's slight flinch at the name.

"The man was a monster."

Bellatrix didn't know how to respond to either of their comments. So instead, she bit her tongue to prevent her automatic reaction of defense. But Cissy noticed this.

"Bella, you cannot continue to support a dead man and especially not someone who split his soul multiple times," Cissy whispered the last part. Horcruxes were still rather taboo for the wizarding community and purebloods were no exception.

"It's more complicated than that, Cissy," she bit back. "The cause…"

"The cause was but a way to gain the favor of and manipulate well meaning purebloods. You got swept up in the hysteria when father introduced you because you saw it as your way out."

"Pray tell, what was I escaping?"

"Your duties of producing an heir… You and Andy both. You never wanted my life. I was the only one strong enough to carry through with what was expected of me."

"My, when did you become so observant?" Bellatrix hissed.

Walsh cleared his throat awkwardly as the sisters continued their silent stare-off.

"I'll be going now, Madame Blacks."

"Of course, Ivo," Cissy said, immediately going to the wizard to bid farewell.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the behavior. Once a pureblood housewife, always a pureblood housewife.

With the argument carefully abandoned, they retired to the library to relax the remaining day away. As the two sisters sipped their drinks in silence. Bella found herself wishing for Hermione's presence. She didn't know why, but sitting there, she just felt so alone.

---

The next day Walsh greeted her with a smile and the dark witch couldn't help but return it, albeit slightly. Today was the last day of memory viewing and Bellatrix was ready to get it all over with. The sooner she was "fixed" or whatever they called it, the better.

"Well, Black, this is the end of the beginning. While I no longer serve as your soul healer after today, I will continue assisting in your greater reingritation. You'll meet with your psychiatrist soon and continue on from there."

Bellatrix inspected her nails with disinterest. "Are you happy with my progress," she taunted.

"It is satisfactory."

"You wound me."

"You're welcome."

The two smirked at the unspoken words.

"So… what next?"

"In a few days, we're going to go on an outing to Diagon Alley to begin the reversal of your bank holdings. That will also give us a good chance to see how you're acclimating while gauging the public's program perception. And before you ask, I don't know if Granger will be there."

Bellatrix growled at the wizard's audacity. She could just crucio him right on the spot. But she clenched her fist and gritted out, "Wasn't planning on it."

Walsh chuckled and the witch could swear she felt her blood pressure rise from the sheer indignation. Her temper was never anything to provoke. She continued her trek to the north wing without any outbursts except for a slight twitch of her hand.

The dark witch smirked when she heard the healer curse after feeling as though he just got slapped upside the head. It was almost as if by magic that this happened. But who was he to ask any questions? Ivo already cashed in his brief moment of interaction with Bellatrix for a petty jab at her ego. And they both knew it.

Malfoy Manor stood in eerie silence. Gathered in the drawing room, stood the inner circle as they poured over war plans. They were starting to get desperate with the way things were progressing. Sure Potter hadn't been found, but the Dark Lord seemed to have evidence that Dumbledore's meddling was proving successful.

"Bellatrix," Lucius said hurriedly, "your presence is required in the library."

"Can't you see the real wizards are busy," came the drawling response.

The wizard ignored it and only a slight tensing of his jaw could be noted. "It's Scabior, he's sent word that he found a suspicious group of three teens in the forest."

"Well why didn't you begin with that?"

"I was getting to it if you-" Bellatrix stormed out of the room. Lucius, hot on her tail, had to adopt a light jog to keep up.

"Is it them? The Golden Trio," she sneered.

"It's definitely the mudblood and the blood traitor, but we can't tell with the third one. His face's all swelled up and we don't see a scar."

"Bring them here. If it's not Potter, I'm sure they'll be more than willing to tell us where he is."

Scabior disconnected the floo communication immediately and the dark witch headed her way to the entrance gate. She didn't have to wait long before there came the telltale pop of apparition at the end of the paved path. Bellatrix scowled at the sight of Fenrir Greyback, the pup's such a mutt, but at least he proved himself useful this time.

"Get Draco," she whispered, peering past the wrought gates and to the boy's forehead.

She dragged the pitiful excuse of a savior into the drawing room, ignoring the soft grunts of discomfort as she tightened her already iron grip. Her useless nephew stood frozen in silent terror as they approached closer.

"Well?" She asked impatiently as she tapped her foot, "Is it him? Is it Potter? Should we call the Dark Lord?"

Draco blanched, "I-I don't know, I can't tell because his face is too swollen."

"Right, well, take them to the dungeons and we'll wait for the swelling to go down," Lucius said in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

"If I find out you're lying, you will answer to me after you speak with the Dark Lord," she said menacingly to the blonde.

Draco shrunk away from the forceful witch despite being a head taller than her. He swallowed and nodded feverishly before scurrying to lead the trio away.

As Lucius' henchmen began to lead the trio out of the room, a brilliant idea flashed through Bellatrix's mind.

"Wait, leave the girl. I want to have a chat with her, girl to girl."

Hermione visibly shuddered at the look in the pureblood's eyes while the boys screamed their objections into the cruel, uncaring void. At the snap of her finger, all other occupants of the room shuffled out of the room. And much to Lucius' ongoing annoyance, that included him.

With the wounds left from her lord's recent punishment still fresh, Bellatrix paced frantically in front of the only other occupant. The Dark Lord had grown increasingly irate with her and this was the last chance she had if she had any hope of remaining in his good graces. She stopped suddenly and rounded on the trembling witch.

"Where is it?" She hissed with her wand hanging dangerously loose in a way that juxtaposed the tense body language.

"Where is what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, girlie! I know you stole an important item from the Dark Lord!"

Vague recognition flashed in the brunette's eyes and the lieutenant knew she knew more than she was letting on. Now she would pounce; she already had her answer, all she had to do was break the mudblood into spilling her secrets.

"Where is it?

"I-I don't know."

"Cruio!"

The brunette dropped suddenly to the floor, gasping in pain. Bellatrix smirked when the boy Weasel screamed her name from the dungeons as if that would do anything. She increased the spell so that the girl's screams could bounce off the walls and echo throughout the manor. Perhaps this would teach Draco a little something about responsibility.

She lifted the spell, much preferring to play with her prey whenever possible. When the witch lay panting on her back, Bellatrix saw an opportunity. With speed Hermione could not process, the dark witch was straddling her.

Bellatrix deliberately maintained eye contact— she loved seeing the fear in their eyes, it never got old— as she reached under her dress and produced her favorite dagger. The hilt was rounded and the blade short, but disarmingly sharp. Ancient magical runes decorated both sides of the blade. It was given to her by her father as a wedding gift. She always took it with her. Secretly, she decided that if she ever produced a bastard— all spawn of the wizard was cursed as a birthright— with Rodolphus, she would name the heir Cygnus out of spite.

The brunette tried to squirm out of her grasp when Bellatrix released the left arm from beneath her. She tightened her grip as she dragged the arm to her side. When she finally let go, a pale handprint quickly grew red as blood, dirty and foul, returned to the hand. Possessed with concentration unheard of for a madwoman, Bellatrix carefully carved into the witch's arm in a childish scrawl. The gleeful precision she worked with masked the underlying terror enough to subdue them both: torturer and the tortured.

The frenzied lieutenant had just finished and was admiring her handiwork when the sound of a duel rose from the dungeons. Fuck! The brats were trying to escape! Thinking quickly, Bellatrix pulled the trembling witch up to her feet and held her dagger against the smooth neck. She smiled at seeing Potter's hesitation— by now the spell had started to fade. The mudblood would be good leverage to use.

"Now boy, hand me the sword."

"Don't hurt her!"

"It's a bit too late for that, now isn't it," she cackled.

"Fine." Potter slowly edged closer, holding the sword of Gryffindor with the point facing downwards. This was their only chance at getting Hermione back.

Just then, Bellatrix became distracted by the creaking sound above her. The chandelier was shaking, and on one of the lights, Lucius' blasted elf sat trying to sabotage the tradeoff. She didn't have much time to react as the chandelier grew closer, falling as if in slow motion. On instinct, she pushed the witch away and, unfortunately, into Potter's waiting arms. The useless creature then grabbed a hold of the trio and easily bypassed the manor's anti-apparition wards. Bellatrix screamed furiously as she watched the captees escape. The only consolation was the dagger struck the elf, but that hardly held influence over their current predicament. The Dark Lord was on his way and every death eater could feel his rage permeate through the mark.

For the first time in her life, Bellatrix felt— What was the word again?— regret. Or, it was something very similar if the way her eyes began to burn and her chest clenched were any indication of the unfamiliar emotion. Walsh was trying to gauge her reaction, but she hid it well.

"Is this over now," she drawled, but the words lacked any of her usual bite.

"Yes," the answer came out more as a question.

"Good."

She returned to the entrance hall with purposeful speed, so much so that the healer had to hurry behind after her. As usual, Cissy was there waiting for them.

"Bella, what in Merlin's name are you doing?"

The witch didn't respond. Instead, she hastily stepped into the fireplace and murmured the location. She was gone within a flash.

Neither heard the destination through her grumbling and there was no way to track the manor's floo network usage. So they stood there dumbly, wondering what'd just happened.

"Wonder what that was about," Walsh muttered.

Narcissa didn't say anything, but she had a sneaking suspicion she knew where her sister was going. And if she was correct, well, she just hoped she was.

---

Hermione was having a relaxing night reading in front of the fire with a red wine. She was trying to get Dumbledore's stinging betrayal out of her mind because if she didn't, well, the broken pile of glass in the kitchen told it all. At least the boys weren't here to see her so down; they were out convincing death eaters to join the rehabilitation program. She swirled the glass and counted the legs that appeared before sighing deeply.

Suddenly the fireplace lit up in a green flame and the person she least expected to see stepped out. An imposing figure in heels with long curly hair that rippled and spiraled appeared. It was the witch with tempting red lips and beautiful black eyes that shimmered in the moonlight. Hermione frowned at the sight of misty red eyes.

"Hey Bella, what's wrong?"

Bellatrix didn't respond immediately. Instead, she walked over to the muggleborn and grabbed her left arm. Hermione quietly watched as the pureblood softly traced the mudblood scar with the pads of her fingers. Then the unexpected happened.

The former lieutenant pressed a kiss to the scar before closing her eyes as a solitary tear dripped onto the childish scrawl. She muttered something incomprehensible.

"What?"

"I-I never want to see you hurt again, Hermione." The way Bella spoke her name caused her heart to beat uncontrollably and her temperature to spike.

Slowly, so as not to scare her, the brunette settled to the floor and enveloped the witch in a tight embrace.

"I can't describe how, but something feels different about you. It's as if we were never on opposite sides."

"Oh, Belle, I know," she spoke softly. Tentatively, a hand was brought up to wipe Bella's tearstained cheek.

"How?"

Hermione smiled beautifully, "Because I feel the same way."

"Oh," she breathed.

The brunette's hand found itself stroking— or trying, it was more like petting— the endlessly black curly hair. She hoped her fingers wouldn't get stuck. That'd be embarrassing.

After a moment's hesitation, the witch stirred to life once more.

"What happens now?" Bellatrix asked, speaking their existence into the void.

"What do you want to happen?"

"I-I don't know."

"Then I guess we'll just have to figure that out as we go," Hermione reassured.

They remained huddled together until coldness seeped into their joints and their legs fell asleep. Standing up, a brilliant idea flashed through the brunette's mind.

"How about the boys and I join you and Ivo at Diagon Alley?"

"Why do you Potty and Weasel have to come?" It was a petulant response that evaded the emotions that came with the suggestion.

"Because, Bella, you can't just spend all your time with one sister, me, and your healer. Besides, you seemed to enjoy yourself playing quidditch with Ginny. Maybe one day you could play with the boys too."

Bellatrix pouted, "But that's different."

Nudging the witch, Hermione said, "Maybe so, but this is your most realistic route."

The dark witch sighed rather dramatically before whispering, "As long as you're there."

She had to strain to hear the soft confession over the roar of her heart's hammering.

"Of course."

She grabbed Bella's shaking hand and held it close to her chest. Hermione stood still, allowing her heart to calm before trying to move again. When it finally did— the pounding only lessened slightly, but if she waited for it to stop completely then that may never happen— she led Bella up the stairs and to her room. They didn't say anything as they undressed and got in bed, each holding the other under the blanket with devout faith. Neither moved until the day broke as the sun rippled across the sky in a beautiful homage.