Henry Castlewater was a peculiar fellow. A bear of a man who played at being unnatural jolly, with an unkempt beard, wildly cut hair, and beady eyes that seemed frozen in a perpetual squint. He laughed quite a lot while toying with the lapel of his purple colored suit-jacket, with its frayed edges and dark splotches-which Hermione supposed were butterbeer stains if the smell surrounding him was anything to go by.
Still, he wasn't the most unpleasant fellow she'd had the pleasure of meeting with in Knockturn Alley, a space she wouldn't have dared set foot back in, whether The Dark Lord had left her alone after the war or not.
"Lady Malfoy," He greeted her with an eerie amount of fondness, an amount that Narcissa did not return if her stoic expression was anything to go by, "It's a pleasure to see you. After last time-"
"A time we won't speak about." Narcissa replied with clipped tones as her hand moved to gently press against the small of Hermione's back. It was a comforting weight, not entirely necessary but welcomed. In the past, she might have grown tense or at the very least felt coddled but Hermione could see the touch for what it was.
Some political yet subtle motion, no doubt. Since, all too soon Mr. Castlewater snapped his mouth shut and turned his gaze upon her.
"Ah, forgive me." His smile was more like a sneer, but he wore it well enough. "Here I am, keeping two lovely young ladies out in the cold so that I can babble on about the past."
With a roll of his shoulders he motioned toward the wooden door behind him, one that appeared impractical considering the crack that ran down the length of it. Its splintered middle wasn't a deterrent though and Castlewater flashed an array of less than perfect teeth as he pushed it open right at its cracked center. With a groan the door opened, but not in any conventional manner Hermione was prepared for. Clearly, the handle on it was more for decoration since as soon as the man pressed his black stained fingertips to the wood the crack itself split with jagged teeth to let them through.
"Oh," She croaked, and while Narcissa's gaze reflected inner amusement her expression never changed from apathetic interest.
"Come along then, right this way." Castlewater motioned with a limp flop of his wrist and all too soon Hermione was being guided through the entranceway that was more like a maw than an actual door.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting, exactly. Yet, a clean and well-furnished interior had not been it. The outside of the shop, with its crumbling bricks and soot smeared walls, had been somewhat deceiving. Hermione had pictured an area with patches of functional lightning, cramped cages, and creaky floorboards. The inside-and what an inside-was instead a massive receiving room. Large cathedral ceilings towered up and above her while walls lined with row upon row of squawking creatures took up the bulk of the space. Despite what Hermione had originally assumed was a square design the room she occupied was very circular, with a plush oval carpet the color of coal at its center and a few warm-colored and plush chairs of brown set around it. The cages that spiraled upward lining the room from ceiling to floor differed in size and type of enclosure. From impressively large-with shadowed bulks shuffling around in magically created darkness-to incredibly small. Only one corner seemed bare. No cage in exchange for a glass cabinet holding a colorful firewhiskey collection within.
It was all very cozy and welcoming, for a place in Knockturn Alley. "Narcissa?"
Lady Malfoy moved them further into the room toward the stationed chairs and the floating tea set hovering nearby. "Yes, dear?"
"What is this place?" Hermione said, unable to resist the hand that guided her toward one of the ornament armchairs. "This isn't-"
"What you expected?" With a firm push upon her shoulder Narcissa had Hermione settled in the chair at her side before she took her own.
Hermione wasn't sure if she cared for the way Narcissa manipulated her. That subtle touch, firm and unyielding, guided her on a subconscious level she wasn't entirely aware of. It made her feel young. Too young. She was no longer some child to be pushed and prodded and led. Still, she wasn't sure if her slightly narrowed gaze or pinched brow was enough for Narcissa to grasp the hint that she could perfectly well place her fanny in a seat by herself.
"Yes," She hissed as her fingers clutched the arms of her chosen chair and refused to lift and clasp the teacup that hobbled over. A tea-cup she didn't trust. "I thought this was a pet shop."
"A familiar shop, dear." Narcissa whispered, voice lowered and perfectly controlled as Mr. Castlewater hobbled over, wand in hand and greasy smile in place. "Now don't hiss, it's rather rude."
Hermione didn't have the time to be affronted.
"Now there, Lady Malfoy, Miss….?"
Hermione sat a bit straighter and opened her mouth prepared to reply but Narcissa beat her to it, her voice a striking tone of venom with the swiftness of a viper-
"It's Lady Granger, Mr. Castlewater. It would be pressing not to forget that."
For a moment Castlewater was taken aback. His lips flopped open and closed in mockery of an airless fish. His throat muscles bulged and his cheeks lost their reddish parlor. Yet, it was his eyes that tugged at Hermione's curiosity. It was how the pupils seemed to grow large and tremble as shadows danced behind them.
"It's fine, really." Hermione tried to bring him peace but he only swallowed nervously and began to blink rapidly.
"N-no, my lady," he stammered, "I've made a slight against you. I wasn't aware-"
"You were aware," Narcissa challenged, "I'm rather certain Lady Black warned you."
"Well yes but, to see her here instead of her representative-"
"And why wouldn't I bring her? It is her familiar after all, I want to make sure they bond properly."
"It's just that-"
"-I find it hard to believe you just conveniently forgot Lady Granger's appropriate title. I think you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."
"I assure you, Lady Malfoy, I am very serious."
With quirked brow Hermione watched them, or rather she watched Narcissa-noticed the quirk of her lips and the sensual lick of them thereafter as she made Castlewater fidget, sweat, and squirm for her amusement, all in the name of her newly procured Firstborn titles.
"Then you should prove it." Narcissa said, emphasizing the harsh snap of her words with a wild jerk of hand that sent her nearby hovering cup spinning toward him. "Stop wasting our time and address His Chosen properly."
She shivered, unable to repress the wicked thrill that shot up her spine when Castlewater barely caught the wayward cup and swallowed harshly. All this over a misspoken 'miss'? This fear? This trembling? This orchestration as the bumbling man lowered himself upon bended knee and bowed so deeply his nose practically touched the floor?
All in the name of the honor and pride Narcissa had vehemently defended for her. Honor Hermione had forgotten was worth defending.
"It's… fine." She croaked again, but the heavy weight of Narcissa's hand cupping her own kept any other words trapped in her throat. Yet, Hermione was sensitive to so much more about her normally composed company. The squeeze of her hand that turned from firm to painful, that slightly wild glimmer that swam in the depths of Narcissa's intense gaze, so pointedly focused on the balding round head of their subjugated company as she took pleasure in his humiliation. It was overwhelming to see it there, lurking within this icy woman. It took her breath away.
"My Lady, Head of the House of Granger, I apologize for my disrespect. I was not aware that you would be coming personally and had not adequately prepared for your arrival." He wheezed, all breathy and nervous with a tone that made her stomach clench in an odd mix of discomfort and to inappropriate to acknowledge. "I am here to humbly serve you."
It was now more clear than ever from Narcissa's answering sneer that she was not fond of Mr. Castlewater, and maybe that was why she made him subject himself to such actions. She kept him there for what felt like a while-though ultimately there had only been but a few seconds of awkward silence left to stretch between them-before she released Hermione's throbbing hand and gave a sigh of exasperation.
Just like that she was back. Refined, noble, and controlled. Gone was the intensity from her gaze, replaced with disinterest and carefully practiced boredom. The fine tremble that had been in the power of her grasp disappeared and perfectly manicured fingertips motioned toward the hovering tea-kettle with an impatient snap.
"That's enough. Honestly Henry, I don't know why my sister puts up with you."
The insult was there and rather clear in the words but they were spat with some familiarity, as if this was not the first time an occurrence of this nature had taken place. It was odder then that Henry rose from his knees to his full height with a nervous smile and deep puffing breaths. "I do good business here, my lady. Really good business."
"Then please get to it." Narcissa drawled, but it was clear she was done harassing him about his earlier misstep.
He took a moment to dab the sweat from his brow with a brown stained handkerchief before throwing his full attention on Hermione. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "I'm going to bring my finest, Lady Granger. Please wait here."
With a flick of his wand and a mumbled incantation the cages around them began to rattle. They shifted forward slowly before some of the cages slid back into place, as if some large magical hand were cataloging through organized parchment.
"Now, what would fit you best?" He mumbled, "We have to make sure there's a connection. Some spark that brings out the potential, you see."
Finally, a cage slipped out from the wall just as a fresh tea-cup hovered to Narcissa's open hand. Another quickly followed the first cage, then another thereafter, but they didn't lower just yet from their space above them.
"A decent familiar can make a decent witch, you know." His tone took on a slightly excited tint, rushed past lips with a hint of passion, "But a great familiar? Well, one has to wonder how Dumbledore was so great at what he did, right?"
There's a strained chuckle then and a soft intake of breath from Hermione, who hadn't heard that name uttered-not aloud, at least-in sometime but one quick glance at Narcissa, who was intently watching her, was enough to make her swallow the emotion that fought to rise to the surface.
She felt nothing for him now. Hadn't for six years. She couldn't afford to.
"When a wizard and his familiar are as one, a perfect match, you can feel it here." Henry pounded on his chest as a few more cages pulled themselves from the wall. "Right in in your core. Your magic sings and it hums and-"
He paused for a moment before he released a wheezing laugh, "Here I am, boring you to death with the details."
But that wasn't true, Hermione was rather interested. Even this, his idle ramblings, was educational. It wasn't that she wasn't aware of the benefits of a familiar, she'd had one. Yet, his raw explanation hinted at things she'd never truly felt before. Yes, she'd loved Crookshanks dearly and had felt terribly lonely after her search had proved fruitless but that was all she'd felt. Not this miraculous song of magic and harmony Henry proclaimed took place.
"Aye, either way it's just as important, really important, to have a great familiar. It heightens the ability. Brings out the potential. Not to mention the bond." Finally, a collection of cages were assembled above them and with a soft sound of acknowledgement they slowly began to lower. "Well, you'll see what I mean."
He took some time to rub his chin as he stared at the cages, cages that Hermione found difficult to peer into due to whatever magic kept their cargo indistinguishable—and the cluttered nature in which they floated. She figured it was to protect the animals from theft should something rare find itself in a cage. Yet, right now, all it did was raise her anxiety and make her want to fidget.
"How about a frog-"
"A frog? Really, Henry?" Narcissa's voice was a cold chill at Hermione's side swaddled in an unsatisfied hiss. "You would give His Chosen a frog?"
"A-aha, no no, now let's not get hasty." Hermione watched his shoulders bunch and the back of his neck grow flushed with red as he waddled toward the cages, patting their tops which seemed to peel back the shroud of darkness they wore. "Just a suggestion, is all. Everyone needs a starting point."
"It was a poor one." Narcissa said.
"How about a cat," Hermione suggested, trying to keep the peace, and running thin on patience.
"Ah, I've plenty of those!" Henry responded, still just jolly enough and properly recovered from his brief chastisement.
So, Hermione watched with mild regret-regret for losing Crookshanks, for not looking hard enough, for not caring badly enough-as various types of cages floated past her in a magically assisted parade. Though his clutch of cats of all assorted breeds were impressive, impressive enough that she paused before when she spied a cat devoid of fur-a Sphynx, he'd called it-she felt no sudden impulsive connection. Furthermore, there weren't any kneazles of the full or half variety to boot. She didn't even feel a sudden want for attachment like she had so long ago for Crookshanks. Eventually they had to move on from cats and soon she was subjected to look at all assortments of lizards, turtles, birds, spiders, rats-no, absolutely not- and a ferret or two.
"Is this all that you have?" Narcissa asked, but her voice lacked its biting edge in turn for concerned disappointment.
"No, 'course not." He mumbled, "But some of my creatures aren't really familiar material, you know."
"I'm not saying bring out the dragons." Narcissa snapped.
And all too soon they were quarreling again in tight clipped voices and stuttered assurances of the absolute best service in all of Great Britain. It was nearly enough to make Hermione sigh aloud in a manner more petulant than gracious. It was definitely enough to make her rise into a stand as she'd been a prisoner of that chair for far too long. Before Narcissa could order her to stay put she was soon taking to the cages herself. She could find her own familiar, she didn't need anyone to hold her hand through some mystical choosing process. This wasn't like selecting a wand.
Just beyond the oval circle the cages hovered, perfectly level with her eyesight and fully visible. It was easy enough to weave through the haphazardly floating collection, smiling here and there at a choice word from Narcissa or a stuttered excuse from Henry but it wasn't until she was somewhat further from her company that she paused to stare in their direction. They weren't paying her much attention, not that they needed to she wasn't a child, but there was something naughty about walking among someone else's stock of procured creatures unattended that made her smile. The impulse to release a few of them into the space was something particularly wicked.
"And wouldn't a few of you like that?" Hermione cooed as she drew a fingertip down along the glass enclosure of a caged spider. "To cause a bit of chaos? To be a bit wild?"
She bit her bottom lip and swallowed a cackle. Perhaps her lessons were… changing her more than she originally thought. Especially those long torturous nights with Bellatrix, where madness often tempted her with promises of power and feeling.
"Stop it." She whispered to herself, blinking away memories of straining muscles and howling screams-sounds she made each night, sounds that were torn from her body as she gave Bellatrix her agony and her reluctant mind.
Then with a soft sigh she turned with all the intention of returning to the circle… but a sound caught her ears, some soft almost hissing purr, like rolling wheels over gravel. She took a soft breath and tilted her ear, certain she'd heard a cart being pulled beyond their walls, but that rumble seemed… insistent and to close.
She turned toward the sound, breath held as she combed the various cages with narrowed eyes. One step, then another, and soon she walked along the floating line while her ink-stained fingertips trailed across metal bars but more often glass. Each step took her deeper into the collection. Each step a little further away from the rumbling voices and closer to the large imposing wall that held so many others-all of them, crying out for an owner. Crying out at the injustice of their imprisonment.
Her heart was a trapped thing in her chest but she wasn't one to falter nor was she a coward. The rumble was somewhat clear here, the purr unlike anything she'd ever heard before and if she focused, if she dared to close her eyes, she could hear something more. Words? Strung together sounds that seemed slurred and-
"What is it…?" She whispered, unsure whether she was talking to the animals around her or herself.
No answer came, nothing tangible, just those soft sounds that were more like hissed whispers and the call of the animals around her that nearly overlapped them. If only they would be silent so that she could hear-
Then she gasped, jerked to a halt as if pulled by invisible strings. She was at the furthest wall, a sea of floating cages between herself and the company at her back yet unlike the cages that towered above and around her the one she'd stopped at was half-in half-out of its perfect little slot. It was tipped forward precariously and Hermione wasn't exactly sure if there were precautions in place to prevent the cage from sliding out fully and crashing to the marble floor but that was hardly the reason she'd paused before it.
No, that humming hissing sound had stopped and she really had nowhere else to go, no more leads to follow.
Yet, when she tossed a quick glanced into the cage what she saw was unusual. It was just a nest with a rather large egg at its center instead of some living breathing creature. Some red speckled thing colored a dirty cream. An all-around rather unattractive oddity. But it wasn't the look of it that drew her touch.
It's warm, she thought, though her own mental voice seemed far away, almost dreamy or was that bored? She wasn't sure and she idly thought her desire the touch the cage could be due to the fact that it was peeking out and should probably be rescued. There was no other logical explanation for why she reached out otherwise.
With a press of her fingertips and the intention to right the cage she pushed. The glass enclosure didn't budge. Instead-
The world swung sideways and her magic flared. Heat, unbearable and vicious, whipped through her limbs as if summoned for war. Her heart was a jackhammer, a rattling pumping organ that ached as her lungs tightened and her fingers-oh Merlin, her fingers-twitched and spasmed on their own, clutching the sides of the cage with a strength she hadn't known she had. Her breath left her in a rush but she seemed incapable of capturing it again. In the span of a few moments she forgot how to breath, how to function. She forgot she had limbs, a mind, a body. She forgot she had flesh, an identity, a purpose. All that she was, all that she felt she could be, was magic. Pulsing thumping magic. Wild and without direction.
And it was ecstasy.
There's a screech nearby-a bird in a cage-and a yelp of discomfort and fear-Henry, perhaps-but it was all inconsequential. She was magic, and magic held no care for effects and actions. It only cared for feeling, for intent, for feral brutality and thirst. This magic, her magic, was starving and stirred and nothing mattered in that moment except finding some sort of release-
A scraping sound rattled in her ears, and then a crash while the cage in her grip began to literally crack and splinter. The glass trembled as the magic that had created it tried to hold, but it was nothing in comparison to the heat that she held, nothing compared to her mindless force, and it shattered easily with the rest of the construct once the magic was free.
Then suddenly she could breathe again. Her chest heaved and her lungs worked hard. She could feel sweat drip down her forehead, feel it slip past her lids and sting her wide-open eyes. Every nerve felt raw, too warm, while her skin felt too tight and off-this was her body, wasn't it? She had a body, didn't she? Because she was a witch, a human, a being of flesh and muscle and bone not energy and wilderness.
She stumbled back as a voice called her name, worried and high-pitched, but her attention was focused on the weight in her hands, the hot large egg she clutched between them.
And the fact that every single cage in the room was now loose from their slots, floating freely and without proper order and direction.
"Aaah!" Henry cried out, with open mouth and hands that pulled at his cheeks. There was chaos all around him, haphazardly floating cargo and a mess of shattered glass and broken chairs. Narcissa stood among the carnage, her expression somewhat serene among the obvious damage, but her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted in the beginnings of a smile more malicious than congratulatory.
The fancy cabinet with its firewhiskey was no more, the enchanted tea-pot lay slain and leaking at her feet, but Narcissa looked like a goddess at the center of the bulk of the wreckage, enjoying the sacrifice that was Henry's sanity.
"Oh, Merlin no," While Hermione wallowed in confusion and embarrassment, "I am so sorry, I… have no idea what just happened."
She hoped Henry could hear the sincerity in her voice, could place her fear and guilt, but he was a frozen statue of mortification as the animals raged around them, shaking their prisons with enough force that Hermione wasn't sure if the magic holding them in would hold.
Narcissa's twinkling laughter, so playful and innocent, seemed completely out of place but it soothed some tight worried portion of Hermione and her grip on her pilfered egg eased. "I'm sure Henry understands, don't you, Henry?"
He didn't respond when Narcissa gave him a light pat on his back nor did he respond when Narcissa carefully withdrew her wand and moved it with a casual flare to force the hovering cages out of her path.
"Hermione, my dear." Narcissa cooed, sounding incredibly pleased. If Hermione had doubted Narcissa's dislike of Henry before, she didn't now. "What have you found here?"
No voice came forth when she tried to speak so she merely lifted the egg toward her current caretaker.
"Ah…" Narcissa murmured. "How pretty."
Hermione thought the thing rather ugly, actually. Nonetheless, she'd grown attached to the watermelon sized egg, that much was certain.
Narcissa gave the egg an experimental tap with her wand and Hermione tried not to let the tension that ripped through her shoulders at the action be seen.
"Stop." She demanded, unsure why she felt so uncomfortable with Narcissa's careless action, but the other woman only deepened her smile.
"We'll take this one then." She called over her shoulder but her gaze, a gaze that reflected a hunger so painfully familiar Hermione sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, was focused entirely on her.
"B-but… the shop." Hermione whispered.
The other woman leaned forward and easily matched her height as lips brushed against her ear- "It will be taken care of."
When she leaned back Hermione finally opened her eyes only to peer at her prize.
"Narcissa-"
"It's time to go-" She interrupted, lifting a finger to press gently against Hermione's lips. "We have what we came for."
Before Hermione could speak again, Narcissa hooked her arm within her own and called out playfully—"Goodbye, Mr. Castlewater."
Then they were gone.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Hermione could hear Bellatrix laughter from her place within the library. Her vicious cackle more than enough to make her shudder and clutch her quill a bit tighter as she tried to recount her experience in Mr. Castlewater shop with enough detail and proper recollection. Immediately, upon arriving back at Malfoy Manor, she'd been told to write down her 'episode'. That had been easy enough, but having to relinquish the egg they'd taken to Narcissa had been… difficult. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off the other witch as she created a safe and-warm, Hermione had told her, it had to be very warm-heated enclosure. Yet, as soon as Narcissa had carefully placed the egg's new cage in her quarters some jumpy portion of her had settled.
Perfect.
Then it was down to the library and the frowning Bellatrix who wondered what had taken so long in a loud and condescending way. Narcissa had been nice enough to tell Bellatrix about their visit in the hallway as not to disrupt Hermione's retelling as she scribbled away. Either Bellatrix found the entire story, and Mr. Castlewater's pain, delightful or she found Hermione's accidental bout of magic pathetic enough to cackle about.
Hermione certainly didn't understand why she'd lost control. An enchanted cage shouldn't have been strong enough to trigger a complete breakdown of training and expertise. She was not eleven, far from it, nor had she been emotionally strained during her encounter. So why… why would her body suddenly decide that touching a cage was a catalyst for social disaster?
Not to mention the sounds she had heard in the shop itself. The sounds that had led her to the cage, she supposed, or had been stopped due to her distraction. She wasn't sure about the answer but figured she'd write it all down either way.
"Pet," Bellatrix sighed from the doorway, though her exasperation was fake and her body language far too relaxed to be disappointment.
She knew what Bellatrix looked like when she was disappointed. All fire and brimstone and lashing storms.
"Yes, Professor." Hermione said with tight voice.
The other woman only snorted softly, somewhat irritated by Hermione's proper address but it had done very little to lessen that demanding air about her.
"You took your time."
"Not intentionally." Hermione answered carefully.
Bellatrix gave a slow lick of her lips, an action Hermione couldn't help but watch, "So you say."
"It's the truth," She swallowed somewhat anxiously, "Nothing called out to me."
"Narcissa begs to differ."
Hermione doubted Narcissa hardly begged, "I'm not sure what that was about, if I'm honest."
Bellatrix took it upon herself to saunter over, her graceful stalk doing nothing to lessen Hermione's anxiety, but she knew this game and had played it before. Beyond their makeshift classroom, in between Hermione's other lessons, Bellatrix often took it upon herself to keep her company no matter how much Hermione scowled and sneered. She was used to this… this odd form of courting, these strange tense preliminary stages where Bellatrix poked and prodded and Hermione snarled and reacted.
Where she sometimes relented, where she let Bellatrix infect her sensibilities and dampen her logic.
"I'm teaching you to feel," She'd say, this demon, her future betrothed
And that was what she'd wanted, wasn't it?
So, it was difficult to repress her tremble when Bellatrix slid onto the couch beside her and even more so to keep her breath even when the older witch leaned over to rest her chin upon her shoulder.
"Something has changed," She whispered, warm breath against her neck, words set to tickle her ear. "I can feel it, I can smell it. The magic. It's trapped beneath your skin."
"Impossible," Hermione said, breathless. "It's… impossible to smell magic, to see it-"
"So foolish… Perhaps your juvenile notions and poor Light understanding of magic have told you so but that isn't the case." Her hiss was right against her neck, her lips so close to her fluttering pulse. "You will learn this not from a book, girl, but from me."
Hermione swallowed and sucked in a deep breath, "Impossible."
"It doesn't matter," Bellatrix growled and that was enough to pull a soft sound from Hermione, a sound that spoke little of fear and only of unsatisfied fervor. Bellatrix soft response of interest thereafter was quickly covered by her words. "You'll care for the egg either way, won't you?"
"Yes," Hermione sighed, lost for a moment in the touch of Bellatrix hand as she placed it against her thigh, "but I don't even know what it is."
"That is a problem," Bellatrix murmured, but she clearly cared little about it. "You'll solve it."
She didn't have a choice, to be precise.
They sat like that for a while, Hermione with her trembling hand as she tried to flesh out her grimoire passage as she wrote against its levitating form and Bellatrix with her exploring fingers and lightly scratching nails. It was soothing, despite the mild pain they caused from a pinch here or a scratch there and she was lucky that the cloth of her pants kept her captured thigh safe for the most part while Bellatrix curious breath blew patterns through her tangled curls. It wasn't until the other witch gripped her in a rather hard manner that she jerked and drew in a harsh breath.
"Bellatrix," Hermione growled, swallowing the building rolling desire to cause her pain, to squeeze something too hard on her company and watch her bow to the sensation.
"You have something that belongs to me, pet." Bellatrix hissed, but there was mirth in her threat.
"What," Hermione scowled, irritated by the interruption, and confused by the statement.
"Don't play ignorant, girl." Now the hand upon her thigh reached out across her body, tickling fingers that sought out her writing arm and gripped it possessively. She tugged it forward, drawing the quill slightly across the parchment to Hermione's extreme displeasure but the sudden sensation of teeth biting into her earlobe silenced any complaints she might have had.
With a careless motion, Bellatrix easily manipulated her arm and without much flare used her other hand to pull back the sleeve and reveal her marks. With a departing playful tug to her captured earlobe Bellatrix sat up as if to get a good look at the work done upon her flesh. She seemed enchanted by it, the Dark Mark that lingered above the crude and cursed carving that once proclaimed her former status. It was but one of many scars she'd maintained from the war, something that only filled her with a numb sensation of acknowledgement once upon a time. Now though, now whenever she saw it she wasn't sure what exactly she felt. Disgust, fear, trepidation? None of those words quite expressed the sensation that curled through her belly or the heat that pounded behind her skull. Now, whenever Bellatrix breath caught her own did as well.
"Bellatrix…" She mumbled, throat dry and voice soft. She'd meant to put more conviction into her statement, more anger. She lacked the ability to do so, just like she lacked the ability to pull her arm away.
The older witch sucked in a deep breath and soon her other hand was tapping along the Dark Mark-inspiring little tingles of pleasure, soft blossoming notions of pride, of loyalty, that she tried to swallow past and ignore-before it rested fully on her scar.
"That night, when we shared something very intimate," Bellatrix wore a rather odd smile, one that dripped impious fascination, "and your little friends came to save you. You took something from me then, two somethings…"
Bellatrix leaned forward and that prompted Hermione to lean backwards, to escape her, to not be drawn into the darkness of her tone or the storms that brewed in her gaze. But eventually there was no more room and with the arm of the couch digging into her back and Bellatrix hovering slightly over her front she felt… trapped.
"My knife, girl," The woman purred, her face so close, the heat of her body nearly unbearable, "and my wand."
Hermione lifted her free hand and attempted to press it against Bellatrix shoulder as she turned her head and tightly clenched her eyes. Yes, the wand, the wand she'd been forced to use up until the Battle of Hogwarts. The knife she'd carried despite the fact it had slaughtered Dobby. Even then some part of her, some twisted angry part, hot with rage and grief, had wanted to use it against her. Perhaps, she'd thought, in her most private of moments, she could carve into Bellatrix with as much meticulous care as she had done to her. But the wand had been a different story, something she'd had to use after her own had been lost to her. Something that had felt wrong in her grip as it fought her, tried to fill her up with metaphysical oil and suffocate her magic right before it sputtered and-
"Where are they girl? My precious things?" Bellatrix's whisper was harsh against her ear, demanding, oppressive. "I know you have them, beloved. Give them to me."
Her breath came in pants but she managed to sputter-"S-silver box."
She wasn't sure why she gave away that information. Wasn't sure why she'd even kept the tools she'd stolen after she'd been released those odd six years ago. Maybe, back then, nobody had cared. There'd been too much work to do, too many Ministry officials to kill and replace. To many laws to twist and ideals to express. One former Golden Girl—The-Boy's Mudblood, they'd called her, those quick turn-coat Aurors, stripping her of her name and value-with no power and no direction and dead friends could keep whatever she'd found, they must have thought. And Hermione, well she'd had no hope, no desire to fight, only to die as she rotted away in that cell with her haunting thoughts and the stench of the dead thick on her robes.
It wasn't until her release, when she'd slipped from her cage and the world hadn't burned, that she'd found a fierce desire to live and to hoard. That was why she'd kept them, that was why she'd made the silver box, and when she'd been allowed to purchase a new wand she had found herself unable to get rid of it. That box had haunted her for a time but soon that too had been forgotten.
But Bellatrix, she never forgot.
"Silver box?" She repeated, only pausing in speech draw her moist tongue across a trembling neck.
"My room." She gasped with narrowed eyes. Bellatrix teeth were becoming a distraction, one that nibbled and nipped along her pulse, threatening to bite just a bit too hard, to free the life trapped there.
"Within the manor? Not back at that filthy crate you once called your home?"
Hermione tried to find the strength to be offended-she'd liked that 'crate', it had been safe, secure, hers-but such things seemed irrelevant once Bellatrix fingertips began to tickle along her ribs.
"Yesss!" She hissed, "Upstairs… G-get off."
This was all so very very improper.
However, Bellatrix seemed to neither care nor bother with any sense of appropriateness.
"You did then, you kept them?" There was slight surprise in her tone as she leaned up and away from her, only to straddle her shortly thereafter.
The weight of her, the heat of her, even her smell, was simply too much to easily deny and Hermione found her hands-now free-soon full of the skirts bunched at Bellatrix hips. "I did."
They were silent together, Bellatrix peach-toned hands exploring the darker flesh of her slightly exposed belly, toying with the very edge of the scar tissue Hermione had maintained from her near-death experience at the Battle of the Ministry. While Hermione relaxed and half-hearted tried to tug her rising blouse down and over whatever Bellatrix kept trying to touch.
"Good girl," Bellatrix whispered, her tone thick with predatory elation, but Hermione only shivered from the praise and did her best to repress a crooked smile.
The sudden burning of the Dark Mark helped with that.
"Ow!" Hermione bucked slightly, her brow pinched and her teeth on display from a scowl she didn't bother to hide.
"He calls!" Bellatrix whispered, throat tight with feverish worship.
"He-he calls?!" Hermione responded, mildly panicked.
"He calls, he calls, he calls!" Bellatrix sung, her tone playfully immature, her song thick with fanatical intention, and dripping gluttony. "Quickly, quickly!"
Hermione barely had time to rise from the couch once Bellatrix rolled off her and onto the floor, all giggles and ferociousness, like a god preparing for slaughter.
Bellatrix snatched up her hand and then they were gone with only Hermione's squeak left to echo in their wake.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The pop that announced their arrival from side-apparition was barely audible. Any envious thought generated by Bellatrix expert ability was soon washed away by the unnerving sensation of her body coming back together right behind her navel. She swallowed harshly and blinked the watery blur from her vision, reminding herself that she still had all her toes and all her fingers despite the world tilting sensation of magical rearrangement. Bellatrix, in retrospect, seemed entirely unaffected by their travel method and she was quick to guide Hermione forward through the darkness toward Morgana-only-knew-what.
"Are we still in the manor?" She croaked, not necessarily happy about being led blindly toward what could have been her orchestrated doom. "Because, if so, we could have walked here."
Bellatrix only respond was a grunted- "How cheeky." Before the room was sharply bathed in light.
Bellatrix grip on her shoulder tightened and Hermione barely had enough time to raise an arm to shield her eyes before the burning sting of too much white tingled across her retinas. After a time, she finally lowered her arm, happy to see that the lights had dimmed down to a tolerable level and that the room itself was absent of any unnatural oddities-such as dangling chains or living floors. Though, that didn't make it any less spectacular to behold.
"This way," Bellatrix motioned, prodding Hermione along until her feet moved her forward again. Out into the open, out toward the elaborate long carpet of deep scale green that cut a path down the center of obsidian floors. Out toward the immaculate throne of bone white stone draped in furs of grey and black. This was not some cozy and intimate space, ornamentally decorated to wow and awe polite company. This was a throne room, a space to hold court, a throwback to a time where Muggles bowed before Lords and the law was dictated by one lone being.
How incredibly fitting.
They stalked as one down the length of the carpet, down toward the empty throne and it's raised dais but paused right before the center of the room which was host to a stone pit that held glistening black coal. There Bellatrix left her, giving her some time alone as she prowled about with childish giggles and ever widening smile.
"Magnificent, is it not?" She whispered, but Hermione was yet able to reply. Her eyes were watching the walls, the way they seemed to pulse and ripple, gently moving the hanging banners that proudly displayed Slytherin House colors and emblem.
When she found her voice, she stammered a reply, not surprised by the echo that bounced around her- "I suppose."
"Normally we'd sit over there." Bellatrix came around the other side of the pit and motioned toward a collection of raised couches that were strategically placed on either side of the throne in carefully marked boxes as if this were an opera-house theater and not a place of business. "Only His most trusted, right at His side."
While Hermione held her narrowed gaze upon the couches Bellatrix had managed to sneak upon her and soon she was subjected to the woman at her back, to the full length of her body pressed tightly against her and her nose buried among the tangled locks of her hair. Despite their difference in height Bellatrix fit snuggly against her, none-to-bothered by the extra three inches Hermione lorded over her.
With tilted head and a slight shiver Hermione listened to her whisper- "When the unworthy come before Him on bended knee we watch, waiting, hungry, contemplative. It's all so exciting, when there's judgement to be pass. You see, we get to decide. We're His counsel, His precious Wizengamot."
Hermione gave a nod of understanding, her eyes wide as she finally took in the overall purpose of the space. Though the layout had changed-if barely-the room was still the same in structure. High benches had been replaced with but a few couches on three floors that surrounded the immediate area of His throne. The rest of the area was open, just empty space for the general public to gawk like vultures. To crowd around with frank curiosity or austere expressions while His Inner Circle looked down on them all from the political safety of their appointed boxes, their procured seats giving them more power than any one man should maintain.
This was His courthouse in the bowels of The Ministry.
"Come now," Bellatrix whispered, her voice strained with excitement. "Let us take our seats."
"O-our seats?" Hermione squeaked, a reaction due to Bellatrix particularly rough poke into her side.
"Yes girl." Bellatrix hissed, agitated perhaps by a lack of initial reaction before she gave Hermione a hard shove in the direction of the right-side of the throne.
"I… I don't have any seats!" Hermione babbled.
"Of course you don't, girl. Not yet, but soon. You're the Head of your House, after all."
"But I'm no noble." Hermione grunted, forced to step up onto the small staircase that led to the second and third floor of the three layered boxed seats.
Bellatrix made a sound of mild disbelief, and that was all the answer Hermione needed.
"Don't give me that. I'm just-"
"Granger, here now, hush girl." Bellatrix interrupted, perhaps fed up with her ignorance. "I thought that Lovegood girl would explain this to you…"
With pinched brow Bellatrix gave a tap on one of the boxed areas. The door swung open with a small snap, revealing the plush interior within. Green carpet-typical-a small see-through globe hosting a suspicious brown liquid in a long-flared tube with a trio of glasses, and a long black couch that looked rather uncomfortable this close.
"Take off your shoes. Quickly now. Sit."
Hermione wasn't sure why she was being rushed. No one was there yet but, she did as she was told, quickly removing her simplistic flats before taking a seat on the couch with rod-straight back and hands folded upon her lap.
Oh.
She was wrong, the couch was incredibly comfortable-
"A cushion charm goes a long way, pet. I'm glad you've noticed." With a huff Bellatrix flopped onto the couch and pressed against her side. "You'll need more time with Cissy, she's better at explaining these things."
"What things, exactly?" Against her will Hermione found herself melting into the warmth Bellatrix provided, even as they sat alone in what must have been some elaborate courtroom in the Ministry.
"Things like this," She waved a hand toward the overall space, "Political things. Boring things."
"You think political intrigue is boring?" Hermione couldn't help but smile.
"Unnecessary," Bellatrix sniffed, "I'm a woman of action, you know. His word is all that matters, no one else's."
Hermione gave a snort at that, finding blind obedience to be… an inconvenience at best.
"However," Bellatrix hissed, having caught her petulant stare, "I appreciate the point of considering differing opinions."
In a crude slouch, Bellatrix extended her arm, resting it against the back of the couch as she grinned rather broadly. For one split moment Hermione saw clarity, a deeper understanding swaddled in madness, a startling amount of intelligence twisted toward the benefit of something darker.
"Stagnation is born from a lack of creativity and progression, and eventually, any one person can run out of both. A likeminded collective with a mixture of ideals but an underlying foundation can help build a stronger empire." She tugged lightly at Hermione's hair, causing her to grunt, but not from pain. "He respects more than just our individual talents and skills, though I'm certain it pleases Him that we are also unquestioningly obedient and efficient with our craft."
She slowly licked her lips, a stunning part of Bellatrix features Hermione once more found her eyes draw to. Yet, the words that came from them still held her attention, even as she wondered how soft they might have been. "I follow Him because He is aware that some of us, not all of us-" Here she sneered, nearly gripped by some intangible memory- "are intelligent and that is not an aspect of our being he'd allow to go to waste just because we submit and bow."
"He cares? Truly?" Hermione found that difficult to believe. "He cares about-"
"Power, efficiency, and our traditional structure, which appeals to the magical community thus maintaining the order and control He seeks. Yes, girl, but that doesn't make one incapable of comprehension and understanding."
She wanted to ask more, to really understand the information Bellatrix was trying to impart to her, but the woman had moved on leaving behind ideas that the Dark Lord was not inherently selfish.
"And it's that understanding that allows Him to control a group of the most powerful witches and wizards of this time."
Including you.
Hermione jerked, her breath trapped and held within tight lungs, but the idle brush of Bellatrix mind against her own seemed to fade as quickly as it appeared.
She exhaled, "He understands that a curse or two will keep a witch or wizard in line. That fear-"
"Is best used for the trash that cannot accept change and order. Discipline is not inherently evil." Bellatrix whispered, right before she nuzzled along Hermione's collarbone. "And you know this… you felt it."
The only answer she managed was a shudder and a sharp gasp.
"But enough of this… We don't have much time."
"For what?" Hermione gasped.
"A short lesson. A very short lesson." Bellatrix sat up abruptly, leaning away from her neck, which seemed to be a very attractive part of Hermione's body if Bellatrix lingering attention there was anything to go by. "You are currently seated in the Black and Malfoy box."
Clearing the idle thoughts from her mind she looked around their space. Besides them, where a small barrier might have been, was an open space that led into the box there-something similarly decorated.
"We occupy the third ring-that's the title of this floor, girl-closest to the Dark Lord on His right side. Do you understand what that means?"
With a quick click of tongue against the back of her teeth she responded- "We're important."
"More than that-"
"We've collected an abundance of political power based on the combination of our House seats. Furthermore, by being on His right side, that sends a signal to others that our word is of far more importance than that of, say, some other peon on this left."
Bellatrix smile was brilliant and welcomed, even if it represented nothing kind. "Ah, so you are the brightest witch of your age."
Hermione scowled and flushed red, "Don't patronize me."
"Hush girl," Bellatrix cooed, but it was clear she felt no remorse after her teasing. "The levels don't mean much. Malfoy is just fond of looking down his nose on the less than fortunate. It's the closeness to our Lord that's important."
Bellatrix tapped a finger on the front of her box before she pointed at the couch slightly below them- "Snape." She sniffed, less than pleased but there was little maliciousness in her tone. Hermione had a feeling Bellatrix was not as irritated by his existence as she made out to be.
She then casually listed a few of the Inner Circle and their place in retrospect to her own, skipping over a few boxes that had emblems but, presumably, hadn't been occupied in sometime. Ultimately, their current side only held nine boxes, boxes that could be rearrange, combined, expanded, or divided if needed and only three were currently occupied by permanent residents. Malfoy and Black at the top, Snape below them, and the rest of the boxes without assignment-only the odd but unexplained emblems. Meanwhile, on the left, the majority of the Inner Circle who had managed to gain seats of nobility were placed, along with a family or two of great importance.
"Parkinson Sr. is over there, second row, right above Greyback." Bellatrix laughed softly at some unspoken joke before shaking her hand and motioning toward the throne-"Meanwhile, the Minister usually stands on the second step of the dais to the left of the Dark Lord. Otherwise, he can sit in his box on the bottom row, closest to His throne."
Hermione was grateful for the quick lesson, anything to ease her ignorance- "And my own seats?"
"Yet to be earned, I assume." Bellatrix smiled none-to-kindly, "But when they are…"
Her growl was enough to pull something low in Hermione's belly, to inspire a wave of liquid fire that was drawn from her quickened heartbeat to settle comfortably at her core.
"You will combine them with the House of Black, furthering our status."
Bellatrix breathy whisper seemed to indicate so much more than just a combination of house seats- "So why am I… allowed to sit here now?"
"I'm courting you." Bellatrix deadpanned, as if that were the best answer possible to provide to Hermione's inquiry. "And you are His Chosen. He wouldn't have you stand among the crowd like a common trinket."
"And what of-" A loud pop to their right made her swallow her words. For a time, it had seemed like only they would occupy the large courthouse and despite its massiveness it had afforded Hermione an illusion of privacy. Other than their lessons, where imparting information about the Dark Arts was a mandatory imperative, Bellatrix wasn't one for such insightful conversation. Even now Hermione could see her desire to speak further about houses and political importance fade as irritation rapidly consumed the most serene expression she'd ever seen her company wear.
Damnit.
"Could you have been any more disruptive, Draco?"
Draco brought with him the scent of sage and lavender, an odd combination but one Hermione chopped up to a rapid and sudden summons interrupting delicate potion construction. "I apologize, Aunt Bella, I was rushed."
"Sit." Bellatrix spat and without hesitation Draco plopped on the couch on his side of the combined box. "You're late to boot."
Draco opened and closed his mouth for a moment before he squeaked—"But no one else is here!"
Bellatrix pursed her lips and Hermione tried not to giggle. She didn't giggle.
"That is peculiar." Bellatrix started, but soon a rapid series of pops invaded the space.
Lucius Malfoy was the first of them, appearing besides his son with a flourish of robes and fingers tightly gripping his cane. Snape was next, appearing in his box while turning at the same time to lift his gaze and address them in theirs.
"There's a problem," He said, and Lucius gave a tight nod in echo of the statement while Bellatrix sneered.
"Of course, there's a problem," She motioned to the mark upon her arm but Snape only narrowed his eyes in respond, in no mood for sass.
"Don't toy around, Bella." It was odd to hear her nickname fall from Snape's twisted up lips, but it was enough to garner her attention- "He's called a great majority of us and-"
The sound of appearing Death Eaters and Ministry officials nearly overshadowed the soft pop of Luna as she apparated into the combined box before them then promptly took a seat right on Bellatrix lap. For a moment, as if startled, Bellatrix jerked, but soon enough she was frowning and using her good hand to distractedly toy with Luna's hair.
Hermione, on the other hand, was startled enough for them both- "Luna!"
The Ravenclaw smiled in her usual distracted fashion, "Hello Hermione, Lady Black. Sorry to interrupt."
She squirmed a bit as if getting comfortable and Bellatrix only tilted her head as Hermione's companion made herself right at home, "I've news. Get ready for judgement."
Now Bellatrix quirked a brow and glancing over Luna's shoulder she barked out, "Snape?"
"Don't look at me like that." Snape snapped, "Ms. Lovegood is correct. She was there, in Thicknesse's office, when it happened."
Hermione reached out a hand, placed it against Luna's arm and searched the serenity that made up her friend's unusual calm facade. "Luna? Please?"
With a quirked brow and a soft sigh Luna said, "At the Ministry, he came to them, broke in. He said he was worried, that he had information. They summoned Yaxley-"
At the mention of that name a loud pop echoed throughout the chamber and Yaxley himself, in a cloud of black smoke, moved forward. With nose up and a sneer already in place he spread out his arms and motioned to the gathered collection-"Clear some space! Create a barrier!"
The Death Eaters present began to lower their hoods, revealing faces she would never forget. Gregory Goyle stepped forward, his disposition hardly different, though he seemed more muscular than she had ever seen him. He was the first to take up what appeared to be a practiced formation, quickly followed by a stumbling laughing Greyback and a stern-faced Walden Mcnair whose pursed lips were turned up as if he'd swallowed something sour.
Others were appearing and moving to set up the human barrier, familiar and unfamiliar faces creating a wide circle with wands drawn while Hermione looked on in wonder and her blood rushed with the stirrings of excitement. It was surreal to be on the other end of this, to watch from the high seats of ancient nobility and high ranked Death Eaters. Her grip upon Luna only tightened and while a part of her wondered curiously-and honestly, not without a bit of envy-about how comfortable the group seemed in their places of importance, she couldn't help but feel a part of it. Soon Death Eaters looked to the stands and gave their respectable nods of acknowledgement. Fenris, with his wide and unnerving smile. Goyle, with something odd and gentle in his expression as he gave their group a shy wave…
This was not the first time they'd gathered here together, in a manner like this. She could tell from the robes some of them wore, from the fact they were dressed like Aurors and not like spoiled nobility, that beyond the walls of her former home the world had still turned and people had grown serious, competent...
"What's happening?"
"They are going to bring him to trial." Luna responded, right before she lifted her hand and placed it against Hermione's own. "And we will watch them pass judgement. The others will vote."
"On what, exactly?" Hermione asked, just as Thorfinn Rowle and Antonin Dolohov appeared, with the latter sending a wink in her direction, a wink that made Bellatrix snarl in warning and Hermione cringe in disgust.
Luna only frowned at the display before patting Hermione's hand gently, "You'll see."
Hermione swallowed nervously and leaned back in her seat, wondering when and if Bellatrix would find Luna's weight upon her lap a hindrance, but she merely kept her gaze upon the center and the gathering people there with one hand brushing a thumb back and forth across Hermione's shoulder and the other twirling a strand of Luna's blonde hair about her fingers. She looked perfectly at home.
Finally, after the Death Eaters were in place, the boxed stands to the throne's right began to fill. A man Luna introduced as the father of Theodore Nott popped into place first, lips pressed thin and a crystal glass of red liquid in hand. In the box above him appeared Goyle Sr. A few other men popped into place while some of the seats remained empty but by then Hermione's attention was back at the center floor and Luna had long since stopped introducing them.
"Umbridge..." Hermione sneered, her voice unrestrained in its contempt. She flared her nostrils and tried to settle her twitching hands but the hum of her wand, warm against her arm in its holster, and the memory of their last meeting woke some slumbering yearning within her to hurt.
Luna only smiled while Snape peered at her curiously and uttered, "My sentiments exactly, Miss Granger."
"Patience," Lucius whispered, his fingers occupied with stroking the top of his decorated cane.
Bellatrix was oddly quiet, watching the widely grinning Dolores with all the intensity of the obsessed, while Draco, scowl in place, bobbed his knee up and down in an anxious manner with a muttered 'soon'.
Bellatrix wordlessly mouthed the word as well.
Somehow, knowing that this group of people held such detestation for the woman who had done insult against her name and blood soothed something in her. If only that hunger would ease as well.
"Make room for the Minister," Dolores bellowed, her voice causing many to jerk and cringe, especially the poor few occupants that were currently sharing her immediate space, "Make room-"
"Quiet you insufferable-" Yaxley began to hiss, spittle flying past his lips just as Thicknesse popped into the space.
"I'm here, I'm here." He was ruffled, literally. A mess of wrinkled robes and wild hair as if he'd been ambushed by a wandless ruffian. "No need for all of that, Dolores."
He stomped forward, shoulders drawn in tension, his hand moving to shove Dolores toward a small uncomfortable straight-back chair. "Sit."
"But Pius-"
"Best do as he says, wittle Dolores. Wouldn't want you to get hurt when they bring in the big bad wizard like last time." Bellatrix yelled, gaining her attention, and bringing a few chuckles from the attending audience.
With her face as red as a fire-salamander she turned to glare at their collection, only to gasp, as if affronted, by the sight of Hermione.
"You!" Dolores cried out.
"Me!" Hermione mocked, placing a hand upon her chest and having little trouble dredging up a look of absolute abhorrence.
The still chuckling crowd did nothing to ease Dolores discomfort.
Pius sneered and shoved down hard, forcing Dolores to sit within the chair in a flutter of brightly colored robes and a sound of offense. "Would you behave for once, Dolores?"
"What is she doing here?" Hermione heard Dolores hiss, to which Snape replied-
"She is His Chosen. She has proved her right to be here."
"And... and among his seats? Does she have that right?" Here Dolores trained her gaze upon Bellatrix, as if she could cow the wild woman with a look of scathing disappointment.
"Are you trying to chastise me? On things you know nothing about, ickle Dolores?" The hand that had been idling playing with Luna's hair came to a pause and despite not reaching for her wand Hermione knew that Bellatrix full attention was threat enough.
"She has that right," Lucius spoke, his commanding bellow enough to make Dolores jerk in her seat. "She gained such when she successfully showed our Lord the Cruciatus. I believe... on you, in fact."
Like a puffed-up fish, Dolores prepared to explode, humiliated among a crowd of laughing Death Eaters and allied nobility.
"Dolores!" Pius barked, forcing her to swallow her next words and pay attention to her employer. "Focus!"
Then, with a wave of his wand he summoned a parchment and quill and barked at her to record the session. That did not keep her from glaring in Hermione's direction, unfortunately.
What did keep her from glaring was the sudden commotion that took place at the center of the room. Of the tumble of apparated limbs and shouts as five figures landed in a heap before the fire pit.
There was a muffled yelp at the bottom before two figures untangled themselves from the wriggling pile. Two familiar figures, who flopped backwards on their arses and scooted slightly away from the chaos created by the remaining three.
One sneering and ruffled Pansy Parkinson and a snarling panting Lavender Brown.
"Stand back, join the circle, give them some room!" Yaxley ordered, and immediately the two women continued to create space between themselves and the struggling bundle as they quickly gathered to their feet and joined the circle. For some time, they all watched, Hermione straining to find anything familiar about the wrestling figures while the other Aurors kept their wands trained on the tangled collection. Soon enough two of the figures broke off and managed to grapple the third until he was face down against the ground, wild red hair plastered with sweat and blanketing the face of the now captured man between them.
Familiar red hair. Long and unkempt...
"Yoohoo," Bellatrix catcalled and two crazed faces lifted from glaring at their captured prize to smile broadly in their direction.
The two faces belonging to one Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange.
She felt their eyes upon her, felt Rodolphus frown slightly with focus despite the slight struggle of his prize beneath him but all too soon he was smiling, something mischievous, something hungry, something absent of normal thought.
"Hello, love," He panted out, using a hand to slap against the back of the head of the red-headed man so that his face was pressed uncomfortably against the shiny floor. "So nice to see you again, shame I'm a bit busy here."
"She wasn't saying hi to you, dear brother." Rabastan panted, face blotchy and flushed, "Clearly, she was saying hello to me."
There was something awfully terrifying about watching them interact. Something horrifying about the idea that Rodolphus still lived and seemed rather jolly for a man who had been separated from his wife. Bellatrix, in retrospect, looked downright ecstatic to see them and her smile was brilliant when she turned it upon Hermione.
"Have you seen her? My pretty beloved?" Bellatrix asked, fully intended to have a conversation with the brothers while they fought for control and Yaxley growled in annoyance.
"A treasure, so lovely." Rodolphus replied with a grunt as he absorbed the impact of a flailing leg.
"We should have tea sometime-"
"Will you all please take this seriously?!" Pius crowed, his voice high-pitched as he yanked at the tie around his neck in a manner more crazed than casual.
"Ah, he's right." Yaxley mumbled, before he motioned for the men to lift the man to his feet.
As he wheezed and jerked, he finally spoke, his voice… his voice- "It was an accident! This is all rather unnecessary! I'm only acting in self-defense. Self-defense!"
"Silence" Pius yelled, "Before my wand has an accident and-"
"That's enough."
The fire at the center of the room suddenly came to life. Sparking and crackling with enough force that heat spewed across the room in a frenzied wind. The green flame towered up and above them, splashing across the ceiling with its fanfare and Hermione found herself pressed tightly against Bellatrix to avoid what she was sure would be a few wayward tongues of fire meant to bathe the crowd.
No such thing happened but Bellatrix seemed delighted by the extra heat and Luna made a curious sound of pleasure.
Soon enough the fire settled down, twisting, and writhing until it took the shape of the Dark Lord, who stepped from the flickering flames with a shake of His robes. As He moved toward His throne the silence grew thick with the gathered authority breathless until He took His seat, graceful, patient, refined-
"Show me his face…" The Dark Lord spoke, His chilling tone like so many cold fingers against her back. His voice enough to make her heart race, to make her muscles twitch in the memory of that night when she had given Him her confused devotion. It was enough to make every being in the room seem inconsequential, and for a moment there was only Hermione, Him, and the possessive grip Bellatrix had on the back of her neck. That was enough, enough to anchor her, enough to drag her deeper down the rabbit hole of His political control, until she felt as if Bellatrix was Him, and He was her.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts, to focus as Rabastan harshly gripped the back of their captured prey's face only to yank it back and reveal the strained expression of-
Bill Weasley.