Sorry for the wait. I was a bit nervous about the chapter. I hope you enjoy.
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They would not allow her to see them. Her prisoners, her claimed trophies of flesh and blood. They had decided to have them shuffled off to the dungeons, diverting Hermione to the Malfoy library via a hard-gripped Bellatrix instead of the receiving room proper, where the child, and the Tonks had been quickly and quietly gathered to no doubt be prepared for their transport. It was maddening, the idea that she could be kept from those she had saved-or damned to the emptiness of solitude and darkness. It was clear she wasn't pleased, it was in the tension that tightened her shoulders, in the fury that sang in her blood-
"They are mine by right, mine by suffering!"
But Bellatrix would have none of her petulant mood, with her gaze so black it seemed endless and her grip so tight her entire shoulder ached. She tried to wrench away, tried to escape the confines of the library, but Bellatrix was an all-consuming force, a being of strength that she shouldn't have held. She continued to direct her body with all the ease of someone good with managing the crazed-and oh oh the irony of that!-and all too soon Hermione found herself roughly shoved onto the nearby couch and pinned beneath the weight of the woman who refused to let her have what she wanted.
But what did she want? Her mind was a spiral, stuck on the circular thought that if she could not see them, then they would disappear. Only Bellatrix, with her heavy breathing as she sat promptly on her lap and the way her hands slipped from her shoulders to her wrists and pulled them away from her wand holster to pin them to the back of the couch, kept her in place and from sinking further into the obsession. Suddenly, her focus was divided, settled partly on the angry throb of her reacting scar, with its heavy thump thump thump of agonizing sensation, and the oppressive weight of the older witch leaning over her, hovering-
"Up, up!" Hermione snarled, "And let me be, demon!"
The words flowed from her without control. Logically, though her chest felt tight with fury, she knew something was… off. Something was twisted. She jerked and writhed as a restless energy swam throughout her being and good sense slipped through her fingertips like so much sand. Was it adrenaline that made her arch and pant, and Bellatrix growl and grind against her, or was it that something more that made her skin feel flushed and her very core so hot.
"They're mine," She gasped, as Bellatrix leaned over, her laugh so husky and deep, "all of them and… and-"
Would they hurt them? Or would they give her a chance to ask her questions? To demand to know what the slick controlling feeling of the house was? To get the haunting hum of pleasure out of her veins and the grotesque beauty of the raid from her mind.
Then, it clicked-"S-something is still wrong."
Again, Bellatrix laughed, and something clenched below her belly as liquid warmth swam lower and settled, returning that pulsing tight need back to her still slick core.
"It comes and goes," Bellatrix whispered, the tickle of her breath upon her ear enough to make Hermione shiver as her mind shifted gears from thoughts of ownership to the need to be possessed, "you need to be settled."
Hermione parted her mouth to claim that she was settled already, but her thoughts fought through cotton, flexing between a madness that seemed to ooze from her scar and liquid-clarity that oozed from her core.
She clenched and opened her palms and tried to breath past the conflict that raged in her mentality. "I'm fine, I'm fine." She steadied her voice, tried to sound less needy in her tone, more in control. "W-when can I see them? M-my prisoners?"
She tried to also remain calm and hold onto her moment of lucidity, but Bellatrix was still grinding against her, a slow seductive rock that wasn't very helpful. Her body had begun to squirm, to buck in a poor attempt at getting more friction-at feeling Bellatrix flexing thighs and her no doubt heated sex-when all she really wanted to do was escape.
"They're mine," Bellatrix hissed then, right before teeth nipped at her ear hard enough to make Hermione twitch and barely suppress a whine. "I will see to them first."
Such a statement was almost enough to make Hermione screech and rage again. Instead she swallowed another sound of strained desire, distracted by the impelling dance of Bellatrix lower body. There was no denying her allure, no denying that Hermione and the older witch by proxy, were still caught in a tightening web of battle-lust and awakened magic, magic that kept trying to strangle and drive Hermione's consciousness to wildness.
Teeth slipped along her skin again, marking her neck with raised and reddened flesh. The pain slipped up and down her spine, merging with the heavy throb of her arm and the pulse of her sex. A complaint was on the tip of her tongue, or a plea, or… or-
But then lips that were once sucking so harshly at the elegant arch of her throat were suddenly upon her own again, pressing, pushing them apart with an expert manipulation and stealing her breath away as an agile tongue swept across her own. She gasped but found her earlier ability lacking as Bellatrix put so much pressure on her arms to keep her stationary and ground down so firmly against her lap, teasing her, torturing her, with heady stimulation. No amount of clumsy kissing with Krum or The Red One could have amounted to even one of…these.
So, her raving was silenced, replaced instead by heavy breathing and softer sounds of submission as Bellatrix released her lips only to press against them again… and again, soft then hard until the wild howling in Hermione's mind began to ease to a low hum and the ache in her scar became something more. Magic slid across her skin, leaving a tingling itch in its wake. She could feel Bellatrix so plainly then, feel beyond the heat of her thighs and the unyielding weight of her body. She could smell Bellatrix heady perfumes and the crisp scent of something woodsy while that needy tug and pull of her magic left her scorched and bewildered. It was like someone else was in her mind, filling the back of her head with concepts both incoherent and understandable-and laughter, so much cackling laughter that made her tremble in thundering need.
Then she was released, left to pant and shiver while Bellatrx made an odd sound of victory in the back of her throat and finally, finally, released her arms from their cage of power. Instead, Bellatrix hands moved to the side of her neck, caressing, stroking flushed skin and then down, down to her ribcage with ticklish motions. They explored for some time, examining bruises and small cuts, toying and pushing Hermione to the edge of pain with tingles of pleasant magic-high sensations… but then her hands were gripping her arm, the arm, stroking as she cooed and seemed pleased over that damn scar.
"Stop," Hermione whispered, but her voice was soft, weakened by desires' sweet aches.
Bellatrix ignored her, instead mumbling softly about propriety as she slowed her rocking motion that had left them both yearning for more.
But Hermione would not let the silence settle around them, "What have you done to me?"
Bellatrix was quick to reply, "Claim you." Her smile was vicious, some strong hungry thing, "my curse, my carving, all of them working together…"
"You poisoned me," Hermione said, eyes fluttering closed, "you tortured me."
"I cursed you," Bellatrix corrected, intense and nearly breathless.
When Hermione opened her eyes to catch Bellatrix gaze she could feel it, something perverse that curled through her own gaze, something loathsome that brushed her mentality. Her breath caught, her throat tightened. It was there, inside of her, a growing fiendishness. Another's thoughts, so deeply entwined with her own that she wouldn't have ever discovered it if she hadn't… if she hadn't craved something beyond her mediocrity.
"There it is…" Bellatrix whispered, "waking up."
Hermione couldn't hide the sickness in her eyes, she couldn't keep the shared madness at bay.
"It would have come eventually. Strong magic. Strong action. Strong emotion. Need…"
She'd been a walking host of darker magics all along. Tainted. Touched. "W-why now. Why can't I…."
Breath. Think. There was only the ache. Only the hum of yearning. Only the restless curl of her magic, eager and ready to be used again. More and more and more. More power. More freedom. Just more.
"That house…" Bellatrix began, before she snorted and shook her head, as if the powerful heinous state of the Tonks residence meant little at the end of the day. There would, undoubtedly, be others to investigate its state once Goyle and Zabini dealt with any garbage left behind.
"I'll die," She felt feverous, melting.
"Dramatic," Bellatrix purred, "you'll evolve."
Slowly Bellatrix began to rise from the couch, and Hermione had to repress the vicious urge to reach out and yank her back into position, "It'll ease. Soon. But never leave. You're touched by magic. Real magic, and you still have much to learn."
"The Dark Arts isn't-"
Bellatrix snarled, "The Dark Arts is everything. True magic, the heights of which you haven't begun to even taste."
Hermione swallowed harshly.
"But He is patient and you will learn."
She lowered her gaze, searching for the guilt that should have been beneath her breast, there from her kill and mayhem. Instead, she shivered, "It was so… lovely."
His death. The knowledge that she'd caused it. The beauty of his expression-that mix of agony and surprise at her triumph right before life flickered and vanished-would haunt her, she knew it, but it also drove her. She wanted to see that again, to experience that power and the thrill of battle. She bit her bottom lip to repress a groan.
Bellatrix only rumbled quietly, that ravenous sound and gaze so… possessive. "Yesss…"
The older witch took a shaky breath and then continued, "I will give you more, I will feed your power…"
"I really shouldn't do it again."
"You will."
Then, with a soft huff and a smug smile she tossed a look over her shoulder, "Lovegood."
Hermione jerked slightly and took a wild breath. How long had she been there, in the threshold, watching them?
Luna moved forward with arms behind her back, her eyes impossibly wide and shiny, and yet they too seemed clouded with… desire. "Yes, Madam Black?"
"Exercise your right."
Luna gave a slow lick of her lips, something that looked impossibly sensual and yet entirely to casual, "Then breakfast, of which Lady Malfoy expects you attend promptly at the seventh croak of the seventh peacock."
Bellatrix gave Luna an exasperated, but no less smoldering look, as something silent passed between them, something Hermione tried to catch even as her thoughts began to turn to mush again.
Still, eventually, Bellatrix broke their communicative silence, "Yes, then breakfast."
Both their attention was upon her suddenly, and Hermione rose slowly, "Breakfast? But my prisoners, my…"
Luna smiled slightly and approached, her steps slow and calculated in a manner that seemed almost… predatory, "Soon."
Then, with one arm wrapped around Hermione's neck and the other about her waist Luna apparated them away.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The sickening sense of being side-alonged without much prep must have been Luna's intention, for as soon as Hermione stumbled into the space, with a sound of immense displeasure-a snarl, her own wicked little snarl-Luna was upon her.
Well, upon her was a strong way to state it. Luna was near her, pushing her onto the bed, tripping her up with a graceful near accidental movement-
"Oops," she'd said.
And then she was there, pressed down to the covers, with another body upon her, warm and heavy and wanted. Wanted so strongly that the ache-that had never eased, not truly-surged with newfound hunger. She reached her hands up, mindless, gaze wide and empty, and sought flesh. Luna let her have it, let her grab her dainty waist and tangle them up further, even as something small and overpowered screamed that this was… wasn't proper. That she belonged to Bellatrix. That she was sure she belonged to Bellatrix.
And yet-
"It's fine," her voice was a panting whisper, a tickle of heat against her ear that made her tremble, "this is our right."
Luna, soft and so yielding. Luna, who giggled a bit when Hermione growled and rolled onto her side with her, their legs tangled about one another's. Luna, who wordlessly and effortlessly began to divest her of her battle-garments while she panted, a mess of need and dizziness.
"W-what… what does that..." But soft lips were nipping at her shoulder, so gentle in comparison to Bella's own bites of ownership, so teasing. They drove her questions out of her mind, scattered them beyond her grasp as those teeth and lips moved lower, over fabric that was there one minute, then gone the next.
"So many cute scars," Luna commented, her fingers tracing patterns across her shoulders, finding untold stories of past-horror in the raised tissue there that was suddenly so sensitive.
Hermione shivered.
"I belong to you," Luna said suddenly, holding Hermione's trembling body in the grip of her strong thudding magic. She felt... ensnarled, bound tightly by Luna's will and the spiraling wisps of darker silver that churned like shifting stars in her gaze. She was enraptured, inflamed and pulled by that gaze, by the kaleidoscope of colors that seemed all at once vivid and dulled—so many silvers, sometimes twisting into pale blues or odd violets, but never with a sense she could follow and never settling on a color that claimed normality. "Just as you will belong to her. All at once the same, and not."
Hermione found it difficult to trail that reasoning, not when Luna's hands were in her hair, pulling back her head with a gentle, yet firm, claim to dominance, "I am yours, and as yours, I will guide you, help you to become hers."
She gave off a sigh as Hermione moaned, a sound of lustful bewilderment, "My right… my right is to keep you sane. It's all very… standard practice. Very proper. Traditional really. Our Lord will be so proud of you, Hermione."
Had she been in her right mind, free from Luna's weight and the way her hands swept across, under, then around her breasts she might have asked more, begged to understand the how and why of pureblood culture, the specific statement that claimed Luna could touch and tease without retribution. And yet, she knew, somewhere deep within her addled mind, captured still by Luna's passive ability-was it legilimency that aided her? That let her know just where she needed to be touched?- that being a companion to her was so much more than caring for her accounts.
"That's right…" Luna hummed softly, a breast captured in her hand, her tongue teasing across the hot pulsing tip, "this is yours. I'll give it to you… this skinship."
Then she was enveloped, pulled into a hot mouth that suckled so gently, pumping more of that magic and heat along her flesh until she was arching and keening, her heart rattling against her chest, her blood liquid fire that pooled low beneath her belly and turned to slickness between her legs. The way her tongue flicked across that one spot, the spot that had begged to be touched, that ached from sweet ecstasy, was nearly enough to make her forget the fact that she was being purposely distracted by her long-time friend.
A friend that belonged to her. A friend that hummed pleasantly against her skin, moonlight perfection against the deep rich brown of her flesh. A friend whose magic seemed to sing with joy at their connection, a connection that pulled her own forward until it pulsed beneath her skin with enough power to make her sex clench with the sort of heated desire she just couldn't fight.
"Pleasure is very bonding, you know," Luna suddenly whispered, hot breath across her hard nipple, the hand that held her breast gently squeezing, kneading her, driving her to rock ever so slightly, involuntarily, against the body between her thighs, "lust and pleasure make you soft, so I hear. The magic core, it's very exposed then, manipulable. I can touch you, your magic. It's so much easier to feel you now, the real you. Thumping right beneath your skin, calling to me. It's so stimulating, so commanding..."
She sighed dreamily before she gave her nipple one last flick, inciting a soft moan and gasp, before she moved further down, untangling herself with a strange grace and expertise from Hermione's desperate and possessive grip, only to draw that tongue past the scarring that ran there to the top of her chest and into the cavern of her belly button and focus there, for just a teasing moment.
But it wasn't until Luna made a curious sound and drew dancing fingers through the well-managed and perfectly maintained hair above her pelvis that she gasped and jerked, panting, so hungry.
She was drooling between her legs, aching with a deep throb that called all her focus to that single point. She parted her lips, gasped out a - "Please…"
Only to be shushed as Luna sat up, just a bit, in order to spread her legs, "I've got you, my Lady."
Hermione shivered, her spine tingling, as Luna's unexpected tone of affection and adoration swept over her, through her, stirring something dark and wild within.
Then she whispered, voice low and soft, almost wicked- "It's time for worship."
She didn't resist. She could barely breath as Luna lowered her head between her legs. Idly, some small part of her screamed that this was dirty, that fantasy and reality would be a vastly different experience. That part was overwhelmed by the heavy hum of her desire and the magic that urged her to submit.
So, she did.
Warm hands wrapped around her thighs, firm and real. But it was the gentle breath that came from Luna that captured her focus and held it. All her senses, every last thought, was suddenly upon the heat that came from an open mouth. On the tongue that tentatively flicked across the tip of her throbbing clit before it pressed more firmly. Air escaped Hermione's chest in a whoosh and just as she prepared to draw more in she felt… she felt-
Lips drawing around her swollen clit, pulling it into the warmth of Luna's mouth and…
"Oh…" Hermione arched just slightly, only to feel Luna's growl of warning against flesh, and the added pressure of a nip to her most sensitive space. She knew, almost instinctively, that she was being told to settle, not to rock so impatiently against the exploring tongue that pushed and played with her clit or the soft teasing pressure of those lips as she sucked but…
But her body was no longer within her control. Her blood ran hot, her skin was flushed and sweat-slicked, her magic singing-wrapped so tightly around Luna's own.
She tried to speak, to say a number of things, to ask why her magic felt so heavy within her own skin. To demand why Luna's seemed so in control. She wondered at the heady thickness of pleasure, at the humming in the back of her mind that warned of raised magic and building spells but... But it was all so irrelevant compared to Luna's gentle sucking between her legs, to the flick of that tongue that slipped up and down her slit to tease her entrance before returning to her aching tortured clit.
She was becoming undone, swept away as Luna began a slow increase of pressure and attention. Fingertips that had once been wrapped around her thighs were soon exploring, reaching down to give a harsh almost possessive squeeze to her arse before one hand repositioned itself over her pelvis and the other…
Oh yes, the other-
The other was pushing, teasing, slipping just past the entrance of her weeping slit to tease the inner walls there and make her clench and throb.
And it was all so very seductive, if not incredibly controlling, from the warm pressure of the hand upon her that practically radiated heat as it stroked her skin, to the lips and teeth that manipulated her toward greater heights of ecstasy. She was so wanting that it hurt, but each inner ache of her body only carved into her being a greater need for the sweet touch of such pain.
But then that exploring finger, that had been playing with her sex and her sanity, shifted forward-
And her moan was low and thick with her urgency.
If Luna had said anything to her after that, she was barely aware. She was focused entirely on the motion of the finger deep within her belly, on how it slipped in and out before it was joined by another, filling her, stretching her… She couldn't take it, not after being wound up, not with the scenes of battle and lust and Bellatrix in her head.
Not with Luna's soft sounds of pleasure vibrating against her clit.
Not with their magic, joined in it's odd dance, lashing at her hotly in an intricate way so ancient and old that she nearly forgot she was flesh and blood and a thrall to her desires. That she had been anything at any point other than power, ability, and pleasure.
Something grew deep within her. Something that radiated completion and need. She was so wound up, so full-
And it all felt so so good. Too good to resist, too good to question, as the ball within her got tighter and tighter and tighter-
She broke then, swept up by Luna's gentle touching, overcome by the sudden release of pent up tension, heat, and magic and her soft cry as she came was almost startling, a sudden noise over the softer sounds of overwhelmed pleasure she'd made earlier, sounds that had been interrupted by her heavy quickened breathing and Luna's own sighs of content.
She was frazzled, melting, dizzy. Her mind was shifting through cotton as a bone deep exhaustion curled through her, mingling well with the warmth in her belly and the idle spasm of her sex around Luna's fingers. She closed her eyes as she caught her breath, as darkness tried to blanket over her consciousness and Luna sat up fully between her legs. Nothing need be said, she didn't fight or complain as her companion turned her over onto her side and began to manipulate them both under the blankets. It gave Hermione just enough time to realize the carving in her flesh had eased back into slumber while the Mark churned out a sense of twisted joy and content through her blood.
She didn't realize she was making an odd sound until Luna-who moved hands over her sides and began to tickle her spine-whispered into the darkness.
"Hermione?"
Hermione huffed softly, barely aware of much else other than the warmth of Luna at her back and her touch as she dipped her hands lower and lower until fingertips were applying pressure right at the base of her spine-
Merlin, yes, right there, right there-
"L-luna?" She slurred, arched just slightly as she nuzzled deeper into a pillow.
"Did you realize," the dreamy one mumbled, teeth nipping gently at an exposed shoulder, "that you're purring?"
Heat flooded her cheeks.
Oh, yes. That. She… hadn't known she could still do that.
"Polyjuice incident. Second year." She smothered her face further.
"I see," Luna said pleasantly, right before she began to knead the skin of her hips while rolling circles near the dip of her back with her thumbs, a motion that made Hermione gasped out as her spine tingled and heat began to flutter in her sex. "But Hermione…?"
Hermione squirmed a bit more as those fingers grew bold again, abandoning her back to squeeze her arse before they slipped up and around her belly to clutch at her breasts. "W-what… what, Luna?"
"I'm not done."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Breakfast was a strange and tense affair.
Hermione figured it was due to the unmentioned company they'd put beyond her reach, the exhausted expressions on the faces at the table-well, oddly enough, she felt somewhat refreshed but she blamed that on the odd magic and things, Luna had done to her-and the child idly swinging her legs as she picked at her eggs.
Narcissa was next to her, stiff and silent, cutting up thick bacon into smaller pieces for her, the child named Victoire. Who was owner to a dull gaze and lackluster blonde hair somewhat tangled and damp from what had no doubt been a generously given bath. She hadn't realized how hollow and small the child had been back at the house. Seeing her here, now, merely mimicking human emotion and action was odd. Wrong, somehow.
Hermione cleared her throat, nervously, "Hello Victoire."
The child glanced up from her plate, chewing slowly, but didn't answer.
On her left Bellatrix snorted, her hand possessively on her thigh, an action Hermione found herself unbothered by while Luna, on her right, chatted about everything and nothing to a barely functional Zabini.
"How is she like that?" Hermione heard Draco grumble, "my companion doesn't settle me like that."
Zabini twitched at his side, but otherwise smiled politely and remained engaged with Luna.
Ah, so it was normal, this… skinship shared between purebloods. She still had questions, but those could wait. The odd rumbling guilt she'd felt when she'd been stirred for breakfast had melted as quickly as it had appeared. Instead it had been replaced with curiosity. With an interest in the way her magic rubbed against Luna's own, in how she could flex it in a way that made Luna shiver…
In a way that made Hermione want to take back the control she'd lost to her…
But, she supposed she could focus on that later.
Hermione made quick work of the last of her breakfast, knowing Narcissa wouldn't release or talk to her until she did so, but she was unable to keep her attention off the child and her wonder of why she was there when the rest of them were-
"No questions at the breakfast table, pet," Bellatrix grumbled, sinking clawed fingertips into the pressed fabric of her slacks. Hermione could only growl in response, hands twitching as she repressed the urge to do the same back. It was somehow more difficult to control herself after the night before. That something in her chest, that rolling ball of intense emotion and hunger, had only been teased during the raid. Luna's gentle touch had at least eased the madness in her head, but it had awakened everything else.
"Get out of my head," she mumbled nastily.
Bellatrix only tittered, leaning over, pushing against her with such confidence and eagerness that Hermione's breath caught, "Still fussy, girl? Do you still need?"
Hermione only flushed and looked away brow furrowed before she huffed and turned her attention elsewhere.
Bellatrix rumbled, pleased at the small victory, only to jerk back and away from her when Narcissa turned cold eyes upon her.
Just what had happened while she'd slept?
"Victoire," Hermione tried again, keeping her voice soft and what she hoped was kind and not irritated, "do you remember me?"
Victoire paused for a moment, looking a bit nervous, before she turned and gave Hermione a bit of a smile, "The Wall."
"The Wall?" Bellatrix grunted out right before she took her wand, her true wand, and used it to stir up her morning tea.
"The Wall," the child repeated, before she bounced in her seat a little, "I asked the house to help. I asked the house and it said help was here."
Now the girl practically glowed, staring at Hermione with a bit of fervent admiration.
Hermione narrowed her gaze but remained pleasant, "My name is Hermione."
"Hermione Wall," the child replied.
Draco laughed into his toast.
"No, Victoire," Narcissa gently corrected, "It's Hermione Granger. She's very important and she saved you. She is not a gift from… that house."
Narcissa tossed Bellatrix a bit of a look, which the other woman returned by flashing far too many teeth. Apparently, someone didn't want to talk about the state of that house and what it meant.
But Hermione knew who would.
"The house was scary. It did weird things," the child suddenly blurted out, her tone eerily empty, "don't send me back there, please, ma'am?"
Narcissa reached over to pat her little trembling hand, "Of course not, dear. Finish your breakfast."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"I want to go. I want to see them."
"Impatience is not becoming of a lady, Hermione-"
"I don't bloody-Cissa, please," Hermione cleared her throat, tried again, while Narcissa stared at her with the sort of intensity reserved for savages and Muggles, "Narcissa. Madam Malfoy…"
"What is it, Hermione? Are you trying to soothe me?" Her eyes were narrowed, her magic pressed against her flesh, cold and irritated, but there was also mild amusement dancing among the exhaustion in her gaze. "Cissa. You called me Cissa. Then you begged… I sort of like that."
Hermione sucked in a breath then slowly let it out, unbalanced as she toyed with her hands. After breakfast had concluded they'd all shuffled off to attend to their specific duties, duties Hermione could barely comprehend at the moment. Instead, she had left the haunting call of research and Luna's gentle insistence about going to Gringotts to meet Narcissa on the garden porch. She'd been somewhat curious about her pensive expression and drawn brow as she watched the child-Bill's child-tentatively explore.
The white massive peacocks on the property didn't seem to like that, but Narcissa wasn't worried. So much so that she was now giving most of her attention to Hermione.
She wasn't sure if she was lucky or not in that respect.
"N-narcissa," Hermione whispered.
"Cissa," Narcissa whispered back, before she sniffed lightly and moved the intensity of her gaze back to the gardens and the child, who was now screeching as a peacock hobbled toward her, wings out and beak open.
At least she seemed more alive.
"Cissa," Hermione tried again, "you didn't…"
"Kill them? Hurt them? No Hermione, it's unnecessary, I told you as such. She's home now." Narcissa's shoulders were drawn, her back tense, "Not happy, no. But home. We can work on her. She's so saturated there's no way the curse wouldn't sway her…"
Hermione frowned, "Saturated? Curse?"
"It's…" Her words froze. Perhaps the older witch had said too much. "Shit."
Yes, she had said too much.
"I'd really prefer to not be punished, Hermione. Bellatrix has a heavy hand, when she's stirred up," Now Narcissa was curt, irritated, more so than she had been. She had a feeling it was because she'd cursed, not so much that she'd given something away.
"Bellatrix is out killing, scheming, begging the Dark Lord for power—whatever it is that she does when she is not haunting me," Hermione growled, "and I deserve to know, as a future part of this family, do I not?"
She was trying, oh how she was trying. She didn't want to be petulant, but the Dark Lord had given her this task and surely those bodies belonged to her even if Narcissa and Bellatrix were being selfish and hoarding them.
Then, one moment Hermione was stomping her foot to emphasis her point, and the next she found herself pressed up against the wall to the manor, her body caged between Narcissa's arms and the weight of her torso. Her heart rattled in her chest, her face felt flushed…
For being so chilling, Narcissa was so warm. Her body practically hummed with magic, with presence. She was authoritative, undeniable, in a manner so familiar to Bellatrix and yet different all the same. It reminded Hermione so painfully of her submission under Luna that she suddenly flung up her hands and pressed them-firmly, but not aggressively-against Narcissa's chest. She didn't… she wouldn't… be toyed with. Not again. Not when her body howled to be the one doing the toying.
"Ah," Narcissa mumbled, breath hot against Hermione's neck, "she's teaching you, isn't she?"
But Narcissa would not be denied and all too soon she had her more firmly against the wall, with a knee between her legs and Hermione, body swimming with the beginning stirrings of desire, prayed that Victoire had been chased further into the gardens.
As if sensing her thoughts Narcissa chuckled, "We're alone."
That didn't make it better.
"Let me tell you something, Hermione, and then, perhaps, I'll let you speak with my rebellious sister."
Hermione swallowed harshly, tried to think past the rapid nervous thud of her heart and the way Narcissa's whispers tickled her ear. It was only made all the more apparent by the way her hands, wayward and bold, began to draw themselves up the side of her body-
"I… I'm being courted by Bellatrix," Hermione gasped, "so isn't this a bit-"
"Improper?" Narcissa drew warm lips across the exposed flesh of her neck, "Hm... She really should decide what courting bauble she'll give you. Then we wouldn't need to… hold back."
And that did very little to ease Hermione's confusion or the rolling heat that shifted through her veins.
"You see, Hermione. Our family, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, is a vain and self-destructive thing. A collective of petty individuals, snakes-eating-snakes."
Hermione gave a soft sigh, the sound pushed from her chest as Narcissa's hands found the bottom of her jumper and-
"Yuck, really must get you out of these things," She said, distracted, before she continued, -
"We have manipulated, orchestrated, and perpetrated the distinct fall of several other witches and wizards, most of noble houses. Hungry for power. Passionate for ruin. That sort of thing. But then… then it began to turn inward."
Hermione made a slight sound of acknowledgement, her focus split between the way Narcissa's nails scratched at the scar tissue around her ribs and the story being weaved about her. She could envision them, Narcissa's family, starving and chomping at the bit for more and more and more--
Because it was what they were currently doing, what she was currently doing, with her trailing lips and naughty hands that slipped just around the back of her body, over her tingling sensitive-she sucked in a gasp-spine to slip into the loose-fitting pants she wore to squeeze her arse.
That couldn't possibly have been appropriate, to touch her in such a way, pureblood rules or not it… it couldn't have been-
But Hermione melted either way, cowed by Narcissa's aura of dominance and awakened to touch.
"Brothers murdered brothers, starving for control. Vaults began to empty, and birth rates began to falter," Narcissa said, her voice somewhat distant while her hands remained bold, "Our Lady Magic no doubt sought to cull us in our search for god-hood, but we were persistent, emboldened by the riches we refused to lose and disillusioned by the control we thought we held."
"I'm told Cygnus the First came up with it. A curse to sway his kin, a miracle to keep his head." Her lips were still for a moment, if only so they could be pressed against her rapidly thudding pulse, "But it was an infection, an oppressive wicked wilde magic that swam through our veins and spilled out in our blood."
Hermione took in a sharp breath, her gaze set to flicker from the blonde locks atop Narcissa's head to the empty-now eerily silent-gardens, "W-wilde magic?"
Narcissa sighed, but the sound was more curious than distressed, "You've so much to learn. Magic. Wilde. Untamed. Unplottable… normally. It's a gift from the Olde Ones… The Gods, girl. And our Lady Magic is the center of it. The Dark Lord, genius that he is-" And for some reason, Narcissa seemed more playful than reverent when she said such a thing, "believes that wilde magic is given to you, dear, the Muggle-borns, to turn them into Firstborns. You're a gift, lost and slaughtered bloodlines reborn."
"The research," Hermione mumbled, distracted by knowledge.
"Was based on that ideal, yes. That Lady Magic gave the Firstborns to us, the pure blooded, to cure our self-imposed infertility."
Hermione opened her mouth to ask more, hungry for understanding, but a pinch to her arse was enough to turn her question into a squeak.
"I digress," Narcissa mumbled, "we can talk of the Light's plan of line theft through ignorance-theirs and our own-some other time. All that you must know is that wilde magic, true raw magic, does what it pleases. Unpredictable. Fickle. And dangerous-
He gathered that magic and pushed it upon his kin. He weaved his curse of manipulation and found it easier to bond with family… in the biblical and political sense. There were no more plots for destruction of our own, we became fanatical in terms of familiar togetherness, and it became easier to wed cousins with cousins. Our love, our madness, knew no inhibitions."
And suddenly, it began to click…
"You controlled her," Hermione shuddered, "I-in the hall. When we left for-"
"-Oh yes, Hermione. I certainly did. I reminded Bellatrix of her duties through the pull of our shared… affliction."
"A-and you…"
"... The Black family is unlike any other you've experienced. Indeed, a great deal of us who worship the Olde Ways are not held back by… the moral implication of Muggles. We share, in all things. We are one, us sisters, through no fault of our own of course but because magic bids us to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" Here Narcissa paused as she slowly leaned back, her gaze a heated whip, "that we are one, three separate bodies…"
Her mind began to race, began to pick and peck at certain instances. At the sickening sense of magic so thick and potent and familiar. At the remembrance of soft conversations and the odd familiar mannerism the two Black sisters shared so easily.
"All pieces of the same soul, or so I'm told." Narcissa whispered.
Hermione had nothing to say to that.
"As our family gave birth to more and more beings, some Squibs, some stricken by the pressure of the magic dictating their actions, telling them they must obey… filling them with impulses that could not be described, with voices to soft and to loud, the hold of the curse grew stronger. It was a magical virus-don't look at me like that, I am aware of what a virus is, it's not a strictly Muggle ideal-mutating and forming in different ways, impacting our judgement, making us feral…"
"And then," Hermione whispered…
"And then Bellatrix was born. As wild as they come, a literal personification of passion and magic, Mother used to say. But something was missing-"
"Her sense…"
Narcissa chuckled, " A bit of it. She was a frighteningly intelligent witch-though in that respect, all three of us are-but she wasn't whole."
"Ms. Tonks-"
"Just as wild."
Hermione gaped.
"Surprising, isn't it? They were twins in nearly every way. Andromeda came a little more reserved, but she was easy to influence, and Bellatrix is very influencing. They clicked in a way unheard of, Bellatrix the warrior, Andromeda the tactician. But something was missing."
"You."
"Me." Narcissa confirmed, "The control. Only then was our circle complete, our soul whole. Once all three of us were together it was balancing. Mentally. Magically…"
"But-"
"-but then," Narcissa sneered, "Andromeda in her foolish rebellion broke our circle. Our power was somewhat stunted-oh, don't be so shocked. Bellatrix is powerful now but before… Well."
Nothing more need be said for Hermione to understand that concept.
"So, your house, your family, has a curse. It's impacted you three. It's a… a madness of sorts, an unhinging. It was built to keep brothers from slaughtering brothers originally, but when your line expanded those brothers became… became host to the slivers of the same soul, an aspect that wouldn't be extremely apparently until your birth."
Narcissa hummed, impressed with Hermione's grasp of her explanation, but she was no fool. Magic was extremely unpredictable as it was, let alone anything wilde and meant to bind.
"The curse would have also made it easier to… to breed with your cousins."
"It certainly eliminated the reluctance, I suspect." Narcissa murmured, "Thank goodness I have no experience to pull on."
But Hermione was scarcely paying attention to that. She was watching Narcissa, the softening of her gaze as lust made her warm and dreamy and the budding affection there…
"You feel what she feels…"
Narcissa seemed hesitant to speak then, or maybe she was distracted since her grip was still upon her flesh, "To a degree. Yes. I feel it. The strangling possession. The obsession with you. The need to consume you. It's all there…"
"W-what do we… what do I…?"
"It changes little." Narcissa whispered, "The Black family… no… Those of us who adhere to the Olde Ways have never held issue with bonding through touch. It strengthens the magic, binds our family. Sharing will not be an issue for Bella… we-Andromeda and I-are just extensions of her. Likewise, she is just an extension of us. She is just another one of my hands, and what do I care if my hands touch what is mine?"
She expected to feel cold. Insulted. Enraged. Afraid.
All that she felt was on fire. The hunger in her veins was a constant hum, a backdrop to a sudden intense greed that was almost out of place. For six long empty years she'd been alone. Chilled and weak. Now, now she was… so so alive. She was an empress on the edge of a nearly conquered kingdom and….
She closed her eyes, took a few deep breathes and Narcissa's twinkling laughter tickled her ears.
"That excites you? The idea that I belong to you just as much as Bellatrix will? That you belong to me just as much as you belong to her?"
"W-what of Lucius?" Hermione croaked, trying to contain the giddiness that twisted through her belly, "W-what of Andromeda?"
"Lucius is very aware of… the Olde Ways. Though, let me be clear, that those who belong to him have always belonged to me."
"A-and I?"
"Nonsense. He will be respectful and subservient. You are the head of Elevated House Granger and soon to be a Black. He will keep his very lovely hands to himself. Besides, he has Serv-"
She paused then, blinked, and shook her head.
But it was a bit late for that, Hermione's curiosity was peaked.
"As for Andy," Narcissa mumbled changing the subject as she slowly removed her hands from the inside of Hermione's pants and stood straight, recollected and the model subject of absolute decorum, "She will… feel whole again with time. The more of it she spends with us, the easier she will be to… control. We must convince the Dark Lord that she is ours and not the Orders if she is to avoid imprisonment for treason. You will help with that."
It wasn't a request.
"And Nymphadora?"
Narcissa turned away from her to step carefully down the steps, her destination obvious-the gardens and the child that had started screaming again within them.
"Is she not yours to train?" Narcissa said, distracted as she approached the winding vines and snapping plant life, "You are in need of vassals. Do what you must to tame her."
And then, she was gone.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"They told me you were dead."
Malfoy Manor was an interesting and unnecessarily labyrinthine delight. The unneeded amount of rooms and spacing was disorientating. Maybe it was the magic that hummed in the walls, thick and twitching as it caressed her skin or maybe it was by natural design, but the home held far too many corridors and floors that were kept for nefarious purposes.
"Who?"
Still, despite the layout of the manor she'd found this space easily enough. She'd followed the constant thud, thud, thud of other magic. The haunting whisper of something dark and bizarre. It clung to the space, held at bay only by the more benevolent wards embedded in the manor itself. She could feel it twined between her fingertips, raw, begging to be used in a way she couldn't properly comprehend. But it was more than that. It felt…
Addictive.
Just like that house.
"The Order… those that were left, at first."
The voice before her was tired. The person it belonged to even more so. She wasn't surprised by this. The space is oppressive. A simplistic cell with a small cot and-surprisingly-a blood red carpet at its center. It's a mockery of finery, all of it, including the single ornament candle flickering on the table against the wall.
But it's the massive plush chair in the cell, the only thing that looks remotely comfortable, that Andromeda is settled on.
And despite her exhaustion and the shadows that twist among her liquor brown gaze, there is something regal in her posture and appearance. Something beyond the tension and the ooze of that magic that filters out from her. One leg is crossed over the other, despite her tattered skirts, and her hands are linked together over her lap… It's almost enough to hide the fine tremble of them.
It was an admirable display, for someone who'd recently experienced the torture curse.
"Bellatrix-"
"No."
Hermione swallowed, this was the third time she'd been thwarted in her attempts to find out what Bellatrix had done to Andromeda upon their return. Hermione knew the signs when she saw them, she'd experienced them after all, but…
"How have you been, Hermione?"
She changed the subject either way.
"Dead," Hermione answered, leaned forward in her chair as she toyed with her hands, a habit that kept her mind moving and the temptation of drawing the magic about them into her being at bay.
"You too?" Her voice is empty, but it isn't cruel.
"Who else is… I meant emotionally."
"I see."
"What did you mean when you said-"
"It doesn't matter. I can't speak of it-"
"A spell-"
"-something like that," Andromeda interrupted, her lids lowered, a brow quirked, "It is good to see you again, alive. Even in these circumstances."
"The Order-"
"-You killed a good amount of them, didn't you?"
Hermione thought of the bodies, of the carnage done to the lower floor. She licked her lips and shuddered, completely aware that she wasn't disgusted but excited. She clenched her hands and gave Andromeda a shrug. "There are others, aren't there?"
"Yes."
Silence.
"The spell then."
"Or stubbornness. It's difficult for you to tell, isn't it? You aren't a Legilimens, they haven't taught you that yet."
Their cryptic conversation chipped away at her patience. That and the haunting press of Andromeda's tainted magic.
"They're going to kill you." Hermione went for bold.
"I'm ready to die." Andromeda went for chilling.
But…
"You're lying."
Andromeda sighed, a soft wistful sound, "I'm not sure that I am."
Slowly Hermione leaned back, brows furrowed, before she licked her lips. "Open up to me."
Andromeda gave a bitter snort, "To you? Death Eater Granger? Betrothed to Bellatrix Black?"
There's something… off about that statement. Something bitter and petulant. Exploitable.
"You don't like that-"
"-of course I don't like it," she spat, before she rolled her shoulders in a way that was meant to be disinterested but came off as a shudder, "She's dangerous, that woman-"
"-your sister."
"She isn't-"
"-she is," Hermione interrupted, gaze narrowed, no longer willing to play these idle games of half-truths. She had a job to do, a… a family to make whole and a vassal to train. She'd already made peace with her duties and there was so much work to be done.
She tried again, a different subject, "Your magic."
Andromeda grimaced, "Y-yes… what about it?"
"I can feel it, you know. What have you been up to, Ms. Tonks?"
Now she felt some semblance of control, of… of power. She felt it in the way Andromeda sat up straighter. She felt it in the way the magic in the space seemed to tremble, as if her prisoner was trying to call it back. Contain it. Control it. But she was sick in a way that she hadn't known, a way that Hermione was beginning to understand.
She's saturated, Narcissa had said.
She's saturated in something wilde.
"My life has been chaos ever since the war. An endless drone of nothingness and discontent. Of strict obedience and unfulfillment. There was no magic, no sense of living that made me feel the way I needed to feel. Not until I was brought here, against my will mind you, but I was still reminded that I was something instead of nothing during that impromptu trick."
"And you believe them then, the people who thought you worthless, a Mudblood-"
"I do."
The answer is startling for her company. She can tell by the way Andromeda jerks, in the sharp flare of her nostrils and the odd flicker of anxiety that shifts across her features… before she schooled them, returning to tired apathy.
Hermione continued, "I believe in His absolute power. In His authority to make them believe, to make them see my value… and they have Andromeda, more than the Order ever did."
She clenched her jaw for a moment, tried to swallow the rage the magic in the space attempted to stir, because it was hungry, latched onto Andromeda in such a way that seemed parasitic. They'd have to fix that, change that…
Or control it.
"He is… different. Nothing like we'd been told. Nothing like we'd been prepared to fight. We were lambs set to march and be slaughtered by wolves-"
"-you can't possibly believe that-"
"I'll believe what I see," Hermione hissed, "Tell me, Andromeda. Tell me about that house. About the filth they had you in. Who made the order to leave you and the child behind? Who made the order to let you wallow among that lunacy?"
Andromeda made an odd sound in the back of the her throat, a literal growl, as her magic flared, "Y-you couldn't possibly understand, Hermione. They told us… they told us you were dead. All of you. That those who hadn't fled at the end… that those they had captured were being slaughtered in the square."
And maybe a portion of that was true.
"And we were told that… that things were horrid. On fire. That the world needed us and that we needed-"
She choked up, her tongue thick, and she gagged. Hermione narrowed her gaze and Andromeda grew quiet, perhaps to circumvent the speech spell that prevented her from stating the truth.
"We had to stay hidden," She tested the phrase on her tongue, "We had to… the rituals… they were meant to make us stronger. They were meant to… bring…"
She paused again, snorted with slight frustration, "All they've done is made is so hard to…"
But she didn't finish her statement, this time of her own will. So, Hermione tried a different tactic.
"After the war I spent quite some time in, what I believe to be, Azkaban. My trial was held, I was released, and I was put back together. Barely." She closed her eyes and rolled her neck, calm, collected, lulled by the song of magic around her, by the response of her own as it lifted, just as wicked and curious to toy with the force that had greeted her in the Tonks house.
Andromeda shuddered, pupils shrinking.
"I was assigned a job, a purpose. Saint Mungo's Potioneer. My life was peaceful. I was left alone… before the announcement."
"I saw the paper. Hermione, they-"
"I'm aware of it. The hypocrisy… but what if it's true? What if I'm some gift dropped off by Lady Magic, by wilde magic, to be coddled and brought to immense power? What if my existence produces stability? Absolute and unshakable? Because, Andromeda, that's what we currently experience."
"Stability?" She whispered.
"Absolute."
"T-the papers…"
Hermione went silent.
"The ones they've given me, they don't match what we were told by surveillance. Weasley-" Here she jolted, surprised perhaps that she was able to say his name, and instantly Hermione knew she was speaking about Bill, "W-weasley said he was tired, that we might have a chance to assist with absolute change if we returned to London proper and adhered to the regulations in place for the rest of the community. He was babbling on about rebirth to-"
Now she choked, snorted, shook her head, "Some of the Order, but they dismissed his speech for desperation."
"Magical Britain has become one of the most thriving magical communities in Europe," Hermione added, perhaps unhelpfully, "He is not burning wizards, witches, not even Muggle-borns, in the streets. Things are different… but they are not awful."
She was content.
No.
She was alive.
And that meant so much more.
"I am not hurt, and I am… in a unique position to… control." Here Hermione licked her lips, her gaze upon her covered arm, upon the pulsing scar there that tingled ever so lovingly in phantom pain at the recognition, "And I intend to do that. I… want to do that."
Her heart skipped a beat at her own admission.
"I want to… control. I want to change things. I want to leave no magic undiscovered-"
"But all magic cannot be-"
"What is your alignment, Andromeda." Hermione interrupted, nose wrinkled, curious…
"My… I'm a Light witch, Hermione."
The magic around them trembled… laughter.
"I'm no longer a naive child, Andromeda. You are not a light-based witch. Not anymore. Maybe, not ever."
She closed her eyes, one hand clutching the other, "If you must know I was what one would consider a gray witch."
A dangerous combination, to be fair. A witch who dabbled in all sorts of foolishly classified magics, the stubborn hypocrite. But even then, Hermione wasn't satisfied with such an answer.
She twisted a hand through the space before them, saw glimmering tendrils of darkness among the flickering candle, "Was?"
"Was," the older witch whispered, "My magic is… what they'd done to the house made it impossible to… refrain from…"
"Seeking greater and more potent magic. That's what happens, doesn't it? They classify it as dark but I think it's more a manipulation of magics that can be beyond our control. It's power that can corrupt absolutely. It's addictive, inspiring, and dangerous to use because of the impact and the hunger that comes with it. But it is…"
Here Hermione paused to glance around them once more, to the tendrils that still clung to Andromeda's body and the magic that writhed on the ceiling, brought along by her very presence to the manor.
"I know what it is," the older witch interrupted, "I've felt it every day, every hour, ever since they brought all that… magic into my home. Magic I warned them was to volatile. To wilde to contain, to fickle to master."
And yet, Hermione felt as if… as if she had mastered it.
It was terrifying.
It was exhilarating.
She brought her gaze back to her hunched over company, who rubbed her fingers idly along the holes and tears in her garment while scowling at the mess. A Narcissa-born expression, Hermione thought. Cute.
She shook her head a bit, "Luna once told me we were sacrificed for chances. For would-bes that couldn't be. Something like that."
Andromeda spared her a glance, solemn.
"I think you were sacrificed too. All of you. To the magic in that house. To the sickness that crawled under your skin."
"I told them," Andromeda whispered, tense, "I could see it stirring Nymphadora up. I told them-"
"Once you start using that sort of magic it changes you. It digs under your flesh and makes your limbs move to its will. But there was something else already there, in Tonks and in yourself. Something that it woke up and you were too exhausted fighting that to fight it."
Andromeda jerked out of her chair so fast it was pushed against the stone floor. The loud screech of wood against cobble had Hermione up and on her feet at the same time, wand drawn as Andromeda approached the bars of her cell and clutched at the metal.
She looked… untamed.
"They told you?" Her voice was fast, almost panicked, "They told you about the curse?"
"Narcissa did." Hermione lowered her wand, but kept it palmed, "But there's something more to it. Something that goes beyond keeping siblings from killing their brother-heirs."
Andromeda licked her dry lips and her gaze shifted toward the ceiling, distant, distracted, "I didn't think it would spread to her, I thought maybe-"
"Your family has practiced dark magic for centuries. The automatic disposition due to their tampering is your affinity for dark magic. You can't resist it any more than I can, now that I've tasted it."
Andromeda sneered, a Slytherin perfect expression.
"Neither can Tonks," Hermione said softly, trying to calm the wild snap of Andromeda's anxiety. "I think… I think whatever was done to that house changed her. Changed you."
Andromeda chuckled bitterly, a rolling cackle that was far too familiar. "Oh. It didn't change me."
No, no Hermione supposed it wouldn't have changed her.
"It woke me. I'd been dead, just as dead as you I suppose, since I married Edward. Purposely, mind you, as I had nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. Dumbledore had offered safety and salvation from Father-as batty as the rest of them, that man-and I had to shed everything that I was."
She rocked back suddenly, away from the bars to pace toward the center of the cell and the beautiful carpet there. "And it became easier, easier to hide, to wait. I thought… no, I had hoped that eventually…"
She snarled, "But then, Hermione, they killed him! And he was mine. Mine to do with as I please. Mine to-"
She held her head, shoulders shaking, "T-this isn't me."
But Hermione knew that it was. Knew that her rage, her possessiveness, was some writhing locked away portion of herself. Her true self.
She struck, "Why did you… marry Ted Tonks?"
The laugh that echoed from the back of statue-still woman was haunting, "Oh… I loved him, don't you know?'
Hermione took a shuddering breath, felt the whispers of magic lick along her consciousness, "Don't lie to me. Don't you dare lie to me."
"You think yourself so perceptive?" Andromeda hissed.
She only stared, intense and patient, waiting.
Andromeda swallowed, perhaps unnerved, and began, "I was too ambitious. I thought myself cunning. More so than Bella, who thought her court of followers so infallible. But I? I'd had dreams, aspirations of leadership, of dominance. I was… I am a very smart woman, Hermione, but I have never been as astute as Narcissa and neither Bella nor I, have ever held any patience. I saw what Dumbledore… no, what the Gryffindors were doing, how they cultivated smart Muggle-borns-brilliant, Lily Potter was, just brilliant-and I wanted that. A different mixture of power."
She stepped up to the bars again, her expression focused, curious, and Hermione wondered what her own must have reflected. Eagerness, perhaps? Triumph at finally getting this apathetic woman to open up? To surrender?
"Hermione, dear," she practically purred, with a rolling curl of power that had her nearly swaying, "did you know that when I was in Hogwarts we played a game?"
"A game?"
"Those who followed the Olde Ways would participate. Oh, it's nothing they would have played in your time. Too wizard, too old fashioned, I once heard Dumbledore say… It was a game based on vassalage collection. On building a court. The Boy was never allowed to know of his holdings, did you know that? But maybe, if he had understood, you might have been his vassal, a part of the game. I think that, in some way, Mr. Ronald Weasley, knew what was happening and that he was—a vassal, that is. But, he didn't tell you, did he?"
A lump of ice formed in her belly and spread to her limbs gnawing at her consciousness at such an admission. She swallowed a hiss.
Andromeda released an idle smile, something almost unkind, reflected in the chilling shadows that swam in her gaze. "They called it, this game of ours, Venatus. Played traditionally before Yule hols or in the spring. It's to capture and to make subservient. A Hufflepuff is an… amazing witch or wizard, to be frank. They are loyal. Hard working. Dedicated, no matter the cause, and Edward was the most dedicated Hufflepuff I'd ever seen.
He was also the darkest, eager to learn and far too obedient for his own good. He was immensely interested in the Olde Ways and powerful to boot. It was rare to vassal a Muggle-born, but not unheard of. Dumbledore had just decommissioned the Wizarding Culture course but there were still viable methods to teach them and we were right on the cusp of prejudice where a Mudblood was good enough for service but not for anything else. And so… I hatched a plan."
Andromeda leaned against the bars, her forehead against the metal, eyes closed and lost in her history, "I wanted to cultivate and create a new bloodline. I wanted Edward to be my vassal, never my husband, but I would have been able to keep them both. The House of Tonks and the House of Lestrange. You see, I was betrothed to Rabastan and while tolerable he was a bit dense at the time, not creative, and a little too involved with the Dark Lord but I was hopeful that Venatus would grant my boon and that Edward, upon completion of the season, would be powerful enough and right thinking enough to be gifted to me. My efforts. My teachings… to pave the way again for Muggle-borns to gain their right to vassalage and the magic they kept being denied."
Hermione slowly approached and gently, she brought her hands to wrap around Andromeda's own as they clutched the bars. She shuddered, just slightly, as their magic connected, but soon relaxed as Andromeda's voice grew softer.
"He'd had so many of them and no one could see. No one could see that we were losing, that our culture was being absolved and claimed as barbaric because we were blind and devolving into idiots. A Muggle-born vassal would have paved the way for so much achievement… befriending one, teaching one… and they were so eager, some of them, to learn about the world they inherited, and nobody wanted to teach them properly."
Hermione made a soft sound of confirmation, afraid she'd break the spell that held them.
"And they hated us, feared us, Hermione, those under the banner of Slytherin. The political change this would have brought… the doors this would have opened for us, for my house was…"
She swallowed harshly, caught on a phrase, but not because of a secrecy spell but because it was painful to recount.
"But he, Father, found out somehow and I wasn't yet ready to present. And I was so… foolish, rebellious and wayward and oh so smart," she snorted, "I thought I knew what was best. I thought I could continue, wait out his rage, but I couldn't. I graduated on the run. From my problems. From my sisters."
She slouched slightly, shook her head, "That hurt so badly. The separation, the… the pain. I was weak, vulnerable, confused from the abrupt cutoff. That's when… he found me. When Dumbledore proposed I marry Edward because… because he loved me."
She chuckled, something sad and lonely, "but I am not sure if we ever loved one another. Not in the way that I… needed to be loved and he'd… changed. Dumbledore spoke so… ill of the magic, the dark, which had been a part of my very core. So, I changed. For him. For them. I gave so much of myself, for the Order. For my Nymphadora, and for security… security that never came and ambitions that withered away under the lies that were told."
After that it was silent, just the sound of their breathing, as Andromeda stared at the floor, empty, and Hermione held onto her hand through the cell.
"So, what else is there to give?"
"Enough for you to be wanted."
Hermione jerked back and away from the cell at the same time Andromeda did, though the other witch was now pacing the cell like a wild animal, hands gripped to one another tightly, her eyes wide upon their newest arrival.
"N-narcissa?" Hermione whispered as the woman toward her with a smile and a quick kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you, Hermione, for keeping my dear Andy company."
Andromeda grumbled within the cell, nervous.
Hermione nodded slowly, gaze focused upon Narcissa's own, which twisted with the fervent storms of purpose, possession, and the desire to be whole.
"To know the true reason you ran, the irony is painful." Narcissa tsked.
"Oh, hush up, as if you would have done any better, the beautiful princess of Slytherin."
"I'll have you know that my Venatus went incredibly well," Narcissa chirped as she gave a wave of her hand and the cell door slid open with barely a sound.
For a moment, Hermione was certain Andromeda would run, but she only retreated further into the cell, her magic drawing in on itself, detaching from the sickness that Hermione still spindled. Something was… off. Andromeda was… scared.
Hermione was incredibly intrigued.
"Your shields are down, Andy," Narcissa said softly, "are you going to behave now?"
The woman in question only pressed back against the wall and took a deep breath, face pinched in focus as she attempted to rebuild her mental walls. But Hermione knew it was a worthless gesture, there was too much of her true self revealed.
She'd wasted enough time hiding, hadn't she?
"Hermione, Luna has a task for you from the Dark Lord. She and Nagini will meet with you upstairs. It's time you were rewarded for your… efforts."
Fear and excitement crawled up the length of her spine and she croaked out "But-"
"Go," Narcissa softly interrupted, just as she stepped over the threshold of the cage, "I'd like to bond with my sister for a bit."
Andromeda said something in a hiss in what sounded like Latin or was that French? To which Narcissa responded swiftly-
"Language, Andy! You know better than that."
As the cell door slid closed Narcissa gave a shooing motion with her hand and Hermione was no fool, to keep the Dark Lord waiting, to fail to complete His task, would have been a sentence to agonies she didn't want to imagine. So, she turned to leave, nervous and curious but hopeful…
Even as the sisters' soft voices faded behind her, Andromeda's somewhat dreamy, and Narcissa's triumphant.
The future would be filled with freedom for all of them.