Hermione woke to the sounds of squawking birds and incoherent mumbling. Beneath her breath, uttered with an odd softness, Bellatrix hummed and held dream council. The warmth and weight that had enveloped her the night before was absent, replaced by a singular source that lined the length of her in the form of Bellatrix entangled limbs. In the stillness of morning it was difficult to determine where the smooth heat of her legs ended and Bellatrix began, but she didn't mind it. In fact, she found their joining to be pleasant in a way that was both soothing and wanted. Before her elevation she would have found the thought repulsive, the want to press her flesh against the flesh of the woman that had haunted her. But now…

Well, so much had changed.

As she drew curious fingers across noble cheekbones-soft and gentle in slumber-she thought back to a time that had come immediately after her release from Azkaban. Once, in the darkness of her issued rooms, while she'd waited for clearance from her mind-handler, she'd had a vivid and sudden memory. From one moment to the next her body felt foreign, a different unusual entity that was much to short and thin. In the span of a heart-beat she'd fallen into phantom sensation. She could feel her throat flex as she'd swallowed murk-thick potion, could feel her muscle ache, and hear her bones crack as they pushed beyond their current fleshcage-and then it stopped, just as abruptly as it had started.

At the time, with so much on her madness struck mind, she'd given her delusion no attention. It wasn't until she'd been released from her session that she'd pondered it and realized she'd experienced the phantom sense of taking a polyjuice potion. Of transforming into the then Bellatrix Lestrange, as opposed to remaining Hermione Granger.

Even now, the thought of it made her heart race. She remembered feeling it, a sudden heat-charged confusion and a driving maddening urge to do it, to polyjuice herself into her now free and roaming tormentor. She wanted to do it, to have power over a body that had held dominion over her own. To see it, to feel it, to hoard it in a manner where there would be no resistance. There, in a world run by Voldemort, she'd wanted to be Bellatrix with such startling clarity that she'd triggered some unfelt ward in a screeching festival of lunacy-and had been bound to her bedding for the trouble of it.

Now, far beyond the walls of the place that had meant to patch up her mind, she felt that sweeping buzzing heat again, but knew it for what it was. Some immoral need to wear Bellatrix's flesh and have it for herself. To explore and feel each curve and dip. To trace sharp nails around raised scar flesh and to hear her voice spill past her own lips, vulnerable and captivated.

She swallowed nervously. Those weren't proper thoughts to have, but there was something so wickedly devious in the notion and that alone was enough to tug at her mind.

And her magic.

And maybe that was why Bellatrix stirred beneath her careful touch. Pulled toward consciousness by the hungry curl of her power.

Beneath her breath, in a husky whisper Bellatrix uttered, "Pensez-vous que c'est sage?"

Hermione shivered, paused in touch, and repressed the urging by her magic to claim. "Are you speaking French to me?"

Bellatrix opened one eye, glazed yet frightening in its dilation, with the sort of grogginess afforded to the tortured, "No. Girl."

But she had been, for one brief moment, lost in the realm of her own consciousness, relying on a language that must have been as instinctual to use as the Queen's English.

Hermione let it drop, and in doing so swallowed the blanket of her magic that sought to spool from her core. In the following silence, the one eye Bellatrix had managed to open slinked closed with a deep exhale and her slumber continued.

"She'll be like that for a bit," Luna spoke, her appearance startling as she stood at the threshold of the open door. "While you slept Madam Malfoy quite aggressively fed her a potion of a thick and dubious nature."

Hermione ignored the thudding of her heart and sat up, unashamed of her state of dress. Luna had seen her in various states since her wrangling to the manor proper. In night shift or nudity, it seemed pointless to hide from her dreamy gaze. "What was it meant for?"

"Pain and tremors." Luna answered, casual in her admittance."The other effects of magic use are not so easily shaken. Though sleep can help settle the most of it. And so, unconsciousness too."

Understood.

"You've guests."

Hermione didn't object to Luna's gentle order, nor the alluring tug on her magic that she felt from her Companion. "Who?"

"A surprise."

Which meant that Luna did not know, or had purposely declined the knowledge from the elf that meant to fetch them.

It scarcely mattered. This wasn't the first time Hermione had been roused from bed, pulled by riddles into the unknown.

"I'll need some time."

"Thirty minutes and assistance." Luna rumbled, as she made nonsense motions in the air with a thumb. "Yes, we could do it here, I think."

"Do what here?" Hermione asked, barefoot and nude as soon as she stood.

Fuck!

"Luna!"

"This way, Hermione. Madam Malfoy has the most wonderful shower. All gold plates and snake heads."

Seemed anything but. Still, she marched, driven by the very thumb Luna had used to draw shapes in the air-a thumb now used to draw nonsense across her back.

"Fine," she huffed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione entered the library and found herself greeted by William Weasley.

For a moment she merely stood there, dressed in spider-silk robes with freshly done hair. It took her some time to perceive his presence. To understand that he was there, well and clean but with not enough fingers .

She opened her mouth, closed it, then grunted as a weight collided with her legs in the form of the small and clinging Victoire. That seemed enough to break the spell that had gripped him, the sight of his daughter rubbing vibrant cheeks against her pants.

"H-hermoine-" He stuttered, and shuffled from his spot, taken chair at a tea-ladened table that seemed to low to the ground. One for a child, Hermione figured. His.

But a hand came from behind him, belonging to a person far more imposing.

"Watch it there, Weasley." Words curled past parted lips in a chuckled rolling hiss, "It's Lady Granger, isn't it? How awfully familiar of you."

The man nearly buckled beneath the weight of the hand that held him steady, but Hermione knew it was the person and not so much the hand that held him frozen.

"He's fine." Hermione croaked, throat tight and words uncertain. In reality, she wasn't sure if they were fine. If William would forgive her foray in the dark, despite his own surrender. "Let him go, Lestrange."

At William's back, Rodolphus tittered, an oddly honey-spiked sound. It was enough to make William wince as his grip tightened.

Hermione swallowed, but she was not afraid. It was surprisingly, to be face-to-face with her betrothed former husband and feel… nothing. Maybe it was the comforting weight of the child beneath her steady hands, or the heavy thud of magic that buzzed beneath her skin.

Maybe it was the crooked and off-handed smile Rodolphus gave her before he released her companion.

She liked to think it was confidence that came with conquering.

"Absolutely, my Lady." Rodolphus said, right before he gave William a shove in her direction and returned to the corner of the room's space. Clearly, he was there more as a guard than a guest, and seemed content to be so.

Fine with her.

"William…" She started, then cleared her throat as Victoire gave her a particularly hard squeeze, "Bill."

He approached her on uncertain footing but Hermione made no moves to shield the heaviness of her being. Let him see what she'd become. Let him acknowledge it. It was her that had moved to save his child, through the blessing of their now shared Lord and it would be best neither of them forgot that.

"Hermione. Erm, Lady Granger-"

"-Don't." Hermione interrupted, "Hermione is fine."

She'd demand her worship when Bill wasn't so awkward.

"Hermione," He started again, before she extended a hand-the one without enough fingers.

"What happened to you?" She blurted, brows furrowed as she stared at his offered hand and space where there once dwelled five but now stood four. "Where is your pointer?"

"Gone," Bill said, hard but sturdy, "penance for my crimes against the Minister."

She tossed a quick glance to Rodolphus, now occupied-or pretending to be-with the small child sized tea-set on the table. She narrowed her eyes.

"Lestrange?"

"My Lady?" His answer was immediate, husky and reverent. There was respect in that tone, if a bit playful. The maliciousness she'd expected to spill from a man now divorced was completely absent, though when he'd arrested Bill in court, he had seemed just as relaxed.

Perhaps, Bellatrix had been clear about their mutual attachment to each other. Marriage for them had been a business transaction and little more.

So what did that mean for their own?

"Bill was arrested with five fingers on his left hand. He now has four fingers on his left hand."

Rodolphus clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, thoughtful. "Umbridge House demanded a pound of flesh for the insult. The Minister house granted that flesh."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath as her hands paused in the stroking of Victoire's scalp. "The insult of what?"

With a tilted head Rodolphus answered, "When Mr. Weasley first invaded the Ministry he assaulted the Minister, so claimed Umbridge."

Hermione sneered, "Luna disproved that at court."

"She did." Rodolphus affirmed, "Umbridge claimed otherwise to those who did not attend, and pushed through a demand beyond us. The reasoning being that she was doing so in the name of her Ministry house. For the… discomfort and threat of safety."

With a gentleness that took a great deal of her control, Hermione released Victoire back into Bill's care. He held onto his child desperately, as if she would crumble or disappear from existence. It was a look that made her heart thud, suffused with an odd and suffocating sense of thunder.

Rage, she thought. Anger. This is what it felt like, thick and heady and yet still so cold.

"Who did she tell this to?"

"In our Lord's Ministry there is a Department of House Affairs. Prisoners have no rights that govern them or allow them to combat decisions made by Ministry officials. Thus, a representative of the House would have come to him demanding flesh. They decide where to take it."

"What are the checks and balances of that department?"

"They'd go through Umbridge."

"There is no law that governs who Umbridge is allowed to demand restitution from?"

"The Minister would govern this, but the department practically runs itself. In this, I doubt he checked, considering Weasley from a Fallen House and has no protection from those with standing."

Silence settled between them then, as Bill gave her a watery smile.

"It's fine, Hermione. Really. I'd have given anything. Anything, to have Victoire back. After they… after her mum went missing I-"

He choked on his own words, but Hermione did not interrupt. She waited with a calm that strangled her insides as he gathered himself and his virtue.

"It doesn't matter. Lestrange let me out today, of the cell. O-our Lord will allow me monitored time with Victoire. He said, He said that if I do well He will find someone to sponsor House Weasley and she would become its heir. That I can… er-erase what the Order did through good service. I just came by to thank you before… he takes me back."

His hands were shaking, but his resolve was firm. Hermione could see it, knew it with finality, that he'd do anything for his child. Lose a thousand fingers, if he'd had a thousand to give.

But that wasn't good enough for Hermione.

"Rodolphus, do you have a vassal?"

Lestrange looked up from the small tea-cup he'd been toying with. "Me? I…" He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, curious. "No. Not for some time. Bellatrix and I weren't the sort to take them."

Then he smiled, something grotesque and unkind, "We broke them."

The disgust and fear she expected to drive her never came. Instead something else curled among her rage, an odd inky sensation that spiraled up from her war-scar across her chest and down into her lower belly. She inhaled slowly, but found it difficult to release the… heat that now filled her lungs.

"Would you take another?" She whispered, heavy-lidded and distracted by her own response to imagined worlds-to dark nights spent in dungeons, to the flex and movement of Bellatrix body as she attended her craft just for the pleasure of the power it granted her.

"To break?" Rodolphus asked, all innocence and too-wide eyes.

"To train. To elevate. To maintain as a favor."

"To you?" He licked his lips.

"To me, your Lady Granger."

Slowly Rodolphus looked at Bill, took in the expanse of his person, the scar across his face, the flex of unattended muscle, and finally on the lack of finger that stood out glaringly in the meeting rooms low light.

Then he stood and came toward her.

She remained firm in stance, with tilted head and half-parted lips. When he knelt before her, all grace and snake-poise, she felt elevated. Giddy.

She spoke, "There's power in my name."

"Do you intend to keep it," He asked her, ignoring the frantic looks Bill gave them both behind his back.

"All that and more. I intend to hoard it." Hermione responded, and with a quick flick of her eyes, she caught and held Bill's gaze. "Things are changing. They will change. Something of mine was touched, Lestrange. I don't want it to be touched again."

"And what will you do to the one who touched it?" Rodolphus asked, breathlessly.

"Perhaps, I'll break them. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She'd like that.

The rapid flutter of Bill's eyes as he sharply turned his head away stated that he might like that too. He just wasn't ready to admit it.

"It's tradition to be firm when we speak before wilde magicks."

"It is," Rodolphus said as he reached for her hand, holding it firmly amongst his larger one.

"Then be firm." Hermione hissed.

"I will take Willaim Weasley as my vassal, House Weasley, Fallen though it is, will work and toil and bleed for the Most Ancient and Noble House Lestrange, until it is Ancient and Noble again."

Yesss. Across the expanse of Hermione's mind she swore she heard it, alien affirmation and pleasure. But, perhaps that was just the resonation of her own thoughts and will, as power snapped into existence and just about yanked William into a kneel. Victoire was quick to shuffle out of the way, silent and caught in her own curiosity.

Or maybe she felt it more acutely than Hermione gave her credit for, the twisting coil of the wilde. Maybe, it felt like whatever had been in that house. Smothering and suffocating. Except, this felt free, so very free.

Even as it bound them.

"Accept," Hermione crowed, authoritative in her madness.

"I... I do." William wheezed, as if the words had been torn from his tongue.

"If I do this, before the House of my Lord's sponsored, then-"

"-then I will go to war for you, should you truly need me to." Hermione finished. "Build up my allies and we could watch the Ministry burn."

Rodolphus gaze grew wide then, pupils dilated, lips trembling. "My Lady?"

"We don't need them. Not really. Umbridge and her ilk. All we need is our god, our Lord..."

And me.

"You are Bellatrix are very alike. Structure is only there because it must be, to keep the lesser culled and peaceful. But power is what rules you, I think… He has power."

I have power.

"But Umbridge doesn't. Thicknesse? Just as worthless. Help me convince Him of it."

Help me change this wretched realm. For Him, for me.

For the voice in her head, knocking at her skull, and building that Otherness into a capital O.

"I have better ideas for the world that we know. One without puppets. One without the worthless telling us what we should and shouldn't do while suckling on the tit of our Lord's gracious nature. One with security, no longer threatened by the irrelevant. I could do that, build a golden utopia." Slowly Hermione turned her gaze, off and away from the sight of Willaim's hung head, away from the child who hummed off key as she swayed, and back to Rodolphus whose smile was blinding, eager, and crazed.

"Let's make a better Ministry for our Lord. Does that sound interesting to you?"

There was a moment of stillness where no one spoke, and a child hummed as magic pulsed.

Hermione broke it, "So, wanna do it?"

Rodolphus screamed, "Yes!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She found Andromeda in the hallway, a voyeur half glaring into Narcissa's suite. With a half-smile upon her face she stared at Bellatrix twitching body. Though no words came from her lips as she watched her slumbering sister, there was something decidedly wicked in the shapes her lips created-

I win.

I see you, Hermione thought, with furrowed brow, as understanding slipped into place.

I win, Andromeda mouthed, displaying shiny teeth that seemed far too sharp like tiny blades.

Though it came upon her suddenly, Hermione now understood how and why the Dark Lord had caught them. There, in that dark hall full of dark promise, Bellatrix had panted those very same words: 'I won'.

But she hadn't. Not in the way of absolute completion. Not in the war of hierarchy and dominance. And how did that make Hermione feel, knowing she had fallen into that trap, whether on purpose or through proxy?

Angry?

No.

Devious.

Yes.

For there was something rather dastardly about being manipulated, something she could respect-despite her dislike of it. Had Andromeda had done no better than a tattling child, bowing before their Lord and spilling her sisters secrets? And if so, where was the control?

Maybe, Narcissa hadn't caught her yet.

Which meant…

"Andromeda." Hermione greeted, and the woman against the threshold stiffened, her face carefully blank, gone of whatever pleasures she'd taken.

"Hermione," She replied, a bit stiff and cold, though her face softened soon after. "How are you?"

If she'd thought she'd been punished, it was difficult to tell. Andromeda had seemed more amiable toward the end of their previous conversation, or at least willing to forgive her trespass against her daughter. It might have been in her nature to treat her with care whether or not she'd thought she'd spent time in that bed, twitching under the Dark Lord's cruciatus.

"Fine enough," seemed like an appropriate response. She did feel refreshed. Clear in goals and mind, despite the low rumble of her rage at Umbridge, a rage that would be assusaged soon. After all, the woman had yet to approach her for her own insult at court, a fact that had no doubt been delayed due to her control over the House Affairs department.

She'd get that changed soon enough, she just had a court to build and a Lord to convince-

A Lord who expected to be gifted soon. December, she only had until December.

She'd think on it later. After she proved her place in the hierarchy. After all, Narcissa had been right. She'd be a Black soon, wouldn't she?

Best they all understood where she'd stand.

She made a listless motion toward her resting betrothed. "Bellatrix not so much."

"No, I suppose not." Andromeda replied, and though her expression remained calm, there was something else that gave her away. The slight eager twist of her magic, the odd shivering bend. That aspect of her being that seemed so much like Bellatrix, smokey and deep, tainted by whatever had unhinged her within the house curled ever so slightly in pleasure. Her magic could not, would not, lie.

Hermione narrowed her eyes with pressed thin lips, "Have you come to check on her?"

"Something like that. I'd heard Narcissa complaining to the elves that she'd been afflicted by a couple of curses. Something about being captured like a feral animal out in the halls being most improper."

Andromeda didn't bother hiding her smile then, something sly and familiar. "Would you know much about that, Hermione?"

She felt heat rise to her cheeks and huffed, irked by her own reaction. "Oh I certainly would."

"You should tell her to be more careful," Andromeda whispered, "when she's celebrating false-victories."

Slowly Hermione smiled, a mirror to Andromeda's own, certain in the knowledge of Andromeda's confession. "Follow me."

The sudden change of subject caused Andromeda to raise a brow, but with a lick of her bottom lip she nodded. "Of course."

As they moved down the hall, away from Narcissa's rooms and closer to her own, she noticed the lack of ball and chain on Andromeda's person. Perhaps, feeling some success in their reunion, Narcissa had removed Andromeda's punishing chains. Hermione found herself wondering if she could exchange them for others.

"What is it, Hermione?"

As they both stepped over the threshold Hermione paused. There, half draped over her desk and the exhibit of her egg, stretched a slumbering Nagini, semi-coiled about it. For a moment, there was panic, a sudden relentless urging to protect the object she was bound too, but the snake only opened one eye in a lazy fashion before parting her jaw and releasing those-

Nagging incessant whispers, all nonsense and chorus without rhythm to the song

-Then Hermione blinked and found peace, safety in the idea that Nagini was there with the egg. There was no need to worry. No need to fret. After all, she had other things to focus on.

The door behind Andromeda closed with a slam as she flicked her wrist.

"I'd like to talk with you."

Andromeda straightened but seemed nonplussed by the closing of the door. Private conversations were not unusual-though she did cast a somewhat disgruntled eye toward the slumbering Nagini and her twitching bulk.

"What is it?"

From one breath to the other Hermione straightened her posture. She thought about the night of the ball, of the intimacy of that hallway and the power she'd experienced there. She thought of the terror of discovery, of the humiliation of having her moment torn from her flexing fingertips. She'd craved that moment of control, that ability to leash Bellatrix to her so indisputably that the other woman would have had to acknowledge her claim. Back on that floor, those so many years ago, when she'd writhed and bucked and screamed in pain and delirium, she hadn't realized she'd been so broken. Now, she understood those complexities, knew that her brain had been irrevocably changed and that each crushed and bent piece along her mentality had been forced to hastily slap back together.

The curse that drove the rapid thud beneath her skin and the wicked burn of her arm, had only tainted those memories, turning pain into abnormal intimacy and madness into craving. Azkaban had blanketed her in grey, in the inconsequential nothingness only the prison compromised could afford. The mark on her neck had kept her docile, her prison number of #118 still clear to this day, but her blood had kept her suppressed, muddy and wretched.

Then He dangled more in front of her face and she'd been helpless to do anything but fall for it.

But the craving had only been dulled by grey. It had always been there, swimming beneath her skin, peeking out it's beastly head and waiting for the chance to strike her own inner defenses. The elevation of her blood had started it, the stirring in her chest, but the raid had taught her of it, the taste of havoc that magic could wrought. And while she continued to maintain her intellect, and the ploy of her autonomy, control over her own life had slipped. Torn from her being by others. By the smooth unhurried pacing of Luna, at night when her body refused to settle. In the firm and demanding discipline of Narcissa, when she'd pushed too far, too hard, too fast.

But the latter would have never happened. Could not have happened. If not for Andromeda, who shuffle as she shifted weight from one foot to the other. Would she have done it without that interference? Accomplished her goal of forcing Bellatrix reverence? It had been so much more than just pleasure then. So much more.

And even now, as she felt more affirmed in her resolve, in her want-no. In her need to do this, she knew it would be about more than vengeance. Her very being needed this, alight with new urging and alien instinct. Something far greater than Bellatrix curse had awakened in that Order house. Something that had grown strong by chewing on her nerves and had howled when she'd created her first fleshcrux. There was some thing in her that spoke in her voice and used her tongue and expressed her words.

Something in the remaining piece of her soul that huddled heavy and full in her chest needed this. The stakes were so high, so…

She suppressed a moan, inappropriately excited and swallowed horror and her own transformation.

There was no way but forward now.

"The Dark Lord caught us being improper in the hall."

To this Andromeda gave a solemn nod, "Are you… okay?"

"He did not hurt me, but I think you knew He wouldn't." Hermione relished the slight narrowing of Andromeda's eyes and the twitch of her wand hand, but she was wandless, of which they both knew. Narcissa had not deemed her good enough, yet.

"You're His Firstborn. His newest pureblood stock. He'd be foolish to risk your damage, at least not by His hand."

Hermione admired Andromeda's ability to be blunt and curt. There would be no lies here, no denial between them. She wasn't ashamed of her action, petty it may be. Her mind was only on the game that she and Bellatrix played. Why wouldn't it be? The tension between them, primal and imbedded, could only be resolved by the most brutal of rules. Their fights were damaging in ways beyond the physical and Andromeda was Slytherin. Brawl they may, but think that final was a Gryffindor tactic.

So, it was a good thing Hermione was not the average Gryffindor. Things were never just final , though they may be… physical.

"Bellatrix has survived worse, courtesy of our father. Suffering beneath the wand has never bothered her much." Andromeda spoke words that might have been cruel, callous even, if not for the lithe of her tone. This was not their first battle, and certainly not the last for them.

"And you?" Hermione wondered, as she stepped closer.

"The horrors we've suffered are different, but the forge is all the same. I've writhed on that floor before too, in my youth."

And despite how casual she spoke those words, there was darkness in that gaze. Shadows swam behind dilated pupils as memories of visits gone wrong swept across them. Whether that was due to their games in sadism, Hermione couldn't be sure, but she could see it there despite her mask, the cracks generated by forced pureblood pleasantries.

She pressed against her, steady and curious, thankful that Bellatrix and sister were so alike in body. Softer round eyes stared back at her, but there were chained storms behind them.

"Were those moments she won?" Hermione whispered, just tall enough to place arms on either side of Andromeda's form, to trap her within the cage of her arms.

The other woman barely flinched, "Yes. For different reasons. Father wasn't fond of the squabbling, and she was more experienced. She won because she was faster. She won because she ran."

Her breathing had deepened, just a bit, driven up by memory. "But I stayed, because I learned ."

Because she was a tactician, one who studied the risk of failure. Who indulged in it, drowned in it, when it came upon her. Then she took all of that knowledge, and unleashed it upon them.

Slowly, Andromeda lifted a hand, used it to press against the flexing muscle of the left arm that caged her. "When I finally ran I was prepared. I was faster. I was free. I won."

Because Bellatrix had remained, trapped by social necessities and shuffled into marriage.

Andromeda smiled something off and hollow, "They tried to bring me back, at first. But I had already won. I used what he taught me, our Father, and sent back to his men. In little pieces, inside tiny wrapped boxes."

Her chuckle was low and drifting, haunting and swift. Different from Bellatrix own intimidating cackle, but the same in many ways.

"But Ted didn't care for that. Too…"

Dark.

"Too much like them." Andromeda finished.

"So you took pieces of yourself and put them into little tiny wrapped boxes."

Andromeda narrowed her eyes and swallowed a hiss. "Correct."

"That was the last time you felt like you won, wasn't it?"

Andromeda peered at her from half-lidded eyes. "Yes. Until the other night."

"You interrupted something important, to win your game."

Andromeda dropped her hand then, head tilted. "I interrupted her feasting. What more could it have been than that?"

Narcissa had understood. Narcissa, who had disciplined her anyone, even knowing what she craved. Now, Hermione knew a little bit of what Andromeda craved too. It was just a shame that Hermione considered her need to be the greater.

"Do you remember the house?"

Andromeda shook her head, as if physically assaulted by the whiplash of their rapidly changed conversation topic. "W-what? Yes, of course. It was mine."

"When we spoke in the dungeon. About how it woke you. About how you felt more like you , but you haven't felt like that, like you , in some time. Do you remember that?"

"Yes."

"When we were caught, Narcissa told me something. That she is the control. The piece that keeps everything in check. In order. She called your tests rituals of a sort. And now that you feel more like you, it makes sense that you'd test them. Your boundaries. Because you've lost your place. You need your place."

Andromeda pressed back against the wall, as if she could create room between them. Whether it was due to her mention of Narcissa, and her obvious power over her, or the ominous ring of her words, she couldn't be sure. But there was no where for her to go. Hermione had made sure of that.

Behind her, she heard the haunting whisper of an interested snake.

"When I am truly wed to your sister, there will be more ritual. Things I need to know. Aspects of our joined existence I must learn. Narcissa thinks the curse will twist me. I think it already has. But if there is more. If there must be order and if she must be control, I think that I should be balance ."

That word rung true in her mind then, clear and unshakable.

"I will be balance." Hermione stated more firmly, crazed in her determination. "Bellatrix was punished. Narcissa was torn from her ball. And I was literally spanked." She smiled, something sardonic, "but you? You were rewarded with freedom."

Hermione's gaze flicked down to the lack of ball and chain around her ankle and Andromeda jerked against the wall.

"Hermione, I-"

"That's not balance , Andromeda. Where is your suffering?"

For a moment, Hermione thought Andromeda would fight her, that she would jerk and push and answer her call to power. But the other woman was pinned, flushed against Hermione's chest, with wide unseeing eyes as Hermione unspooled her magic and pushed in just the right way.

For she knew it now, more than she had before, that they were mostly one in the same. Andromeda and Bellatrix nearly shared the same looks, but their magic was nearly… interchangeable. Narcissa would have been harder, if she'd reached out to grasp the ebb and flow of her being. But Andromeda was nearly perfect in comparison, a writhing curling smoke that was smooth where Bellatrix was a little more jagged. Bellatrix had awakened the possibility. Luna had taught her the reality. Bellatrix had been her attempt. And Narcissa her suppression.

But Andromeda?

She would make for a wonderful subject of practice.

"I have you now. This . This is what I did to her. What I… wanted to do. It was so much more about her being on her knees, than… anything that came thereafter."

But the ache in her being couldn't be denied. It's heavy thudding presence beat between her legs to the tempo of her rapid pulse. The use of magic, addictive and dark , came with a heady fissure of pleasure. It felt good to squeeze just right on that something that made Andromeda a witch. It felt good to watch her buck against the door, driven by notions so old and primal that it no longer held a name. Every attempt Andromeda made to suppress her reactions was another tiny thrill when Hermione pushed her further. Magic against magic, engaged in metaphysical dance. It felt so real . It was real. Hermione could taste it. Could almost see it…

"Hermione," Andromeda rasped, as she scrambled for something to hold, and found her shoulders instead. "W-what are you… doing?"

She pressed a bit further, left Andromeda breathless, and twisted her will into something more tangible. Heat and compulsion…

"To the bed," Hermione croaked, her throat tight with her own eager desires. "I'm going to show you balance. Your penance for my humiliation. You'll be doing me a favor, Ms. Tonks. I need to learn… more about this. I want to get better at it."

And she considered herself an incredibly studious learner. Andromeda wasn't the only one involved in the arts of risk.

Slowly, Hermione released her from the wall and initially Andromeda didn't move, flush faced and heaving. So, Hermione gave a slow lick of her lips, stepped backwards, and began to tug , grabbing that core within Andromeda proper and inciting it to action. Follow me , Hermione thought.

Follow her, Andromeda did.

It wasn't long before she was on the bed, hunched over as she tried to catch her breath. This could not have been the first time Andromeda had felt this sort of magical pressure before, nor the somehow natural thoughtless desire she stirred within her.

Or maybe… maybe it was. Andromeda had been playing in the light for so long that she might have forgotten what it felt like to fall into the dark.

Hermione was eager to remind her.

"When I experienced battle lust for the first time, Luna had to calm me. She manipulated me like this. Stole… my autonomy in a way more… intense, more present, than the imperius could."

Slowly, Hermione took up a spot on her lap and the soft whimper Andromeda released as she settled her weight sounded like a prayer in her ears.

"Hermione," Andromeda said again, soft and disorientated. "Hermione, I…"

"You really do all feel the same. Like aspects of one person. It's… dizzying. And exciting. You all feel like her ." The one she wanted most to consume . "I need to learn… patience. Technique. Discipline. I can't be caught again… An-dy."

Next to her ear Andromeda moaned, a low and vulnerable sound that made Hermione's lower belly clench.

"But you won't tell me on again, will you? Not even if Bella tempts you too?"

"No… no…" Andromeda panted with trembling lips against her neck. "Please, Hermione. This… this is."

"I better make sure you don't. Just to be sure. I don't want any risk. Besides, it's not improper. You're all just the same hands in different forms. Right? I just have to practice on… this Bellatrix, instead of the other."

Hermione was sure her crazed mutterings were worrisome to Andromeda, but she scarcely cared. The world was a blur of color. Vibrant and blinding, and she wanted to drown in it.

"Pick me up, An-dy, and carry me toward the fireplace."

With a hissed groan Andromeda did as she was told, her hands cupped under her arse as she moved her to the fireplace. She set Hermione on the hearth without being ordered, and with an experimental tug of Andromeda's core, she had the woman down on her knees with her back facing Hermione's swinging legs.

Yes, she thought. This could work.

With a soft mutter from her wand Hermione tore the back of Andromeda's blouse. The fabric fell away without assistance, and Andromeda, with her pretty pale skin flushed and her gaze unfocused-drunk off the force of Hermione's will-cast a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Narcissa is… going to be mad at me." She whined, more or less about the shirt, and not the magic they indulged in.

"I'll figure something out." Hermione replied instead, as she hopped down from the hearth to run her hands across smooth skin. "Bellatrix has taught me some things about magic, down in her classroom of horrors."

Andromeda sucked in a sharp breath and shivered.

"It's all things the Dark Lord has bid me to learn. Things that she did to me. Things I'd… really like to do to her."

Then, those curious hands hooked and pinched, digging into the raised flesh there and causing Andromeda to cry out beneath them. But she didn't shift, didn't move from her position. Her magical grip was too tight, too controlling. Andromeda simply… couldn't move. Not without permission.

"But she won't let me. Not yet. Not until I catch her again acting macho and alpha. So, these are the things I'm going to do to you."

She leaned up and away and noticed Andromeda still looked flushed, still repressed and yet eager.

Interesting.

But not enough for her to pause.

She lifted her wand again, bit her bottom lip, and flick it downward. From the shape emerged and coiled and thick branch of leather.

A whip.

When she'd first come into the Dark Lord's service she had been stripped of her previous convictions through the cleansing of pain. She intended to forgive Andromeda, intended to love her, just as much as she was meant to love Bellatrix, to love Narcissa, or even Tonks and Draco and Bill Weasley too. She'd express it different, she'd love fiercely, possessively, but it was love all the same wasn't it?

Or, maybe it was an obsession.

But she knew one thing. The Dark Lord had built an empire on the baptism of pain. On the ideas that it released their sin (and their blood) and brought them peace. Pain had given her peace, exquisite and sweet in a way she had never thought possible before. Pain made her blood raise and her pulse thunder. She might not have started out that way. Couldn't have, certainly. But, He had planted the seed, and Bellatrix had forced it to bloom.

Was she becoming Bellatrix? Was she becoming Him?

No.

She was her own woman, with her own goals. She had plans, ideals, that He promised to see flourish. She'd be her own kind of Lady, or King, or God. A Lordtrix far greater, but not worse.

She was still exploring her foundation, is all.

"Do you feel that?" Hermione whispered as she tested the weight of her whip in her grasp. But it wasn't the whip she meant for Andromeda to feel, but the pressing thumping heat of her magic, the rolling addictive curl that her own reacted to so strongly, reaching and grasping at with metaphysical hands. Hermione had once thought it lust, but it was so much deeper than that. When Luna had controlled her, she'd been stripped of all defenses, vulnerable and submissive and so very open.

She sought to emulate that within Andromeda now.

She chewed her bottom lip, rocked up on her knees, then settled-silent and petulant.

"You do. I know you do." Hermione frowned. She needed… responses to know if she was doing it right. But she knew how to get them. It's how Bellatrix often got them out of her.

She lifted the whip and swung-

And they were like that for a brief time. Hermione, caught in the dance of her need and Andromeda, forced to endure it. Her skin reddened and pucked, red from the bite of the strikes that she landed. Hermione was patient, not overly cruel, coaxing blood to the surface of twitching skin before she struck with more strength in the precise manner she'd received before. If Bellatrix had been there, she might have been proud, proud to admire the grace in Hermione's swing and the expert manner in which she checked upon her victim proper.

But she wasn't there, because of her victim.

Still, it didn't matter. Bellatrix wasn't meant to know. This time, this intimacy, was between herself and the middle sister, who finally fell forward with a cry and a thunk, prompting Hermione to stop her lashing.

With a twitch of her wand arm the whip receded, turning wood back to wood where the leather once protruded. She knelt, even while she heard a strong sound at her back-like laughter, hissing laughter. But when she turned to spare a glance to Nagini and her egg, the snake was only watching, silent and eerily introspective.

That should have bothered her. But it didn't.

"Andy." Hermione whispered, drawing fingers across the welts she'd made and watching the woman tremble. She didn't answer but that was to be expected. Andy huffed and shook, released softer nonsense sounds, but she was yet to speak, even as Hermione gently pulled on her back.

That was fine. Hermione enjoyed her sounds of weakness as she checked her over, care to be certain her skin hadn't been split. She'd not drawn blood. Hadn't intended to. For their shared lesson wasn't about brutality. It was about… exploration.

And the solidification of Hermione's place among their ritualistic harmony.

She pressed very gently against her back, stroked up then down, pressed hard then relaxed. Teasing the skin and categorizing all of Andromeda's little sighs and careful moans. She drank them down with a greed she had never possessed before and a bit of curiosity.

Then she moved her hands a bit lower, down to the center of her back, to press the heat of her magic inward so she could listen to the thick husky moan it incited. Yes, Andromeda was a good subject. More than just because of the similarities she shared between the one she wanted to have beneath her.

"Andy," Hermione tried again, as she brought hooked fingers up, then down, the length of her back. Pain inspired her to moan again, something low and confused. "Do you feel that?"

Andromeda took a deep shuddering breath, then uttered. "Yes."

In that one word is the vulnerability she'd sought, the affirmation of her ability. In the future, she'd need to inspire that reaction without much fight. She'd need to be faster. Quicker. More attune with the ebb and flow of her ability. But for now, she had what she wanted.

A wet and shivering subject.

"You liked that."

Andromeda exhaled slowly beneath the press of her sensual hands. She said nothing, but her magic coiled tighter, sluggish and needy.

Hermione wasn't surprised, her own trauma's had twisted her into accepting agonies well. Andromeda had clearly suffered from a cruciatus or two.

Slowly she sat up and leaned over her back, mindful of the strength of her press. "That's good, actually. I'll want to do this again."

Beneath her Andromeda shook her head, a subtle denial of what would surely continue to come.

"Hm, and why not?" Hermione whispered against her neck. What could make her more amicable-Oh! That's right. How silly of her to forget.

She drew her hands downward then, down past the skirts that were wrapped around Andromeda's legs and beneath them, to the sweat-slick and parted thighs they'd hidden.

"Alright… I know what to do." Hermione muttered, more to herself than to the woman beneath her, who gasped when Hermione brushed the flimsy cloth of her undergarments aside and pressed exploring fingers to swollen wet flesh.

"Hermione," Andromeda whined, startled by the sudden intrusion, and maybe ashamed at the eagerness that dripped between her legs. How long had it been since Andromeda had been touched? Held and brought to ruin? How overwhelming it must feel, to be stroked and coaxed toward the intensity of release when everything must feel new and fresh and too much. Still, Hermione wasn't daunted, she stroked across her throbbing clit and drew her fingers lower…

"It's alright. I studied this once. It's in 'Companionship and Conditioning'. I create dependency through the introduction of pleasure and relief while you are in an emotionally high state, deepening and expanding upon the power of the experience-or… well, I guess I don't need to explain it."

Hermione almost missed Andromeda curse in french beneath the sound of her breathy chuckle.

"I want to see you again. Tomorrow maybe, to practice some more." Hermione teased her slit with just the tip of a finger, lightly scratching and inspiring her bodies natural reactions-to hunger, to want, to accept anything to ease the growing agitating ache of her squeezing inner muscles.

By the time Hermione slipped one finger within, stroking in a slow and maddening pace, Andromeda still hadn't yet agreed but Hermione was patient. She'd get her to say yes.

Her magic demanded it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Andromeda did come back the next day. And the day after that. Each time, brave and angry, demanding an explanation for Hermione's behavior. But Hermione, ever the scholar, only pressed and pulled. Using her magic in the way she knew was best. Inspiring heat and lust and thoughtless obedience until she had Andromeda on the rug before her fireplace, kneeled and ready to take her whip. She thought it an awful lot like discipline, routine and constant, but it was a learning experience for them both. Hermione was learning to be more confident, more in control of herself with an outlet for her excess emotion, those darker stranger cravings that Luna couldn't ease. Andromeda, on the other hand, was learning something else.

"My mum is acting a bit odd," Tonks said as she watched Hermione carefully set a vial of something sparkling and purple within her pouch beside the egg she now refused to part with.

"Relaxed?" Hermione muttered, as she twisted and turned before the mirror, aware of Tonks curious and bond fingers as they stroked across her neck and pinned up her hair.

"Yuh, something like that. Maybe? Confused? Shy? I can't really put a finger on it. It's like she wants to do something, but won't tell anyone what it is."

"Twitchy, then." Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

How long had they been doing it, their dance? Of course, there were times when Andromeda denied her. When she came and fought as hard as she could and Hermione sent her away so she could revise. But the nights when she gave in, the nights when she could do nothing more than moan and writhe beneath her power, those were wins for them both. Lately, Andromeda had taken to being… sneaky. Avoiding her inquiries and requests for her presence and sticking close to a gleaming eye'd Narcissa. She best not have told on her again-

"She must miss our talks." Hermione finished, before she turned to Tonks and took a deep breath. "How do I look?'

Tonks for the most part, managed to hide her look of hunger. Their bond was an odd one, born of Tonks need to… join with her. Being near her was intoxicating, for Hermione and Tonks both. After tonight, she'd have more time to explore it, to test it. She was better now and eager to test her magical manipulation on someone who wasn't Andromeda. But it would have to wait. It was December after all.

Her Event of Recognition.

"Beautiful, gorgeous, delicious, I could go on." Tonks husked.

"I appreciate your candor."

"I'm serious," Tonks blurted out with a near feral snarl, before she shook herself and released a heavy breath. "So damn serious."

Slowly, Hermione reached a hand to Tonks face, to cup her chin and stroke a thumb across her cheek. Almost immediately the tension in her body eased and her harsh breathing slowed. Hermione couldn't blame her for her high emotion. The entire manor was abuzz with worry and aggression. She'd seen Bellatrix snap at a shadow earlier and just the other day Narcissa had drug her from the dining room table by her ear-a show Andromeda had laughed at before she'd snapped her jaw shut and shly hobbled away from her.

But Hermione knew why everyone was Andromeda watched her with a slightly concerned frown, and Narcissa glared if so much as a house elf was out of place and Bellatrix…

Well, Bellatrix had been so intense lately that even the sensation of brushing against her had once caused Hermione to lash out with a snarl- like a pissed off cat , Bellatrix had called her. But her magic had been tugging at her, rubbing her the wrong way until she'd felt whipped up into a barely repressed frenzy.

Andromeda had been lucky she'd skived off their lesson that night.

"Tonks. It's fine. Breath. I'm going to be fine." Slowly, Hermione brought her hand down to rest it lightly against Tonks neck. She felt the frantic beat of her pulse there and closed her eyes. "Professor Snape taught me all that he could. Even Draco was helpful, despite his own upcoming wedding. You are fine. We will be fine."

She had come to far to fall back into mediocrity.

"Yeah, course." Tonks muttered, but the harsh pounding of her heart had eased and the odd pitter-patter of her magic had smoothed. "It's just, this is it, you know? Mum said it's a big deal. That you'll walk down those stairs, hand the Dark Lord what 'e wants and, if He's not satisfied I just… don't know what will happen."

Nobody did.

"Do you trust me? Do you believe in my ability?"

"Yes," Tonks answered firmly, without hesitance.

"I don't think I've failed. The potion is an old one, the scripture even more so. It might not be… perfect. But I know it is functional."

"How can you?" Tonks whispered, "You couldn't test it."

And that was true. No one held a condition like their Lord. It was difficult to even find most of the ingredients, or substitutes for things that no longer existed among the list, let alone a mutated subject to test on but…

"Professor Snape doesn't think I'll turn our Lord into a toad so."

To this, Tonks laughed, even if it was hollow and shaky. "Thank Helga for small blessings, then."

"Yes," Hermione said. "Let's go."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Madam Malfoy announced her. She spun a tale of tragedy, adventure, and triumph, then sung litany to her titles. She impressed upon a near endless sea of witches and wizards of her taken hand, of her sponsor, and of her trial and all throughout that, she descended the stairwell, careful in her heels not to stumble and fail. It'd be a shame if she were taken out by a misstep.

Tonks thought her godly, but she'd been conditioned to do so. Her fleshcrux could do nothing but. Yet, there was a power in the gaze of the people, who watched her move toward the floor in the glory of her red gold trimmed gown with her wand tucked into the mountain of curls at her head and a defunct time turner around her neck-a gift to enhance it's slenderness, Luna had said. There, within the spotlight, she expected to feel suffocated. Consumed by attention, both positive and negative. Instead she felt emboldened, boosted by her learned poise and the confidence of her intelligence. She had not been born to this life, had scarcely wanted the fanfare of it. But she intended to conquer it, to smile and nod and extend her arm as Tonks approached her-Hermione's egg holding bag slung across her shoulder, safe within Tonks possession.

As she was escorted forward she was met by Luna, who courtsey'd so deep the loose strands of her hair nearly brushed the marble flooring. "My Lady."

"Lovegood," Hermione answered, cordial and dry as expected, and Luna took to her other side as they swept further to the floor.

From a sea of faces she saw Draco, nervous but smiling as he waved at Astoria's side. The woman in question, his newly engaged, mirrored the action-looking far more natural for it. Pansy was nearby, she could feel the nervous thump of her magic, and Rita was off to the side, a large tome floating before her as she scribbled whatever prose Narcissa waxed about her virtue and pride.

There were others she knew but couldn't spare a glance toward. She knew Lestrange was there with his brother, and that William and Victoire were stationed beside him, a clear symbol of their unification. But there were two within the crowd that were nearly distracting in their presence.

Professor McGonagall, who she hadn't seen since she'd been whisked away to her current life.

And Dolores Umbridge.

She tried to catch a glimpse of where exactly she was stationed, but something thick and hot had semi-coiled about her legs. A quick glance down displayed one exploring Nagini, who had taken to brushing her scales across her ankles before coiling back toward-

The Dark Lord.

He stood among His followers, cloaked in the manner He generally was. Like a wraith He excluded a chilling aura, something that suckled and grasped at her own in silent order.

She forgot all about Dolores.

"My Lord," she whispered, as His Mark pulsed against her arm, a thrilling spike of good for a very good servant.

"Ms. Granger," He said, sibilant and unusual, "I am happy to be here on this, your most important day."

At her back Tonks stiffened as the crowd of visitors gathered closer. The clink of glassware and fancy shoes against Narcissa's flooring felt impossibly loud, but she only had eyes for her… Lord.

"My Lord, thank you for coming." She bent low at the waist in her own courtesy, only feeling momentarily awkward as she did the unpracticed movement.

But she did not fall, and that was a win.

At her back, Narcissa spoke with firm clarity. "Ms. Granger was given a trail to accomplish by this, the date of her Recognition. We has accomplished that task to the best of her ability."

At His side, Snape swallowed harshly, but only Hermione noticed the action.

"Granger," Lucius stated, dressed in the vestments that screamed his loyalty to Voldemort. "Present your gift to your sponsor, who has put gold in your vaults and enemies at your feet."

She curtseyed low again, as was expected. "Yes, Lord Malfoy."

With a gentle tug of her magic Tonks came forward, and Hermione made sure to maintain eye-contact with Voldemort as she did the action. His only response with a slight uplift of His chin, but little else as she reached into the bag that hung at Tonks waist.

Giving the egg kept warm there one final stroke she turned to Voldemort, vial in hand and presented it:

"A few new moons ago you asked me to translate text into ritual. I am here to tell you, there is no ritual."

From the crowd there came a gasp, but she ignored it.

"The need for ritual, high ritual, is unnecessary. Instead, I would ask you to trust me to raise power and might here, among this room."

From the crowd came the sound of shuffling and moving persons. They parted as a group of youth approached, holding handles to a massive black spell-pot. At the front, Zabini maneuvered the man-sized structure and with a heavy thud it settled on the flooring. Then men moved back, but Zabini and Goyle shifted elsewhere, off to Draco's side instead of general masses.

Hermione, Lucius, Snape, and the Dark Lord peered within. Those of the crowd on the edge tried to get a little closer but Luna stomped her foot hard, once and the echo of magic that pushed them back and shuffled their clothes was ominous in its strength. They did not attempt to approach again.

"My Lord," Hermione spoke with a dry mouth, her blood abuzz with the anticipation that always came with great spellwork. "Please step… into the pot."

"Do you intend to give me a bath, Ms. Granger?"

At His back, those robed Death Eaters not amongst the populace laughed.

She played at His game, "Something like that." Then, with flared nostrils, she spoke a bit louder, "I intend to cleanse you. To bring you back to further radiance and enhance upon the populace your indisputable prowess."

To this He nodded, "and if you succeed, your reward is elevation."

"And if I fail…" Hermione said, "I am mud."

Blooded.

"But I will not fail. I am Firstborn."

He'd already forced them all to believe it. All she had to do was utilize their paltry magic to become.

"Then let those who do not believe see here and now that I have not chosen wrong."

With the ominous certainty of those words He rose, a hovering figure without assistance. The crowd, in one big wave, stood back, awed and terrified by His expression of power. The pot rumbled from the force of Him as He hovered over it, the liquid within sloshing and stirred, but the runes on the pot were sturdy, now alight as they absorbed His brilliance.

Then, unceremoniously, He dropped.

Hermione stumbled forward then, grace and poised abandoned for swiftness and she uncorked her potion with trembling hands as the pot shook and jerked beneath her touch. Pressure rose exponentially in the space, a woman to her left screamed as her ears began to buzz, but with a steady hand she emptied the potion and held tight to her project.

I could die here, she thought, from magical backlash, or an angry Dark Lord.

And the thought did nothing to damper her excitement. The self-indulging heat of a new spell to be completed, of a puzzle to be solved, set her body ablaze. It was an indescribable rush, holding onto the cauldron as bodies around her fell, shaken in their fancies shoes as the manor rumbled and groaned and creaked. As the potion mixed with the fluid and Lord within, a magically generally wind picked up, whipping her hair from it's perfect though impractical tumble until it danced around her face like wicked tendrils. She wondered what she must have looked like then, holding tight to a witches pot, her hair as wild as she felt, while she lifted back her head and cackled.

Then she took a potioneer's prick, struck her thumb and index finger, and spilled her Firstborn blood into the brew.

Then it all suddenly stopped, abrupt and painfully. The sound of panicked visitors, the whip and crackle of static magic, the rumbling shake of the pot in her grasp, it all just… stopped. Silence fell, oppressive and thick and suffocating, and for a moment Hermione forgot that sound existed. It felt endless and agonizing, to lack that concept, to hear nothing, to know nothing, to-

And then it returned, first in the sound of a scream, then in the sound of a champagne glass breaking, but it was there. Noise.

She remembered to breath.

Tonks was on her left, Luna on her right, and they yanked her from the pot with such force that Hermione's legs were left to fumble behind her, useful and without footing. She'd somehow lost a heel in the mess, and in her mania she thought to ask Luna to retrieve it.

But then the pot cracked down the center with a horrendous gong, and the Dark Lord rose from the crumbled ruins.

A being, nude, with perfect porcelain flesh and long tumbling hair. Otherworldly in their false humanity, with a glowing gaze of red, and lips they traced with sharp-nailed fingertips.

There, among the destruction, the cracked manor flooring and the harsh gasps of the populace The Dark Lord stood.

Whole.

And a woman.