Chapter 5. Killing (Again)
Bellatrix sighed in delight. They had twisted themselves in her bed sheets, legs and arms tangled around each other, clothes strewn about the room. The scent of sex and musk permeated the bedroom air—it was now late into the night, so late the sun was threatening to come out the horizon any moment now.
"You were wrong, you know."
"I was?"
"I didn't kill Rodolphus to rid myself of a witness. And I wasn't surprised while murdering Rabastan. I killed him first, sure—but I did it in front of his brother. I needed him to go ballistic, to be heard. So I killed his brother—and then, I killed him," explained Bellatrix, her hands gently massaging Hermione's hair.
"Why?"
The question hung in the air for a minute—didn't she know why? hadn't she figured it out already?
"Because I wanted to." Her tone spoke of something obvious, apparent in nature to anyone who took the time to look. "Why did you think?" she asked, curious black eyes lowering to meet Hermione's own.
"I thought money at first—but you were wealthy on your own, and it didn't seem like you were eager for more. Your dresses, your jewellery—all beautiful, but dated by at least a few years. Then I thought maybe infidelity—I suspected you had been caught a few times. I moved into your building to spy on you, after I'd caught wind of John Avery the first's death, but I could never see any man coming in or out your front door, except for your husband or the occasional relative. So, I wondered, and kept on wondering, to this very day. But now that I know… I like that reason better." She whispered the last few words hazily, almost like she was falling asleep.
"Well, you weren't entirely wrong. I was cheating," mused Bellatrix in response.
"With whom?" The curiosity gave Hermione's voice a sudden edge.
"Pansy, mostly. And quite a few other women as well. None quite like you, I must admit." She added that last sentence in a hurry, an impulse. It was true; after all. "When did you decide to stop investigating me and start pursuing me?"
"Hmm, at dinner." She paused. "No, before that. Well," she paused again, eyes darting around the room in the search for an answer. "I'm not sure. I shared my doubts with Harry early on—not that he listened, mind you—and then, the more I dug, the more I was enthralled. I think I properly decided when I first interrogated you, but it didn't quite—well it didn't completely click until dinner, when you said you had been thinking with your cunt."
Bellatrix gave Hermione a wicked smile. "I tend to do that when it comes to pretty women. Especially ones so… stubborn."
They laughed in tandem—one mischievous and deep, the other soft and sweet. Soon after that, they drifted off to sleep. Morpheus welcomed them in his arms,
only for them to be ripped away a few hours later, when someone banged on the door.
"Police, open up!"
Bellatrix was the first to spring into action. She threw on her dress, not bothering with undergarments, and tossed a sheet over the stirring form of her lover. "Stay here," she whispered before running out of the bedroom—leaving the door ajar, just in case.
She mentally ran through the steps of her exit plan as she walked to the door—on which the banging was now louder, more erratic. Bellatrix put on her most innocent face and opened the door.
She was surprised to find herself faced with the detective who had come to investigate Rodolphus' and Rabastan's murders—Harry Potter, Hermione's colleague and, presumably, friend.
Suddenly, last night's words rushed back to her mind. "I shared my doubts with Harry early on," Hermione had said. No, he couldn't possibly have—
No.
"How may I help you, detective?" she asked. He was alone—good. He was presumably working on a hunch without any usable evidence. He intended on scaring her. That, she could deal with.
"I've come across an interesting titbit of information, recently," he declared, walking in uninvited. Come across? More like he was told. What a pompous, misogynistic asshole.
"And what information would that be, detective?" She walked to the kitchen to prepare some tea. She needed to play this right—unlike with Hermione, who she had sought to seduce and bed, she could not even hint at the possibility of having murdered any of her husbands, for whatever reason that may be.
"Well, it seems you were married twice before even meeting Rodolphus Lestrange. And widowed—again, twice. I found that quite odd."
"I've never been very lucky in love, detective." The pressure inside the kettle made steam rise out of it.
"It does seem like you've been quite unlucky, indeed. One shot by a mobster; one struck by a heart attack; one murdered by his own brother. Do you know what I find strange about this, Mrs. Lestrange?"
"I do not." She poured the boiling water in the two cups she had set out before adding the bags of earl grey tea, leaving them to seep.
"There is no pattern to these deaths. It's quite impressive, if I may say so."
"It's impressive for an accidental death and two murders to show no pattern?" she asked, carrying the cups out to the living room.
"It's impressive for three murders committed by a same person to lack a pattern, Mrs. Lestrange," he said as she set down the cups on the coffee table. "Quite impressive indeed."
Bellatrix frowned. "What could you possibly be suggesting? That I murdered my husbands? And for what reason? I'm plenty wealthy of my own. I had no affairs; I have no lover. And I certainly didn't want revenge—there was nothing they did that could make me want to kill them! Those are the three motives, aren't they? Money, love, revenge. And I do not fill the requirements for any of these!" She paused. "You would be better off spending your time going after Frankie Yale's mob! He may be in prison, but if you think for a second his cohort still isn't at it, you're making a grave mistake." Her fingers tightened around her cup. Would she have to murder him too?
She pondered on that question for a short minute, making a mental tally of all available weapons and resources at her disposal.
But there was no need.
Because, right as the thought crossed her mind, a splatter of warm blood flew in her direction and landed on her skin.
And, behind a slain Harry Potter, stood a victorious Hermione Granger, knife in hand and bright light in her eyes. Bellatrix stared at the scene with wide eyes.
In her anger, she hadn't noticed Hermione leaving the bedroom while she guided Harry Potter to the living room.
In her frustration, she hadn't noticed the missing knife while she boiled the water.
In her desire to make her case and sound as innocent as possible, she had failed to see the frail form of her lover sitting behind the detective's chair.
And in his cockiness, Harry Potter had not seen his death looming and coming for him.
"Oh, that was exhilarating!" said Hermione excitedly, a smile stretching across her face. "I get why you like it so much."
Bellatrix leaned back in her chair and sipped on her tea. She might have lost a few battles along the way, but she had ultimately won the war.
Hermione's hair was buzzing with electricity. She placed the knife next to Harry's now tepid cup of tea and leaned in to kiss Bellatrix. The taste of blood leaked into their mouths, onto their tongues—and Bellatrix thought no woman had ever tasted this good before.
As Hermione pulled away, she gave one last look to her late friend. She sighed, turned towards her now lover and asked: "What now?"
This concludes Killing and Other Mundane Activities! If you've enjoyed this story (or even if you haven't), I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Thanks for reading,
Barbie