Hi guys! I don't own Harry Potter or Teen wolf or any of the characters involved unless they are oc's. This is a re-write of my first fanfic, I don't have a completely solid idea of where it is going yet, but its definitely more fleshed out so hopefully you all still stick around for the ride.(deja vu for anyone who read the original). Slowburn bellamione. Pre-warning this series will not be sticking to any particular timeline from the books or movies, some events are the same, some are different and there is a reason for that. Similar to my last fic this has extra supernatural twists.

Trigger risk: this fanfic will explore PTSD, self-doubt, and other areas which I will mention should it be different to the three I've already stated.

Here's a quick low-down: Post-war, Hermione is left emotionally and physically scarred from wars, unfortunately, this war wasn't her first, and she constantly worries that it won't be her last. Voldemort was never confirmed dead and with him and his followers scattered all except one Bellatrix Lestrange who is becoming less and less like the feared witch Hermione knew her to be, especially when she asks questions like "Why do birds sing?"

- Weekly-Crisis


It was a little warm for early February. The skies clear and windless, bringing with it a lethargic warmth that lazily kissed the noses of petals as they drifted to the ice laced river below. This simple, relaxed nature of the world that surrounded Hogwarts could be felt throughout each person as they strolled leisurely to and from classes. An inescapable feeling of joy that seemed to dance through the air as seamlessly as the petals outside. At least, that's what people seemed to be acting like. For one particular student, this atmosphere of unbridled laxness had once again found her holed up in the library, comfortably reading 'Hogwarts, A History: By Bathilda Bagshot'. Hermione Granger, it seemed, was for once in complete serenity. However, if one was to cast an inquisitive eye they would notice the frantic way her heavy lidded eyes darted across the room before aimlessly trailing across the text in front of her; her foot tapping incessantly against the tiled floors. Because to Hermione, this level of undisturbed calm was not normal. Yes, there had been no word of he-who-shall-not-be-named, and yes there had been no signs of death eaters prowling the streets for a few months. But people had been tortured, taken prisoner, there had been deaths. People had been scarred. Hermione subconsciously ran her fingers across her arm, rigid and raised skin meeting the pads of her fingertips. Yes… people had been scarred. Shouldn't people be in mourning? Why the hell were people acting as if the war was over when-

"Blimey, Hermione. I don't know how you read those things, let alone read them as fast as you do." Ron approached her cheerfully, his cheeks as red as a bullfinch's breast from the mild air of the quidditch field.

"And I don't know how you manage to stay on a broom long enough to play quidditch." She chuckled, the ginger haired boys' bashful grin easing some of the tension that had been building in her shoulders. Hermione sighed softly, closing the text and placing it back onto a pile of discarded books. "Speaking of the game, I thought it didn't end for another twenty minutes?" A frown pulled at her pink dusted lips.

Almost immediately Ron's grin stretched into a bitter scowl. "Umbridge." He said simply. Understanding dawned upon Hermione and she offered her friend a sympathetic smile, patting the empty chair beside her to which Ron unceremoniously slumped into. A peaceful silence followed, both teenagers enjoying the warmth that arose from being in each others company. Ever since being on the run, Hermione felt that her relationship with Ron and Harry had bloomed into something that required no analysing on her part, she had never felt closer to them. Their presence calmed her senses as easily as Crookshanks had during fitful or lonely nights, and the only real issue with her friendships was Ron's growing infatuation with her. Although that was minor, she could handle Ron being a little love sick, she had told him several times that she wasn't interested, she would just have to think of a new way to get it across without hurting his feelings. He was still a close friend after all, if a little thick sometimes.

"Hey... Hermione? How are the nightmares?"

And just like that, it was as if Ron had raked a jagged piece of glass through her skin, her defences, exposing the fleshy vulnerability and fear beneath and then proceeded to slowly squeeze basilisk spit into the wound. Her arm burned.

"Hermione?"

Her chest tightened. She barely registered anything other than the hammering of her heart against her ribs, the thrashing muscle pounding relentlessly; her lungs felt starved for oxygen, as if salt were lining her veins, blocking any of the desired gas from reaching its goal. Harsh breaths flew past parted lips.

"Hermione!"

Suddenly, she was back in Malfoy Manor. Legs clad in leather, squeezing her sides; poisonous, full lips whispering deranged and possessive words into the shell of her ear. An equally possessive knife carving up the skin of her arm, as if a lover breaking into the bark of a tree to engrave initials captured in a childishly drawn heart.

"Listen very closely muddy. You. Stole. From. Me. So now I... am going to steal from you." Black curls and sparkling silver. Like the reflection of the pale crescent moon over Black Lake. The glint of a knife.

"Tell me how you got into my vault!" Obsidian eyes. Bottomless. Monstrous. Angry - angry and devastatingly haunted.

"FILTHY MUDBLOOD!" Cackling. Blood. Dirt. Blood and dirt, that's all that seemed to matter, it rang in her ears, it raced through her mind and it stained her clothes and her skin.

Mudblood. Mudblood. Mud-

"HERMIONE!" Ron bellowed, his voice echoing in her ears louder than the vindictive laughter that suckled at her will mere seconds ago. Hermione opened her eyes, unaware that she had even shut them in the first place, or that she was now on her knees, hands knotted in her hair with her chest heaving. Looking up she found concerned blue eyes. 'Ron' She thought. A cursory glance around her revealed she was in fact not at Malfoy Manor but instead, in Hogwarts library. Releasing a breath, her shoulders relaxed and she slowly allowed her hands to fall into her lap, shame and humiliation colouring her cheeks a darker shade of red than what her shaking body had tinted them.

"I'm sorry. I... please don't tell Professor McGonagall or Harry. Please, Ron." She whimpered softly, rivulets of tears sliding down her cheeks, to her chin and then into the gold and red trimmed jumper hugging her frame. She thought she had gotten over the panic attacks, the tears, the begging for no one else to know. She thought it was just the nightmares now, and she was getting through those gradually. Yet within one meaningless and well intended question, all her progress had shattered and she had fallen a step back.

"You can't keep hiding these attacks from them, Hermione. You have to tell them it's not getting better… that you're not getting better." Ron worried over Hermione, the girl's chest was still rising and falling rather quickly, her eyes never quite meeting his. "Hermione, luv... you were screaming. I had to put a silencing charm on this part of the library." Ron murmured softly, wrapping his arms around the trembling brunette tightly who in return went stiff in his grasp. She knew he was right on some level, but she had never been one to show weakness, let alone ask for help anymore. And as sweet as Ron was in this moment, this repeated term of endearment, this 'luv', floated through her thoughts, lingering with a bitter taste in her mouth that reminded her of the guilt and regret of when she had kissed Ron.

'Luv'

She tossed the word around her head a couple of times, unsure of her feelings on its use by the redhead. Logically, she understood it as a term of endearment, she knew… of lovers who would use it preciously, and Harry had called her it once or twice during a particularly hard night when Ron had left them and all they had were each other to comfort and rely on. Although with Harry, she knew it flowed along the river of friendship, perhaps even a familial one. But with Ron?

With Ron, it tumbled carelessly down a hill with a thousand stop signs that she wasn't sure he knew about, or perhaps was too blinded to acknowledge. Nonetheless, she appreciated the embrace and his attempt to console her. He was right of course, she couldn't keep hiding her nightmares, or her panic attacks that could now apparently be brought upon by the mere mention of her sleepless nights. Some days were easy, most days were hard. Harry understood that and so knew instinctively when she needed space and when she needed his presence. Ron… didn't always understand the need to console herself, to be within her own privacy, alone. Whilst she appreciated his efforts, they could be more harmful than helpful, and there always seemed to be some sexual intention that teased the edges of his friendship, it lingered in every conversation, every hug, every look and goofy smile. Sometimes, a lot of the time, it made Hermione extremely uncomfortable. Ron's eyes tended to rove Hermione's skin unhindered, predatorily with this tinge of infatuation, of possessiveness and … she was almost afraid to think of what else. But even still, he was her friend, and he cared. He was trying to help.

Hermione, in her silence, mulled over the correct words to say to the boy before simply saying 'Thank you.' This appeared to be the correct response as Ron's smile fell back into place and he gave a gentle nod in return, helping the girl to her feet, holding Hermione's hands firmly in his, glancing at the girl before his fingertips lingered at the base of her wrist. Hermione shuddered and attempted to pull her hands gently away from Ron, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the support. Ron's lips momentarily pulled into a frown before he put on a big smile once Hermione was settled, he waved his wand dismissing the spell before turning back to the recovering brunette.

"Maybe you should go back to the dorms, get an early night." He said, scratching the ginger stubble that was beginning to bloom along his shin.

"But my books-"

"Can wait until tomorrow." He grinned, mirth swimming in his ocean tinted eyes seeing a pout take place, reinforcing the defiant folded arms of the brunette before she huffed and stood. "I could walk you back, and if you want we could share a butterbeer, I've got a stash, we can stay up and-" Unfortunately Ron's words fell upon deaf ears as Hermione busied herself with collecting her things and brushing past Ron, giving his arm a grateful squeeze, a soft 'Thanks Ron." before waving her hand as she stalked off; a wave of magic placing all of her discarded literature back into their rightful places in the library, leaving a very stunned, and very enamoured Ronald Weasley in her wake, blood rushing to his cheeks and stealing their paleness with a jovial bemusement. "…Blimey…."

As a blanket of night fell upon the castle of Hogwarts, a cool breeze found Hermione curled up on the windowsill of her room. Its chilled fingers exploring the girl's exposed skin, delighting in the goose bumps raised and the resulting shiver. Rubbing her arms, Hermione, drew her cloak closer to her. It wasn't an unpleasant cold, in fact it was a chill that was welcomed, for it calmed her senses, sharpening them as she organised her thoughts. She liked to picture her mind as a library, each shelf for different topics, emotions and errant thoughts. It helped to keep her priorities straight. Though she would never tell anyone else that, she'd probably get labelled a bigger nerd than she already is.

"Lumos." She whispered the tip of her wand lighting with a honey-tinted glow to reveal the spell-book cradled in her lap. She had been pouring over this same particular tome for at least a week now and still had made little progress with the spell she wanted to perform. It involved a series of complicated gestures and runic symbols she had yet to decipher but Hermione had been determined to master it, as well as every other spell possible. Sometimes she had to remind herself to take it one step at a time. Turning the page she let out a breath of irritation, time spells were so finicky. She huffed, turning the page again before directing her gaze to the moon hanging leisurely above the lake, skeletal trees adorning its edges like a cracked frame. Relaxing, Hermione rolled her shoulders and allowed the haunting beauty of nature to ease her. The sight accompanied by the gentle sound of Crookshanks purring eventually lulling her to sleep.

The morning that followed came with an air of peace, and despite the cool air, Hermione slept extremely well, better than she had in months. Nature, it seemed, had coiled around the girl with a tender grasp that not only brought her a sense of harmony and content, but allowed some part of its feral nature to linger around her. It could be seen in the way her brown eyes, that currently resembled scorched earth, bore into the open textbook in her lap with the intensity of the first sip of fire-whiskey. Today, that wild aura warded off many of the student population, except for one sly Draco Malfoy, who as of recent seemed determined to pester her.

"Oi, Granger! You got a minute?" Green eyes stared patiently at the brunette whose guttural huff would normally send first years sprinting for their dorms.

"You've got one minute exactly, Draco." Relenting to the Slytherin, Hermione reluctantly closed her book to stare back at the boy whose blonde hair had been combed back to accentuate his angular, aristocratic features to be sharper than usual.

"I just... wanted to-"

"Apologise?"

"Well um yes, actually. This war took a grisly turn and what happened to you was-"

"Wasn't your fault." She quickly intercepted. The boy had been apologising for months and frankly Hermione never blamed him in the first place. It was nice at first, the old Draco would never say such kind words, and she took the first two apologies with gratitude and sincerity and they even began to spend more time together, building a friendship upon broken bridges and a past broken nose, a moment they now shared in laughter. However, once Draco had spoken of his guilt and genuine woe for the one hundredth time she became quite sick of it.

"But still I-"

"Draco. Please, enough. You've been apologising ever since the incident happened and I've told you it wasn't your fault. Thank you though, really." She flashed him a small smile and his cheeks began to colour furiously.

He chuckled, losing some of the arrogant and prideful façade that he built up for other students. "I suppose I have bothered you quite a bit, haven't I?" Running a hand through his hair he smiled genuinely. Despite it all, Hermione Granger had grown on him, she was capable, funny and despite their differences, they got along extremely well. Draco reckoned if he hadn't been blinded by blood purity and power, he and Granger would have caused great mischief, hell maybe if he had sat next to her on the train to Hogwarts, the girl would be wearing green and silver. And despite all their squabbles and issues, the two had managed to find comfort in their arguing which had eventually turned into bantering. Draco no longer saw a mudblood, but a witch of great company, and after watching his friend tortured he had quickly changed sides.

"A bit? Draco you have been worse than a cat in heat! Can you please, please go back to throwing insults at me? Anything than your endless pitying." She grinned slyly, sarcasm lacing her words easily and allowing the blonde to relax. "So, was there anything else you needed to see me for?"

"Well, actually..." The boy began to wring his hands nervously. Hermione's hair began to stand on end, she had a feeling she wasn't going to like this. " My... family would like for you to attend Aunt Bella's um…" He cleared his throat and looked down guiltily. "... Madame Lestrange's trial. Justice and that. After Voldemort vanished at the end of the war she immediately went down without a fight… the order think it's rather suspicious and they're split on a decision. Death or life imprisonment and well, mother wants an alternative…"

For a breadth of a moment, Draco didn't think Hermione would respond, the girl staring with a faraway look, her breathing tightly controlled to the point it looked like it hurt. "Of course, I myself think it's a bit strange, Bellatrix has always had fight in her, I don't really get why she would just give up because he disappeared again. My family, they obviously want the safer option, imprisonment that is, over death and … since she… since she did what she did to you, everyone would like your opinion and possibly your backing. So…. Um…" Draco bit the inside of his cheek, losing his wording, worried he had overwhelmed her with his family's offer.

'What? Bellatrix went down without a fight?' That was unheard of. It was impossible. It had never happened before. Hermione's mind worked overtime. No, that's not quite right, anything is possible. Time is a fickle thing. Hermione would have to look into this herself, so she took a quick breath and met his gaze with a look of steel.

"When is the trial?"

"Thursday evening. Three days from now."

"I... you're right it is suspicious. For his right hand to go down without a fight is definitely a play." She mumbled, the cogs in her mind whirring quickly.

"You're telling me, she didn't even seem to register what was happening."

"What do you mean?"

"As in... she just... stopped. Dropped to her knees and allowed herself to be taken. No fight, no curses, nothing."

This received silence. Bellatrix Lestrange going down without even a word? That was short of absurd and the statement left Hermione more than stunned. She knew the dark witch had been captured after her fight with Molly Weasley but that was all that was mentioned.

"I know it's a selfish request, I told them, my family and the order that is." Draco sighed, looking guilty. "But you're the brightest with of your age, they think that you would be able to sway those who want blood in favour of a different path, the idea being that the order can use this to gain information about you-know-who and save Bellatrix from death, even if she does deserve it." After an uncomfortable minute of weighty silence, Draco coughed nervously, drawing the witches attention to the matter at hand once more. Hermione blinked a few times before straightening up to look Draco in the eyes. "You know what, forget what I said, it was a horribly bad idea to ask this of you so-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" He repeated unsurely.

"I'll be there."

"You will?"

Hermione nodded, an air of confidence and determination about her. Draco smiled nervously and clasped his hand on her shoulder.

"That's… that's great, thank you… uh… one more thing though?"

"Oh?" Hermione narrowed her eyes warily, assessing Draco's suddenly guilty features.

Of all the places Hermione Granger believed she would never return to, Malfoy Manor was at the top of her list for very obvious reasons. So when she found herself walking through the halls once more with none other than Draco Malfoy at her side she wanted nothing more than to wake up from whatever nightmare she was in. Yet despite her thoughts, she knew no dream could match the isolating feeling of despair trapped in the bones of this house. No imitation could create that numbing chill so similar to a dementor that it was hard to believe the house wasn't one itself, and with every step that very chill seemed to slither up Hermione's spine, and it very much reminded her of Nagini, and it was a very, very clear reminder that she was very much awake, and on her way to speak with McGonagall, the Malfoys, and the subject of her dreams.

All in all, Hermione had no idea why she agreed to attend this meeting. Her only answer to that was that she had had a momentary lapse in sanity because realistically who on earth would want to return to the place they were tortured... to speak with their torturer… with said torturers family watching with hope that you'll save that same torturer from their upcoming trial.

Hermione wanted to be sick. Or pass out. Or both.

"You're looking a little pale there, Granger. You okay?" Draco bumped her shoulder lightly, shaking the girl from her quiet stupor. The brunette gave a huff of disapproval before raising a brow at the boy. "Yeah… stupid question, I know. But still, if you change your mind about this, the trial's not for another night."

"I know. Thank you, Draco. I need to do this, speak with her I mean. I just need to remember that if I do this, we could get some answers, we could save a life, that means something. I could maybe even get some closure. I need to see something in her that we can save or use. I'll be fine." She smiled appreciatively at him as they stopped.

Draco gave her a once over before placing his hand on the door that would lead to the waiting party. He threw her a supportive smile. "You've got this, Hermione." At this the witch blinked in surprise at the blondes firm support and belief, and smiled as he pushed the door open and led them through.

As the two entered, several pairs of eyes landed on them, namely those of Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks and Minerva McGonagall.

"Miss Granger, glad you could make it." Minerva addressed her firmly, concern lingering at the edge of her sense of authority. Andromeda smiled warmly at the young witch whilst Narcissa gave a polite nod of acknowledgement, something akin to guilt lurking in the older woman's averted gaze. And in the middle of the room, shackled to the floor was Bellatrix Lestrange. The youngest of the Black sisters, a powerful and intelligent witch known to be a prodigy in the making, the Black sister who threw it all away for death and darkness and power and became one of the youngest and strongest death eaters of her age. Except… this Bellatrix wasn't grinning, nor was she laughing, or even cursing. The only thing similar about the witch before Hermione was the tumbling black curls that seemed to engulf the woman's form as she knelt on the floor, overgrown bangs loosely curtaining her eyes. The most noticeable thing about the dark witch?

Her eyes.

Hermione remembered ink as black as coal for eyes with this glint of murderous intent that never left soulless orbs. The eyes of the witch before her resembled no such intent or darkness. They still held that emptiness that accompanied the colour black, but that's all they seemed to carry. Just this overwhelming hollowness that was truly and terrifyingly haunting. Hermione shuddered. Those were the eyes of someone who had not only caused suffering, but had suffered themselves tremendously, someone who danced with death and lived. Someone who had lived with dementors. Someone who had taken lives. All of which Bellatrix Lestrange had done.

"Bellatrix…" Narcissa started, unsure how to encourage this interaction. This was after all not just a meeting. It was a chance to change her sentence. A chance to convince a key player in the decision making. Narcissa had appealed for rehabilitation on probation if a victim of Bellatrix could forgive her, anything but Azkaban and the dementors kiss. An incredibly risky move on the older witch's part but she seemed determined to save the dark witch, even if the majority of people couldn't fathom why.

"Bellatrix, Hermione Granger is here to talk to you before the trial. Do you remember Miss Granger?" Andromeda spoke clearly though it didn't even seem to stir Bellatrix.

Minerva sighed in disappointment as she stepped forward raising her wand which in turn caused the shackled witch's face to lift to meet their gazes. "Mrs. Lestrange, this is your last chance."

Now this caused a reaction. The second the mention of the name 'Lestrange' passed through Minerva's lips an ugly snarl tore through the room, so sudden and violent and… guttural that Hermione wasn't entirely sure it sounded human, let alone that it came from the trapped witch in front of her. Then it dawned on Hermione, that was exactly what this witch was. Trapped. Caged. A caged Bellatrix was something that scared Hermione. It was a fear stronger than when she was pinned beneath the woman with a blade carving up her arm. It was a primal fear of the unknown. Something about the wild, untamed aura of the dark witch seemed almost monstrous. It was akin to a feral animal. An animal that has only known blood and pain and power its whole life. Hermione swallowed nervously as the vicious sound retreated into no more than a low rumbling, and then into silence as the dark witch seemed to finally take in her surroundings before her empty gaze settled once more on Minerva and she tilted her head, smirking wickedly.

"I thought we had discussed this, Minny. It's Miss Black. Not, Lestrange. It was never, Lestrange." Bellatrix gave a toothy smile, one that brought a rather barbed edge to her already pointed words.

"Lestrange or Black, you're still the same sharp-tongued viper, Bellatrix." Minerva's lips rose in disdain at the nickname, and despite the surreal danger of the situation, the name had caused Hermione to smile for just a second. This, did not go unnoticed and immediately that small quirk of the brunettes lips was like blood in water, and Bellatrix was a shark.

"Awww did the little mudblood like that one? Has Dumbledore's little mouse got a sense of humour? At least your mudblood finds me funny, Minny!" Bellatrix crowed, her laughter filling the room, causing Hermione to take a step back and subconsciously squeeze her scarred arm.

"That is quite enough Bellatrix." Narcissa Malfoy had finally spoken. Her command rang through the room with a sudden arctic chill that doused Bellatrix immediately. The dark witch cast her gaze downwards away from the brunette and momentarily glanced at the polar blue eyes of her sister. "You realise everyone in this room, especially this girl, are your sole saviours from Azkaban, yes?" Bellatrix nodded solemnly. "Then perhaps you will treat them with the respect that they deserve considering they are the only ones stopping the Wizengamot from letting a dementor have its way with you." Narcissa spat the words with a thinly concealed, arctic rage as she took a step towards her younger sister, who remained firmly in place, frozen by the woman's anger.

"I… understand, Cissy." The witch murmured quietly although completely unapologetically. Bellatrix then raised her head to stare blankly at Minerva, a sneer taking place though lacking its usual malice, and with a black painted nail, the polish chipped at the ends, Bellatrix began to unceremoniously pick her teeth. "So, what can I do for you… Minerva."

Minerva sighed. At least this was a step forward, Narcissa's presence seemed to have been a very big advantage for the task and the older woman was very appreciative of the stern blondes attendance. "Mrs-" Bellatrix frowned at the older woman and Minerva resisted rolling her eyes. "Miss Black, before you is Miss Granger, a girl you've tortured and scarred grievously. Yet, here she stands today, to hear you out and possibly save you from death. She is the brightest witch of her age, however I myself cannot fathom why she would even consider saving you. So make this count, Miss Black. It may be your very last chance." Minerva finished strongly, staring into Bellatrix's starless gaze with contempt. On the contrary, Bellatrix looked rather unaffected by McGonagall's speech, instead focusing on picking at her nails until the old woman had finished. The black haired witch then turned to look at Hermione. Although it wasn't really just looking, it was more staring. Hermione wasn't sure if it was analytical or predatory but she could tell the woman seemed to be searching her. For what? Hermione honestly didn't know.

"Why?" It was the younger girls only question.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, darling." Bellatrix replied drolly, almost flirtily, once again tilting her head as if some confused puppy, a smirk pulling at full lips. It infuriated Hermione more than she could explain, even if the shameless flirting tinged her cheeks a dusty pink, balling her fists, she walked till she stood directly in front of the chained witch.

"Don't play games, Bellatrix. I think everyone's sick of them. Just, just tell me why- that's all I want! Were you abused? Did they put a curse or charm on you? Did you do it for power? Money? Were you sold into it? Is that why you cut me? To possess something the way they possessed you!" Hermione was shouting, her voice like thunder in the silence of the room and it struck with just as much devastation as everyone watched the girl unburden herself, tears stinging her eyes as her nails dug into her own palms hard enough to leave red crescents. The darker haired woman sat in silence as she watched the witch sob. Barbed wire lined Bellatrix's veins, and with each accusation that left the girls mouth it felt as if that wire sliced her, bleeding out pain and anger, the feeling oozing through her body solemnly. Yet despite this inner turmoil, Bellatrix remained stoic, allowing the girl to channel every shred of hatred, every inch of sadness and agony into her screams. She deserved it, and she knew she did.

"Is that it, Bellatrix?! Were you some plaything that got tossed aside! Did you fail to impress your so called 'dark lord' even after you tortured the Longbottoms into insanity?!" Hermione was shaking now, and Bellatrix briefly wondered about the girls words, about to retort before the coalition of rage and pent up distress swirled into a storm and Hermione grabbed the dark witch by her robes, a momentary growl escaping Bellatrix's throat. "Did he beat you for your failures?! Did he steal your memories?!" Hermione pulled the witch closer until midnight curls parted to allow brown eyes to bore into black. "Do you know why I'm here? It's because no one, not a single soul wanted to burden themselves with saving you, not even your own family wanted you Bellatrix Lestrange-" Bellatrix snapped, ripping Hermione's hands away from her and snarling viciously, spittle flying away as she spat venomously.

"It's Bellatrix Black, you shit stain of a mud-"

"Shut UP!" Hermione's wand slipped from her cloak and thrust into the side of Bellatrix's throat, a snake with its fangs poised. Splintered wooden furnaces ensnared dark coal eyes and the two stayed locked, Bellatrix's nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. The brief sight of blood forming tiny droplets took Hermione by surprise, though she did not flinch away, her wand not moving an inch from its position.

"Miss Granger, please, I believe that's enough-" Narcissa tried to intercept, unable to continue listening to the girls thorned wails but more so afraid for the girls safety, being in such close proximity with Bellatrix, even if the witch was chained.

Venom laced Hermione's next words. "You hurt everything and everyone around you," Hermione spoke softly, almost salaciously, her chest heaving with exertion, "You don't deserve more chances at life, you never deserved a single breath. You're a fucking monster."

"Miss Granger!" It was Andromeda who managed to tear the girl away from Bellatrix. Cradling the trembling and broken girl in her arms, stunned at the display of pure, unbridled torment, as were the rest of the group in the room. Draco Malfoy had never seen his friend so unwound and uncontrolled before, for Narcissa she was shocked by how truly affected the young witch was by Bellatrix. And for the dark witch herself, well, it was hard to tell. Bellatrix remained silent during the last of the girls' outburst. If Bellatrix was honest with herself, she was impressed that the muggleborn had even dared to openly approach her in such a manner, let alone manhandle her and shove her spindly little wand in her throat. She felt stripped by the girls harsh but all to true words. All in all, Bellatrix was exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. The girl was right about never deserving a chance, her rant had hit a few nerves, though most of what Hermione had said was only partly true. Bellatrix took a moment to really look at the witch. She was around the same height as her, probably the same age too, perhaps a year or two her junior. She was pretty, Bellatrix tried to recall having seen her around Hogwarts, perhaps in a few classes, in the stands for quidditch games. She couldn't remember if they had ever interacted, it's possible she may not have ever spoken to Hermione. But the way she spoke so honestly, so brutally, it gave the impression that Hermione intimately knew Bellatrix, and it gave the dark witch pause in her initial desire to retaliate, and it briefly reminded her of a time before war, before being a death eater. Bellatrix searched, she wracked her brain for memories of the witch before her but came up short other than a few cursory glances, maybe a flirty comment or two. Like she said, the witch was pretty, if Bellatrix was honest, Hermione was hot, and she liked the fire in the brunette's eyes, the brattiness, the challenge, that wildness that clung about her. But Bellatrix was not honest, and her eyes dropped from Hermione to the floor. 'It's a shame I didn't meet her properly in school, she would've been fun… Morgana, she hates me and all I can think about is how good she'd look on her knees… lord, does that make me toxic? …. Maybe a little… I really am fucked up.' Bellatrix almost laughed out loud at private conversation, she was losing it. 'I'm so tired of this shit.' But still, it was strange, she couldn't recall the pretty brunette too well in her memories and the way she spoke of her? Of what she'd done? It's like she knew things she shouldn't. She bit her lip and tried not to look at the other witch, to not look at anyone really.

As Hermione began to quieten, she felt the smallest pang of regret ring in her chest and in her ears. She hadn't meant some of the words she had said, even if most of it was true, but this Bellatrix… this broken and beaten Bellatrix already knew of her crimes. Hermione was being irrational and emotional. She deserved to be, she deserved this catharsis, yet she still felt disgusted with herself.

The rest of the party waited to see how Bellatrix would react. All fearing an eruption of derogatory curses and spiels of blood purity, but mostly… they were afraid of the anger. Bellatrix had been known for her rage, even as a child and rightly so. However as Bellatrix stared at the floor contemplatively, she raised her eyes to reveal that there was no fury, no curses or defence of blood purity. Only weighted silence and a gaze brimming with resignation. Bellatrix was tired, she felt old for her age, everything hurt all the time, she was exhausted.

"You're not wrong. I was… am all those things; a possession, a tool, a failure. But most of all, I am a monster. I loved being one. It's that simple. I was born to be a monster." Bellatrix sighed heavily; rolling her shoulders causing the heavy chains to scrape against the floor loudly, before she settled, choosing to sit cross legged. She looked up at the witch and smiled emptily. "Does that satisfy you?"


Thank you for reading guys, again I know some readers who read the original might have a sense of deja vu, hopefully this is as interesting as the original. Reviews and feedback are welcome. See you in the next chapter.