Title:Sugar and Spice
Author/Artist: OwlishArgento
Challenge: FQF: 12. 12. Bellatrix and Hermione vie for Voldemort's attentions.
Summary: Hermione is the newest trophy for Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix is less than impressed. Ron Weasley is having the worst month in history. Aww.
A/N: Well, I loved writing this story even more than At Last because I really loved the interaction between Hermione and Bellatrix. There are very few stories that deal solely on their reactions to one another and I have to question why as there would be so much potential for tension, victory and pain. It would have been so very easy for me to slip into the trap of writing this as a humourfic but, against my better judgement, I tried to approach it with a little more seriousness, therefore, turning it into an "Ironic" fic. I am violently opposed to the end of this as it turned way too Hollywood mush but, as time was against me, I left it in for the sake of completion.
The title, Sugar and Spice, refers to the old poem that clearly states that "Sugar and Spice and everything nice" is the recipe for the perfect little girl. Hermione is sugar, Bellatrix is spice and neither of them are particularly nice, so I must have done something wrong in my attempt to create the perfect relationship. I beg you to accept them, flaws and all.
Sugar and Spice
The huge stone castle was located beside the sea in a country, she knew, was not her own. The ancient, looming mountains, barely visible from her room, spoke of a place where time had been violently forced to stand still. An appropriate description for the young witch who stared so pensively into the deceptively calm depths of her unnamed ocean.
It had become an all to familiar sight for the inhabitants of the fortress to see the young woman sitting on a lonely rock, looking as though the ever changing waves could hold the mystery to her existence. She had come to this unremarkable spot every day since she had arrived at the castle all of those months ago. It was not, like every other part of the small beach, covered with gloriously white sand, instead it was bare with algae and small animals growing undisturbed over the few rocks. It had become the only place she could find solace, her refuge from the harsh consequences of her actions.
He had callously left her at the altar on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life. The rumours followed soon after about infidelity, marriage of convenience and addiction to illegal substances. The pitying looks as she struggled to cope, disgusted her. The whispers hurt the most. "Pregnant and alone, the poor girl", they didn't even bother to subdue their voices nor disguise the never-ending rush of sympathy. It seemed easier to let them have their way, to let them take care of her as she slowly became weaker and weaker. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, the darling sweethearts who gave light when it was darkest, were no longer together and Hermione had broken apart. Anyone who knew her from Hogwarts, or the battles against the Dark could not recognise her. The strong, powerful witch they knew and respected had been replaced by a mere shadow of her former self.
No-one was, honestly, that surprised to hear the loss of her unborn infant. They, instead, lathered her with more pity. She hadn't eaten, hadn't spoken. She was weak and almost consumed entirely by the grief from losing both her beloved husband and her unborn child.
One perfectly unremarkable day, her mother had been shocked to find her daughter's bedroom empty. A hastily scribbled note spoke of "getting away from it all" and "need time to be alone". Her mother, a woman wise to the needs of her daughter, agreed with her child's plans and vowed to keep her desired destination a secret from all prying, wizarding eyes.
Six months later
Naples, Italy
Hermione had been sitting quietly in Il Parco Virgiliano, or "The Garden of Remembrance" when a tall figure, clad in black robes, sat beside her. His face, although the colour of bleached ivory, was serene, contrasting sharply with the violent scarlet surrounding his pupils. Her eyes flickered to his face, briefly, before returning to the greenery.
They sat like this for another few hours, neither speaking nor acknowledging the other's existence in any way. He calmly studied her face while she, equally calmly, ignored him. Her face was still pale and her hair was as bushy as he remembered. In fact, it seemed to have grown in bushiness and had the unkempt style of a woman no longer concerned with anything.
"I can sit here all night, if it suited me. I want a word with you and I will not go away until you listen." He finally murmured quietly to her after a short time. The sun had began to set over the bay, turning the water a tangerine colour. The sounds of people enjoying themselves floated up over the bay and into the Garden. The occasional glasses breaking, coupled with the sounds of happy laughing while the sun slowly set, offered an image a poet could not have properly captured. "Look at them. So happy and relaxed."
Her dull brown eyes followed his outstretched arm, almost mechanically. They snapped quickly back on him and her nose ruffled in undisguised disgust. "How did you find me here?"
"Your mother is a delightful lady. She sends her regards." His voice was lofty and limpid, as though he found extracting the information from the woman nothing more difficult than peeling a mountain of potatoes. "I would have killed you, had you screamed. I was intrigued by your indifference. I cannot say it was not unusual."
"I'd imagine so. People fussing over you all of the time can grate on even the nerves of the Dark Lord." She replied quietly, her eyes returning to staring, almost hypnotised, by a flower in front of her. An uneasy silence appeared between the two unusual companions.
"The first question I would have expected you to ask is "Why have you come for me?", it is the question that most people would have considered." His statement, a question really, hang in the air between them. Slowly, she turned to face him, eyes still dull and lifeless.
"I know why you have come for me, Lord Voldemort." Her voice was calm and quiet "You like to collect souvenirs of your conquests. Trophies from your enemy. Who am I but a prize for such an avid collector of defeat? I have been destroyed by love."
"You have too much faith in your own worth, Hermione." He sounded almost amused. Her eyes widened slightly in shock. "I have come to return you to your previous self."
Silence.
"Why?"
"You were once powerful but you are now weak. You had so much potential to do great things but you refuse. I will not allow you to forsake your power in such a pathetic manner."
"You want me" A blunt statement.
"Yes"
"To become a Death Eater"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"I doubt I will find anyone on this planet who has a greater loathing of Mr Weasley, or a resentment of Mr Potter, than you." He paused "Next to myself, of course."
She squinted up at him, her eyes avidly studying his countenance. His voice was not malicious, instead she had a fleeting memory of speaking to Dumbledore in this casual tone. He did not seem intent in causing her harm, yet she knew that trusting him would never be an option.
"You are not how I expected you to be." Her tone was, again, calm. "I would have expected you to kill me on sight. I would have expected more violence and intimidation."
His open faced closed and was replaced with a mask of cold horror. She recoiled slightly from the burning from his flashing eyes.
"I could resort to violence and intimidation, if it suited me." His voice was sharper and angrier. "From what my sources tell me, you have embarked on devouring any Dark text you can find. Interesting turn of events."
"Your sources are wrong." She said simply, drawing her eyes away from his face. "I have been devouring any text I can find. What is the distinction between Dark texts and Light texts as long as I become normal again?"
"I will help you, for a price"
"My soul? My humanity? My sanity?" For the first time of their encounter, Hermione had shown some emotion in her words. Each syllable was tinged with a desperation only felt by a woman who had lost as she had and wanted to become strong again. The sound of a girl crying out to be found in a never ending darkness. He savoured her pain.
"I do enjoy collecting my trophies." He stood swiftly and offered her his arm. Pausing, she linked their arms and both walked through the now dark gardens.
True to his word, he gave her the strength she desired. Her powers grew almost daily and soon she was casting spells faster than he could put up a Shield charm. Magic flowed around her as she threw herself into perfecting every spell he set her to learn. The rush she had felt as a child now came back to her. She was powerful, she was strong.
She cast the Levitation charms as easily as she had done the day Ron had reduced her to tears and almost got her killed, she cast Alohomora with as much efficiency as the night Harry almost got her and other students killed by his own recklessness. Imperio, Crucio and Avada Kedavra were not that difficult to cast, once you had your mind set on hurting someone. She gave a peculiar vindictive shout as she tortured a large spider for as long as thirty minutes before taking a break and beginning again. Imagining the spider as Ron gave her a certain dash of irony, that never failed to make her grin.
Lord Voldemort grew more and more fascinated by her, as their few days together turned into weeks. She had become as powerful as the day he had seen her, bravely ordering people to fight against him. The day the Dark forces had controlled Hogsmede, she had been prepared, with Ron and Harry standing alongside her as they shouted commands to a small group of people, he now knew were named "Dumbledore's Army". They had been brave, yes. However, bravery does not win a war on it's own. The trio and a few other students had escaped the purge.
After the Battle of Hogsmede, Harry was given a prestigious title of the Ministry. Ron and Hermione had been set to get married before finishing the quest for the remaining Horcruxes. As far as she knew, Harry and Ron were still searching for them.
Images of Harry and Ron, the two people whom she had loved most, flashed before her eyes when she cast the darkest curses. She hated Ron for what he had done to her, she blamed Ron for the death of her child. Harry, she imagined for another reason. He had promised to support her but he never once protected her. Had he have honoured his promise to stop her from harm, she would not be turning to Dark magic to become as normal as she could be. He had abandoned her, he felt the needs of other people (namely Ron, who had started the long road to recovery from his addiction to Muggle drugs) were more important than hers. He let her child die. She was training to be the precious jewel in the crown of Lord Voldemort. His beautiful weapon.
With the information she had provided about the "noble" quest of Harry and Ron, Voldemort had subtlety and swiftly acted, passing misleading information about their locations to the follower's whose loyalty he doubted. Hopefully, this would have the delightful side-affect of sending the wizards to a certain death and exposing those who were passing information to the enemy. He quietly increased security around Nagini and ordered his most loyal Death Eaters to keep a discrete eye on his other most precious belongings. The information provided by Hermione, information she had swore to keep clandestine, had been more than useful. He had a warning as to the plotting of the Light.
Now, this beacon for Light, was casting exceptionally Dark magic like she was born to, with the power and the sheer knowledge of curses he had only seen in Bellatrix. He had often wondered how his two Queens would react to each other.
"He's changed since that little Mudblood slut arrived!" Bellatrix hissed angrily, quickly pacing the grand room. She had been venting her censure about the newest arrival to the ranks of Death Eaters for the past hour, yet her companion did not seem troubled by the lengthy descriptions of what the witch would do to one Hermione Granger. In fact, Narcissa had been so practiced to hearing her sister's uncontrollable ranting that she found this particular one lacking the usual flair.
"I am positive that you are being unreasonable, Bella." Narcissa waved her hand dismissively, obviously not sharing the concerns of her increasingly animated sister. "I would be more concerned if she was a beautiful goddess but she is nothing more than a mere slip of a girl. He would not feel attracted to her when a beauty, such as yourself, presents herself so openly"
Although sitting beside a woman whose hair looked spun from gold, with a complexion and eyes to make a supermodel cry, Bellatrix was beautiful in her own right. Her time in Azkaban had stripped her of the dark beauty she had possessed as a child, yet her face had began to lose it's gauntness. Her hair had become soft, with her raven tresses contrasting with her pale complexion. Her eyes still held traces of her inner torment, yet were framed with a fervent fanaticism that almost made them glow. Her voice had grown an ethereal, lofty quality that reminded Narcissa of a psychotic vampire she had once had the misfortune of meeting, yet when she was angry or hysterical, it became sharper.
"Who said he was attracted to her?" Bellatrix spun quickly on the spot, mid-stride. Her voice had managed to escalate a few levels in pitch. "I never once suggested that he was physically attracted to her. I meant that he was behaving differently. He was fine until she waltzed in here with all of her knowledge and books. How dare she? Now all he talks about is her and her stupid, idiotic plans that were quite obviously devised by a know-it-all Gryffindor Muggle! Can you imagine how badly her plans to invade the Ministry would have failed? She's not even that powerful a witch. She's not even a witch with her filthy Muggle blood. Don't even get me started on her laughable attempts at the Crutacius. I have seen more power come from a stick lying on the ground than from her wand. I hate her! I hate her! She's trying to destroy me! Are you even listening, Cissy?"
"Honestly? No, I'm not"
Ignoring the incredulous look on her sister's face, she walked, gratefully, to the door of Bellatrix's room without so much a passing glance at the hysterical witch. Too used to the fluctuating moods of her raven-haired sibling, she knew that Bella would become calmer without someone to rant to.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous, Bella"
With a hint of a smirk, Narcissa closed the door swiftly to avoid being hit by the shards of broken glass from the vase that managed to find itself flying ten feet in the air.
"Tonight, my children, I will send a team to take care of a thorn in my side. Jonas Campbell has refused Lord Voldemort for the last time. If he will not end his pathetic attempts to convince people to act against us now, we will end him." A tittering laugh rippled throughout the crowds of gathered Death Eaters. "Dolohov and Malfoy, you will knock out the wards." Two masked figures nodded. "Bella and Hermione, you will take care of Mr Campbell"
The team of four disapparated within moments and arrived outside the Campbell home. Wormtail, sniffling and twitching as usual, had given them the co-ordinates to apparate to after a day of spying, and winced when he had acknowledged who had arrived. He had recognised Hermione the moment she had arrived with the Dark Lord, strong and surrounded by an aura of power he had learnt was not attributed to only his Master. The change from the girl he had met into the woman standing before him, unnerved him more than he had confided to Severus. She was almost glowing, standing in the garden of the family home with the mocking mask concealing the kind face he had been used to.
He nodded at the new arrivals and disapparated immediately. His only use was reconnaissance. Beyond the complex art of spying on people, he lacked the necessary skill to be of any use to the specially chosen group tonight. Admittedly, he had not wanted to be directly involved in the murder of someone he had shared a room with for seven years at Hogwarts, even if he had been indirectly involved in the murder's of two of his closest friends.
"How long until the wards are down, Malfoy?" Bellatrix hissed loudly to one of the black figures beside her. Tonight was a typically cold winter for the country and, although happy to do any bidding her Lord requested of her, she preferred a comforting warmth.
"Honestly, Bellatrix. I would have expected you to have thought of casting a warming charm on yourself. Unless, of course, you prefer to freeze to death." The voice of a younger woman came from beside her. Her tone was contrary and amused, as if the thought of Bellatrix freezing to death was something she would support.
"Quiet." A silky male voice, the cultured tones could only belong to the younger Malfoy, came from beside the women. "The wards are almost down and I'd rather like to concentrate before they realise what we're doing."
Bellatrix forcibly bit her tongue in the effort to keep her from cursing Hermione for her petulant behaviour. Although usually she wouldn't have bothered holding back, it would have been a greater folly to announce their presence to their enemy and face the wrath of her Master. Bellatrix may have been crazy but her fanatical devotion to The Cause outweighed her desire to see Hermione screaming in pain.
"They are down. Go and be done with it." Antonin Dolohov, a vicious man who particularly delighted in killing some members of a family and using their corpses to kill the rest by transforming them into Inferi, was impatiently looking at the bristling witches. He had heard of their constant bickering, which nearly cost them a few kills, and was in no mood for babysitting spoilt children.
"I'll go first, Muggle. You follow." Bellatrix sneered at Hermione and strode briskly toward the house. Hermione glared at her retreating back and almost ran to catch up with her so they walked side-by-side.
"I will not let you get the first kill, Bellatrix." Hermione hissed angrily at Bellatrix who had taken to ignoring her. "It is my turn! You just can't keep pushing ahead of me and getting the glory."
"Aw, the little Muggle wants to be a big bad Death Eater." Bellatrix cooed infuriately at the fuming witch. "Well, you can't tonight, little girly. Tonight it's my kill and it makes my blood sing thinking of the bad man in his bedroom all alone and waiting for us to paint pretty pictures with his spleen. Such beautiful art, I can make. Such delicious noises he will make as I pour this poison down his throat, to rot him from the inside. He should not have printed those words against our Master. He will pay for his crimes." Lost in the ecstasy of her fantasy, almost smelling the blood and hearing him screaming like an animal, made her forget just whom she was speaking to. Bella's eyes cleared and snapped onto the white masked woman beside her. "You can have his children. I'm sure you can mange that difficult a task."
Hermione was itching to draw her wand and curse Bellatrix. Her blood boiled angrily, thinking of the pure injustice of the situation. This had been the seventh time they had been sent on a hunt together and every time Bellatrix always got to kill the primary target while she was stuck killing the odd family members for effect. Bellatrix had been well rewarded for her devotion by Voldemort while she, Hermione Granger the double-crossing betrayer of the Light, got nothing but a nod. She wanted nothing more than to be appreciated by her Master but with Bellatrix killing people like a spoilt brat, she could do nothing but accept her place.
However, as she had quickly learnt from her time with the Dark Lord, rules can and should be broken.
"Petrificius Totalus" Hermione pointed her wand defiantly in the face of the other woman. She watched, with barely concealed glee, as Bellatrix's muscles seized up and she fell to the floor with a muffled thump.
"It's a simple spell, Bella" Hermione sneered at the woman who was unsuccessfully trying to escape from the invisible binds of Hermione's spell. "I would have expected you to have your wand drawn, knowing our mission but your unprecedented arrogance knows no bounds. You will wait here as I make the kill. I'm sure you could manage that difficult a task."
Hermione stepped over the immobile form of Bellatrix and crept silently up the dark staircase. A bathroom lay at the top of the stairs, with it's door wide open and a light on at this late an hour. Ignoring the light, the tell-tale sign of young children present, she crept past a door labelled "Robert's Room. Enter if ye dare" with a small, drawn pirate waving a hook dangerously at her. Another door to her right had the words "Amy's Palace. Princesses only!" written onto it with a pastel pink shade and was decorated with carriages and handsome princes drawing their swords.
Pointing her wand at each of the colourful doors in turn, she magically sealed the children in so, in the unlikely event they tried to escape, they would be unable to run for help. Her gaze snapped from the smaller rooms to the door of the Master bedroom. She knew that Jonas Campbell would be distraught from the recent death of his beloved wife, Margaret, and hoped he would forget to sleep with his wand in easy reach. Not that he would have much time to seek out the wand.
Breathing deeply to calm herself, she opened the door with no magical persuasion. A good sign as someone who did not lock their bedroom door with magic would be completely defenceless in their slumber.
Although the darkness blanketed the room, her mask had a charm on it, similar to the one on the Hand of Glory, which allowed her to see the lumpy shape covered by a floral patterned quilt. A picture containing two newlyweds sat beside the bed, with the brunette woman laughing and smiling as her new husband held her in his arms with an equally happy smile.
A coldness settled in her stomach while looking at the two young people who were very much in love. She knew the woman now lay beneath the ground and that her husband would soon join her. Closing her eyes, Hermione steadied herself and pointed her wand at the bed.
"So, who are you then?"
The man sat up on the bed and switched on a light beside him. He looked as old as she was and had a mop of shocking red hair upon his freckly face. His clear, blue eyes flashed dangerously.
"What? Lost your voice, Death Eater?" Ron Weasley spat the words out as though they were acidic. "Or maybe you were expecting someone else."
Ron had not changed since she had saw him last. The immaturity of his youth had been replaced by the maturity of a cool, capable Auror who bravely fought at the side of his best friend. His hair was a few shades darker and she could see a few grey hairs beginning to appear. His eyes, once filled with mirth, were hardened by years of finding Death Eaters. Scars from his many battles covered his face.
"So, who are you?" Ron's tone was mocking yet she knew he did not recognise her. "If we are going to fight to the death, it costs nothing to be polite. Unless, of course, you plan to cowardly sneak into my bedroom at night and kill me in my sleep like poor Jonas and his kids. No wonder why so few Gryffindors are Death Eaters."
Hermione's face contorted angrily into a mask of fury. Her wand hand shook in the barely suppressed ferocity she felt while the hand at her side curled into a fist, turning her knuckles white.
An ear-splitting siren went off from outside. The warning signal that the Death Eaters use to signal a Dark Mark apparation, one that meant any person with a Dark Mark branded on them would be automatically disapparated soon.
Hermione snapped the mask from her face. Ron's face fell at the sight of her standing there with expression rivalling a livid wild animal. His mouth opened quickly and closed as abruptly. He blinked with incomprehension at the woman he had once loved.
"H-H-Hermione?" Ron stuttered, blankly falling off the bed and attempting to move to her without to co-operation of his legs.
"Sweet Dreams, Ronald" She snarled and felt the rush of disapparation.
"Silence Hermione" Lord Voldemort towered over the hysterical woman. He was not the slightest bit amused to discover what had transpired at the Campbell home and Hermione's impertinence had almost led to the capture of both women. Almost accidentally, Hermione had sealed the door on the Order members which prevented them from capturing a vulnerable Bellatrix Lestrange. This thought did nothing to improve Hermione's mood who would have liked nothing better than to see the other woman be thrown back into a Dementor-less Azkaban where she rightfully belonged.
"You have cost me greatly tonight with your childish behaviour. Ronald Weasley has discovered your identity and so to has the rest of the Wizarding world. Are you really so foolish to put your ego over the success of our cause?" Disappointment lay beneath his anger and it burned her more than his wrath could ever. Hermione bowed her head in shame. "You will remedy your mistake. Weasley will be destroyed by the end of this month. Go and let your comrades know of your mistake. You weary me."
Hermione bowed low and dropped to her hands and knees. The only way to show the other Death Eaters her folly was to crawl around the stone castle on her hands and knees like the animal she was. The Death Eaters stood quietly by the wall to let the girl past while the lower ranked followers of Voldemort openly laughed and catcalled to the disgraced woman. The only Death Eater to defy their usual cold indifference was, obviously, Bellatrix who took great and open delight in laughing loudly at her scorned rival.
With her cheeks scarlet with humiliation, Hermione gratefully clambered into her, thankfully, abandoned chambers. She climbed up to the bed, limbs aching from her crawl through the corridors of the castle, and sobbed quietly. Time and experience had taught Hermione a valuable lesson in crying, for she did not make much noise like many of her peers would have done. Instead, she watched helplessly as tears fell silently from her eyes and dropped down her pale face.
Hermione lay like this for a few hours, cuddling her pillow and stroking her own arm in a comforting manner. After she had exorcised her shame, she found a robe in her small cupboard and washed her face in the small, silver sink in her bathroom. Feeling more rational, Hermione lifted a book from her personal library and began the dubious task of discovering an effectively painful way to kill Ron.
"Miss Granger." A silky voice brought her from her reverie. Hermione peered over the top of her book to find Severus Snape giving her strange looks. "I would like a word."
Wordlessly Hermione gestured him into her room. Snape strode quickly to her neatly made bed and perched himself on one of the corners. Hermione put her book neatly back into it's proper place when another black-clad figure sped into the room.
Hermione froze as Bellatrix strode toward her with a look of sadistic pleasure. Bellatrix's lips were curled into a ferocious sneer and her eyes were wide and angry. Hermione recoiled slightly before standing her ground.
"Another spell on me, Mudblood, will be your very last." Bellatrix hissed, her face merely inches from Hermione's. Snape stood and smoothly separated the two women with a gentle push on their arms.
"The Dark Lord himself informs me that your petty rivalry is a hindrance to both our Cause and him." Snape spoke quietly and calmly with both witches glaring daggers at one another from opposite sides of Hermione's chambers. "He would like me to come up with a solution that will end this stupidity for once and for all."
Hermione gave Bellatrix a look that clearly said "This is all your fault" while Bellatrix directed her displeasure onto a now smirking Severus Snape.
"Once upon a time, Bella, you played a vital role in my outing as a spy for our Master and now, I feel, is time enough to repay the favour." Snape's eyes glittered maliciously. Bellatrix swore loudly. "Yes, I do think this may be the only solution to our little problem. I will, of course, consent to be your Bonder."
"The Unbreakable Vow?" Hermione asked quickly. "You want to use an Unbreakable Vow."
"Quite, Miss Granger. Still as quick on the uptake as ever." Snape said mockingly to the bristling witch. "However, it will not be a pure Unbreakable Vow for the simple practical reason that the Dark Lord wishes no harm to come to either of you, for whatever reason he deems your existences important. The punishment for not fulfilling the terms outlined will simply be the humiliation of losing and becoming Wormtail's companion for the rest of your lives. Do you consent to these terms?"
"What do we have to do?"
"You have a month to kill Ron Weasley. First one to do it, gains the favour and the attention granted by the Dark Lord himself. The loser becomes Wormtail's human InflatoWitch for the rest of their lives which, as his current plastic partner informs me, is a very demeaning and disgusting task. Now, let's get this little soiree underway."
Bellatrix quivered momentarily before striding confidently over to Hermione and clasping her hand tightly. Hermione heard the sickening crunch of her fingers being crushed but kept her expression neutral, even as a thin droplet of blood dripped leisurely from their hands. Bellatrix did not ignore the blood and gave Hermione a mocking quirk of her lips.
"Will you, Hermione, promise to uphold the terms and conditions previously outlined?"
"I will" Hermione said quietly. A fiery projectile came from Snape's wand and wrapped itself snugly around their joined hands.
"Do you, Bellatrix, also promise to uphold the terms and conditions previously outlined?"
"I do" Bellatrix intoned loudly in a ritualistic voice. Another flame-coloured band came from Snape's wand and tightened the bound between the witches.
"I now pronounce you bitter enemies." Snape said sardonically. The bounds tightened before completely disappearing. Bellatrix flexed her hand and Hermione stared at her own in horror. "Let the games begin."
Their eyes locked dangerously and both nodded in a mutual understanding. Snape strode from the room and, after a moment's sneer, Bellatrix quickly followed.
"Yes. Let the games begin, Bella" Hermione muttered to herself, returning to her books and devouring them with increased passion.
"Are you sleeping, little Ronnie?"
In the twilight hour, the first attempt on Ron's life began. As he lay quietly sleeping in his darkened bedroom, a black-clad figure suspended eerily outside his bedroom window. Her thin, bony hand trailed decadently down the window before she used her heavily painted nails to create an unearthly screeching noise that shattered the glass.
Ron woke with a start and stared blindly around his bedroom. No signs of entry were visible and the glass lay stilly in it's frame. The air in the room seemed heavier, somehow, with the dampness from the night creeping in. Slipping his wand back under his pillow, Ron drifted off to sleep.
"Rooooonn... Ron...Wake up, sleepy head." A feminine voice cooed from the darkness. Ron sat up on his bed and pulled out his wand and with a flourish, ignited the tip causing a dim light in the darkness.
"I am a Ministry Auror and will not hesitate to kick your ass." He said defiantly to the room, directing the beam off light into the impenetrable darkness. "I demand you show yourself because my patience is running very, very low."
A silhouette appeared from one corner of the room. A female body, perfectly formed in all aspects, sashayed seductively toward his bed. Her hips swayed in a hypnotic fashion, as her damp hair lay lankly over her chest. She moved her arms in a sensual fashion over her head and twirled with the gentle force of her movements. She glided fluidly toward him, still dancing and twisting in her rhythmic fashion, quickly blocking out the light from his wand.
"Hermione?" His voice quavered slightly. A flash of white teeth was visible in the darkness and nodding. "Is it really you?"
"Hello Ron." Her voice was light and lofty, as if it was normal for her to be there at this hour with her severe lack of clothes. She pulled off his blankets with a swift movement and seductively crawled toward him, her hands sensually playing with his body.
"I'm sorry for what happened, Hermione" Ron stuttered with his voice filled with emotion, gasping as her thin fingers managed to find a particularly sensitive spot. She smirked wickedly at him and vigorously rubbed it again. "I'm sorry... Sorry... sorry. Never meant to turn you... Death Eater... Baby... Sorry...Oh God, I'm Sorry."
Ignoring Ron's mindless apologies, she contented herself with expertly teasing Ron's obviously aroused dick. He repeated his "Sorry's" like a mantra, half expecting to burst from the immense pressure provided by her every movement.
"I forgive you, Ron" She gave his penis a quizzical look, like one a cat would give to a particarly interesting mouse. "Really, it's the best thing you've ever done for me. I've never been happier."
An alarm bell went off in Ron's head but a loud voice protested and pointed out his current state of pleasure. He would figure out why she was there after she had finished.
With a dramatic sigh, Ron finally reached his climax and arched his back with pleasure. He grinned thickly and pronounced her role as "his best friend in the entire world, ever."
"Can I have a kiss, Ron?" She asked in a calm voice. Ron blinked at her curiously. "I mean, to show you that I love you."
"Just a kiss?" Ron exclaimed with a suggestive wink. It wasn't every night he had a dream about Hermione coming in through his window and he'd be damned before he'd miss the chance to suckle on her sweet body as they had done as lovers before his torrid affair with a nubile, blonde, trainee Auror who presented herself so beautifully. His addiction to the girl was difficult to get over, but not as difficult as the dangerous cocktail life of Firewhiskey and a Muggle drug called Ecstasy. It had taken months of therapy and will-power to get him away from the potentially life threatening addiction.
"Just a kiss." She repeated slowly as she made her way to his lips. Ron, in anticipation, gently found her head and ran his fingers through her long, straight hair.
"I never realised you straightened you hair, Hermione" Ron murmured offhandedly, stroking her hair possessively. "I thought it would still be... bushy... but hey...you aren't Hermione, are you?"
"How long have you known?" Bellatrix grinned wildly, planting kisses around his jaw.
"From the moment I saw your skanky body, Lestrange. It's unmistakable, love. All old and nasty. Every dark creature speaks of it since your husband got himself killed. Bless his poor little black heart." Ron shuddered mockingly and pushed the woman from him. Bellatrix landed on the ground with a muffled thump. She snarled at him angrily and fastened a glare from under her long eyelashes.
"Oh what an utter shame you could not allow me to administer my poison in such a pleasurable fashion. I do have to warn you that my next attempt to give you it will not be quite as erotic." Bellatrix rose to her feet and gracefully lifted her robes from the corner of the room. Ron sat on the bed, his erection still visible in the darkness, with his wand pointed directly at her. "If you aren't going to use that thing, why not put it down?"
"What makes you think I wont use it?"
"You would have already done so. I think you like the attention."
"I think you like to think that I like your attentions. I am merely waiting for you to strike before I waste my time with your corpse. Also, as you well know, my room is charmed to allow only my magic to happen so you are as useless with your wand in your pocket as you were with it... wherever you kept it during your dance."
"This isn't over, Weasley." Bellatrix hissed, walking back toward the window where she had cast the quick glamour on before hoping into the room. "I will be back and I will kill you."
"Goodnight Bellatrix. Wrap up warm now, dear. It's nippy outside."
Hermione stood in her full glory for the pleasure of Voldemort.
He walked around her, lazily eyeing her supple breasts, her thin waist and her rivers of bushy hair. Voldemort enjoyed it when she came to his rooms late a night for nothing more than a carnal fuck.
Lord Voldemort could have anyone he so desired; man, woman, animal, but he chose her every single night. She represented something more than his desire for sexual stimulation. She was his prize possession, the little traitor with her eyes so beautiful and round. Hermione could offer her body, her reputation and she did scream his name ever so prettily.
"You will take me." He asked her dully.
"Yes, my Lord" She would reply every time he asked her in the strange ritual they would perform nightly.
"You will allow my pleasure at the expense of your own."
"Yes, my Lord."
"You will scream if I ask you, cry if I beg you, die if I tell you."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Are you mine, Hermione?"
"Yes, my Lord"
"Forever, Hermione?"
"Yes, my Lord. For always and forever."
Only after their nightly ritual would he take her on his bed. Never compromising with his painful thrusting, Hermione regularly buckled from the intense pain but she never complained unless he asked her. She never came until he told her.
Their love-making shook the very bowels of the castle and Hermione's screams could be heard echoing throughout it's stone walls. Still, she came to him every night and he accepted her for his glory was in her pain.
His house was charmed to the teeth, so an attack there would be next to impossible. His place of work was usually the Ministry, so an attack there would be suicide. The Burrow, although a potential hotspot, was filled with the concerned eyes of her past so not accessible. Potions were out, charms were out, transfiguration was a possibility but unlikely to be effective. It wasn't exactly like she could divination him to death.
Bellatrix had already tried, on many occasions, to kill the slippery Weasel and every time he had managed to avoid her wand. Bellatrix's weakened attempts now revolved around a great plot to Avada Kedavra him as he showered.
Swiftly tucking the knife into her boot, Hermione had finally grown weary of magical means to kill her estranged ex-fiancé. Hermione found it particularly delicious to think that she had to return to her roots as a Muggle to kill him, something which Bellatrix took great pleasure in mocking.
"Well, it's not like she has killed him yet" Hermione muttered, adjusting the straps of the large hunting knife strapped to side.
Hermione had a large array of Muggle weapons, from a large gun to a chainsaw. The Muggle lover would be killed by Muggle means by a Muggle-born and the irony almost made Hermione squeal in delight.
"Stop what you are doing, Mudblood." A distinctly irritated, feminine voice rang out from behind Hermione. Bellatrix appeared from the shadows, armed with Hermione's chainsaw and an AK47 dangled around her neck like a violent necklace. "I am not going to let you get ahead of me."
"What do you think you are playing at?" Hermione hissed loudly at the, now, grinning Bellatrix. "This is MY kill and it is MY idea. You hate Muggle things, remember?"
"I must admit a grudging respect for a group of people who can invent something as beautiful and as deadly as this beauty here." Bellatrix patted the gun gently, like one would pet a small kitten. Hermione was livid. "Oh, cheer up, Mudblood, you get to see me make a delicious mess out of your worst enemy. I'm going to chop him up into little bits with this wonderful machine here. We can watch as his blood splatters around the room like a work of grotesque art. It will be beautiful, Mudblood. "
Hermione mindlessly dropped the wrapper from a Chocolate Frog, she was planning to eat, onto the ground as she stormed toward Bellatrix.
"What gives you the right to be here?" Hermione shrieked in her face, equally aware that in a fight, Bellatrix was definitely better prepared.
"Do you think that I want to become Wormtail's whore?" Bellatrix spat the word disgustedly as if nothing could cause her more hatred. "I was once the Princess. His own little girl who he trained in every way possible and he may have never loved me but I know he respected and admired me. I am willing, loyal to the bone, talented and passionate. The epitome of the Death Eater. I had his confidence, his trust until you came along and took my place."
"Bellatrix... Bella... I do not know what you mean." Hermione stuttered, flushed.
"DO NOT LIE TO ME. I HEAR YOU AT NIGHT. FUCKING IN HIS ROOMS LIKE THE ANIMALS YOU ARE." Bellatrix roared at Hermione angrily. The younger witch visibly recoiled from Bellatrix and her waving chainsaw. "You forget, Hermione, I am you in twenty years time. A washed up pathetic excuse for a Death Eater because the young blood constantly out performs me. Take a good long look at me, Mudblood, one day you will become me."
"He loves me"
"He cannot love."
"You love him?" Hermione's voice broke. Bellatrix stopped sneering.
"Always and forever." Bellatrix spat bitterly. Hermione visibly tensed.
For the first time in their rocky relationship, Hermione and Bellatrix nodded to each other as equals. Silence prevailed and peace may have very well broken out if not for the timely arrival of Ron Weasley.
From the beginning of time there have been very few ironic moments to really capture the concept of irony. From the moment the first obsessive trainspotter was run over by a train until the time when the man introduced his new pet, a fourteen foot salt water crocodile called Herman, to his family before being attacked by it, people have searched the earth for the perfectly ironic moment to really give them something to laugh at.
Ron Weasley slid on Hermione Granger's discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, cracked his head off a brick wall and fell down, dead.
This is how his world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Hermione glanced down at her array of sharp knives, Bellatrix's gleaming black gun and her gently humming chainsaw before letting out a loud snort of laughter. The uncontrollable laughter that clearly screams "There is nothing more to live for" wracked Hermione's body until tears fell from her eyes, for Hermione, like every honest human being, really did appreciate irony and nothing is more ironic than someone surviving that many attempts on their lives and being felled by a piece of litter.
Bellatrix, taken aback by his death and Hermione's extreme reaction, numbly stared at the spot on the ground where Ron had fallen. He twisted his neck when he lost his balance. Snapped it right in two, she observed keenly. Feeling tired and old for the first time in her life, Bellatrix followed Hermione's example and began to laugh loudly and manically.
"What happens now?" Hermione mused after a while of laughing. The women had disapparated from Ron's flat and walked toward Voldemort's headquarters with a certain closeness that had not been there before.
"We both are free from the contract or else we both become Wormtail's whores." Bellatrix said simply, twirling her wand around her fingers in a bored fashion.
"Well, technically, it was my wrapper that killed him." Hermione pointed out helpfully.
"If I hadn't have been there, you would have put it into a bin." Bellatrix argued equally as helpful.
"Well, it's my kill."
"No, it really isn't."
"You didn't actually do ANYTHING other than show your ugly mug. Oh, I also want those weapons cleaned and put back into my collection." Hermione gestured amazedly to the dusty chainsaw which Bellatrix had swung over her shoulder.
"Well, your greed and litterbug tendencies is hardly cause for celebration." Bellatrix sneered at the bristling Hermione.
"I'm going to tell our Lord of today's events. I'm sure he will see how my intelligent placement of the wrapper led to the serious blow delivered to our enemy and will reward me appropriately." Hermione sniffed with as much dignity she could muster and strode determinedly toward Voldemort's chambers.
Bellatrix gave her an incredulous look before sprinting ahead of her, dignity left on the beach with Hermione's weapons.
"This is how I will gain his favour again, Mudblood." Bellatrix screamed in what she hoped was a reasonable voice as she ran ahead of Hermione. "I need his attention more than you do!"
"No! I killed him! It's my victory" Hermione began to speed up to catch up with Bellatrix.
Hermione and Bellatrix stopped running and stared at each other once more. Understanding, comprehension and a certain degree of respect were exchanged in their glances, soft brown eyes meeting sharp ones. When a moment had passed, and just a moment at that, they ran toward the castle.
They never fully accepted each other and there was still an intense tension whenever they were together but they, at least, stopped putting their personal vendettas before their missions. A new sense of respect and admiration replaced anger and hatred but the tension and competition still remained for they were too alike to ever be friendly.
Hermione still frequented Lord Voldemort's chambers and enjoyed a sense of favour while Bellatrix pretend to ignore her position being diminished. Bellatrix would always be Voldemort's most treasured warrior while Hermione pretended to ignore her own talents being overlooked for Bellatrix. It is a strange circle as both witches would have prefered the other's role in Voldemort's plans but Hermione's love and Bellatrix's passion could never exist together.