A/n: Thank you for the reviews. I wasn't meant to publish this chapter just yet, but I felt I owed it to all you lovely people, who are following, reviewed and added to your favourites. I won't build it up, I won't promise the earth. All I can say if you liked Fractures then my dear sweet readers, this will be a treat.

Warning for every chapter: Slavery. Dubious consent. Violence. Mentions of rape. Death. Assault. General gore warnings. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters and no money has been made from this.

Enjoy...


Chapter Two

There's a distinctive lull that happens when a party ends. A silent understanding between patrons that it is time to leave. A domino effect as one by one they begin to trickle out, heading home.

Hermione oversees it all, watching from the staircase, observing, motionless as the patrons move around her. She may as well be a statue, not the ones you see in museums, the tired statues that linger in old houses. It's how she feels, tired, worn out, at the prime age of twenty. Her body feels much older, tethering on the edge of exhaustion.

Too young some would whisper; she knew the whispers. Had heard them on many occasions, the judging eyes, the smirks. Far too young to oversee Lady Lestrange's house. She would agree with them, she lacks some understanding, but she makes up for extensive reading and learning.

They had not expected the last Red kite, to pass away, so abruptly, so suddenly. It was a shock to them all, to find her cold body in the light of day. Eight months ago, a kind woman, with endless understanding. Hermione's role model, she had taken a liking to the woman. Miss Evans had taken a liking to Hermione and had begun to train her in the running of the house.

A part of her always wondered, did she know. Did Miss Evans know what was coming, the preparation she made for Hermione, all the notes for her replacement. So detailed. There was no shock to the household when the Lady of the house turned to Hermione to take on the proceedings of the house.

Lady Lestrange is not keen on strangers, it would take her too long to choose a replacement for Miss Evans. Too long for her to warm to a new replacement. The most obvious choice was for Hermione to take the reins. At first, she had thought it temporary, to fill the position of Red Kite, while her lady looked for a replacement. On the third month when the house was mostly functioning, and Lady Lestrange remained quiet on the matter. It was obvious, that this was a permanent position.

"Come Draco," The harsh whisper snaps Hermione from her thoughts.

Out the corner of her eye, she watches as Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy congregate together. The cane clicked impatiently against the marble stairs, ushering them along. Hermione finds the family a curious one, how Bellatrix could be related to a family so spineless. Draco is only brave when his friends are with him, poor in duelling. Lucius is quick with threats, even quicker to quiver under the Dark Lords' gaze. Narcissa Malfoy, well she was a different creature. Hermione could see the resemblance despite the hair colour, there was a clear resemblance between Bellatrix and Narcissa. Sisters, however, Bellatrix most obviously the warrior, frightful fierce presence. Bellatrix commanded attention wherever she went, it was inevitable.

Narcissa, however, is different. Quiet. Always observing from the side, extremely smart and cunning. Hermione would reckon her to be a master chess player, always three steps ahead. Poised, the perfect housewife, the perfect display of what to expect of a pureblood witch. Two different sisters, wide apart on the spectrum.

One emotionless, cold, distant, calculating the other intense, commanding, and talented. She had spent a great deal of time in the room with both sisters, both similar in traits and vastly different at the same time.

"What are you looking at Mudblood?" Draco sneers at her.

Turning her full attention to the young man sneering at her from the steps. She hadn't realised she was looking in their general direction. The son's actions had gained the attention of Lucius, a signature family sneer. This one was directed more at his son. Draco cruising for a fight, there was no mistaking the mark on his arm.

One of the Dark Lord's students, finishing Hogwarts to pursue further into the elite academy run by the Dark Lord's most trusted. He wears it like a badge of honour, daring anyone to cross him. It's a shame she holds only pity for the boy. If only the world understood the world of servants. They all talk, even those who work at the academy. There were no secrets in houses, no secrets in the ministry, Hogwarts, or the Academy. They knew what happened behind closed doors.

An academy, the Dark Lord promotes as a chance to learn, apprenticeships, furthering of education. The most gifted, the richest amongst them, helping them further their chances in the wizarding world. It was all a lie, an academy by Death Eaters to train future Death Eaters. Preparing them to take over positions of power, preparing them to continue to serve the Dark Lord.

"Well, mudblood?" Draco demands.

"Draco," Lucius barks. "Don't speak to the help."

An intriguing theory developed over time between Hermione and Angelina is that Hermione's presence unnerved Lucius. At first, she thought it ridiculous, but over the years, she had come to notice. That the idea was not without foundation, her presence did unnerve Mr Malfoy. Even Narcissa Malfoy ensured to keep herself a distance from Hermione. Little things, she hadn't noticed at first, why would she? Most ignored Hermione's presence: she was a servant. The Malfoys, however, would find many excuses to keep themselves distanced from Hermione.

In all honesty, if Hermione had the time or pretence to care, she would search for answers. As it was, she had much more important things to concern herself with than the Malfoys. She only wished her presence would do the same to Lord Lestrange, but there was no such luck.

"Of course, father," Draco nods.

Satisfied, Lucius moves away, his cane clicking down the stairs and heading to the floo network with Narcissa. Draco, pausing on his second step turned once more back to Hermione.

"You're always watching Mud, listening. Don't think I don't notice." He warns. "Best not let me catch you again."

"Mr Malfoy," Her voice stops him on the stairs, turning to glare at her. "Your right, I was staring. Forgive me."

He smirks, she notices him drawing his wand from his sleeve. Hoping to inflict punishment, to remind her of her place.

"I did not think it my place to say, nor wish to embarrass you in front of others." His brows raise, the confusion swimming in his drunk addled mind. "Your zip is undone."

A flush of red, looking down at his barely tucked shirt and his undone zip. She can see his boxers through the gape in his trousers. The slight stagger, as he tries to right himself, fumbling with his wand in his hand as he tries to right himself. Miss Parkinson was also in a similar dishevelment if Hermione's memory serves. They had both left the same room, sneaking out after one another.

"I bid you goodnight, Mr Malfoy." She tilts her head slightly, leaving the boy fumbling on the stairs.

"Keep your eyes to yourself in future, filth."

It takes an enormous amount of effort to control her features, to prevent her smirk from showing. Smoothing down her dress, she checks in on the elves. The kitchen is clear, the last guests are leaving.

Sighing, Hermione swipes a glass of wine, swigging it, before leaving the kitchen. Taking the servant's stairs, she pauses at the top breathless. Tired, she leans against the cold stone, shoving a piece of food in her mouth. Brushing the crumbs from her dress she has one more job to attend to before she can go to sleep.

Feet heavy, she hides her tiredness through trained features as she heads to her Mistress room. Preparing Lady Lestrange's room before she can turn in for the night. Hermione will have to wait to ensure her Mistress doesn't need help changing before heading to bed.

Pushing the door to her Lady's room open, she wonders if she will require a bath before bed. Silently she prays she doesn't, she has little energy to prepare a bath let alone wait for her mistress to prepare for bed.

"Granger," The voice startles her.

Jumping, she nearly loses her footing, grasping her chest in shock. Lady Lestrange emerges from the bathroom connected. Releasing a breath, Hermione calms her racing heart. She had thought her mistress was still downstairs, had not realised she had come to her chambers so soon.

"Twitchy, aren't we?" Her Mistress taunts.

"I had not realised; you were already here Mistress," Hermione explains.

"Hmm, anything to avoid my sister," Is the simple statement as she moves towards the chest of draws. "She's in one of her moods."

"Lady Malfoy has left," Hermione reassures.

"Not that one," is the humourless chuckle. "Andromeda is lurking."

"I had not realised she had arrived."

"She arrived late, fashionably so," Lestrange comments unclasping her bracelets.

Frowning, Hermione wondered how she had missed the arrival of the middle sister. Surely, they would have crossed paths at one point. Nevertheless, Andromeda is very good at vanishing amongst crowds. Hermione will have to check the wine cellar; the middle sister tends to help herself.

"Granger," The voice whispers heatedly against her ear. "My bracelet."

Nodding, Hermione drops to her knees once more, slowly unclasping the bracelet. The wine has gone straight to her head, and her fingers fumble with the clasp. Her nails glide across the pale skin. She marvels at the goosebumps that break out, ignoring the urge to continue with any further ministrations.

"You're in a teasing mood tonight." Her mistress mutters watching with those dark eyes.

"Apologies," Hermione mutters.

"No arguments here."

Smirking, Hermione carefully removes the bracelet, rising to her feet. She steps to the open jewellery box, gently placing it down. A hand appears over her shoulder, two earrings for her to add to the box. None of these items will be seen again, not until the next ball. Her mistress is not one for jewellery. I'm not a doll to be dressed. The words bounce around in Hermione's head, a conversation from many moons ago.

"You were very good tonight," Bellatrix comments, moving back to the bathroom.

"Thank you, mistress," Hermione replies, organising the vanity unit to keep her thoughts clear and her hands busy.

"That last song you played, what was it called?" Bellatrix questions.

"Brave fire."

"Hmm," is the only response from the other room. "Much more tuneful than the one the Dark Lord picked. What's it called?"

"Whispers of fate."

"Ugh, I think it should be the dreariness of fate, more fitting."

Chuckling, Hermione steps to the bed, casting a spell to keep the sheets warm. Peeling back the duvet, Hermione fluffs the pillows. Glancing at the side door, the door leading to her room, she hopes her Mistress will retire for the night. Hopes she doesn't stay up too late.

"The blonde girl, who was she?" Bellatrix questions entering the room.

Keeping herself busy, Hermione folds the throw carrying it to the side of the room. The bed is ready for her Mistress, now it'll just be a matter of coaxing her to the bed.

"L… Miss Lovegood." Hermione catches her slip, nearly referring to the other girl as Luna.

"Lovegood?" Bellatrix repeats. "You spoke a lot?"

"Yes," Hermione replies. "If I may speak so plainly?"

With a short nod from Bellatrix, Hermione is accurately aware of the witch slowly circling. Like a vulture, waiting for its opportune moment to sweep from the sky and salvage the remains.

"I don't think the girl is all there," Hermione continues, focussing on tiding, prepping the discarded dress ready for the wash. Bellatrix wearing her usual black gown.

Naked, she'll be naked beneath the black gown, Bellatrix never wearing any clothes to bed. Hermione learnt this very quickly when she first started in the Lestrange house. It makes it very difficult to focus sometimes.

"She spoke of invisible creatures, creatures I have never heard of." Hermione mentions. "She seems a very sweet girl, but I worry about her mental state."

There's a presence to her mistress, a subtle pull that tugs on Hermione's magic core when her mistress is close. The breath ghosting over her shoulder is further telling, that her mistress witnessed something. Something she did not like between Hermione and Luna. Silently, Hermione prays her mistress did not hear her thoughts.

"Lovegood," The word drips like acid. "First name?"

"Luna," Hermione replies turning her attention to her Bellatrix. "Do you know of her?"

"I know of her mother," Bellatrix replies, gaze focussed on the distance. "A researcher of some kind. Blew herself up, Pandora Lovegood."

"She was creating a new spell?" Hermione remembers the book it briefly mentioned a Lovegood.

"Hmm, foolish."

Sad, Hermione thinks it all rather sad. If she remembers correctly, Luna was witness to her mother's death. Can only imagine what the poor girl went through. No wonder she sees creatures, perhaps it brings some comfort to see another world.

"Still, doesn't explain her interest in you," Bellatrix comments focusing once more on Hermione.

"I have nargles," Hermione replies the word making Bellatrix recoil slightly.

"Should I be concerned?" Bellatrix questions. "Is this a new sexually transmitted disease?"

"What?" Hermione splutters flushing red. "No, no it's an invisible creature."

"What do nargles do?"

"I don't know."

"Strange child," Bellatrix mutters. "Try not to entertain the nutters in future."

"How do I tell them apart?" Hermione quips.

Her body jerks, the hex running through her system a hand clutching her chin. Holding her in place as the hex runs its course. Her body, shivering in discomfort, she cannot help but gasp as the pain fades.

"Cheeky," Bellatrix whispers the gaze is soft, lips tilted in mirth.

The hand tightens slightly, making Hermione clutch the wrist of the arm holding her in place. No where to run to, the chest of draws blocking her escape. Her heart hammers beneath her rib cage. A single nail traces the mark on Hermione's neck, causing goosebumps.

"You've been drinking." Bellatrix comments.

Swallowing, Hermione, flexes her hand against the wrist holding her, impulse. Can feel the calm thump, thump of her mistress's heartbeat through the pulse in her wrist.

"Shame to let it go to waste." Hermione smiles pitifully.

"I don't know if I should you teach you a lesson or what…" Bellatrix muses.

"What kind of lesson?"

It's the alcohol talking, too many glasses of wine with so little food. The fingers on her chin shift, and her iris blow. That cruel, but the beautiful mouth just inches out of touch. Hermione's mind is a haze, she wants nothing more than to bridge the gap, and take those lips with her own.

"You are a minx tonight," Bellatrix whispers forehead touching Hermione's, their noses brushing.

The soft-touch of Bellatrix sends Hermione's body into overdrive as Bellatrix caresses the mark on Hermione's neck. Their breathing entwined. Closing her eyes, Hermione enjoys the moment. Bellatrix is in charge here, and will always be in charge. She never wanted to be one of those servants who bed their Lord or Ladies. Never wanted to be a throwaway item. She's not sure her heart could take it, but lately, it's becoming harder and harder to resist.

The hand shifting on her chin, her mistress pulling back forces Hermione to open her eyes. Those usually dark, dark eyes are swimming with such emotion, emotion Hermione has never seen before. She can barely keep track as Bellatrix returns to her emotionless slate. As though it was all in Hermione's mind.

Shivering, Hermione is unsure what to do in this situation. They have never been this interlocked this long together. Normally something will pull them apart, her mistress will break them apart. Glancing to the open window, Hermione shivers once more from the cool night. The movement gains her mistress's attention and brings them back to their plight.

"What game are you playing." It's a whisper, so very low not meant for Hermione's ears, as Bellatrix lowers her lips to the mark on Hermione's neck, studying the crest.

It's a sharp stab, a reminder of their standing in the world. That this is not a love story, her life is not a love story. Because she doesn't have feelings. Well, it's what the elite would want everyone to believe. That muggleborns do not have feelings. Muggleborns are taught praise, guilt, and duty. They are not born to feel, they only impersonate such emotions to undermine.

With her pounding heart and the ache she feels in her chest, she would argue wholeheartedly with the way the world sees muggleborns. Of course, her mistress would think this some sort of play, some sort of trick. Because Hermione could not possibly have any feelings.

Window.

The thought snaps Hermione back from her inner turmoil, so drastically that she reverses straight into the chest of draws behind her. The motion caused Bellatrix to jump herself, releasing Hermione from her grasp. Confused, slightly bewildered by the actions.

"Granger?" Her mistress questions.

"Did you open the window?" Hermione asks.

"No, you did," Bellatrix sighs frustrated.

"No, I…"

Trailing off, Hermione moves to the window, frowning. She remembers opening the window, remembers only opening it a few inches. She did not leave it wide open. Casting her hand over the frame, she inspects the runes she placed there a long time ago.

"Honestly, Granger perhaps you should head to bed," Her mistress comments moving to the vanity unit. "The wine has gone straight to your head."

She's right, the wine has gone straight to her head. There is no mistaking the shake in her hands as she checks the runes. Her mistress is being very patient, she should have punished Hermione for such a lack of decorum minutes ago.

Sighing, she rubs her tired eyes, her feet reminding her that they are desperate for rest. Every fibre of her body is alive from the proximity of her mistress. Her mistress is talking, discussing tomorrow's events but Hermione's mind is miles away. She can see her Mistress in the reflection of the windowpane, Bellatrix preparing for bed. Can see the tension in her shoulders, Hermione isn't replying fast enough. Her Mistress's patience is thinning.

"Are you even listening?" The voice has lost all its emotion, danger is on the horizon. Her mistress is not one to be ignored.

Mouth opening, she wants to reassure her mistress she is listening. There's a flicker of movement from the bed. Did Hermione not secure, the duvet?

"Granger!"

"Move!"

Her body slams against her mistress sending her hurtling backwards. Pain erupts, a cry of pain as she collapses on the floor. Clutching her side. The room is spinning, flashes of light, blinding light. Pop. Something explodes next to her. Shouting.

Loud shouting. The room erupts in light, someone is laughing, cackling. A bang as a door bounces off its hinges.

Silence.

Groaning, Hermione pushes to her feet, clutching her side, she stumbles grasping the wall for support. The bedroom is destroyed, and black soot lines the walls. With effort, she follows the destruction from the bedroom.

Her mistress is nowhere in sight, she follows the sound of shouting. Stumbling down the marble steps, she slips on something wet. Falling to her knees gasping as the world spins.

"I want them alive!" Her mistress is shouting.

Moving, Hermione grasps the stone staircase to help follow, her mistress may need her. Wild, it's the only word to describe her mistress. Standing amongst the mayhem screaming orders at the fellow witches and wizards. The intruder must have escaped. There's howling, the dogs are being released from their cages.

"Johnson." Lady Lestrange barks at the bewildered servant. "See to Granger, she's pissing blood on my floor."

Frowning, Hermione looks at her wound, blood seeping between her fingers. Glancing backwards she sees the trail leading from her mistress room, wincing. It will take some cleaning to get that up.

"Hermione." Angelica appears next to her, wand at the ready. "Crap. I can't heal this."

"My wards," Hermione mutters leaning heavily against the stone steps. How did they get through her wards?

"Mistress, permission to summon a healer!" Angelica shouts.

"Yes, yes, deal with it."

"Thank you. Rivers call the healer. Now. Send an elf."

Out the corner of her eye, Hermione watches her mistress leave the house, lantern aloft. Struggling for a breath, Hermione pushes up the stairs only for hands to force her back down.

"Where are you going?" Angelica demands.

"Mistress…"

"Will be more efficient in hunting with you here."

"Healers here." Someone shouts.

"Is someone injured?" Hermione asks, why is the room spinning?

"Merlin's beard, how is she still talking?" An older wizard appears above her.

"She's stubborn." Angelica comments.

"In my bag, blood replenishing potion."

"Hello," Hermione greets the stranger.

"Hello." He greets. "This is going to hurt child."

When doesn't it hurt? A gasp leaves her clenched teeth as she stares up to the ceiling. Allowing the wizard to do his work. Focusing on the chandelier above, how did they get past her wards? How was she not alerted? Was it the wine, or did the wine mess with her mind?

Luna… The girl was in her mind, did she see how she created the runes. Did she see how to get past them? Is she the reason her mistress's life was put in danger?

"She will nee…"

Jolting upwards, Hermione takes a lungful of air, her side flaring with pain. She makes both Angelica and the wizard jump in surprise.

"Johnson," Hermione states. "We need to search the whole house."

"We will, you… no, don't stand up. Hermione, you need to rest."

"Terry, I want our servant quarters checked. Andrews stop gawping and fetch Heathers. Johnson, why are you still standing there? I want people in pairs, any sign of trouble, anything strange I want to know. Now people!"

Jumping, servants' trip over themselves as they rush to comply with her orders. Some bump into each other. Wincing, Hermione clutches her side, ignoring the pointed glare from Johnson as she heads to join the search party.

"You will need these potions child." The wizard states handing Hermione three potions. "This one is to be taken in the next hour these two, must be taken twelve hours apart. Understood."

"Yes," Hermione nods turning to the last servant standing.

"What about me ma'am?" The servant whispers.

"There seems to be blood in our mistress room and the stairs. Get the elves to fix our mistress room, the blood needs to be gone. Needs to be done yesterday, Jones!"

He spins in a pointless circle before jogging off to retrieve the necessary items. Turning her attention back to the healer, she forces a smile.

"Apologies for disturbing you at such a late hour." She comments.

"Quite alright," He comments shouldering his bag. "What's your name child."

"Red Kite Granger," Hermione replies.

"Granger. Should you ever want a change child, my household could do with someone like you."

"Very kind sir," Hermione nods. "My loyalty remains to Lady Lestrange."

"That I can see, she's a lucky witch."

That she is. Hermione thinks to herself, but she merely bows her head to the healers' nice words. Leaning against the stone staircase, she watches the household get to work. None of them will be sleeping until every inch of the house has been checked. Until the Lady of the house returns.