A/n: I recommend listening to the song Paint It Black by Hidden Citzens (feet. Ranya) I am aware of the original song, but this remake suits this story.

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 Seven

Pots clang in the background, dinner being prepared for the evening. Hands deep in the sink, she scrubs with all her might, trying to remove the stain from the robe. Magic not helping, it falls to the old-fashioned way. Brushing the hair out of her face, Angelina takes a breath. She hates trying to get blood out of the robes.

Despite being washed twice, the blood still wasn't coming out, not since that night, since the dogs tore the intruder apart. Their mistress's favourite robe, if she can't get it out, she will have to break the news to Lady Lestrange.

"How did she know though?" Lifting the crate onto the side next to Angelina, more clothes to be prewashed the servant's mutter between themselves. "Thought she was gonna curse me."

"The bug was tiny, how the hell did she notice?"

"Beats me, swear she's in our heads."

"Your lucky you didn't lose a tongue," Angelina comments dropping the robe in the water.

She glares at Terry and Autumns, making them both flinch under her gaze.

"You were there, did you notice Skeeta?" Terry asks.

"No, but that's why I'm not a Red Kite. Perhaps if you two spent less time talking, you might be something more than a chambermaid and whatever it is you do Terry."

"Tend to gardens…" He grumbles under his breath.

Bang. They all jump, and a screech from an elf as it drops a pan. Breathless, their youngest servant stumbles into the kitchens. Pushing his mousey brown hair out of his face, clutching his chest from the exertion of running down the servant stairs.

"Trying to give us all heart attacks, Creevey?" Angelina demands, drying her hands on a towel.

"Sorry… sorry. It's just…"

Sighing, Angelina had advised against hiring the young servant, too young. Clumsy, stupidly curious, spent too much time staring and not enough time working. Hermione saw it differently, clumsy yes, but eager to learn. Curious, but knowledgeable. They could mould him to be a great servant. All they needed to do was keep him out of Lady Lestrange's way. Despite their difference in hiring, Creevey, a bet was made, the annual shift that would come at Christmas. If Creevey lasted more than three months, Hermione could retire early from the Christmas party. If not, then Angelina could have the night off.

So far, Creevey was a month in, doing strong. As he had yet to cross paths with Lady Lestrange, Hermione's unwavering habit of manoeuvring staff to ensure the young servant didn't bump into the mistress of the house. Angelina, not ashamed to admit it, intentionally tried to push Creevey into their mistress's presence. Unfair maybe, heaven's above though she could do with missing the annual fuck up that was the Christmas ball.

"Well spit it out," Angelina demands throwing the towel down. "What's wrong?"

It's not as though she didn't like the lad, he was a sweet kid. Eager, but he was far too innocent for the Lestrange house. He didn't fit, a liability.

"Mrs Yaxley," He pants pointing to the stairs. "She's here."

"We're not expecting her," Angelina comments glancing at the calendar.

They aren't expecting anyone today, the Lady of the house away. Lady Malfoy, they expected her to appear now and again. Always borrowing a book or two from Lady Lestrange's library. Mrs Yaxley however, well it put them all at unease.

Hermione, they need to find Hermione, she will deal with Mrs Yaxley or at least tell them if they should let her in or not.

"Someone needs to get Granger," Angelina comments. "Mrs Yaxley will have to wait outside…"

"She's already in the house," Creevey states. "She barged her way in."

In her office which was the last place, Angelina had seen Hermione. She will have to send Terry to get Granger, while she entertains Mrs Yaxley.

"Autumns, Rose tea for Mrs Yaxley dark chocolate biscuits," The voice startles them all as Granger emerges in the kitchen. "Set it up in the sitting room. I will attend to Mrs Yaxley."

Nodding, they watch Hermione take the stairs Creevey had just come from. How did Hermione know what was happening? Did she hear them talking? No, there are silent wards in the kitchen she couldn't have heard them.

"She's in our heads," Terry whispers.

"Just make the damn tea," Angelina instructs looking to Creevey. "What's that?"

"Oh, just the paper."

"Let's have a read," Angelina instructs a guilty pleasure, their mistress always expecting two newspapers. One for herself and one for the staff to share.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Hermione smooths out the kinks in her robes, steeling her features. Not expecting Mrs Yaxley, Hermione had felt her entering the grounds, as she was adjusting some wards. Knowing, the staff would fret over Mrs Yaxley, she thought it best to head straight to the kitchens. Could feel the anticipation through her runes, not that she would explain to the staff.

Fear, it's small it whispers in Hermione's mind if anyone knew just what sort of magic was inside this manor. If they knew the runes that lined Hermione's body, they would probably think her crazy. Perhaps she is, sometimes she's not sure what sane is.

Pushing the wooden door open, Hermione steps into the bright open hallway, heading to greet Mrs Yaxley. She will have to send an elf to prewarn her mistress that she has a guest. Not a guest Lady Lestrange will be happy to host either, not a guest that is too easy to send away. There was something about Mrs Yaxley, something that puts Hermione on edge.

"Of course," The drawl from the witch as she spots Hermione walking towards her. "They sent the Red Kite, what's wrong Granger, your staff scared of me?"

The voice is pitched, annoyance and anger lace the words. Brow pinched in irritation, foot tapping. Mrs Yaxley is unable to stand still, never able to stand still. Eyes always roaming, feet always pacing, as though a caged animal.

"Apologies, Mrs Yaxley, the Lady of the house is not here." Hermione smiles, coming to a stop in front of the older witch.

"Lady of the house," A scoff. "My sister unable to spare a moment in her busy life to see me?"

"My mistress is not here," Hermione reassures gently, Mrs Yaxley prone to anger easily. "Perhaps if you were to return, I could inform my mistress when…"

"No!" Mrs Yaxley snaps. "I'll wait, won't that just be darling. Or is there a problem with that filth?"

"Of course not," Hermione bows her head. "I've ordered tea for you, shall we?"

She guides them to the closed door of the sitting room. Nudging the door open, Hermione holds the door ajar for the older witch. Heels clicking, lips purse in annoyance Mrs Yaxley follows. Pausing inches from Hermione's face, eyes are drawn to the mark on Hermione's neck.

"That's fresh." She comments.

"Yes," Hermione agrees. "My mistress likes to keep it up to date."

"Like marking a hound," A hiss of words. "Or are you an ass?"

Swallowing any retort, Hermione merely waits for the witch to enter the room. Chuckling to herself, Mrs Yaxley steps into the room, moving to the waiting tea and biscuits. Holding back the sigh, Hermione follows the witch. Standing prone near the door.

"Are those biscuits to your liking Mrs Yaxley?" Hermione asks politely.

"You know they are," she sneers, sniffing the biscuits as though expecting poison. "And Andromeda, if you insist on using my name filth, I will have you call me by my first."

"As you wish."

The words earn her glare as Andromeda circles the small teapot, finally settling down to pour herself a cup. It always intrigued Hermione, how different all the Black sisters were. The ice queen Lady Malfoy, Lady Lestrange the warrior, and Mrs Yaxley are almost unhinged. Quick to anger, quick to judge, they can never anticipate the witch's mood. It was not that long ago, that Mrs Yaxley set fire to the east wing in one of her moods. From that day on, they were instructed to keep an eye on the witch whenever she was to spend time at the manor.

Hermione had heard many horrors story from the Yaxley household from the servants there. Mr Yaxley himself was a volatile man, paired together, they were both unbearable.

"Oh, I see," Andromeda states with a harsh laugh. "You're here to babysit me, is that right?"

"I am here to tend to any needs until my mistress returns."

Smash, Hermione flinches as the teapot smashes against the wall. Liquid dripping onto the wooden flooring, that's going to be a pain to get out. Perhaps she should have put a drug in the pot.

"I am not one to be babied, filth." Saliva drips from her bottom lip. "Nor one to be lied to!"

"I assure you; I am not lying. You are the sister to my mistress I am here to assist you until her return. Leaving you alone or in the hands of another servant would be disrespectful."

"Too many words," The witch dismisses, fishing in her pocket, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "If you want to cater then wine, preferably red, I'm sure you can make it happen."

"of course," Hermione bows, summoning one of the elf. "Red wine for Mrs Yaxley."

With a deep bow, the elf vanishes, seconds later a glass appears on the table next to a bottle of red. Smoke, she inhales the cigarette deeply, releasing it into the room.

"If I may, my mistress prefers no one to smoke in the house," Hermione comments summoning an ashtray, she moves to place it on the table.

"Well, if you insist."

Flinching, Hermione holds back the shout of pain, as the witch puts the cigarette out on Hermione's arm. Forcing a smile, Hermione collects the dead cigarette removing it from the room with a flick of her wand. Glancing down at the circular burn on her arm. Breathe, don't slap the bitch. Breathe.

"If I can't smoke," Andromeda comments pulling out a little trinket box, she places it on the table.

Biting her lip, Hermione watches as the witch creates a white line on the tablecloth, snorting it up in seconds. The effect is immediate, the brown eyes lose focus, a slight stumble as she falls back into her chair laughing.

"Want some?"

"No thank you," Hermione bows her head.

"Stuck up bitch,"

Sighing, Hermione flicks her wand, opening some of the windows to air the smoke from the room. Holding back the groan as the witch lights another cigarette, muddy feet land on the table.

"Sister!"

The shout makes them both jump, Andromeda stumbles from her chair, and she throws her cigarette out of the window.

The door bounces off its hinges, as Lady Lestrange storms into the room, a big smile on her face. Angelina lingering in the hallway, Hermione smiles her thanks. Grateful for whoever sent an elf to inform Lady Lestrange she had a guest. Nodding, Angelina slinks from sight, leaving Hermione alone with the two sisters.

Breaking from the awkward hug, Bellatrix kisses Andromeda on the cheek. Ushering her younger sister into her seat she pulls her travelling robe, stepping closer to Hermione. Taking the robe, Hermione folds it carefully over her arm.

"Hide the wine cellar," Bellatrix mutters to Hermione.

"Already have,"

"Good," Bellatrix whispers with a smirk. "To what do I owe the pleasure dear sister?"

Wiping her nose, Andromeda tidies her blouse, forcing a smile, caressing the empty wine glass. Hermione hadn't paid attention to the witch, but she was already halfway through the bottle of wine.

"Has someone been smoking in here?" Bellatrix comments off-hand.

"Filthy habit," Andromeda drawls. "Should train you Red Kite better."

"That I should," Bellatrix remarks eyes falling to the burn on Hermione's arm. "Although, I see you did remind her yourself."

There's a dark undertone to Lady Lestrange's comment, it is one thing to arrive unannounced. But to punish another witch's servants, well that is perhaps a step too far.

"I needed to speak to you," Andromeda comments rising to her feet, ignoring, or simply not caring for Bellatrix's tone. "Does she need to stay? Can't you send it to go do something?"

"It would rather defeat the purpose of having a Red Kite." Bellatrix comments. "Besides she can't speak out of turn."

"No, but I don't like her."

"Don't be so childish, I'm sure she doesn't like you, but she still brought you cookies for being a good girl and waiting ever so patiently."

Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Hermione stares at the portrait ahead, not daring to meet any gaze, for fear of laughing. Hands clenching, Andromeda visibly shakes with anger, as she leans heavily against the fireplace.

"Don't tell me, you've had another fight with Corban? Or has Cissy forgotten to invite you to some odious tea party?" Bellatrix questions folding one leg over another, reaching for the recently appeared teapot, she makes herself a drink.

"Well, she did forget or so she says to invite me to the Sunday one just gone. But Corban and I are fine."

"I wonder why?" Bellatrix drawls, dunking a biscuit.

"Speak sister, I don't enjoy riddles."

"Very well," Bellatrix sighs, nibbling on the custard cream. "You see, there's nothing quite as embarrassing as having your drunk, drug-fuelled addict of a sister causing hysterics at a lovely event. It's a miracle you even dress yourself these days."

"Watch your tongue."

"Ha, or what?" Bellatrix demands chewing away on her biscuit. "Tell me, dear sister, what will you do? Shit yourself? Puke? Or try to use your wand like a proper witch?"

"Fucking… Ah, you bastard."

Clutching her wrist, Andromeda glares daggers at her sister, cheeks red in embarrassment. She had turned so fast to raise her wand at Bellatrix, that Andromeda had caught herself on the fireplace.

Hermione steps forward on instinct, willing to heal the witch's wrist. Narrowly missing the slap meant for Hermione's cheek.

"Fuck of filth." And Andromeda sneers, "Dare touch me."

"Somehow this went from sad, to fucking pathetic," Bellatrix comments taking a sip from her cup. "I think we are done."

"We are not done," Andromeda spits, eyes wild. "I want answers you fucking harpie, answers real ones."

A sigh as Bellatrix rises to her feet, peering down at her sister who wobbles next to the fireplace. Distaste, the wand remains remarkably tucked away, Mrs Yaxley will not be cursed today.

"Kreacher," Lady Lestrange calls.

Crack, the elf appears bowing deeply at the Lady of the house's feet. Hermione represses a grimace at the sight of the elf. They have never seen eye to eye, always clashing thankfully, Hermione deals little with the vermin.

"My Lady." He greets almost kissing Lady Lestrange's feet. "Help Mrs Yaxley home, it would appear she has had too much to drink."

"I will not be escorted…"

With a sharp hiss, the witch falls to her knees clutching her sides in pain. Eyes ablaze, a hand wraps in Andromeda's hair. Tears leak from the witch's eyes, as she clutches feebly at Lady Lestrange's robes.

"I tire of this," Bellatrix hisses, tugging on the hair once more. "Growing very tired of this shit. If you don't behave and pull yourself together, I will give you to my Red Kite to be her very own personal servant."

With a shove, Andromeda lands heavily, clutching her bleeding wrist. Confused, dazed and most certainly angry, she tries to get to her feet. The curse, however, is running its course, burning through her body, making it hard for her to focus.

"You wouldn't dare…" Andromeda gasps. "The shame it would bring…"

"Oh, dear sister, do not tempt me. The shame will rest with you and you alone. Perhaps I will send you to be flogged in the square next Twelfth? Would that be more agreeable to you?"

"Corban will…"

"Corban will what? Cry, prance around like a fucking fanny that he is. Given half the chance he will probably volunteer to do the flogging himself. Your blood status only serves you so far dear sister."

"Please, Bella please."

"You disgust me," Bellatrix hisses with a shake of the head.

"I'm trying, I swear… I'm trying. Things are just hard, Bella please."

"Pathetic. See this poor excuse of a witch is sent home. And Kreacher remove all the wine and drugs, your done Dromeda. You are done."

"Please, get your hands off me. Bella, please don't…"

With a crack, they vanish, Kreacher grabbing Mrs Yaxley by the bicep and dragging her home. Swallowing, Hermione remains quiet, staring at the wall, she can tell by Bellatrix's shoulder the witch is still angry. She does not want to be the next target.

"She is not to step foot in this home until she is invited," Bellatrix orders, summoning her cloak. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, mistress." Hermione agrees.

"Use force if you must, but I do not want her here. Write to Pomfrey and organise a meeting with her, it's time my dear sister sobered up."

"Of course." Hermione nods, she will write to the healer shortly.

"Fucking pathetic." Bellatrix hisses.

Silent, Hermione watches Bellatrix storm from the room, waiting, she listens for the tell-tale crack, as Bellatrix apparates away. Releasing a breath, Hermione studies the room. With a flick of her wand, she rights the room. Removed the stains, frowning as the blood remains on the fireplace.

Stepping forward, she holds her wand aloft, running through the spells that will remove the blood. Wondering why the usual spell didn't work. She stops, frowning. Blood.

None of her wards was disturbed the night of the ball, no one had arrived who didn't belong. No one used a polyjuice potion. Which meant, either someone Lady Lestrange knew meant her harm or a family member.

"Hermione, there you are have you seen…"

"Angelina," Hermione interrupts the witch. "Clean this, I… I need to check on something."

"Of course, wait, you should read the paper."

"Is it desperate? Anything about the Lestrange household?"

"No,"

"About Skeeta?"

"No, it's something else."

"Then it can wait."

She takes the steps two at a time to her office, barging through the door. She pauses, reaching for the tomb on the top shelf. With a thud, she lays it out on her desk, running her fingers through the index. Carefully, she flicks through the pages, the old tomb fragile.

When creating the wards, creating the runes to protect Lady Lestrange's house, she had never entertained a certain thought. Blood shared between sisters, how it would impact the runes put in place. The idea of Lady Lestrange's sister wanting to harm her mistress was preposterous. Except, that night Hermione had known when Lady Malfoy arrived. She had not felt Mrs Yaxley, had not felt the arrival of Andromeda.

She may be an embarrassment, but don't underestimate Mrs Yaxley, she is very intelligent. Once upon a time, she wanted to be a charms Professor at Hogwarts. She is extremely talented with charms, some say runes. Just remember Hermione to be wary, something happened between the Black sisters. A long time ago, Mrs Yaxley was never the same again.

The memory swarms to the front of her mind, Lily sharing her knowledge of the sisters. She had paid it no heed; she knew how dangerous Mrs Yaxley was. She made sure to keep out the way of the middle sister. Would she try to kill Bellatrix? She had left that night though; Hermione was assured by Angelina that Mrs Yaxley left not long after Lady Malfoy.

She was not the intruder, regardless, did Mrs Yaxley allow the intruder access to the house. Did she disrupt Hermione's runes without her knowledge?

"No," Hermione whispers to herself rubbing her face. "She's an addict, she can barely stand on two feet."

Unless it's all a ploy. To lead them into a false sense of security. Malfoy. What of Lady Malfoy always acting strange around Hermione? Lord and Lady Malfoy never want to be alone in the room with the Red Kite. Was it all because Lady Malfoy knew of the runes, and manipulated the runes?

"Her sisters?" She whispers to the empty room.

It's ridiculous. She wastes no time, shifting the desk to the side of the room. She lights her candles, throws her top aside, she steps into the circle. Closing her eyes, she focuses and allows the magic to course through her body.

Stop.

The time it slows, the house grinding to a halt. The whisper of voices throughout the building, she can hear them. All the household moves around each step if she listens carefully. The thud, thud of their hearts. Taking a deep breath, she ignores them pushing past the noise.

When she looked, the runes were undisturbed, she looked for any damage to the runes. Any disturbance. At the time she never thought to look for a rune that was not her own. So reassured, that she would have felt someone manipulate her runes. She never anticipated someone could replace one.

Colour, it's a flash of colour, blue veins that pulse through the house. Like a web, she traces each silky trial with extra care. Her body thrums with the touch of magic, her eyes roam beneath her closed lids. Stop.

The blue-tinged, darker, duller than the rest. A rune, not damaged nor out of place, just wrong. A touch, in her mind, she feels the rune, the right blood, running but it's wrong. Where am I? Dark, the room is dark, quiet from the rest of the house. She struggles to recognise it, frowning as she tries to place the room. Basement. The depths of the manor, below everything else. The rest of the web pulses with activity, bar the tiniest snag.

Lily?

A gasp. Reality spins too fast, throwing her back into her office, her mind releasing the rune from her grip. A groan, as she clutches her head, reality a forceful reawakening. It's not possible, when she became a Red Kite, she removed Lily's runes.

Grasping her top, Hermione pulls it on, with a swish of her hands she dampens the candles. Jogging down the stairs, she ignores the curious looks from passing servants, not in the mood to entertain. The corridor, long winding, she nudges the heavy wooden door aside, following the spiral staircase down, into the darkness.

"Lumos." She whispers, breathing life to the all but forgotten part of the manor.

Dust occupies the stairs, giant cobwebs linger from the ceiling, and the stone-cold to touch as she descends into the darkness. An iron door, at the base of the stairs, her feet kick up dust. Small reassurance that no one has come this way in a very long time.

Locked.

"Alohomora."

Nothing.

Reaching into her pocket, Hermione draws the bundle of keys. The master keys for the manor, over twenty different keys on the large ring. One by one, she tries them, the key rattling in the door. It remains firmly shut, a groan, annoyance.

How does she not have the key to this room? Blood.

Raising her left hand, Hermione slashes the palm with her wand, causing a red droplet to seep from the cut. She presses it firmly against the door, closing her eyes, hoping it will work. She can feel charms in place, bombarda will not do any good. The basement was sealed, the only other person who could get her in could be the Lady of the house. There would be no greater embarrassment for Hermione if she had to admit, that there was a part of the manor she could not access. A part of the manor she had never set foot in before this day.

Click.

With a creak, the door swings open. Healing her palm, Hermione steps into the room, wand aloft, whispering Lumos. Half used candles dotted around the room, she lights them. A warm glow filled the cold dusty room. A pensive. Bottles line the wall, empty. Ingredients litter a table, a blackened cauldron. Rune stones shoved to the side, the room used, untidy.

Notes and letters are strewn across the table. An empty goblet. Lily's hidden office. There were rumours amongst the staff that Lily would disappear. She knew herself, Lily would often vanish from time to time. Not long before her passing, she had told Hermione she would need an office, a sanctuary. Hermione had just assumed the office she inherited was Lily's. It's where she found notes left by the witch. It makes sense now, as to why the notes always seemed half-finished.

Hermione x

With shaky fingers, Hermione traces her name on the written envelope. Lily had left her another letter. After all this time, there was more to her old mentor than Hermione ever knew. Using the letter opener, Hermione carefully unseals the envelope pulling the letter from its confines.

Dear Hermione,