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 Twenty-Three
Pushing the piece of paper around, the poorly drawn elephant, doodling. She can barely focus on the book open next to her, she cannot focus on anything. Too much is happening. Monday, she's running away Monday. Away from Lestrange manor to freedom.
Sick, she feels sick, excited, anxious and regret mingles. She struggles to process her emotions. Excitement, being with Luna, running away together. It's similar to the trashy novels she's read.
Dread, fear at the idea of being caught. Deep down, regret lingers, fear at leaving Lestrange manor. Her life is far from glamorous, yes death is breathing down her neck. But she's spent her life here, save from the institute.
The idea of running into the unknown, the potential of being hunted every single day. To be the cause of anything happening to Luna, would devastate Hermione. She couldn't live with herself. She wants me though, she wants to run away with me. To be with me.
Sighing, she pushes from the table, the house is quiet, most are asleep, she should be asleep. Her nightmares, prevent any sleep these days, the anxiety crawling along her spine a reminder of the traitorous actions. Hours spent researching into the crest on her neck, fear, what happens if it is a way to track Hermione.
Stepping outside, she breathes in the fresh air hoping to clear her mind. The sun has barely risen, and her mistress won't be awake for hours. It's Bellatrix's birthday today, her mistress will be leaving to go to Lady Malfoy's to celebrate. Walking the grounds, Hermione stops in front of the dog cages. All are asleep except Sirius, who is sitting, watching, head tilted to the side.
Unnerved by the stare, she continues on her walk, not wanting to set the dogs off barking. The new shoes from her mistress have helped ease the pain in her shoulders, no more blisters. Her head throbs, and with each step closer to her death, her head pounds. Chiming, as though a clock counting down, not long until she meets her maker.
"Granger," The voice calls starling her out of her thoughts.
"Franks," Hermione answers greeting the wizard.
"Lestrange has a guest."
Frowning, Hermione follows the wizard, a guest, this early in the morning. They must be desperate, perhaps hoping to be tortured. No one wakes her mistress early unless it's the Dark Lord or a war.
"Mrs Yaxley," Hermione greets the witch on the other side of the black gates.
"Ah, Red Kite," Mrs Yaxley smiles, her servant carrying a painting wrapped in brown paper. "I know it is stupidly early. However, Cissy has me running errands all day. I was wondering if I could drop off my sister's present."
"Of course," Hermione nods to the wizards to open the gate.
With a creak, the gate opens, and the wards flutter an alert someone outside the household is gaining entrance. Her runes, she doesn't feel the shift, further confirming her suspicions. Dressed in a bright green dress, smiling, a book in hand, she motions for the servant to bring the large painting through.
"She'll guess what it is," Mrs Yaxley comments looking at the painting. "It was her favourite once upon a time. She'll most likely hate it, just to spite me, but what are sisters for?"
"Would you like one of the servants to take it inside?" Hermione asks.
"Oh, yes, please. Let us not wake the sleeping dragon."
Smiling, Hermione motions for a servant to take the painting inside, to add it to the ever-growing pile of presents. Stepping forward, Mrs Yaxley motions for Hermione to move out of earshot of the guards at the gate. Hesitant, Hermione obliges, moving closer to the witch watching as Mrs Yaxley servant leaves the grounds. Waiting on the other side of the gates for his mistress.
"Bellatrix requested this book," Mrs Yaxley states quietly. "It has me curious, nevertheless, I know you won't tell me what my sister is up to. But here, tell her I want it back in a fashionable time."
Accepting the book, Hermione glances over the front cover. Discovery of Curses. Frowning, Hermione wonders why her mistress has requested such a book. Is it because of the Red Kites? The thought bounces around inside her mind, instantly dismissing it.
"Well, what do you say?" Mrs Yaxley states.
"I'm sorry?" Hermione repeats.
A shiver runs through her spine, a strange sense of déjà vu, didn't Mrs Yaxley already ask a question? The book is no longer in her hand but in the pocket of her robe. The guards have swapped places, frowning, Hermione glances around. Did she lose time again? With a shuffle of Mrs Yaxley's robe, Hermione spots the wand slithering out of sight.
"You, okay dear?" Mrs Yaxley asks.
"Strange sense of déjà vu." Hermione answers with a frown. "What was the question?"
"Oh, it's nothing." Mrs Yaxley smiles sweetly.
Swallowing, Hermione takes a step back from the witch, her headache has paused. A blip, she tries to recall the last few minutes, but her mind runs blank. Did Mrs Yaxley just remove a memory?
"Well, I should be going, a big day ahead. Have a good day, Red Kite."
"You too, Mrs Yaxley," Hermione answers autopilot.
She touches the runes on her arm, checking for anything out of place. Did Mrs Yaxley place a spell on her? Or has the lack of sleep finally caught up with Hermione? The gate swings shut behind the witch.
Rolling her shoulder, uncomfortable, Hermione takes a step back towards the safety of the manor. Heading to her mistress room, she slips inside moving to the vanity unit, placing the book from Mrs Yaxley down.
"Granger?" A murmur from the witch in bed.
"My Lady," Hermione whispers. "Sorry to disturb you."
"Is there a visitor?"
So, the charms woke Lady Lestrange. Lady Lestrange must have added more charms since Hermione revealed the information that one of her sisters was behind the assassination attempt.
"Mrs Yaxley stopped by to drop your presents off, and a book."
"Ugh," Lestrange groans. "Tell me, she's left?"
"She has," Hermione confirms smirking at the bundle in the bed, Lestrange lost to the layers of duvets and blankets. A nest for a sleeping dragon.
"What time is it?"
"Just gone five am," Hermione replies.
"Merlin's ball sack." Lestrange groans. "Why are you awake?"
"Chores."
"Liar." A pause. "You can't sleep. Dreams?"
"Yes,"
"Hmm, come here."
Frowning, Hermione steps closer to the bed, watching as Lestrange slowly appears from beneath the bundle of blankets. A finger coaxing Hermione closer, her knees knock the mattress, a motion to bend down. A hand thrusts a warm blanket into Hermione's arms, it smells like her mistress, confused, Hermione looks to her mistress for instruction.
"To break your fall," Lestrange comments, as her fingers press against Hermione's temple.
The question dies on Hermione's lips, her body goes limp she collapses backwards, a thud as she hits the floor. Blanket abandoned, sleep rushes over her, the chuckling of Lestrange as she peers over the bed at Hermione.
"Oops."
~Paint It, Black~
"Hermione," Angelina calls, hidden by the pantry. "A word."
"Sure," Hermione says, slipping the poor-baked item into a little cardboard box.
Following Angelina out the back door, Hermione frowns, wondering what the witch has to tell her. Out of earshot of the kitchen staff, most of the house shut down for the night. Hermione will be doing some reading before she heads to bed.
"I need to tell you something," Angelina whispers. "Please, don't hate me."
"Ang, what is it?"
"I'm running away, he asked me to run away. I said yes,"
"Ang…" Hermione breathes.
"No, I know you'll say it's a bad idea, but… I'm pregnant."
"What? How? How is that possible?" Hermione asks. All servants are sterilised to prevent such things, aren't they? It's what the institute tells them anyway.
"I don't know, but I cannot risk anyone noticing," Angelina whispers, clutching her stomach. "I'm a few months along now."
"When?" Hermione asks. "When are you running away?"
"A few days, he said he's going to come to get me. Are you angry?"
"No, course not." Hermione smiles, pulling the witch into a hug. "I'm shocked, but not angry. What are you going to do?"
"I have no idea, he said he has somewhere safe. We'll figure it out from there."
Nodding, Hermione squeezes the witch's arm. Now is not the time to share that Hermione is running away too. She should be reprimanding the witch, telling her mistress, but she cannot bring herself to be anything but happy for Angelina.
"Your secret is safe with me," Hermione promises. "I wish you the best."
"I thought you'd react differently."
"Just don't tell me when, I need to be organic as possible when I react." Hermione answers.
"His name is…"
"No," Hermione interrupts. "Don't tell me his name. I cannot promise our mistress won't get it out of me. I should know very little."
"Thank you."
Smiling, Hermione leaves the witch to her thoughts heading back inside the manor, she heads to the study. Mind buzzing she falls into her seat, rubbing her eyes, what on Earth is happening? First Hermione, now Angelina, are all the servants running away?
The sitting room calls to her, enjoying the solitude of the house. Their mistress is away for the night, and most of the servants have headed to bed early. They won't be expecting Lestrange until the morning.
Sighing, she moves to the piano, she hasn't played in a little while gently she runs her fingers over the keys. Closing her eyes, she begins to play hoping to ease the mixture of emotions. Her fingers flew over the keys as though lovers reunited, it's passionate, at times a little sloppy.
The melody trails off, like her thoughts slinking off into the distance. The clock chimed midnight, closing her eyes, she releases a breath. How did everything become so confusing so quickly?
Clapping startles her from her thoughts, shocked to see Lady Lestrange leaning against the doorway. Rising from the piano, Hermione wonders how long the witch has been standing there.
"My Lady," Hermione greets with a slight bow. "I was not aware you were home."
She's meant to be staying at Lady Malfoy's, not supposed to be home until the afternoon. Regardless, it's not as though Hermione can question her mistress as to why she's returned so earlier.
"Change of plan," Lestrange replies slinking into the room, bottle of red wine in her hands. "I disagreed with another, oh don't worry Pet, no one got hurt. Unfortunately, just damaged a fragile ego."
"I'm sorry," Hermione replies.
"Sorry? What for?" Lestrange asks as she leans against the desk.
"That it ruined your birthday celebration."
"On the contrary," Lestrange chuckles. "It made the night infinitely more interesting. Although Cissy was not best pleased I ruined her rug, mind."
Smiling, Hermione regards the dark witch swigging away at her red wine. Despite her words, Lestrange does not seem happy. Maybe it's the ageing of another year, perhaps she's saddened by the lack of a fight. There's more though, a witch buried deep who wanted for one night to celebrate something about herself.
"Of to find more booze, when I heard you playing your little heart out." Lestrange comments. "I am far too sober for my liking."
"I can fetch your whiskey, if you'd like."
"I would like, but I think I will pass," Lestrange sighs running a hand through her hair. "It's the whiskey that started the bloody fight. Next time, I see the bastard, it'll be more than a rug burnt to a crisp."
The promise is whispered, a promise that Lestrange will intend to keep. Hermione wonders who managed to piss the witch off. Wonders exactly what was said to have caused the witch to enter a sour mood.
"What's in the box?" Lestrange asks.
"Oh, it's…" Hermione trails off staring at the little box.
Foolish, she feels foolish right now, staring at the box on the table. Blue lagoon biscuits, it's a sad attempt to bake for Lady Lestrange. As with most things she tries to cook or bake it has ended badly. Now all she has left are rock solid biscuits, it'd be easy to break gold.
"Let me see," Lestrange instructs.
"It's nothing," Hermione sighs, reaching for the box. "I…"
The words fail her, she had hoped to do something nice for the witch. Something small, but she had failed. No amount of magic would save the biscuits from burning to a crisp.
Handing the box to the outstretched hand, Hermione flushes as the witch peaks inside. A frown on Lestrange's face as she peels the lid back, studying the charred remains of the biscuit.
"I tried to make your favourite," Hermione explains lamely. "A little birthday present, it didn't, well it didn't go well."
"You baked these?" Lestrange asks.
"Yes,"
"It'd be rude not to try one."
"Please don't," Hermione warns, refraining from snatching the box away. "I'd rather not call a healer."
Chuckling, Lestrange studies the charred remains. The thought reminds Hermione, that there was something else. She turns, pausing she mutters to her mistress she will be right back as she heads to her room to collect the small pouch. Returning to the room, breathless, Lestrange is watching confused by the sudden rushing around.
The gifts she has made for her mistress, are pale in comparison to the extravagant gifts waiting to be opened in the breakfast room. The jewellery that costs more than diamonds, paintings that should be in museums, artefacts, and tomes that would make collectors dribble.
Placing the box aside, Bellatrix moves across the room intrigued by the little pouch, peering over Hermione's shoulder, curious. Removing the bracelet, Hermione places it on top of the pouch.
"I may have taken a small liberty," Hermione explains.
"I told you to throw this out, didn't I?" Bellatrix asks studying the bracelet.
"Yes, I managed to fix it though,"
"How, it's Black Colenite." Lestrange questions intrigued. "Once moulded, it cannot be reshaped."
"Yes and no," Hermione answers. "With a bit of persuasion and perseverance, it loosened."
She doesn't feel the need to explain it took over three months for her to achieve the acquired effect. Day by day, adjusting the spell, applying the potion, millimetre by millimetre adjusting the broken links.
"Impressive," Lestrange comments. "Help me put it on?"
"Course," Hermione agrees, hesitating. "I also may have added a couple of runes to the new links."
"Oh?"
"I know, I should have checked, but it's meant to be a surprise, but you don't like surprises…"
"Granger you're rambling."
"Right, shouldn't affect anything, it'll tinge grey if you are near anything poisonous," Hermione explains, shifting awkwardly. "This rune is just a general protective rune. It's nothing powerful, not really. It should help work with the walnut though, I managed to scrape some walnut and mix dragon heartstring into the rune itself. So should work well with your wand."
Lifting the bracelet, Hermione slides it over the slim wrist. Removing the spell preventing the bracelet from connecting. The two ends of the bracelet rush to meet, as though magnets, they bind, creating an unbreakable link. It's slick, stylish and blends effortlessly into Lestrange's attire.
"You crafted this?" Lestrange asks, studying the small bracelet.
"I know I should have asked," Hermione replies sheepishly. "I didn't think it would work."
Quiet, Lestrange runs her fingers along the bracelet. Shuffling, Hermione wonders if she should have just thrown the item out as requested. She should not have taken liberties as she did, it was not in her place.
"Dance with me." Lestrange orders as she moves the furniture out of the way, with a flick of her hand.
"My Lady?" Hermione questions as Lestrange steps into the room, holding her hand out for Hermione to take.
"I've wanted to dance all night, but alas, it all went a bit pear-shaped," With a click, the piano begins to play a tune, the hand offered, flexing. "I trust you know the basics of dancing?"
"Yes…" Hermione trails off, swallowing.
"Come on then,"
Deep breath, she steps forward, placing her hand into the warm outstretched palm. With a sharp tug, she falls flush against the unmovable body. Swallowing, a hand lands on Hermione's waist, holding her in place. The hand leading is firm, yet gentle, soft but marred with unseen scars, and blemishes on the skin. Battle scars untold stories, the fingers flex, cradling Hermione's smaller hand.
Being this close it's intoxicating, strawberries, her mistress's favourite soap, mixed with the exotic flowery smell of her perfume. The dress perfect fit for her mistress figure, making it very difficult for Hermione to focus. It feels like a lifetime ago since she was preparing her mistress for the Lestrange annual ball.
A foot intentionally trips her, the hands preventing her from falling, and a cackle from her mistress as Hermione shoves the witch. A tug closer, pulling Hermione impossible close. Bellatrix moves them in time to the music, Hermione's hand resting on the slim waist.
They sway, Bellatrix humming along to the music, as she dips Hermione. The world swirling, pulling her back to her feet, the music slowing. She doesn't want this to end, shivering as Bellatrix rests her head against Hermione's shoulder. Lips, ghost across the crest on her neck, the action making her shiver.
"Thank you for my gifts," Lestrange whispers hotly against her skin.
"You're welcome," Hermione murmurs.
Inhaling, Hermione hesitantly rests her head on proud shoulders. Closing her eyes, allowing Bellatrix to guide them. Hermione could just imagine them dancing together, in another world not divided by their blood. In dresses fit for the occasion, a live band. Not hidden away in the shadows of a manor.
"Come with me," Lestrange orders.
Blinking, Hermione breaks from the embrace, Lestrange grabbing her wrist, dragging her along. Stumbling, Hermione tries to keep up with Bellatrix's pace, the fingers releasing expecting Hermione to follow. Lestrange is guiding her, through the manor, towards the back of the building, towards the large greenhouse connected at the end of the building. It's almost pitch black, lifting her wand, Hermione casts a light.
The darkness does not faze Lestrange, who walks undisturbed, heading to the end of the greenhouse. Finally coming to a stop, staring at the wooden table covered in mud, a box and random plants waiting to be potted.
"I was going to wait till your birthday," Lestrange comments with glee. "However, I'm rubbish at surprises. I've been buzzing to show you all week."
"Show me what?" Hermione asks confused, Bellatrix got her a present?
"Take a look."
Stepping past the witch, Hermione moves to the table, the large box. Hesitating in opening the box, she swears if this is another prank, she may just hex the witch. Taking a deep breath, she pulls the front of the box away, eyes widening. Her little jar, her vivarium that she had kept on her desk.
No longer empty, a beetle buzzing angrily around inside. She hadn't even noticed her jar had gone missing. That beetle though, she would recognise that beetle anywhere.
"Wasn't easy," Lestrange comments. "She's a slippery little fuck."
"How?" Hermione breathes staring at the beetle. "I thought she was free?"
"Free from hanging," Lestrange smirks. "Which just meant she was free game."
"Skeeta," Hermione whispers kneeling in front of the glass. The beetle glares back.
"Happy Birthday," Bellatrix husks.
Lestrange hunted Skeeta down for Hermione? Not able to hurt anyone ever again, trapped inside Hermione's jar. What would Luna think about this? She would probably be repulsed by Hermione's actions. Bellatrix however is almost overjoyed, foot tapping the best indicator, a child almost waiting for praise.
"I don't even know what to say," Hermione replies turning back to the witch. "How long until I have to release her?"
"Oh, pet, she's yours to do as you please," Bellatrix states gleefully.
The buzzing dies down, and Skeeta falls quiet. Glancing at the little jar, Hermione can think of a million things she wants to do to the witch. Staring at the small jar, her hands itch to re-enact revenge.
"Keep her, kill her, let her go free, do as you will," Lestrange continues with a shrug. "Just ensure your wipe her mind if you let the bitch fly free."
"Thank you," Hermione whispers.
"Although, if you want to use a little crucio, do let me know," Lestrange whispers, hands curling around Hermione's waist pulling her back against the witch, making Hermione shiver. "I'd like to watch; seems you already know it. Poor Draco."
Swallowing, Hermione grows tense in the arms holding her, the chin resting on her shoulder. Dark eyes focussed on the jar, the grip unrelenting, but not uncomfortable. Did Draco finally tell?
"Draco…"
"Didn't say a word," Lestrange replies wiggling her fingers at the beetle. "I could smell it in the air that night, I can tell the effects of crucio a mile off."
"I didn't mean to."
"Funny thing about dark magic," Lestrange ignores Hermione's protest. "The spells are relatively easy to learn, but to truly cast them, they require emotion. A lot of emotion, you have to mean it. Judging by the piss stain on Draco that night, I can only imagine the anger running through you. You scared him shitless, rather hilarious. Oh, don't give me that look, he may be my nephew, but the boy needs to grow a spine. I'm only gutted I missed it."
"I don't remember it," Hermione answers honestly.
"I gathered, had a feeling when you tried to strangle me. As I said, it was but wasn't you. It's intriguing." Pulling away, Lestrange turns Hermione around so they are facing one another. "Regardless, let me watch next time."
Swallowing, Hermione nods, she's hoping there won't be a next time. The idea of losing control as she did, scares her more than her death. She hadn't even noticed that Draco wet himself that night. So out of it, she could barely remember her name. What would Luna say? If she found out what she did, would she understand?
Fingers slip beneath her chin, tilting Hermione's face upwards. Lips press against hers, unrelenting. Hermione's hand grasp at the arms holding her in place. The tongue gliding across her lip, she allows Bellatrix entrance without argument.
The fire engulfs her, the kiss electric, steals her very breath, and leaves her weak in the knees. The touch of the tongue sends her mind into overdrive. It ends far too soon, Bellatrix pulling away. Swollen lips, noses touching, eyes wild, Bellatrix untamed passion.
"Thank you," Bellatrix whispers, a ghost of a kiss against the side of Hermione's lips. "For my gifts, I do hope you enjoy yours."
"I will."
"Hmm," A breath, the nose nuzzling against her neck. "What would I do without you?"
The hand's retreat, Lestrange sweeping from the room, leaving Hermione cold. Run away with me. Closing her eyes, Hermione collapses against the ground. Staring at the beetle in a jar. She hunted down Skeeta. Risked being caught, risked upsetting the Dark Lord to hunt down Skeeta, for Hermione.
No, Lestrange probably wanted something from Skeeta as well. There's no way Bellatrix would actively do something so foolish for a servant. Her heart tightens, she's running away in a few days. Leaving Lestrange manor. Leaving Bellatrix behind. What have I done?