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

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

Enjoy...

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Back tense, Hermione barely flinches as the spell runs its course, as her skin knits back together. Creevy gently healing the broken skin, the softest touch too scared to upset Hermione.

Greif, it lingers in the air of the partially destroyed manor, they had dragged her away from Angelina. Pulled her kicking and screaming away to heal her. It didn't matter the walls of the house were falling, it didn't matter about her life. Angelina had died, for no reason.

Creevy had rescued the remains of her wand it sits on the table of the study in front of her. The west side of the manor has collapsed. The main hall, the kitchen, and the breakfast room are under rubble, it is no use hiding it now. They all know who is responsible for destroying the house, her magic had rocked the ground.

Thankfully the rest of the servants had escaped the house when the fighting had started, no one was unaccounted for. Piece by piece, they are moving the rubble preparing the house for rebuilding. Angelina carefully moved; her body placed safely out the way.

Cowards. The thought bounces unhinged around her mind, cowards the lot of them. The servants hiding, not coming to their aid, they had left Hermione and Angelina to their fate while they ran for safety. Any one of them could have come to help, they may not be trained, but they could have tried.

"Is that better?" Creevy asks stepping back.

Her back may be healing, but it's too late for Angelina. Cowards. Rolling her shoulders she winces as the skin plucks, tugging, still fresh. Creevy the only option of healing until the floo network or their mistress returns.

"Fine." Hermione answers. "Your top, let me have it."

Glancing down, he hesitates before removing his top leaving him in just a vest top. Pulling, she pulls the remains of her top off, the lashings had ripped it to pieces. Creevy looking away pauses the pain from her back preventing her from raising her arms.

"Go help the others," Hermione instructs. "And Creevy. Thank you."

"Course, I'm sorry," Creevy sighs. "A few of us tried to get back in, wanting to help… The wizard he'd put a shield trapping us. I'm sorry,"

"So am I." Hermione sighs.

Rubbing her face, of course, some of them had tried to get back into the house, they love… loved Angelina. A tear tracks its way down her face, anger it's pounding her heart beating heavily against her chest. The adrenaline was the only thing stopping the immense pain from rendering her useless. She wants to track Andromeda down, hunt her down, take her mistress's dagger and drive it through the witch's heart.

Crack, the ground outside shifts from the apparition, feet pausing. Hesitancy, confusion most likely, their mistress has returned home. To what's left of their home. Voices, scurrying, the servants trying to keep out of their mistress's way. Hermione hears her name, the mutter from Creevy.

The sun has just risen above the trees as the birds flee from the destruction. Not even past seven and the world already feels as though it's over. Holding the top tight in her hand, she waits, patiently hoping the pain will end.

The creak of the door, the thumping of steps, boots hitting floorboards. The door closing, trapping her alone with Lestrange. She doesn't need to look up, she knows Bellatrix is there she can feel the presence of the witch.

"You look like shit," Lestrange comments as she stops just out of reach. "The fuck happened?"

You, you happened. The thought, the words die on her lips. All of this is because of Bellatrix's past, the reason the house is destroyed. The reason Angelina is dead is all because of Lestrange.

"Sins of our fathers." Hermione spits looking to meet the black gaze.

Understanding it dawns, the eyes flickering to the door, picturing the destruction of the house. It will take time to rebuild, it will take even longer for the mark of magic to be removed from the stone. Absently, Hermione wonders if her blood will remain, trapped in the cracks of the marble a piece of her after she dies.

"I see," Bellatrix states. "Andromeda?"

"Unless you did something to Narcissa as well?"

"Watch your tone," Lestrange warns eyes flashing dangerously.

"Why, going to finish the job?" Hermione snaps, hatred it's spilling unchecked.

"Don't tempt me." A hiss from the dark witch, the wand easily in reach.

Bellatrix pauses, eyes falling to Hermione's snapped wand lying dormant on the table. A finger traces the wood, something unreadable crossing her mistress's face. Turning away, Hermione sucks in a deep breath, she feels lost without her wand. The reassuring murmur, her constant companion over time. Dead the magic once contained broken, a perfect reflection of Hermione.

"How could you?" Hermione asks. "You stole her child."

"It's not that simple," Lestrange waves the question away.

"Her child? You drove her to the brink of insanity, she turned to drugs thinking her child was dead."

"Oh, so you're on her side now?"

"There are no sides!" Hermione shouts pushing to her feet. "Fucking hell, her child, she never even held it before you shoved it into the hell of an institute."

"You'd prefer I kill the wretched thing?" Lestrange demands hotly. "Would you have preferred to slit its little throat before it even cried?"

"It may have been kinder." Hermione hisses. "Instead, you forced it into a world of servitude, to be beaten, belittled and tortured daily. While its mother goes crazy thinking it's dead."

"Shut up!" Bellatrix snaps in anger. "There is more to the story so shut your dirty little trap."

"No,"

"No? You fucking ungrateful…"

"Because of you and your father, Angelina is dead…"

"Who?"

A harsh breath leaves Hermione's lips, grasping her hair in frustration, in disbelief. Pushing away, she paces angry, vibrating.

"Johnson." Hermione spits.

"Oh, that one," Bellatrix replies. "That's a pity."

"A pity!" She is furious, her runes are raging. "A pity, she's a human being."

"She's a servant."

"She was pregnant, with child…"

"That's not possible."

"No? There's a lot that's not possible you self-centred bitch. She was pregnant, but why am I not surprised you don't care? Do you even have the capability to care?"

The curved wand is moving, in an instant, it's pointing, anger, Lestrange is barely contained. A laugh breaks from Hermione as she shakes her head, stepping closer to the wand. Willing the witch to end this pitiful existence, it's the least she could do. It stings the end of the wand as it touches the skin of her chest, she stares down the witch.

"Do me a favour," Hermione whispers. "Put me out of my misery."

"You think you get out of this so easily?" Bellatrix hisses, a hand curling in Hermione's hair, tugging the witch closer. "What because your friend died, you think that gives you a free pass to escape this world?

Taking deep breaths, Bellatrix smiles, the red lips tilting, the hand holding Hermione in place. Stepping closer, the wand drags down her chest, resting above her heart, a threat a subtle motion.

"I could easily stop your heart; would that make you happy? One ticket please to the afterlife, please? No, I didn't take you for a chicken."

"Give me your wand, I'll show you a chicken."

"I enjoy your anger pet, I truly do," Lestrange murmurs.

"Do you, remember that when you rebuild your manor, or what's left of it."

Confusion, a glance back towards the destruction held just beyond the door. The realisation is slow dark eyes returning, scanning Hermione from head to toe. Slightest tilt of the head as she studies Hermione.

"That was you?" Lestrange asks as she pulls back.

"I, unfortunately, missed your sister," Hermione sneers anger practically vibrating.

"I see,"

The hands retreat as Lestrange steps away hands picking the broken wand, studying it running her fingers along the splintered wood. Useless, Hermione is now useless, the institute gives them wands, the cheap wands. They get to pick them from a pile in the basement, choosing the wands that fit them the best. Sometimes they scrap, sometimes they're lucky and they get time to decide. A stomach bug had rendered most ill, so she was left alone to pick her wand. Lucky. Over time it became her constant companion. Now she has nothing.

"At least it makes it easier," Hermione states earning a curious glance from her mistress. "The demotion."

A harsh laugh erupts, a cackle it's a warning. That laugh, it's the laugh Lestrange uses for anger, for malice. The meeting with the Dark Lord did not go to plan. Lestrange wouldn't be so furious if it were just her sister destroying the house. No, something else has happened. Luna?

"Oh, no, pet, you're not going to get demoted. Thanks to your little wench, you're just going to die."

Swallowing, Hermione flinches she had preached about wanting death. The fear of the mines and the factories would make anyone want death. The idea that Lestrange was unable to break the curse, makes her stagger. The breath on her back it's death his closer, so close, waiting patiently for her time to end.

"But the meeting…" Hermione mutters.

"But the meeting," Lestrange taunts. "The meeting was going brilliantly; the Dark Lord was infinitely happy to learn I had discovered it's been Lovegood releasing the poems. I was close, this close to inform him that you needed demoting. Until Snape came waltzing in with the paper in his hand."

Closing her eyes, Hermione turns from the furious gaze. Luna has doomed them both, she has sentenced them both to an early grave. Hermione will die, and Luna will hang.

"Oh, dawning on you is it. There in black and white, your stupid little sidepiece had called the Dark Lord a coward. Not in just one paper, but several."

Luna, what did you do? Her hand reaches for her wand on impulse to find her holster empty. No support, not this time, it's just her.

"Plastered around the country calling the Dark Lord out, she may as well go dancing into a werewolves' tea party, she may have survived that unscathed. As you can imagine, the meeting finished quite suddenly, he was very angry."

"Did he hurt you?" Hermione demands.

"Excuse me?" Lestrange questions.

"Nothing,"

"Then it dawned on me, no one knows about the curse, no one, but you."

Cold, she feels cold, suddenly feeling very bare under the scrutinising gaze, she slips the top on. Hoping it will provide some barrier against her mistress's fury. Swallowing, she steps back wondering if it's too late to run. Where would she go? The world will be hunting for Luna, for all she knows Bellatrix has told the Dark Lord Hermione is responsible for the writings.

"Funny that," Bellatrix growls hand tightening around her wand. "It made me think, made me reconsider all those poems, the similarities. I have seen your writing for a long time, I know your style. I thought no, it's not possible, Granger is bound… You must think, you are so clever?"

It's unsettling, there's no raised voice Lestrange is controlled fury. Infinitely more dangerous than an angry Bellatrix, the calm before the storm.

"No, it's… I didn't know she was going to write that…" Hermione stammers.

"To suggest you knew about all the others?"

"No… yes. No."

"What's that Granger, spit it out. You were bound to Evans, like all servants. On her death, you bound the servants of the household and you… I don't remember binding your obedience. An oversight I won't make next time."

To suggest, that Hermione is going to be replaced, the idea hurts more than it should. Shaking her head, she struggles to think of an answer she cannot lie her way out of this, there is no way out but the truth. The truth that will destroy any trust Lestrange has.

"There I was gloating, not my servants, it's impossible. You must have been laughing, when you were fucking Lovegood, did you have a good little laugh at my stupidity?"

"No, course not, let me explain."

"I have given you ample opportunities!" Bellatrix hisses, a hand fisting in Hermione's top, dragging her closer. "This, this is how you repay me? I have been lenient, given you freedom and you repay me like this?"

"Freedom?" Hermione scoffs. "I'm a fucking slave!"

She shoves the witch away breaking free from the hold. Stumbling the surprise on Lestrange's face was instantly overwritten by fury. The wand is shifting, moving to point as Hermine steps forward until her chest bumps the curve of her wand. Glaring the witch down.

"Wake up," Hermione snarls. "I have no freedom, I'm a slave, I have no choice in this life."

"YOU…"

"I haven't finished!" Hermione shouts. "Let's play your favourite game. Roles reversed. You're my slave, you wake up before the sun rises, and you don't get the choice to pick what you want to eat. You can forget about drinking whiskey, you can forget about having a bath alone. You're tired, boo hoo, I don't have time for your tears. You sleep when you drop from exhaustion or until I am tucked into bed. Every waking second you will be at my beck and call. Oh, what? Oh, that's right you would never be a servant, too rebellious. Let's see, you're six years old, you don't want to obey. That's fine perhaps you'll receive a lashing until you pass out. Maybe they will just starve you until you wish for death. Maybe they will lock you in a windowless room, force-feeding you and you stay trapped for days. Until days blur and you don't know how much time passes. Perhaps when you're sleeping, one of the masters takes a liking to you. Try explaining to a child why this pig is slipping his hands in places they don't belong. Explain to that child why crying is pointless because there is no one coming for you, you're in hell. When survival overrules every instinct, it's fine because one day you will get a new master and perhaps, they will treat you well. They will give you 'freedom'. You are never free, you never get a choice. You will never marry, never have children, you're not allowed to fall in love, because don't forget you don't have emotions. You will never own anything; you don't even get the choice to nap. So please tell me, how do I have freedom?"

Silence, the wand still pressed against her chest, no emotion on Lestrange's face. There's nothing, no tell-tale sign that gives Hermione any indicator if her words had any effect on the witch. Nothing, Lestrange is blank, except for her pulse point jumping on her neck.

"You wanted the truth, there it is. Fine, they are my poems, I wrote them before I became Red Kite. Did I ever intend for them to be released, no? I made a deal with Luna, and in exchange for her to teach me how to heal, she could read my poems. I thought stupidly, for one second, that someone wanted to know me, Hermione. Not the Red Kite, not the slave. When that first poem was released, I was shocked like everyone. I knew I'd been played, but it was too late, I was invested. Was I sad? When the poems were released, no."

Moving away from the wand, Hermione runs her hand through her hair, her anger is pulsing. The memories of the institute haunt her every waking second.

"You know what's even more infuriating, even then. Even when I broke every code, every rule, I still protected you. Because everyone knows that none of my servants can talk. That the servants fear me, fear breaking the rules. No one would suspect this household. No one. So even when my poems graced the papers, yes, I was smug. Because for one infinite second of my life for one moment my words had an impact. Yet, no one would know it was me. No one would suspect this household, even when I break the rules. I protected you. It's pathetic, isn't it? After everything, everything I did, the power I had just at that moment. I could never betray you. Pathetic." Shaking her head, her eyes fall to her snapped wand. "And now I die, poetic justice I suppose."

Maybe, she should have just run away on her own. Tried to escape, there may have been hope somewhere along the way. Instead of relying on others they always let her down. She should just rely on herself, maybe Angelina would still be alive. Her heart wouldn't be skewed by Lovegood or her realisation of her feelings for Lestrange.

"Well?" Hermione demands turning back to Lestrange hands held open. "Let's do this."

A twitch, an eyebrow flickering, the wand still pointing as though waiting for its owner to decide. Emotionless, those dark eyes dormant, nothing but the flicker of confusion. Hands held aloft, Hermione waits for the curse, sighing when nothing is forthcoming.

"Or am I going to be thrown to the Dark Lord for him to kill me?"

The wand rolls between fingers, Lestrange stirring, not fast enough for Hermione. Annoyed, she holds back the groan.

"Which is it? Factories, mines, hanging or just a simple curse?" Nothing. "Or would prefer me to hang myself, suppose it be easier to explain. Driven mad by loss etc or should I go find a church to crush me? We must keep up appearances after all."

A boot crushes a fallen piece of debris as Lestrange steps closer the wand rolling between fingers. Emotionless, it's hard to figure out what's running through Lestrange's mind. Sighing, Hermione knows Lestrange will keep her word, she just hopes death will be quick and the witch won't play with her food.

"Time is short, Bellatrix." Hermione taunts holding her arms aloft.

The name sparks something in that dark gaze, the wand is lifting, shifting, and she can feel the magic pulsating. Closing her eyes she waits for the curse, no fear. She had expected to be scared; she has been fearing death for so long, now it feels like a long-lost friend.

She has never spoken the witch's first name in front of Bellatrix it feels foreign on her tongue. The urge to apologise for even speaking the name makes her want to chuckle. Despite everything she has just said, speaking her mistress's name makes her want to apologise.

A flinch, a spell it's cold, it burns frostbite as it strikes, stealing a gasp. The hair on her arms burnt as the spell goes wide as a wall explodes behind her. Making her flinch, she refuses to run. She won't run, she won't beg, she will not give the witch the satisfaction.

A hand curls around her chin as the pressure of the wand pushes against her throat, making her flinch. The end of the wand is still cold from the spell. Fear, Lestrange is trying to provoke her, always wanting reactions.

"Don't worry," Hermione whispers eyes still closed, she can feel Bellatrix next to her, the breath of the witch ghosting across her cheek. "No silencing spell, you will hear me scream."

Nails they dig into her chin, uncomfortably a promise of pain. The memory from years ago. I will have your screams. Apart of Hermione wonders what it would be like to hear Bellatrix scream, in a very different situation. As though lovers, not servant and master, she will never know, maybe in another life.

"Say it again," A whisper, an order.

Peeking, Hermione looks at the witch confused, the hand on her chin the nail, drifting across her skin.

"You will hear…"

"No," Bellatrix interrupts eyes impossibly dark. "My name, say it again."

Biting her tongue, Hermione wonders what game this is, she had prepared for torture. To endure the pain. She's not sure what game Bellatrix is currently playing.

"Bellatrix." It's barely a murmur.

Dark eyes close, a forehead bumping against Hermione's as the hand on her chin relaxes. A finger grazed Hermione's lip, the nail ghosting across soft flesh, dragging her bottom lip down. Swallowing, Hermione's hand fists in the dark witch's robe. Inhaling, Bellatrix's wand slowly scratches her neck. An internal fight within the dark witch.

Confused Hermione enjoys the moment of feeling the witch impossible close, taking the second to breathe her in. She doesn't mind if this is her last memory, it'll perhaps be one of her favourites.

"I should…" Bellatrix whispers trailing off.

"Should what?"

"Why?" Bellatrix asks changing the topic.

"Why what?" Hermione replies confused.

"Why did you protect me? You could have told the world, could have run away at any moment. Why?"

Well, that's just a loaded question. Why it's simple, she loves the witch. She shouldn't there's no reason why she should, but she does. The idea of ever hurting Bellatrix repulses her.

"It doesn't matter now," Hermione answers honestly, stepping out of the embrace. "Please don't play games with me. If you respect me, please don't play games."

"This isn't a game," Bellatrix snarls. "You stupid idiot, this isn't a game."

"Please, how would I know, you love playing games. So, show some respect and decide."

"You're so desperate to die?"

"No, you damn harpy, I don't want to die, the idea terrifies me! You want the reason why I protected you. It's simple. I love you. I know, I know we cannot feel it's impossible. In the same way, Angelina couldn't be pregnant. But here we are, that's why I protected you, will always… hmph."

The kiss is brutal, the clash of teeth, the hands that try to find purchase. Arms sweep her straight off her feet, she tangles her hands in black hair. Teeth nip, tongues clash, it's earth-shattering. Hungry, the kiss is all-encompassing it steals her breath and leaves her hungry for more.

Nails scratch her neck, she's drowning, holding on to Bellatrix as though a life raft. The storm, the teeth, the tongue dominating. They break apart, breathless, Bellatrix releases her. Stepping back, Hermione smirks at the mark on Lestrange's neck where her nails have marked territory. She's not the only one wearing a crest not today.

The wand is lifting, torn, Lestrange is shifting, emotionless. It points straight at Hermione's heart. Something wet touches her arm, wiping blindly, Hermione realises she's crying. This is it.

"We all have a duty." Bellatrix states impassive.

"Coward," Hermione scoffs.

Bang. She flinches as the door bursts open the spell fizzling out from Bellatrix's wand. Both witches turn to the door, the servant frozen in shock, staring between Hermione and Bellatrix.

"What?" Lestrange snaps.

"Creevy, what is it?" Hermione asks slipping into her role of Red Kite.

"London."
"What about it?"

"It's burning."

Moving, Hermione pushes past Creevy, not caring if Lestrange is following. She falters in the hall staring at the spot where Angelina had died. The smell in the air is overwhelming, it breaks her thought process. The servants are huddled where the entrance to the manor used to be staring towards London.

Stepping forward, the sky is dark, the sun blocked out by smoke. The flames are towering, scorching towards the clouds, the smoke billowing. London, it's burning. A familiar presence against her side, Lestrange stepping next to her. Studying the destruction in the distance.

"Evacuate." Hermione states calmly, all eyes turning to her she throws her keys to Creevy. "Creevy the portkey it's labelled. Two twists right, one twist left the spell is printed on the bottom of the portkey. It will unlock it. It will send you to the country manor."

In silence, they stare at her Creevy holding the keys as though a foreign object.

"Now!" Hermione snaps making Creevy jump. "Everyone, evacuate."

They scurry, dropping their tools and collecting loose items, for the evacuation. There is no guarantee the flames will not reach the manor. The smoke though, it's churning green with black one of the factories is on fire. The chemicals are in the air.

She spots something beneath the rubble bending down, she slowly plucks it from beneath the fallen brick. It feels strange in her hand, nevertheless, it yields. She had killed its master after all.

Lestrange is muttering to herself studying the fire, not noticing Hermione's movements. Taking a deep breath, Hermione summons her satchel, swinging it over her shoulder. With a flick she summons a scarf, preparing to make a makeshift mask. She hides it behind her back turning to address Lestrange.

"Andromeda," Hermione starts the name gaining Bellatrix's attention. "The box you hid at Gringotts's it's where she's going."

"You told her?" Lestrange demands angrily.

"As though I had a choice." Hermione snaps.

The argument is interrupted by Creevy skidding into viewing, shaking hands and unlocking the portkey. He places it on the ground as the servants gather around.

"What about you?" Theo asks emerging from the servants and looking to Hermione gaining Lestrange's attention.

"Head to safety."

"Hermione," Theo questions eyes falling to the scarf.

"Creevy is in charge until Lady Lestrange appoints a new Red Kite." Dark eyes are swirling turning to regard Hermione in confusion, anger it all laces into one before they fall to the scarf. "I have a wedding to crash and a very important person to meet."

She's swirling, the wand clutched she's morphing the ward preventing her escape long since broken. Lestrange's hand is reaching grasping at thin air, her voice, Lestrange shouting her name. The word chases her as she apparates towards London. She needs to save as many as she can, even Luna. Then she has a date to keep, it's time to meet her maker.