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 Thirty-One

Fingers trace the tip of the spine, gentle, almost caressing as she adjusts the necklace into place. The diamonds sparkle in the flicker of the flames. The muscles flex beneath the dress, a robe summoned. The ceremonial robe, she holds it aloft as two hands slip into the sleeves with a flick the robe falls onto proud shoulders.

Fussing, she's fussing about adjusting the material to ensure it fits perfectly. A habit obtained since she was young, ensuring it accentuates her mistress perfectly. Pausing, she moves the gold brooch with the family crest displayed. Perfect, nodding satisfied she steps away moving aside to allow her mistress to prepare the finishing touches.

Stepping to the side of the room, she stops in front of a mirror, studying her new uniform. Her mistress's crest is displayed over her heart, the black a contrast against the crimson red of her robe. A shawl, hood down, wrapped around her shoulders, her black knee-high boots the lace tied tight through hooked eyelets. Three silver chains glisten in the light running from one pocket to the next.

A holster sits empty, a holster for a dagger or something similar. Tightening her belt, the potions jingle in a couple of her pouches. She feels like a donkey prepped and ready to carry potions to heal, to aid. A St Bernard carrying liquor for those lost in the mountains. Except, she's the only one lost, new to a role created for a reason only known to the Dark Lord.

Frowning, her fingers tangle with the last two buttons of her dress shirt. She's not fully healed, not yet. Her fingers still jerk, but considering she was pronounced dead a week ago, she's making a marvellous recovery. She feels depleted, her magical core feels dormant the simplest spell leaves her exhausted. Not that she shows it not when the servants are staring at her in awe. Not when her mistress is watching her every move. What would the Dark Lord think if his new prized toy is void of magic?

Lestrange Manor, torn down, her runes long since broken from when she destroyed part of the manor. Now with the whole manor gone they feel strange fluctuating beneath the skin. No longer bound to the manor, free it's a strange feeling. She will need to check them to see the damage sustained. She just hasn't had the time, when the days end she collapses on her bed too exhausted to cast the spells. The headache from her dreams has left her, feeling absent.

A hand batters her hand out the way slim fingers curl around the buttons, slowly adjusting the uniform. Smoothing the uniform out, Bellatrix adjusts the shawl around her neck, knuckles grazing the skin. Biting her tongue, Hermione waits for Lestrange to stop fussing.

"Am I to your satisfaction?" Hermione asks with a small smile.

The Lestrange ball feels like a lifetime ago, she supposes in some ways it is. When she had helped prepare her mistress for the ball. A ghost of a smile crosses Bellatrix's face the first bit of emotion she has shown since Hermione has woken from her coma. Neither witch knows where they stand with the other.

The confession of love, well death put a dampener on it. Dying for the one she loved sounded so romantic, was a lot easier than this. Now, her love is hers and hers alone, because neither can act on her feelings. Not like Lestrange feels the same way so now she remains only her. Luna vanished, hopefully safe, in the last actions she had tried to save Hermione. In some ways she did, now promoted no more dreams of her death plague her. What of the other Red Kites? She saved herself but what about all of the other servants?

"Yes," Bellatrix replies observing the uniform. "It will do."

"Do you need help with your bracelet?" Hermione asks spotting the bracelet waiting on the vanity unit.

"No, quite capable."

There it is, the sharp disappointment, Lestrange putting distance between them. Absently Hermione wonders once the Dark Lord has explained her new role if she will continue to dress Lestrange.

"Do I need to get a new maid?" Hermione asks.

"Excuse me?" Lestrange questions using magic to adjust her bracelet.

Frowning, Hermione fails to spot the bracelet she had made for Lestrange. Nowhere in sight. The thought hurts more than it should all the effort she had put into creating the bracelet, is now discarded. It's no surprise a lot has happened since then.

"Granger," Bellatrix snaps gaining her attention. "Stop zoning out, it's annoying."

"Right," Hermione shakes her head. "I'll organise a new maid to help you dress,"

"Oh, too busy with new responsibilities?" Is the snappy reply.

"I think it would be improper for us to continue with me dressing you," Hermione states calmly.

"Oh, right because you have feelings," Bellatrix scoffs. "I see that as your problem."

"Well no, that's not changed," Hermione answers. "It's because you can't stand the sight of me at the moment."

"You think I'm stupid enough to give you free rein?" Bellatrix scoffs with a shake of the head.

"Yeah, I might run off with my side piece, oh wait, she's already gone."

"Sarcasm is not becoming of you, Granger."

"You were going to kill me," Hermione snaps. "Forgive me if I don't feel comfortable being in the same room as you."

A silence, hands paused adjusting an earring back turned, Hermione, is unable to see the witch's face to read it. Shoulders tense the hands drop from her ear annoyance it's rolling of the witch in waves.

"I wasn't going to kill you," Bellatrix admits back still turned.

"Right," Hermione shakes her head kneeling to adjust the boot laces. "I forgot probably going to hang me."

Hermione flinches as two boots appear in front of her. Sighing, she wonders if this is the moment Lestrange continues with her threats. This is the longest conversation they have had in days, normally they just stand around in silence. Rising, Hermione meets the witch's gaze, eyebrow raised.

"I was going to curse you," Bellatrix admits quietly with a shrug. "In the hopes, it would knock your foolish notion out of your mind. But I wasn't going to kill you nor hang you."

"What foolish notion?"

"This infatuation you have for me. It's foolish, it is better for you to hate me." Bellatrix states no signs of anger, just tired.

"You'd rather I'd hate you?" Hermione asks.

"Not particularly. It's safer for you to hate me."

A finger traces Hermione's cheek, caressing a thumb gently running across her lip. Lips press against the crest on her neck, Bellatrix leaning in a nose nudging chin. Unable to breathe, Hermione's hand skims across the arms, sliding across the shoulder. She laces her hands together around the shoulder.

Foreheads touching, Hermione closes her eyes, impossible to resist Bellatrix. Electricity shoots through her system when a gentle hand lands on her ribs, hovering just above where Andromeda stabbed her. Ghosting, the lips just out of reach, eyes closed, Bellatrix's hands slip into Hermione's hair.

The idea that Bellatrix potentially feels the same, it's daunting, terrifying, and empowering. Meeting the dark gaze, she swallows at the emotions flitting around in those impossibly black eyes.

"Body and soul," Bellatrix whispers.

Shakily, Hermione's hand slips across the witch's cheek needing to touch. Heart hammering, she wants Bellatrix to break her chains of restraint, to take what she wants. A ghost of a smile, forms on Bellatrix's lips. With the pressure of lips on the corner of her mouth, she pulls back. Mask falling into place, distance, emotionless.

"The bracelet," Hermione whispers. "I made it for you, did you throw it?"

Slowly, a hand pulls the sleeve up, the twist of her fingers, the bracelet comes into view. Damaged slightly from the other day however it remains on the slim wrist.

"According to the healers," Bellatrix rasps. "The amount of time I spent in proximity of the fire, I should have either died or have a compromised immune system. As such I have neither. It baffled them, but here we are two miracles."

"Two miracles, I just have to hate you," A short nod. "Shouldn't be too hard."

She narrowly avoids the swat; smirking Bellatrix shakes her head dropping her sleeve.

"Ah hah!" The words jump from the witch's mouth, she moves across the room to the unopened box that was delivered earlier that day.

"I have something for you," Bellatrix announces ushering Hermione closer.

"A leash?"

"I'm going to curse you," Bellatrix threatens. "Get here."

Holding back the smile, Hermione moves closer to the witch as she opens the box. A satisfied nod, hands they run graze across the item. Frowning, Hermione wonders what the witch brought.

"Close your eyes," Bellatrix orders.

Squinting, Hermione begrudgingly closes her eyes, jumping as her hand curls around her wrist. Lifting it, Hermione opens her hand wondering just what the witch is up to. Heat rushes through her it ignites something in her core. Fire burns through her veins, generating the magic in her blood.

A wand, a brand-new wand. Not just a second-hand one found at the bottom of a box, nor one plucked from a win. A wand designed for her; it fits in her hand perfectly. Her magic hums in approval as her fingers trace the wood. The expensive wood, the subtle pressure in her mind, the wand bonding with her.

"You got me a wand?" Hermione breathes.

"Hmm, you can't keep using that twig."

Sharp fingers pluck the wand Hermione found from its holster throwing it over Bellatrix's shoulder as she smiles in glee. Nodding in approval, she taps the wand, happy with the purchase.

"A new wand?" Hermione repeats shocked.

"I swear that knock to your head did some damage." Bellatrix comments. "Yes, it's a new wand, I explained to the wand maker what I needed, and he crafted it. I may have missed out on the part where it was for you, but I think I got it down pretty well."

"Bellatrix," Hermione mutters. "This is a new wand, I can't… This is a new wand."

"You can't call me that," Bellatrix warns, shuffling.

"Sorry,"

"No, don't apologise, just don't say my name again, understood?" Bellatrix states swallowing.

"Not even in a breathless moan?"

A groan, a hand curling in her hair, tugging her closer, pulling her flush against the witch. Nails dig, scratching beneath the surface, a hiss to the ear.

"You are going to be the death of me," Bellatrix whispers.

"I'll behave." Hermione lies.

"I doubt that" Bellatrix groans.

"This wand though, B… I can't accept this."

"You don't like it?" Bellatrix asks pulling back at arm's reach. "I can get another made."

"No, it's…" She trails off. "It's beautiful but I'm just a servant, I can't go around wielding this."

"You're not just a servant, you're my servant, a valiant, whatever that is. So, fuck everyone else."

"This is worth more than some people make in years."

"It is, isn't it," Bellatrix nods. "I did think about using a different kind of wood, but I thought it wouldn't suit your new uniform."

The conversation is lost on the witch, Hermione realises. Money to Bellatrix is like oxygen to others, it's bountiful and endless. To Hermione, she's not sure if she wants to hold the wand, what happens if she breaks it? Or it gets damaged, perhaps she should put it back in the box?

"Hermione," Bellatrix whispers.

"If I can't say your name, it's only fair you can't say my name."

"That doesn't seem fair. Fine, Granger." Bellatrix grumbles. "I know you're overthinking this the matter is simple; this is just money."

"I can never repay you."

"It's just money," Bellatrix shrugs. "Twice you've saved my life, twice, which is embarrassingly high. If you didn't intervene my sister would have killed me, which would have been infinitely more embarrassing. Anyway, this wand, you deserve it. I did however get this because I knew you'd freak out."

Reaching into the box, Bellatrix pulls out three different coloured tapes, holding them aloft for Hermione to take. Placing the wand down carefully, Hermione accepts the tape confused.

"You can tape your wand," Bellatrix explains. "It'll be a shame to hide its beauty, however, I won't be offended. That way it won't look so glamorous, fair?"

"You sure?" The idea makes Hermione feel better, it would avoid awkward questions. "What happens if it breaks?"

"I'll buy you a new one," Bellatrix answers with a shrug. "Of course I'm sure, tape away, they did have pink glittery tape, but thought that be a bit much."

"I hate glitter."

"I know," Bellatrix grins. "You have, lets's see here. You have seven minutes, might as well get accessorising. Black's a nice colour."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione eyes the tapes she can edit and transfigure the colours should she think of a different shade. Silently she works as Bellatrix faffs around the room, flinching as her red notebook lands next to her.

"I've adjusted some of the rules." Bellatrix comments. "I thought you were being far too polite."

Laughter catches her attention as she heads towards the floo network. The flowers in the hallway are slowly taking, commiserations from well-wishers. The death of Andromeda shocked the Elite, and Narcissa vanished from the public eye. Retiring to her villa in France, Bellatrix faced the on pour of grief.

A part of Hermione struggles with the knowledge, of the death of Andromeda. That day she had wanted to kill the witch, it had driven her. Now, she feels guilty for not stopping Bellatrix from killing her sister. She wonders if it's weighing on Bellatrix's conscience or if she's managed to justify her actions.

Pausing next to the kitchen, the laughing continues, it's nice to hear the servants. The death of Angelina had rocked them all, Angelina the soul of the servants. As days passed it became even more noticeable the witch was no longer with them.

Leaning against the doorway, Hermione smiles at the group of servants crowded around one another. Creevy has laughed so hard his snorting, crying and spluttering all over the place. Even the elves chuckle watching with amusement.

"Valiant." Edwards spots her.

Slowly the laughing stops, as they all turn to look at her, she wishes her presence didn't have this effect. Nevertheless, over the years she had grown used to the talking when it stopped or when the laughter died. She smiles it puts them all at ease.

"Don't stop on my account," Hermione states softly. "Could do with a laugh."

Chuckling, the crowd slowly disperses the servants returning to their duties, leaving a new servant with bright purple hair standing in the middle of the room. With a small smile, she waves her face morphing from that of a duck to normal. Raising an eyebrow, Hermione watches the witch approach curious.

"Valiant," The witch greets enthusiastically.

"Just Granger will do," Hermione answers. "You are?"

"Dora Street," A hand offered which Hermione accepts. "Lady Malfoy appointed me to take over Johnson in the kitchens. I think that is a grievous mistake."

"Are you no good in the kitchens?"

"No, gosh no, I'm clumsy as anything. Lady Malfoy mistook a dish my master had made for one I had made. I wasn't going to turn down an offer to work for Lady Malfoy, I didn't realise however I would be working for Lady Lestrange."

"When I return, we'll talk more about what you are good at, best not have you poisoning Lady Lestrange." Pausing, Hermione runs the name through her memory. "Street?"

"Yeah, I'm one of the babies." Dora shrugs. "I was abandoned on the doorstep of an institute. No name, nothing. I was named by one of the matrons they realise I was a Metamorphmagus at an early age. The matron named me Dora as in…"

"God's gift." Hermione answers.

"Right, I hate it personally."

"GRANGER!" Lestrange's voice rings through the house making most flinch.

"I need to go," Hermione states calmly. "We'll speak soon."

"Good luck."

Nodding, Hermione takes the stairs back towards the hall Lestrange's foot tapping impatient waiting for Hermione to join her. A roll of the eyes as Hermione appears from the servant quarters.

Hermione is first to step through the floo network, disorientated as she steps from a room full of natural light to a darkened room. Her eyes take a second to adjust to the gloom, stepping aside to allow her mistress to step through.

With a flash of green, Lestrange steps from the fireplace unfazed by the change of light, and she moves to the centre of the room. Outside Hermione can hear the crowd the ceremony is in full swing. Nervous, she shifts, a servant steps into the room, bowing deeply before Lady Lestrange.

"I shall inform the Dark Lord you have arrived."

The door shuts the hum in the air the noise from the crowd, makes Hermione nervous. A small window allows in a little amount of light for a couple of chairs, refreshments and the latest papers. A waiting room before they step onto the stage before the crowd.

"Hmm, it's black now," Bellatrix comments tugging on Hermione's robe.

Interesting, her uniform changes colour to suit the environment. Very interesting, she wonders what the point of it is, wonders why the Dark Lord has given her this uniform in particular.

"Purple tape?" Bellatrix questions.

"I like it."

The door to the room swings open as the Dark Lord steps through the room. His cold eyes swept across them. They bow in sync, Hermione remains slightly bowed as he steps into the room as Bellatrix greets him with a bow. Admiration drips from her very essence it makes Hermione queasy. With the devotion Lestrange has for the Dark Lord there will never be competition between Hermione and the Dark Lord. Lestrange is loyal she may test boundaries, but she is loyal.

"Welcome Bella," A pale hand encases Bellatrix's. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"You have and remain my most faithful, Bella you never disappoint."

"You are too kind, my Lord it is my honour to serve."

"I fear there will be much disruption shortly, I hope I can rely upon you as Overseer."

"Of course," Bellatrix reassures. "I will do as you bid."

The hand moves to release Bellatrix as he turns his attention to Hermione. Instantly, she can feel the moment his gaze is focused on her. The hairs on her arms stand up a shiver runs through her body. The subtle pulse of his magic presses against her as though an invisible force, almost suffocating.

"Valiant, let me see you."

Rising to her full height, she focuses her attention on his collar bone Bellatrix standing to the side watching with pride.

"I was not sure, but the uniform is perfect," The Dark Lord praises. "Do you not think so?"

"It is truly an honour," Hermione answers.

"The first of your kind Miss Granger," The Dark Lord announces. "The first Valiant, I understand this must feel as though a lot of pressure. I am sure you are confused as to what your role now is. Your duties are to change while many will remain the same, I will go into this more. Bellatrix will train you to duel as well as this, you will receive your own room with a bath. Training of new servants will be an important part of your role, often I will expect you to work with in the institutes. To help prepare those for the future. You will also receive a credit a monthly sum to spend how you wish."

The slightest twitch from Bellatrix, but Hermione barely notices, she's going to get paid? She's getting her own room and a bathtub she will no longer have to share with others? The idea excites her the reasonable part of her mind is waiting, there has to be something more to this.

"Your left arm."

Swallowing, she offers her left arm, his cold hands moving the sleeve out the way. Hands hover just above her forearm, she flinches a burning pain it shoots through her body. She resists the urge to snatch her arm back, barely holding back the whimper. Within seconds the pain ends the hand retracts. A single V remains prominent on her arm, the black letter trickling slightly with blood.

"There will be times you will be summoned," The Dark Lord explains.

"Summoned, My Lord?" Hermione whispers tentatively touching the mark.

"Yes, in times of need, you will be summoned."

Two pale fingers slip beneath her chin, tilting her head until she is meeting his hollow gaze. The slightest shift from Bellatrix, as she waits to the side. Swallowing, Hermione quivers under the deep stare, ensuring her mental shields are high.

"I expect great things, Miss Granger."

The fingers release her sweeping backwards the Dark Lord pauses turning to Bellatrix.

"I will call you both shortly, prepare yourselves."

They both bow, Hermione clutching her arm, wincing from the pain, she releases a breath as the wizard exits the room. Tracing the mark, she wonders just what the Dark Lord will be calling on her for?

Long fingers curled around her wrist, emotionless, Bellatrix studies the mark on her arm. Moving her hand, she removes the blood from her arm tugging the sleeve down. More than anything, Hermione wants to run back to the floo network to escape.

"Okay?" Bellatrix whispers.

"Does this mean I work for him now?"

"No," Bellatrix replies sharply. "No, you still wear my crest, you belong to me."

"For now," Hermione mutters.

"No," Bellatrix insists meeting Hermione's gaze. "You are mine; the Dark Lord knows I do not share; I fear eventually you may work with me at times."

"Like hunting for Luna."

"Like hunting for Lovegood," Bellatrix confirms. "We will start your training shortly, once your magic has been restored."

"You noticed?"

"you can barely summon your robe? Yes, I noticed. It is to be expected, our magical cores can become damaged through exertion, yours will heal with time." A pause as those dark eyes. "You're not going anywhere, you may have a fancy new title, but you know the truth."

"Body and soul?" Hermione repeats.

"Exactly."

Thousands line the streets in the distance she can see the repairs in London have started. Focussing on the bell tower nearby, Hermione tries to ignore the streets lined with civilians. Cheering, and clapping, the Dark Lord publicly gives Bellatrix a recommendation. She looks stunning standing on the stage, poised and elegant. Built to command presence the crowd is instantly drawn to the Overseer.

Some of the Institute is here watching from the crowds, the chosen few allowed to witness the rise of a Valiant. The streets are lined with the colour red, a new toy promoted to the masses, her uniform striking on stage. An imposter she feels an imposter, the servants staring at her in awe and hope.

"Your nargles are gone." Hermione flinches as the words breach her subconscious.

"Luna?"

"Me,"

"What on Earth are you doing here? Are you hoping to get caught?"

"I heard you died,"

"It's complicated," Hermione replies scanning the crowd for the witch. "What are you doing here?"

"It's complicated." A sigh resonates through her mind. "Do you feel proud, Valiant?"

Rolling her shoulders, Hermione searches the crowd, looking for a sign of Luna. A face stares back, focussed solely on Hermione. She swallows, George Weasley glaring at her from the crowd. The wizard doesn't blink nor moves despite the crowd cheering around him.

"The only reason you're alive is simple, the Dark Lord is scared." A pause. "You would have died a martyr a symbol for the masses. Now you will become a symbol of hate."

Clapping, Hermione forces her hands to clap along with everyone, the Dark Lord kisses Bellatrix's hand as she steps back from the front of the stage. His hands swept wide, embracing the crowd as his own.

"You have to the end of today, Luna,"

"Oh?"

"After that, they will come looking for you. I can no longer hold your secrets;"

"Is that a threat Valiant?"

Her eyes pause landing on a figure she would recognise anywhere, despite the illusion, that she would know Luna anywhere.

"You know, people have the habit of underestimating me. It's becoming rather tiresome. Luna. I see you."

Those grey eyes widen as they meet Hermione's gaze, the charade of an elderly wizard not fooling Hermione. Flinching, the wizard shifts backwards, Luna struggling to hold her composure.

"I'll see you again Luna, that, I'm sure."

Moving through the crowd Luna disappears, the pressure against her mind easing. She will see Luna again despite the witch's words Hermione knows she had something to do with the resistance. A part of her wonders if all along she and Andromeda had worked for the same people. The thought makes her angry.

"Due to incredible bravery and outstanding resilience, I bestow to Miss Granger the highest honour." The Dark Lord's voice echoes across the crowd. "I give you, Valiant Granger."

Smiling, Hermione stands still, she's not meant to react she's a servant, she's meant to be seen but not heard. The limelight moves off her the Dark Lord announcing the rebuild of London, the familiar pressure of Bellatrix as she comes to stand next to Hermione. Valiant, well now, what new hell will this be?

**The End**

A/n: I didn't want it to end, insert crying face.

What a journey! I started this story on the 23rd of May over a 100k words later here we are! Truth time this has been a test. I am turning this story into a multi book story that after some editing, I am hoping to send to an agent to try to get published. Will it get published I don't know, but we will find out. I wanted to see how the story was received as well as find motivation to write it.

Secondly the hardest thing about editing this story is trying to find character names. Who knew!

Will I post the next story on here, potentially, I'm not sure. Personally I need a few days to recuperate the next book is ready in my head, I just need to find the energy to do some writing. I honestly don't know how I've found the time to write nearly 4k words nearly every night. I don't regret a thing, this story has taken on a life of it's own!

I cannot thank you all enough for your ongoing support, the kudos and the reviews, you have given me something that cannot be expressed in words. Thank you. Honestly, you guys are incredible.

So thank you all, I will keep you update if the next story will be published on here. Thank you.