Carpe Noctem

by APermann

"Remember when I told you I'd read her mind? I saw something peculiar. Bella, I think there's a possibility she could be— she could be a venor floccus." AU, centred around Hermione Granger, a very best friend of Draco Malfoy, back when she was just a fifteen-year-old kid dealing with her inner demons, trying to deny the growing interest in a mysterious Bellatrix Lestrange.

26. Carpe Noctem

CARPE NOCTEM / CARPE NOCTEM / CH. 26

The cold solid ground beneath Hermione's stiffing body wasn't the easiest to doze off on. The sleeping bags that she'd bought two weeks ago at Cotswold Outdoor were yet to be cast a feather bed spell on so not even those could spare her shifting and waking every other minute from discomfort.

After tossing for half the night, Hermione resigned and with a frustrated sigh flattened herself on her back against the nylon inside of the bag. Pointing her eyes at the moon coated in melanite clouds above her, she zoomed in on the crickets chirping in the bushes, hoping they'd bring a bit of solace into her restless mind; exhaustion, panic and remorse had teamed up all against her now and the questioning of the aptness of her decision dawned on her like a particularly heavy outcrop.

Had her joining Bellatrix been a right thing to do? Aside from Dumbledore reassuring her that she was the one for the job, Hermione had no other source to turn to. She felt utterly incompetent, as though she had no particular skill or talent that would made her eligible for her task. The only thing she'd ever been good at was getting decent grades at school and recently, with Blair overtaking her mind, even that bit of dexterity had been taken away from her; till this day Hermione hadn't apparated once or managed to learn how to cast non-verbal spells properly. It was a miracle she'd passed the final DADA exam at all. She was sure the pitiful look professor Prewett had given her after her poor attempt to block the stunning spell silently would haunt her until her death.

Shifting, she turned to the side, her eyes lingering over the whips of mist from the fountain twixt the dark abelia bushes in front of her. It was so careless of her to have gotten involved in something so dangerous; she was too young, too inexperienced. In spite of all the extra lessons she'd received this year, she wasn't half the match for Bellatrix. The woman was a damn criminal while she was just a kid playing an auror in hiding.

Raw panic washed over Hermione.

Oh Merlin, she needed to go; needed to leave and find Dumbledore and tell him that this whole idea was entirely mad. Pretending to be a hero wasn't in her blood and she couldn't believe she had been as reckless as to think she could survive the entire journey of hunting down the corpus deus without a hitch when she couldn't even handle sleeping without a roof over her head; and her parents—despite the fact it had been just a couple of hours, Hermione missed them terribly.

God, she was such a child!

The first outpour of tears fell from her eyes. Why did she have to be so hasty when leaving yesterday? Hermione regretted bitterly having taken away those hours she could have spent with them instead of pacing around a moldy hotel room doing nothing—those hours she could have spent with Blair. If only Hermione had waited; she had wasted all the opportunities to see her lovely face by being stupid and trying to distance herself from her as though it would help her heal. And now, despite her being so close, Hermione had no idea when she would see her again—if she would see her again.

And as that frightening possibility dawned on her fully, Hermione bethought herself of the reason why she had decided to do this in the first place. If there was just a tiny risk of her losing everyone she loved to the delusional agenda of supremacy, there was no going back from this. Hermione couldn't run home and pretend there was nothing going on just for the fear of not being good enough. She needed to get past the point of self-doubt; needed to pull herself together and stop whining and fueling the feelings of diffidence before she believed them completely. Perhaps she wasn't as powerful as Bellatrix but she was driven by the same desire as her as to do anything in her willpower to fight for the cause she believed in and was, too, willing to rather die trying than not try at all.

Sucking back her tears, Hermione nodded to herself. If putting up with Bellatrix meant seeing her family again one day, unharmed and without their life being at stake, she had no other choice but to stick with Bellatrix until the very end, until she got her old life back—and that she would get it back!

Closing her eyes, she imagined what it would be like years after everything was over. She could see herself sitting with her parents and Blair, all of them a little older, in their garden during one of the long summer evenings. They could be laughing and sharing a piece of an apricot cheesecake which would be too large and too sweet to be eaten just by one person. Blair might be telling them about her childhood antics, just like the last time she had told them about the sleazy business partner of her father he had invited over for dinner one evening. Blair had been three at the time, bouncing around with a lollipop in her mouth, which the man had snatched from her and, waving it in front of her face, said: "I'm not giving it back until I get a kiss," to which the little Blair had only replied: "Keep it then, dickface," before walking with her head held high out of the room.

Hermione could imagine all of them laughing until late and only a sudden downpour of rain would force them to leave the garden and get back to the house, where they'd call it a night anyway because it'd be long past midnight. For some strange reason both guest rooms might not be available—perhaps due to renovation work; and the white sofa in their living room might be too uncomfortable to sleep on, and so Hermione's mom might suggest that Blair sleep with Hermione in her room instead, for the bed was large enough for two, and of course, Hermione would have nothing against the idea. She would run upstairs to remove all the heavy books from her sheets and get ready for bed and then wait—with a galloping heart and twitching stomach, with her hair dried too hastily and still a bit damp from the bath—for Blair while the latter would be taking a shower just a thin wall away from her. And Hermione would have to use all of her willpower so as not to fling herself at her as she, skin glossed by Norell NY lotion which Hermione remembered all too well, would lie down agonising inches away from her touch. They could talk for hours and Blair would turn her head to her occasionally with that ethereal smile of hers and as she'd laugh, Hermione'd feel the coolness of her minty toothpaste against her face; Blair's eyes might flicker between Hermione's eyes and lips as though drawn to them and Hermione would forget for a while that Blair regarded everyone with the same intrigued gaze, and pretend that just for that night it might mean something more; something so intimate that only an unspoken look could imply it.

And despite it all happening in the summer, with the approaching morning hours the room might get a few degrees colder; the first peal of thunder from the outside might roar, and Blair—even though she wasn't scared of storms—might feel slightly alarmed when the droning sounds would intensify and become too loud and scary for her not to give a start. Hermione would hesitate for eternity before working up the nerve to move closer until her chest would nestle against the warmth of Blair's back. She might hear her let out a sigh of surprise but she wouldn't let it deflate her. She would cross her arm over hers, placing her trembling palm along her collarbone, and snuggle Blair to her as closely as it would be physically possible. A shiver might wash over her as their naked legs would meet and her face would taste the softness of Blair's hair. And Blair would do absolutely nothing to stop this. At the sound of one particularly wild thunderbolt, she might even turn to Hermione and bury her face in her neck while their thighs would trace each other and Hermione would savour the proximity of her body and go mad from the overwhelming sensation. She would open her legs and curl the upper one over Blair's hip bone, bringing them even closer and cradling her like a fragile lilly. And they would stay tied together, silent and still, letting the deep night hide away that secret.

Hermione put her arms around herself, grasping at the fabric of her t-shirt. She was so desperate for Blair that even these innocent reveries, the only thing she had left of her, made her feel as though she was burning inside out. The false taste of her touch was but a mere ghost of relief yet the only comfort she knew; and she blamed nothing but her own senses for bringing such misery upon her, for how on Earth could they forget? The memories of her sun-kissed skin had faded from her mind like the life from a wilting flower, therefore nothing but scraps of guesses were what remained.

And so as to spare herself insanity, Hermione guessed; diving back into the stormy scene and daring to wonder if—perhaps for the closeness of another person or for plain curiosity of seeing what it would feel like to be with a woman—if in such moment Blair might feel as much need for Hermione as Hermione felt for her; or just enough for them as to not tear each other apart.

Maybe, if Blair would suppress her morals for just a moment—oh, she would never—but if she did, if her breath would become too heated and irregular against Hermione's neck as it would be punctuated by the soft kisses falling on Hermione's skin—

Hermione couldn't go on. Her entire body felt like it was set on fire. She needed to stop this and not only along of her throbbing loins and twisting stomach—she couldn't risk any ideas like this with Bellatrix around.

Still, her mind wouldn't listen and presented her with yet another concept.

Hermione pictured returning home accompanied by Bellatrix now—which was quixotic in itself, for Hermione would never willingly lead her to the knowledge of Blair's existence, but also because Bellatrix would never accede to being her escort and taking her anywhere Hermione pleased. However, to even imagine herself walking into her living room tomorrow morning with Bellatrix by her side who'd have been forced to watch Hermione's parents being affectionate toward her—or Blair approaching Hermione and hugging her so ardently Hermione would have to take several steps back while holding onto her just as tightly—felt weirdly satisfying; she'd want Bellatrix to witness such moment and to realise that she was never going to get that privilege—not that Bellatrix exactly longed for it but—but what?

Hermione frowned over the absurdity of that logic. Why would she even want Bellatrix to see that she liked someone better than her? To make her jealous? Scowling, she rolled back onto her back. What nonsense! Hermione had no reason to want to get Bellatrix jealous; it was probably just a need to make her aware that there were people who actually thought Hermione wasn't insufferable and that it was possible for someone to like her. If there was someone she wanted to be jealous, it was Blair. Nobody else.

An owl hooted in the distance, bringing Hermione's attention back to reality: to the now a little bit damp t-shirt sticking to her back and the big pointy rock under her left shoulder-blade. She had but a vague idea as to where she was, yet none at all as to what was going to happen next. She had been left behind like a puppy waiting for its owner to return, although without a fear of being bailed on: given her abilities were essential to Bellatrix, it was only a matter of time when she'd show up.

Night after night Hermione had tried to picture what travelling with her and spending so much time together would be like but found that even in her imagination there was no place for a scenario that wouldn't have a dark undercurrent to it; insults and humiliation—she just knew that it was exactly what her life was going to be from now on. Oh, but if Bellatrix thought Hermione would become accustomed to those ways and say nothing in her defence, she was bloody mistaken. Bellatrix needed her, therefore it wasn't Hermione who had to submit to her but the other way around. There would be no more dragging her through the mud.

Yawning, she squeezed her eyes shut. It must have been pretty late already. Having no idea when she would be required to wake up, Hermione thought it would be best if she tried to fall asleep again. After several more minutes of tossing and turning, she settled lying on her stomach with her forearms under her head and finally drifted off.

It seemed to her as though she had just closed her eyes when they flung open to the moonlit night and she jolted in alarm, her heart racing painfully; she could feel something cold streaming down her face and into her ears and hair like melting ice.

"Rise and shine, muddy girl!" a bright cheerful voice sang out.

Wiping her face, Hermione turned to the side and as she propped herself on her elbows, felt a thin rivulet of water stream beneath her t-shirt. She pressed her palm against it hurriedly. Her eyes were taking turns fluttering and closing as to shake off the exhaustion weighing them down. Where was she? Focus, she needed to focus! With her lungs drawing a deep breath she peered up and zoomed in on the smirking Bellatrix standing above her half-veiled in shadows and with her wand loosely in her right hand. Hermione's stomach gave a little flop and she instinctively grabbed onto the draft collar, pulling it closer to her chest, remembering everything at once.

"Why?" she asked in a raspy voice, shivering as the cool breeze hit her drenched face. "Was this necessary?"

A caustic smile twitched on Bellatrix's lips. "You know the old saying: setting the mood first thing in the morning is what makes your day. I just wanted to see if it's true." Her eyes skimmed Hermione's pained expression. "Turns out it is; I feel much better already."

Frowning, Hermione rubbed her eyes with the heels of her thumbs before unzipping the sleeping bag and rolling to her knees first, then to her feet. Hugging herself, she scowled at Bellatrix, whose expression turned from satisfied to sickened within a second.

"You should thank me for not crucioing you for sleeping on my property like some dirty animal," she hissed.

Raising her brows, Hermione said drolly, "You left me here—what was I supposed to do? Wait till you decide to grace me with your—ouch!" she yelped, feeling as though someone had just ripped a bandaid off her mouth in a particularly harsh manner. She brought her hand to her lip, keeping it there for a moment before glancing at it and spotting a smudge of blood on her fingers. Her eyes shot back to Bellatrix.

"Watch it; next time it might be your tongue," she purred, sotto voice.

Unnerved, Hermione didn't dare retort, only pressed her fingers back to her swelling lip. She hadn't even said anything remotely rude and Bellatrix was already abusing her; there was no way this conversation would end up well.

Bellatrix's dark gaze lingered over her for a painful moment before sliding down. "And this muggle garbage?" she went on, nodding at the sleeping bag at their feet. "What is it still doing here? Get it out of my sight!"

Hermione wasted no time as she kneeled down and picking it up by the middle, tried dusting it off as quickly and advertently as possible. By the corner of her eye she could see Bellatrix watching her, which didn't exactly help her getting it in its initial shape. She heard the witch release a frustrated sigh and shift on the gravel beside her.

"For God's sake, just use your wand, girl! I don't have the entire day!"

"I can't," Hermione protested tensely, giving up on the sleeping bag and letting it unroll. "I'm not allowed to use magic just yet."

Bellatrix took a moment before stepping closer and saying in a low clear voice: "You what?"

Hermione didn't have the guts to look at her and rather returned to her struggle. Immediately, the mass of dark blue slipped from her clammy hands and folded into a tight roll in front of her eyes before plopping onto the ground to her feet. Hermione was left standing there stupidly and staring at it with a tightening stomach and a damp t-shirt clinging to her front. She did not expect a sudden explosion that dawned on her ears like firecrackers and so, yelping, she jumped aside, away from the flying smithereens of her expensive sleeping bag.

"Are you trying to say," Bellatrix spoke over the dying echo in a dangerous tone, "that you beseeched me to take you with me in spite of knowing you still got a Trace on you?"

Hermione's mouth went dry. "I'll be seventeen in less than two weeks."

"Well, congratulations!" barked Bellatrix, making her flinch. "What do you want to do until then? Have me mother you around?"

"There's no need; I take care of myself just fine," Hermione spared her a look.

"Do you?" asked Bellatrix. "You've told me you wanted to be there every step of the journey; well, the first one is apparition. How are you going to do it without my help?"

"Apparition is hardly a problem here," Hermione couldn't help the sapient tone. "Even with a licence, I'd still have to rely solely on you, given you'd be the one choosing the destination—logically, it must be you then who'd be apparating and I'd have to hold onto you—" she faltered, feeling her cheeks flush. "I—I mean, hold your hand, or a part of your dress to—"

"Of course you meant just that, you sick twerp," said Bellatrix derisively. "Don't assume I'd let you touch more than the lint of my robe—even that would have to be burnt afterwards."

Drawing her head back, Hermione squinted at her. "I really think we should get some things straight," she started, taking a tiny step toward Bellatrix. "I know I've said that I'm willing to help in spite of anything, but if you're going to continue treating me this way, I'll pack my 'filthy' things and believe me," Hermione lowered her voice, "this will be the last time you see me."

"Tragic!" Bellatrix pressed her palm to her heart.

"You know what I meant," hissed Hermione, furrowing her brows. God, talking to Bellatrix was like talking to a cocky teenager. "The deal's off until you show some tolerance toward me."

"Muddy, let me explain something," smirked Bellatrix in a suspiciously patient tone, as she, looking to the ground, stepped closer to her, too, although still kept her distance. "Tolerance by definition means accepting the existence of someone else's beliefs, behaviour, opinions—et cetera." Glancing at Hermione in expectation, she paused for several moments before raising her brows. "Got it? Someone's, not something's—it is bound to people, not animals." Her voice reduced to whispering. "You don't make the cut."

Hermione felt as though a sharp needle had been thrust into her stomach. She was staring at Bellatrix with widened eyes and parted lips, unable to believe she was capable of saying something so foul while looking so content about it.

"All I'm asking for is some decency," she said coldly after a few moments' pause. "It's not the first time I'm doing so, but it's definitely the last."

"Oh, I see; but do tell me," Bellatrix feigned immense intrigue. "What happens if you have to ask one more time after all?" she japed, smirking. "Are you going to leave? How, you poor thing?"

"I can think of a way," implied Hermione.

Bellatrix flung her head back, cracking up.

"Why can't you take this seriously?!" snapped Hermione, losing her patience. "If we're going to work together—"

"You're comical when you're angry, muddybun," Bellatrix cut her off, sporting an amused smirk and twisting a curl of her hair around her wand. "That's your why," she went, now pointing it at Hermione with each word said, like a conductor. "That's why I can't take you or anything you say seriously. You're a joke!"

Hermione was glaring into Bellatrix's smug punchable face with pure resentfulness. "Oh yeah? Fine then! Fine! If I'm a bloody joke to you, then suit yourself!"

"Suit myself," repeated Bellatrix, her smirk widening.

"Yeah, suit yourself! Sammy!" Hermione called out in a voice full of frustrated anger, hoping wholeheartedly that this would work, and released a sigh of relief upon hearing a small pop echo through the air. A tiny house elf, draped in a cotton cloth, appeared standing and casting around in confusion between Bellatrix and Hermione. Regarding the woman with a fuming gaze, Hermione found with great satisfaction that Bellatrix looked staggered.

"Hermione Granger!" exclaimed Sammy, recognising her and bowing so low that the top of his head touched the white gravel beneath his bare feet. "Madame," he turned to Bellatrix, repeating the courtesy.

"Is this your ace of trumps?" fleered Bellatrix, bursting out anew but Hermione paid no attention to her.

She knelt down to the tiny creature, composing her face into an ephemeral smile. "Sammy, I'm terribly sorry for interrupting you this early in the morning but I really need you to help me with something."

The elf's bulging eyes jumped from the laughing Bellatrix to her. "Anything, miss!" he said, nodding his enormous head eagerly. "It would be Sammy's greatest honour to help Hermione Granger!"

The gravel beneath Bellatrix's heels crunched. "Do you realise how embarrassing this is?" she chipped in, her laughter subsiding into chuckles.

"Could you take me to London, please?" Hermione asked Sammy, continuing to ignore Bellatrix.

"Aw, don't tell me you're no longer interested in participating in our little exploration program!"

"No, I really am not," she dismissed, her eyes never leaving the elf's. "Would you be so kind as to do this for me, Sammy?"

"Come now," Bellatrix accosted them."You don't really want to leave, do you? All those opportunities you would miss," she implied smoothly, leaving her words dangling in the air. "Do send the poor elf back; I'm sure we can—"

"No," said Hermione defiantly, giving her a look of disdain. She was no longer so naïve as to buy into her manipulation or get scared every time Bellatrix regarded her with a murderous countenance, like she did now.

"What do you mean no?" she half-whispered, obviously far past the point of pretending that she didn't care. "Just do as I say, stupid girl, before my patience runs out!"

"Too bad mine already has," retaliated Hermione, taking Sammy by his hand and seeing that the gesture made Bellatrix scrunch her face in revulsion. Good.

"Don't you dare leave!"

"Why? As far as I remember, you didn't want me here in the first place." Standing up, Hermione looked back at the little house elf, ready to apparate, but in that moment saw his knees buckle and he sank onto the rough gravel, squealing and writhing in pain.

Hermione widened her eyes in horror and plopped down to him, grabbing at his twitching arms. "Wh—Sammy! No!" She jerked her head to Bellatrix. "Stop! Stop it!"

"I told you not to try me," replied Bellatrix, eyeing the suffering elf on the ground with less than insouciance.

"If you don't stop this, I won't help you, I swear, I won't!" gabbled Hermione. "You can curse me, kill me but I swear on my life, you're never getting my help!"

Bellatrix remained still. In panic, Hermione proceeded to throw herself at her, trying to knock the wand out of her hand but as she did so, Bellatrix evaded her and Hermione ended up kissing the Earth, landing on her chin and sinking her teeth into her tongue so hard that she could feel the salty taste of the blood flooding her mouth.

Then Sammy's screams faltered.

Ignoring the stinging sensation in her mouth, Hermione crawled back to the trembling elf, whispering in a weeping voice: "Sammy! Sammy, can you hear me?"

She caught Bellatrix utter something very close to 'disgraceful' but at this point couldn't care less. Relieved, she let out a deep sigh upon noticing that Sammy's eyes had fluttered. Touching his upper arm, Hermione turned to Bellatrix, whispering: "How could you do this?!"

"Honestly, it was as easy as blinking."

"Miss," whispered Sammy.

Hermione managed to give Bellatrix a hateful look before turning back to him. "Sammy, are you alright? Can you move?"

"Sammy thinks so, miss," whimpered the house elf weakly as Hermione helped him to his feet. Looking at his trembling form, her lips wobbled open; this was her fault, all her fault. If she hadn't let her emotions overtake her—if she had kept her cool and hadn't acted like a child, none of this would have happened; and damned Bellatrix had the audacity to just stand there feeling nothing; damn her, damn her damn her! She must have known that despite the fact she had just used a Cruciatus Curse on a sentient being, there were going to be no consequences of her actions whatsoever thanks to the oppressive laws of the wizarding society; given how house elves had no rights, Bellatrix wouldn't even be summoned to court if Hermione reported her to the authorities.

What was she thinking, wanting to leave. If Bellatrix was to meet her goal, the inferiority situation would get so much worse than this… Stupid, stupid, Hermione. She couldn't go anywhere.

"Right… listen to me, Sammy," she started, swallowing the small pool of blood in her mouth along with her guilt. "I'm so so sorry! You must know that I didn't mean for this to happen to you in any way! And I'm equally sorry for calling you here in vain but... you need to go now."

An enormous wave of hatred whipped up inside her as she heard Bellatrix chuckle at her words.

"Don't ask, just go," she added quietly, noticing Sammy opening his mouth. Closing it, he gave Bellatrix a quick frightened look, which broke Hermione's heart a little, and, nodding, he disappeared into thin air without another word.

"Aren't you going to thank me for letting it live?" asked Bellatrix self-complacently.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione had to take a couple of deep breaths before standing up and turning to her. "How could you do this?"

"How could you do this," parroted Bellatrix.

"You—you're!" Hermione struggled to get the words out of her mouth. "Do you have any idea as to what you've done?" she spat finally, receiving a dramatic yawn for an answer. Her fingers raked through her hair just so that they wouldn't seize Bellatrix's arms and shake her. "I swear... you are the most vicious, the most ruthless human I've ever met!"

"Oh my, now you really hurt my feelings," cried Bellatrix falsely.

Hermione almost screamed from frustration, Bellatrix's tranquility driving her senseless. "There's no way to talk to you," she hollered, voice trembling. "You're acting like a twelve-year-old! Why can't we discuss things like adults?"

"Well, maybe because you're not an adult, are you," said Bellatrix caustically. "And if you want another reason, let's say that making you angry is thoroughly entertaining."

"You just used an unforgivable curse on a living being!" seethed Hermione, pointing at the place where Sammy had disappeared just a moment ago. "Don't you feel anything?"

"What would you want me to feel? Remorse?" Bellatrix snickered. "Don't be stupid, if I had to fill my mind with such nonsense, I'd have no time to think about you at all." She flicked her eyebrow and Hermione hated herself immensely for blushing. Luckily for her, the morning was still dark enough so as to hide her crimson cheeks.

"Using an unforgivable curse on a—" she started rebukingly, trying to mask her shame but Bellatrix cut her off.

"Oh, zip it, muddy!" She rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, her voice no longer mocking. "I'll be a dear and let you speak your angry little mind but for God's sake, don't start with the definitions—you're not at school anymore; and while your moralising's usually amusing, it's too repetitive now and more obnoxious than you, and believe me, that's saying something." Bellatrix moved into the patch of light that made her sharp features less distinct and pointed her glowing eyes on Hermione receptively. "Go ahead then; spit it out, whatever it was you wanted to talk about before the filthy elf showed up."

Biting her tongue so as not to retort anything salty, Hermione considered whether she should seize this opportunity while she still had it or risk standing her ground and possibly never get it again. Instinctively, she was pulled toward the second option; as to make Bellatrix listen, and impress on her that what she had done was unacceptable and couldn't be glossed over as though it was a mistake everyone did once in a while; however, numerous experiences had taught her that when it came down to confronting Bellatrix, logic over emotion was the best approach to—first, surviving without bruises and second, to finally making some progress and getting at least one of her points across instead of getting stuck in the endless bickering.

Hermione's teeth gritted with the effort of repressing her fury. "All I wanted," she began, considering every word, "was to ask you for the courtesy of not treating me like an adversary; I came here with the intention of helping you so why do you always have to go against me, ridiculing and criticising me?" she asked, watching Bellatrix tilt her head. "I don't expect us to become friends or anything like that but we'll be working together side by side, so please, could you consider dialing the hostility back a bit? I've always tried my best to be nothing short of respectful toward you, even though it hasn't been easy, and I'd really like some of that respect in return," Hermione faltered under the pressure of Bellatrix's intense gaze but went on bravely. "I'd like you to stop with the degrading nicknames. You promised you would when we were still at Hogwarts but I see you've already forgotten all about that so let me introduce myself again. My name is Hermione Granger. I don't wish to be called mudblood, muddy or anything else except for my name."

"I have a question." Bellatrix raised her hand as though at school, obviously poking more fun at Hermione. "How about a reprobate? Can I call you that?" she asked, smirking. "Technically, it's not an insult, considering that sickness you've got going on." She gestured with the same hand vaguely.

Hermione's cheeks flushed. "Must you always bring that up? It is completely irrelevant to this case! Or are you that worried about yourself?" Snorting, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Because in such case, don't bother; I don't fancy every single person I see, alright? In fact, I don't fancy random people at all—least of all you; I just—"

Pausing, Hermione withstood the urge to tell Bellatrix that there was only one woman stealing her sanity but that it wasn't her so she could mellow out and stop double-locking her chastity belt now.

"My point is," she went on quickly, "my personal life has got nothing to do with you or our deal so please, could you give it a rest? All I want from you is to teach me, nothing more, nothing less. So if we're clear on that, I'll be more than happy to help you."

Bellatrix, who was watching her with a knowing smirk on her lips the entire time, flung her curls back over her left shoulder. "Very convincing, Granger," she purred, the surname falling from her lips like rose petals, making shivers roll down Hermione's spine.

Just ignore it! Ignore it!

"And about that respect," Bellatrix went on. "Just to put it simply—you're not getting it; for even if you had had any chance at earning it, you certainly lost it by wailing over that dirty creature; only a pathetic or equally as worthless excuse for a human could ask a damned house elf for help. I would never, and I will never respect anyone of such customs," said Bellatrix in disdain, her words hitting the same painful spot in Hermione's stomach over and over again. "Second thing, how can you expect me to believe that you're not wicked when I clearly remember you putting your muddy hands on me after your astral pilgrimage?"

"That is not what happened!" snapped Hermione. "You know very well that I had encountered an entity which made me feel things I normally wouldn't! It was just a misfortune that you happened to be there when I woke up and while I was still—" Hermione faltered, looking away, her face on fire.

"On the pull," finished Bellatrix in a low voice. "My, my, so you decided to violate me and it didn't even bother you that I'm a woman."

"I stopped the moment I realised it was you," gritted Hermione, forcing a snort. "Trust me, I'm not interested in you like that!"

'Liar.'

"I see," nodded the witch, doubt radiating from every inch of her face. "Well, regardless of the truth, do be careful," she advised, her voice pure silk. "Because once I notice your eyes going where they shouldn't, I'll personally scratch them out of your skull. Do you understand me?"

Hermione gulped. "As I've said before, I just want to learn, nothing else."

The corners of Bellatrix's lips lifted in a short-lived smile. "Good; so now if this is established," she cooed, digressing. "How about you fill me in on everything the big old man told you about the corpus deus all those months ago?"

Hermione shrugged off her unease. "Fine, but I'm not doing it here," she said, casting around.

"And where would you want to go, love?"

God, could Bellatrix stop with the nicknames? Hermione hated what it was doing to her.

"Well?"

"I…" Blinking, Hermione tried to focus. "I don't know; somewhere warm and inside would be great."

"Choose another place, I already told you my underwear is out of the question," said Bellatrix flatly.

Eyes like saucers, Hermione almost choked on her own shock. "Wh—I—that's not wh—!" she stammered, unable to form a fluent sentence, while Bellatrix stood there bursting, clearly enjoying the petrifying effect her words had on Hermione.

Teeth grinding, she needed a moment to regain her composure. "You know, I'm getting sick and tired of your innuendos!" she spoke over Bellatrix's laughter. "Can't we just go somewhere and talk seriously? Thought you wanted to hear about the corpus deus."

Bellatrix did not rush her laughter into subsiding. "Oh, you're no fun; no fun at all," she said in between, glancing down and stepping to Hermione, who instinctively backed away. Smirking, Bellatrix pulled the fabric of her skirt up a bit, holding it up for Hermione to take. Hermione looked at it, an asinine thought springing inside her mind: if Bellatrix enjoyed making her uncomfortable so much, why not repay the favour? Without hesitating, she reached out but instead of Bellatrix's skirt, her fingers closed over the slender wrist covered by black lace, harshly and carelessly, not at all worried whether her grip hurt or not, the silk wrinkling under her touch.

Bellatrix's eyes snapped to hers, brimming with an ominous gleam upon which Hermione's heart almost broke through her ribs and her stomach probably exploded and her skin was suddenly burning inside out, but she managed to maintain just about enough clarity in her mind as to not let herself bale out. As though on autopilot, she felt her eyebrows shoot up and her hand tug at Bellatrix's with more fervour as the witch tried to free herself. They were glaring at each other, Hermione physically sick from the tension, her own boldness or the proximity of Bellatrix's exhausted yet strangely magnetic face, unable to get a word out. Oddly enough, so seemed Bellatrix. Hermione noticed there was something unidentifiable about her dark, gleaming eyes; something… what were those emotions? She had no more time to inspect them as there was a sudden pull at her body and she and Bellatrix were sucked into a whirlpool of tightness, white noise and colours.

Not expecting to land so soon, Hermione almost lost her balance as they drew into some obscure place but saved herself, gripping Bellatrix even tighter, her fingers slipping over a small area of cool exposed skin. Hissing at the contact, Bellatrix yanked her wrist from Hermione's grasp and strode away from her, saying nothing.

Hermione gulped in a breath, all the reasons why she shouldn't have done that flooding in just now. Bellatrix was going to kill her; she was going to tear her open and have her for breakfast; but what was worse was the tingling sensation lingering along Hermione's palm and the intrusive excitement in her belly, which seemed more alarming to her than the possibility of being killed.

What was it with her? She could not afford to lose her head like this—not with Bellatrix!

Hermione winced as the dim place around her flared with a deep-orange glow. It took her eyes only a moment to adjust to the light emanating from the golden candlesticks on the desk under the elaborate windows before stumbling over Bellatrix, standing silently just a couple of steps ahead, facing away from her. Hermione fixed her gaze on the midnight-black mess of locks, trying not to breathe too loud; considering Bellatrix's instability, she'd be a fool not to be wary. At any moment she could turn around and slice her in two.

She really could.

But she stood still, the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders suggesting she might not be entirely alright. Could it be that the apparition made her queasy and she wasn't feeling well? Just like months ago at Hogwarts when she had passed out? Or was it actually anger she was trying to get under control?

"You are somewhere warm and inside now." Bellatrix's deep controlled voice startled her, putting an end to her musings. "Let's hear what you have to say!"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but couldn't; wasn't Bellatrix going to address her demeanor? Not at all? Not that Hermione would have minded, but she could not fathom a single reason why she would let it slide—Bellatrix wasn't afraid of confrontation; on the contrary, she seemed to enjoy fighting with Hermione on a whole different level so why was there no cussing, no curses, nothing to retaliate against her for being so bold and flippant? Was this the approach that actually worked on her? Hermione let herself think for a while before shaking her head inwardly. She remembered numerous occasions when she had shown disrespect to Bellatrix and the outcomes of those situations had never been as regardless as this.

"Why is it that you are quiet?" Bellatrix almost whispered. "Are you waiting for an invitation to sit down first?"

Hermione shook her head but the witch was still facing away from her. "No," she murmured.

"What is it then?" asked Bellatrix, irritated, sauntering closer to the desk and leaning her right hip against it, her arms crossed, the cascading curls hiding the majority of her face.

Blinking, Hermione cast a quick look around. "Where exactly are we?" she asked, daring just now to take in the square, glamorous room they had appeared in.

It was panelled with shiny ebony wood from floor to ceiling and had a very distinct smell to it; raw but very light with sweet and spicy undertones, perhaps agarwood and something orangey and incense-like. The large cobblestone fireplace below a carved mantelpiece on the left wasn't lit and stood right beside the renaissance sofa and along the wall crafted with venetian wallpaper. There was nothing on display: no flowers in the vases, no literature on the shelves, or papers on the desk. It was almost as if the room, despite being maintained in excellent condition, wasn't being used at all.

"Does it matter?" Snorting, Bellatrix turned to her fully. "I asked you something, so I expect an answer! What do you know about the corpus deus?" she queried, punctuating every word.

Okay, nevermind where they were.

"I haven't been told much, except that they're incredibly valuable," began Hermione, trying to appear as informed as Dumbledore asked her to—not too much, but not too little either. "I've learnt that each object—each corpus deus—has a twin in a parallel universe that was created at the same time and from the same matter as this version." Hermione let her eyes linger over the right sleeve of Bellatrix's dress before continuing. "The venor floccus talked in riddles and there's literally nothing about them in books; I couldn't find anything about their purpose but from what I've gathered so far, I think they may serve as some form of interdimensional travelling—I'm not entirely sure how it works or why you are invested in something like that, but that's no concern of mine, anyway," said Hermione, hating to come across as ignorant, but she had no choice but to stick up to her role. "I don't care about your reasons as long as they don't do damage to others."

Bellatrix tilted her head so that the strands of her curls fell away from her eyes. "You were doing great up until the 'I don't care' part," she said softly. "You should have thought of a more believable line."

"But I really don't care," protested Hermione, glad her face didn't betray her with a blush. "I mean, I'd like to learn more but I'm not as stupid as to expect you to share something so personal with me. Why bother trying, you've told me three times already you're not telling me anything."

"And you're going to settle with that and do exactly as I say just for the sake of learning a couple of bitsy spells, right?" asked Bellatrix before snickering and shaking her head. "You're so bad at this game, Granger."

The surname again! Why did it sound different from her lips? It was making things twice as difficult.

Uncrossing her arms, Bellatrix ambled forward and stopped at the divan, her eyes boring into Hermione. "Why don't you put your cards on the table? Tell me, what did the venor floccus tell you about my intentions?"

"Nothing," said Hermione quickly, bunching her arms. "I tried to ask him but he refused to give away any information; he said that revealing someone else's secret would deepen his karmic debt... I tried figuring it out myself but everything I came up with sounded ludicrous."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Ludicrous like your storytelling?" she asked calmly. "Come on, you've known me for quite a while now to think of at least two sensible reasons."

"Right, because you're that easy to read," pointed Hermione sarcastically. "I mean, sure, we've talked on numerous occasions but that was hardly enough time for me to get to know you—truly know you; I have no idea what you're trying to accomplish in your life or why you do certain things the way you do them. I can't decipher your aims based on knowing so little about you," shrugged Hermione. "I'm not omniscient, although you obviously think otherwise."

"I was thinking more of prying than omniscient," remarked Bellatrix, winking. Hermione looked away, shaking her head.

"Did the old trout tell you anything else?"

"Well," commenced Hermione coldly, eyeing the impeccable ebony flooring before glancing back at her. "Rather than tell, he showed me; put me into hypnosis and I learnt how everything happened—the dreams, I mean," she specified, trying to block any memory of Blair from flooding her mind. "I was shown how exactly and when I had acquired the sixth area: I was in my third year, had taken on so many classes it had become physically impossible to attend them all since some of them overlapped; Professor Flitwick came up with the idea to lend me a time turner so I could take all the classes I wanted despite the time overlap. In the parallel universe, the same thing happened to the other version of me, too—"

"Of course; the two Grangers saw each other, right?" amended Bellatrix. "I've read it in your diary."

"Yes," nodded Hermione, surprised at how fast Bellatrix put one and one together. "But not only that; the moment they spotted each other, I wound the time turner to catch one more lesson here, in our dimension, which contributed to the disruption of time and resulted in my mind somehow becoming affixed to their universe," she finished, quite proud of herself for leaving out the most important details and still making it seem as though she hadn't.

"That doesn't make any sense."

Hermione's pride shattered like a house of cards. "Sorry?"

"Were you told the time loop happened naturally, without anyone else's effort?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't make any sense," repeated Bellatrix. "The other Granger should have had the same privilege of having an insight into our world then too, it doesn't work only one way. Besides, the loops don't just happen—they are created with magic."

"You think so?" asked Hermione in a voice which sounded fake even to her own ears.

"We both do," Bellatrix raised her brows. "You're a terrible liar, Granger. Half of the things that came out of your mouth today were a giant fib and I'm seriously considering doing something quite unforgettable to that deceitful tongue of yours to teach you a lesson on how wrong telling lies is."

Hermione felt a huge knot tighten in her stomach. "That's absurd," she protested. "Why would I lie?"

"Because," started Bellatrix, looking her dead in the eyes. "There's someone smarter than you who might have instructed you to."

"Why, who—?"

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then tell me the truth! Why are you here?"

"Why—I've already told you," protested Hermione, blinking as Bellatrix ambled forward. "All I want is to learn something valuable and—and—" she faltered, her feet automatically carrying her backwards as Bellatrix continued advancing on her and came to a halt only when her back collided with one of the cabinets. She pressed herself against it as though magnetised, helplessly watching Bellatrix come within a few feet away from her.

Breath hitching, she fixed her gaze on her ghostly face. Her eyes darted to the cracked lips, trapped in between the milk-white teeth and up to the deep onyx eyes, a sick pain dancing inside her stomach.

"Do you really want to do this against all odds?" Bellatrix whispered, her breath brushing against Hermione's skin, making it so bloody difficult to focus on her words. "Even if it means going against yourself—against your own blood?" she let a short-lived smile gloss her lips before licking them.

The pain in Hermione's stomach intensified.

"What would you do," Bellatrix continued silkily, running her eyes over Hermione's face, "if I told you I'm doing this to get rid of you, hm? All of you?"

Hermione's mouth went numb. She knew precisely what Bellatrix was trying to do with all these voluptuous theatrics and put a grand effort to fight them; she knew she couldn't let herself be distracted; she knew she needed to speak up and unfreeze and get away from Bellatrix; had to snap out of this before she did something stupid.

Unaware of how or where she'd gathered so much resilience and clarity, Hermione placed her hands onto Bellatrix's arms and pressed on them with just enough force to make her move. Lightheaded, just like that one time she got drunk with Blair, she let go and quickly stumbled a great deal away from Bellatrix. Stopping at the window, she crossed her arms, trying to ignore her heart pounding inside her chest as though it was trying to test just how fast it could beat and her trembling hands, which still held the coldness of Bellatrix's silky sleeves.

"I wouldn't believe that," she blurted in a strangely unfamiliar voice. "I don't see a single reason why you would waste your time to get rid of someone when there are much nobler causes to fight for in life. The time we have here is so limited, it's not worth it wasting it on anyone—and you know it, so forgive me for thinking that you're only trying to mislead me with such talk." Hermione worked up the nerve to look at Bellatrix finally. "You're too smart for entertaining ridiculous ideas like these."

Sucking in her cheeks so as to give nothing away in her expression, Hermione lowered her gaze. Rarely in her life did she have an opportunity to insult someone by complimenting them.

"I'll find it out, Granger," said Bellatrix after a short pause. "Be sure I will, and then may God be with you!"

"There's nothing to find out but sure, enjoy yourself frittering away the time you could invest in something real," said Hermione in an unbothered tone, although what she was feeling was anything but that. "Meanwhile, you could brief me on our plan," she asked perhaps too confidently, aiming to lead the conversation elsewhere.

Bellatrix snorted before snapping. "Our? There's no such thing as our plan! If anything, it's my plan and there's no need for you to know a fracture of it!"

"Of course there is!" objected Hermione. "I have a life to come back to! I'd like to know how many corpus deus there are left to search for and how many you already have—I know of one and that's my diary, which I'm afraid I'm going to need back if you want me to have those dreams again."

Bellatrix's eyes were angry and unblinking as though counting the many ways in which she could murder Hermione if she didn't need her. "Four. There are four more to look for," she said finally.

"That means we're half-way," flashed out Hermione, realising her mistake when it was too late.

Bellatrix's eyebrows shot up, surprise and satisfaction evincing in her blossoming smile. "Oh, so you know how many we're looking for then?"

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

"You'll go down, Granger and all thanks to your own stupidity," noted Bellatrix gaily. "I'm giving you a week!"

Hermione parted her lips but closed them again. There was no point in entangling herself in more lies; the harm had already been done. "There's the diary and—what else?" she asked instead.

"You've got some nerve," Bellatrix snorted. "You know very well what else there is so spare me these preposterous questions!"

"Honestly, I don't; I admit that I knew of the number but I have no idea as to what they are," said Hermione truthfully but Bellatrix ignored her.

"Here's your diary." She reached inside her robe, pulling out a leather-bound book, her long fingernails clicking against the binding. "Since time's so important to you, let's not waste any of it. We may start the experiment right now."

Hermione stepped back. "What experiment?"

"Shh, little one, don't be scared," sing-songed Bellatrix, prowling closer.

Fear crept through Hermione's chest, snatching away her breath. She pressed herself against the glossy glass of the window, the writing desk the only thing dividing her from Bellatrix.

"What experiment," she repeated in a trembling voice.

Bellatrix took out her wand, paying no attention to her question. "You seem tired," she said, giving Hermione's features a concerned look. "Didn't get enough sleep last night, did you?"

Gulping, Hermione held her breath. "I—I'm alright."

"No you're not." Bellatrix shook her head slightly. "I think you should get just a little bit more of it."

"No I—" Hermione tried to protest but her eyelids fell shut like stage curtains; the last thing she remembered seeing was a crooked wand pointing at her chest, followed by a dispersion of aegean-blue smoke. When she came to herself, she was looking at the coffered ceiling, a sharp throbbing pain exploding in the back of her head.

"Well?" Bellatrix's eager voice sounded at her feet and when Hermione raised her head from the floor, saw the witch kneel and observe her face with diligence. "What did you see?" she asked.

Hermione sat up, wincing as the pain in her head doubled. Her eyes stumbled over a toppled chair on the floor to her left, the potential cause of her injury; Bellatrix must have let her hit herself—of course, in no universe would she care to spare her the pain.

"I was talking to you! What did you see?" demanded Bellatrix.

"Nothing." Hermione grimaced as she rubbed the swelling lump on her nape before bringing her hand to her eyes to see if she was bleeding. She wasn't. "I didn't see anything... Why did you do this?"

Bellatrix cursed under her breath, the floor creaking as she, propping her palm on her thigh, stood up, her pensive eyes boring into Hermione. "Let's try this then," she commanded, dropping a spherical bottle onto Hermione's lap; a sleeping draught. Hermione could recognise the colour anywhere. Her mom supplied to the entire family, even had dispatched a huge box to America for Blair.

"Drink it," Bellatrix ordered.

Taking the bottle into her hand, Hermione clambered to her feet. "How about an explanation first? You can't just hex me! What did you expect to happen?"

"That is none of your concern," retaliated Bellatrix harshly.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "We need to communicate. There's no point in working together if you don't tell me what you actually want from me! I said I would help you and I meant it—but not under such conditions! You needn't have forced me into doing things; if you had just explained..." she paused, trying not to mind Bellatrix's condescending expression. Eyes dropping to the bottle in her hands, Hermione rolled it in her palm. "You tried to invoke the dreams, am I right? The sleeping draught doesn't help. I took it last summer when I came home from Malfoy Manor and although I had the diary on my night stand, I did not dream," she explained, glancing at Bellatrix, who was squinting at her with distaste.

"Maybe the potion wasn't strong enough," the witch floated. "Or perhaps," she shifted on her feet, a smirk forming on her lips. "It didn't work because a mudblood had brewed it."

Hermione set her jaw. "That's a funny thing to say considering some of the best potion-makers were half-bloods; namely, the Sleeping Draught was invented by one—Penny Haywood; I'm actually surprised you don't have a problem with using it..."

Bellatrix's face turned a soft shade of pink. "Futile piece of trash I wouldn't even think of if you weren't such a hopeless case!"

Sure you wouldn't, thought Hermione but refrained from saying it out loud. Biting the inside of her lower lip so as not to look smug over having embarrassed Bellatrix, she glanced down and said, "Regardless, it's not going to work."

"Well, I'd rather find out for myself," insisted Bellatrix. "See the sofa over here? I'll be generous and even let you lie down while you sleep."

Hermione glanced at her before letting her eyes drop to the deep purple potion. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of Bellatrix watching her in her most vulnerable state; she had learnt it the hard way that it wasn't safe to even stand with her back turned to her, let alone lie unconscious in her presence.

Still, Hermione needed to earn her trust somehow.

Reluctantly, she footed it toward the sofa but came to a halt after several steps. "Promise," she began slowly. "Promise me, you won't harm me when I'm asleep."

"Awww," pouted Bellatrix. "Pathetic little thing, you know I need those dreams so of course, I'll spare you for now."

Was that even worth thanking? Probably not.

"Thank you," she said anyway.

"Well, you better—it's not easy to resist all those ideas I'd put to use," lamented Bellatrix. "I was thinking that perhaps I could fill your lungs with water and watch you wake up struggling to breathe—oh, what a shame I need you alive."

Hermione looked askance at her. "You know, I'd really appreciate if you kept those concepts to yourself. I don't particularly like you either but I don't feel obliged to tell you that every second of my life and in every way possible."

Bellatrix snickered.

Despite being minded to do the exact opposite of what the witch had asked of her, Hermione took the last few steps separating her from the sofa and sat down onto the silver velvet. She uncorked the bottle, giving Bellatrix one last firm look before downing the potion, the taste of lavender reminding her of her mom painfully. In an instant, her eyelids grew heavy and Hermione found herself falling into darkness once again.

When she roused, instead of the quivering candlelight, the dark room dazzled with thick yellow sun rays, filling the place with a wave of calming warmth. Hermione remained lying twisted in a bit of an uncomfortable position with her legs hanging down the sofa, her eyes roaming over the ceiling with a grid of bold beams. Turning her head toward the window, she gasped and recoiled into the backrest of the sofa, riveling to the spot. Bellatrix was inches from where Hermione was lying just a second ago, swamped over the seat, the side of her face resting against her left forearm, her shoulders heaving steadily.

A flutter rushed through Hermione's stomach, her breath shortening. Did they sleep here like this side by side?

Her eyes slid over the archly curled lashes and over the ashen skin partly obscured by the thick raven curls. Resisting the urge to brush them aside so as to take a closer look at this Bellatrix—calm and peaceful—Hermione curled her hand into her t-shirt, feeling the wild thumping against her fingers.

Should she wake her up? Bellatrix would certainly want that; but then the redness all over her heavy eyelids suggested this might be the first time in a long period that Bellatrix got some rest.

Letting herself relax a bit, Hermione moved just an inch closer, leaning on her elbow and surveying the sleeping woman beside her. Bellatrix looked positively raddled. Her skin was paper thin and although its texture seemed smooth, it lacked the healthy glow of its previous vitality. Her exposed cheek seemed much more hollow too, likely due to the excessive weight loss, and her parted lips were marred by a lot of thin painfully-looking cracks. Hermione felt a compelling need to soothe them with the petroleum jelly she had in her bag, which was secured under her t-shirt, but dismissed the crazy idea immediately.

Bellatrix let out a soft prolonged exhale as she adjusted her cheek firmer against her forearm. Startled at the sight, Hermione blenched but the witch remained undisturbed and so, slowly, she reclined back, turning to the side to create more distance between them, still unable to will her eyes away from her. Deceitful innocence settled on the unusually tranquil face, possessing her in the same way it possessed a child: naturally and gracefully, giving off the impression she couldn't possibly harbour a breath of evil inside her; and upon sighting her pouting in her sleep, there would be no one in the world who wouldn't fall for that deception.

Hermione swallowed hard. Despite the apparent sickness, despite her cruel nature, Bellatrix was still one of the most attractive human beings she had ever seen. She'd bet ten galleons that if measured, her face would fit the golden ratio perfectly; she would also bet that thanks to that, Bellatrix had no trouble getting away with literally anything she had done in her life; beauty had always been the universal key to every door, and Hermione couldn't feel more shallow, knowing it worked for hers, too. She could no longer deny how affected she was by Bellatrix's appearance.

Anytime the witch got close to her, her heart didn't know which way to escape. It was incredibly frustrating, for Hermione hated the idea of liking someone solely for their looks: there was so much more to a person than their body, and to Bellatrix that 'more' wasn't much if anything at all; imagine away her beauty, and what was left beside the rotten interior?

Still, as Hermione's eyes slid down Bellatrix's face, a small voice inside her brain wondered what kissing those callous lips would feel like.

Repulsed by her own thoughts, Hermione startled back, screwing up her face in a scowl. She was a certifiable loony Sigmund Freud would have taken a lively interest in. He'd surely have a lot to say about her attraction to someone who was planning on putting away her entire family; most likely something along the lines of: your issues result from the deep deprivation of motherly love at such a young age.

Hermione had done her research; she'd read that the reason people tended to feel attracted to the wrong ones stemmed from their subconscious need to heal themselves. People traumatized in their early childhood kept attracting those whose behaviour was similar to their parents'—those who could hurt them in the same way their parents had in their childhood—while hoping that through their 'abusive' partners, they could get the change or the closure they hadn't gotten when they were little.

Bellatrix didn't care for Hermione—just like Hermione's mom had not cared for her when she had been a child, and therefore her dumb psyche must have hoped she could try with Bellatrix this time; try and get that affection from her. Hermione almost burst out laughing. How could she even explain to her brain that she was barking up the completely wrong tree?

And what about Blair? What made Hermione so besotted with her? Perhaps the fact that in the past, Blair had given her the care she needed; she was like the strange water in a leaking well that needed to be refilled over and over again because it kept sluicing out through the cracks no one could mend. Blair had tried giving her the love, filled up the void temporarily before taking it away from her day after day when she had left, wounding Hermione deeper and leaving her aching for more.

Oh, sometimes, she wondered what it would be like if her mom hadn't gone through the depression. Maybe in that case, she would have seen Blair as a godmother rather than someone she wanted to love like God intended a man to love a woman—or perhaps she wouldn't have. Blair was the most lovable being—who would be so blind as to not fall for her?

Bellatrix shifted again, Hermione's gaze tracing down the length of her jawline, pausing at a partly faded thin scratch. She knew she could not allow her feelings to escalate past the point they already had. She'd be in serious trouble if she got attached—first of all, it would mean she had gone completely mad and second, just like Blair, Bellatrix would never look at her the way she wished...

Frowning, she parted her lips. Did she want Bellatrix to see her in that light? Pride and ignorance aside, did she actually want Bellatrix to like her?

Curls slipping across the silky dress, Bellatrix shifted first before heaving up her head. Afraid of being caught staring, Hermione quickly sat up, dropping her gaze along with her hands into her lap.

"Oh sh—" Bellatrix suppressed the profanity. "How long have you been up?" she asked instead, her voice raspy, deeper and it even cut deeper than usually.

"Barely a couple of seconds," lied Hermione, stretching her arms even though she had no need to. "I was about to wake you up."

She more heard than saw Bellatrix stand up and rub her face. "So, muddy," she said sternly after a while. "Did you have any dreams?"

"It's Hermione," she corrected. "And no; I did not—just like I said I wouldn't," she couldn't help adding quietly.

Bellatrix cursed, trampling away and kicking something along the way. Hermione guessed it must have been a leg of the table. The witch was back to her usual frightening self which was much less likeable than the calm one and which worked in Hermione's favour perfectly for easing some of the sentiments she had allowed herself earlier.

Bouncing her foot against the floor, Bellatrix ran her hand through her hair. "Well, I guess we should try the last option then," she murmured more to herself than Hermione.

"The last option?"

Bellatrix reached into her dress, taking out a mamluk tinned circular copper box, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She minced toward Hermione, stopping mere inches from her knees and towering above her like a high wave threatening to snatch her right in. Breath hitching, Hermione could do nothing but press her back firmer against the sofa.

"This, deary, is an extraordinary substance, highly unobtainable on the wizarding market; I had to do something bloody impossible to get it, so you better not disappoint me."

With her eyes glued to her knees, Hermione cleared her throat and asked, "Why is it rare?"

"Because of one of its ingredients."

"What is it?"

"The cry violet."

Hermione's eyes shot up. "But that's impossible; cry violets have been extinct since 1930!"

"Apparently they have not," chirped Bellatrix, nodding slightly at the box.

"What's the name of the substance?" asked Hermione again.

"Well, the inventor likes to call it Lune de Voile."

Lune de Voile? Hermione had never heard of it before."What does it do?" she asked keenly.

"It's a unique hallucinogen used in African wizarding colonies, this one specifically in Mauritania, to simulate reality; it creates a hypothetical situation in your mind based on your subconscious blockages," explained Bellatrix softly as she unscrewed the cover and lowered herself a bit, making Hermione shrink back even more. "It allows them to come out and gives you the platform to try and solve them in a hallucination without screwing anything up in reality," she paused, eyeing the inside of the box. "The blend of these plants connects to your mind and creates the situation which your subconsciousness considers the most essential to figure out," Bellatrix tore her eyes from the box before locking them with Hermione. "It's a very powerful drug—without any side effects, don't be afraid—you won't have any idea that you're hallucinating, which in a way isn't actually that false. The objects you may see, the people you may meet, even their reactions—there's an eighty percent chance that what you experience there, you'd experience in reality, too, should you choose to do the same things you did in the hallucination."

"How can the blend know what the reactions of certain people might be?" asked Hermione, frowning.

"Nature is smart, the Earth is old," said Bellatrix. "It carries the DNA of each and every person that has ever lived; knows us like a mother knows her children. Hasn't Sprout taught you this? Whenever you touch nature, be it soil, trees, or flowers, the Earth collects information about your body and sends all the vitamins and minerals you are missing into the growing seeds for you to consume. There's a similar process with cry violets except that they intercept the vibration of our energy."

Hermione was looking at Bellatrix with her lips parted, taken aback by her knowledge of Herbology; she'd never guessed her to be the type to be interested in plants. "Alright, but ... it's going to help with my dreams, how?" she asked slowly. "I can assure you it's not my number one priority to figure them out."

Bellatrix snorted. "I guessed that but you'll have to trick your mind into thinking they are."

Frowning, Hermione shifted in her seat, unable to press herself any tighter against the sofa. "But how? I have no control over my subconsciousness."

"With a little bit of concentration, you will."

How for Merlin's sake was Hermione supposed to concentrate with Bellatrix leaning over her?

"I don't know about this," she demurred, worrying more about the subject of her subconscious blockages than the fact that she was about to use an actual drug.

"It's completely harmless," Bellatrix went on reassuringly, misinterpreting her hesitation. "There are no consequences for your health, no nausea, stomachache or anything; you'll slip into a trance-like state and that's it; evaporates from your body within one hour and you'll be as fresh as a daisy."

Daisy. Why did Bellatrix have to mention daisies...

Blushing, Hermione glanced at the box reluctantly. She could say even now, even before trying it out, that there was no way her mind would believe some dreams were more important to her than her la belle marguerite.

"You must think of the corpus deus and desire them with all your heart," whispered Bellatrix, making Hermione's heart rate quicken. "To discover their location; combined with your sixth area, it should take you past our dimension into the other Granger's timeline and fast-forward to the future."

"But she doesn't know anything about the corpus deus," objected Hermione.

"But you do, so better remember everything you'll see."

Bellatrix leaned in closer, bringing the little box to her lips. For a split second, Hermione caught a glimpse of persian-blue powder before yelping and squeezing her eyes shut as Bellatrix blew at it, the blue immediately dispersing onto her cornea and past her parted lips straight into her windpipe.

Coughing, Hermione grasped at her throat, willing herself to breathe but to no avail.

"Corpus deus!" She heard a distant order and, choking, tried to obey it. She tried to think about them, tried to etch the diary into her mind before the obscurity yanked her away for the third time today.

"You can't expect me to encourage this behaviour!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione giggled. "I have to finish it before the school starts."

"You're not going to study during your summer break," said Blair with an attitude and her left hand resting on her hip. "Not under my roof!"

They were alone on the marble balcony. Blair, pretty as a peach blossom, was standing next to the chaise lounge chair where Hermione was reading 'A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration' shielded by a large umbrella and a straw beach hat. The hot salty breeze was blowing through their hair delicately as the afternoon sun was catching their colour, the white foamy waves beating in the distance.

"I only got a hundred and twenty-five pages left," said Hermione, side glancing at her and showing her the thinner part of the textbook.

Blair blinked before leaning over. "That's it! I'm taking away your privileges." She snatched the book from Hermione's hands and strode off into the bedroom. Leaping from the chair, Hermione hurried through the open balcony door right after her. "You can't forbid me to study!" she said, laughing.

"Wrong; I can do whatever I want." Blair turned to her with a challenging look, visibly suppressing a smile and holding the book behind her back. Hermione felt the tips of her lips curling up before slackening and shooting up again. The thrill rising inside her belly was wild like the vast sea outside the windows, breaking on the shore beneath them. A single glance cast upon Blair's permitting eyes, her mischievous eyes, bright and alive and so mesmeric, letting her know that right now, she was allowed to touch her and justify and dismiss every little brush of their hands as though it never even happened was...

Rushing forward, she set her eyes on the floral sleeve of Blair's viscose dress which ended just below the barely noticeable mark on her left elbow and stopped only when facing its rose-gold pallor. Her heart beat like a drum as she reached behind her, trying to get hold of the stolen book while 'accidentally' brushing the sun-kissed arm, but failed miserably as her reflexes were distracted by her ulterior motives far too much. Hearing a soft chuckle above her, she attacked with more ardor, this time strategically aiming at Blair's stomach as though meaning to tickle her, which was a brilliant trick, for it made the blonde slouch her willowy shoulders and bend forward.

"Don't even try it!" she warned with a throaty laugh, her free hand darting in front of her abdomen protectively all the while giving Hermione a chance to sidestep her. With a swift nimbleness, she moved the book to her front and away from the young girl's reach. But gracious heaven, what did it matter when Hermione had already gotten what she wanted? Heart leaping higher than where the stars resided, she fought demons to suppress a gasp of pained delight as her arms slid across the loose fabric of Blair's sleeves and her chin came resting upon her shoulder. And then—then when her front clung to that ivory-smooth body, when her nostrils inhaled her lethal scent, it was as though she had turned into a melting sea of swallowtails emerging from their chrysalis to fly for the first time in their lives.

So as not to raise any suspicion, she willed herself to fight for the book again, peering over Blair's shoulder to at least see what she was doing. The hat fell from her head and their hands met finally; their hands and their forearms, and although Blair's were colder to the touch, they still burned like hot coals against Hermione's ravenous skin. Clumsily, she grabbed the spine of the book, too aware of her palm sliding across Blair's tensed knuckles, and yanked at the cover slightly, meaning to eventually let go and feign the effort again.

Too wrapped up in plotting how to keep Blair in her arms, she did not expect the wooden frame of the bed to be so close when she, backing away, bumped into it and, balancing and gasping, fell backwards, toppling the defenceless Blair with her. They landed in a heap against the satin linens, both yelping out of surprise.

Hermione's stomach quivered with the earthquake velocity; a dormant volcano came alive and hot lava spilled over her bones as luscious flowers grew upside down beneath her skin.

She had her belle rose lying on top of her: had her golden hair pressed against her flushed cheeks, her shoulder blades against her chest—against her inexorably beating heart—and her bottom firmly in between the live loins of her opened legs. Never before had they been so close physically and never before had Hermione been physically closer to death. It was as though her innate need to breathe had been erased for she no longer knew how to inhale.

Blair let out a gale of pained laughter, her stomach flexing and shaking under Hermione's self-compelling hands which, as Hermione realised only now, weren't clutching the book anymore but had glided like two lamprophises to each side of the pliant waist before daring further boldness. Eyes closing, lashes trembling, her fingers dived along the curled hollow of the prominent hip, gently and slowly like a blind man fumbling his way around unfamiliar faces. And then the soft puffs of Blair's exhale brushed her cheek as she spoke.

"Are you alright?" she asked, in between the giggles.

Hermione's eyes quivered open, the delicious pain pulsating. She wanted to reply but at that moment Blair moved, ever so slightly in between her legs and against her palpitating groin and Hermione couldn't stop the whimper from drawing past her lips, utterly oblivious in the instant of ephemeral bliss.

They froze, Blair's laughter gone, the silence deafening; she made to pull away but Hermione held her tight.

"Stay," she sighed desperately, pressing her burning cheek to hers and reaching over and tangling all of her fingers in Blair's hair. "Stay here with me," she whispered again, barely breathing.

She didn't know what she expected Blair to do other than pull away yet the rejection still hurt as though unanticipated.

"Hermione..." she let out ruefully.

Suppressing the tears, Hermione tried to ignore the insufferable disappointment. Her hand fell back to rest against her other hand, still wrapped over Blair's waist. "This must be what being close to the sun feels like," she let out quietly.

"Sorry?"

"I... I just," she began. "I can't stay close to you without burning myself—and yet all I do is think about coming back to you every instant of my life."

Blair released a soft sign, turning her head away from hers. "You shouldn't be saying this to me." She struggled to free herself again. "Come on, let's—"

"Why not?" Hermione held her in place. "I need to say it. I need you to know how much I—"

"Let's just sit down first and talk then, alright?"

"I can't," protested Hermione. "I'll die if I let go."

Blair let out the most adorable chuckle. "Oh, surely you won't." She placed her warm graceful palms over Hermione's, unfreezing them from her waist and rolled over and away, making Hermione miss her instantly.

Unwilling to give up that easily, Hermione leapt upright, pulling her legs onto the bed and turning and facing the other way. She shifted close enough to Blair to stop her from moving any further by placing her hands on each side of her body, coming so close to her face it made Blair lean back on her elbows.

All Hermione asked of herself in that moment was to not descend into utter madness.

Blair—she was pulchritudinous; the rarest in the field of incandescent flowers and it was so easy to love her with her lips apple-red and her eyes big like a child's, but Hermione knew she would have the same striking passion for her if she were plain-looking; would have fallen for her even if her face was marred; with a male or female body, young, old, or sick—she knew she would have grown to adore any face, any body Blair possessed just as much as she adored this one. She loved her being with an unruly force and unbearable ardour Blair knew nothing of.

Supported by her elbows, she was just looking at Hermione with a cruel blend of amusement and pity, trying to put up with her insatiable teenage boldness—Hermione herself knew she had gone too far and a part of her hated herself for acting so unabashedly, yet the other part, that part travelling through the maze of possibilities, did not raise any objections.

"I meant it when I said I'd die if I let go; couldn't risk it," uttered Hermione, seeing the corners of Blair's lips twitching. She fought the urge to press her mouth to them, knowing damn well Blair wouldn't let her.

"I know I shouldn't be doing this," she added slowly.

"You really shouldn't."

"But I need to tell you... I need you to..." sighing, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut before looking down, for Blair's gaze had become too piercing, too reproving for her to bear. "I know that you don't take my feelings seriously," she started again, this time thinking before speaking. "And I completely understand; so far I've known nothing about love; and of course you would think that I'm just confused, that I don't understand it myself because I am so young and feeling this way is all very new to me and— and therefore I can't tell the difference between love and infatuation, but believe me... I've never been more sure about anything in my life than the depth of the feelings I have for you." Hermione was talking quieter and quieter, addressing all those words to Blair's thighs. "Call them whatever you want but please, don't think of them as shallow— because— because they're not and they won't go away just because I order them to. I've had them since I was little, back then when we were sitting among the daisies in our garden, playing together, I just hadn't realised..."

"Mione—" warned Blair.

"I fell for you long before I could understand," Hermione spoke over her. "And I haven't stopped falling ever since."

Blair was silent for a while, as though considering the right words to get her point across clearly.

"I've never said your feelings were shallow," she spoke finally. "The first love is always the most intense, most heartfelt and the hardest to forget—but trust me, not impossible to get over."

The sharp pain hit Hermione's stomach at yet another of the implied rejections. "What if I don't want to get over them?"

"Yes you do; perhaps you just haven't realised it yet."

Hermione's eyes flicked up, trying not to well up upon sighting the look of pity and a deeper understanding displayed on Blair's smiling face; something along the lines of—you poor young soul, you haven't even grasped the essence of love yet.

"I want to be there for you," said Hermione determinedly. "I want to laugh with you, cry with you—even argue with you! I want—I want you." She was blushing, Hermione knew she was but still kept her eyes on Blair's, watching the emotions pass over them like seasons.

"Sweetie, all those things you can have even now," she replied. "Trust me, what you want from me is nothing but friendship."

"I doubt that many people think of doing to their friends all those things I think of doing to you," she blurted before she could stop herself. She felt her cheeks flush even more, knowing she couldn't take her words back but she didn't want to take them back. She wanted Blair in more ways than just platonic and she wanted Blair to know that; wanted her to know how much she wished to come closer and get the dress off of her; how she wanted her own tongue in her mouth, on her mouth and teeth, the scent of her hair in her nostrils, her fluttering eyelashes on her skin; wanted her moaning and panting against her lips; wanted to know what it felt like to be a man and be inside her.

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that."

Chagrined, Hermione took a shaky breath, which made her incline closer, and Blair, probably thinking she was going to kiss her, put her hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place for a moment before letting go and moving to the side to sit upright. Closing her eyes, Blair hid her face in her hands. For the first time she seemed truly unsettled.

"You know I'm the least likely person to go 'what would your mother say if she knew' but can you imagine what she would say?" She looked back at Hermione, all serious now. But Hermione did not care. The implication, the possibility that... Was this all just a moral conflict? Was all this rejection and resistance because of her mom? And was there actually a beam of hope? Without thinking twice, she reached over and closed her fingers over Blair's hand before bringing it up and placing it over her chest against her madly beating heart which regarded the sudden heat with two painful leaps.

"No matter," she merely whispered, putting her other hand over Blair's too, for it started shifting. "No matter the name I carry; just be here with me; this," she added, pressing their hands firmer against her thumping heart. "This is all because of you."

"No, stop it," said Blair sternly, tearing her hand away.

"I'm not just my mother's child," said Hermione puerilely. "I'm my own person and I'm here and I'm offering my entire heart; I have nothing more valuable to give."

"There's no need for you to give me anything," snapped Blair coldly. "God dammit! You're like a daughter to me!"

"But I'm not your daughter!" cried Hermione passionately. "And this, this doesn't feel uncomfortable, does it?" She shifted closer, moving her thighs to Blair's while reaching out and pushing her velvet hair back gently. God, she could drown in her eyes. "You don't mind me being so close; I...you," she whispered in a shaky voice, dying a little with each word.

"Stop," Blair leapt from the bed. "I've tried to be understanding but that doesn't seem to work with you, so let me try something else. There is no you and I. You're sixteen! I'm more than twice your age! End of story! Besides, I'm not—"

"I know, I know you're not." Gulping, Hermione stood up as well, embarrassed, for Blair had never been stern with her before. "And neither am I. You're the only one and I... I love you for you, not because you're a woman!"

"Stop saying that you love me! You can't possibly know what love is; it's not all about feelings—those come and go and are never enough to make anything work!"

"Would you like for this to—?"

"Hermione!" cried Blair in frustration. "No, I wouldn't! That's what I've been trying to say all this time!" Her austere eyes melted. "I don't see you that way!" she whispered apologetically.

"Then don't look," wept Hermione. "Just close your eyes and let me make you feel me first." The tears were burning her as she took Blair by her arms. Surprisingly, she let her.

"Sweetie..." Blair brought her hand to Hermione's cheek but retrieved it immediately as Hermione leant into it, brushing her lips against the soft skin.

"Don't let this love die within me," whispered Hermione. "Please, don't let it die."

Blair drew a deep, shaky breath before locking their eyes. And it was what made Hermione's raging blood senseless; never before had anything sent her over the edge, mentally and physically, like her eyes did. She felt their depth blossom in her heart and she broke into heavy tears, hoping Blair would get their meaning;

Cut me to the bone and bleed with me until I'm no longer; get underneath my skin—do it now; turn the sweltering desert into a luscious field and taste the growing roses, taste my love pouring out of them, thick and hot.

Her trembling hands slipped to Blair's hands and she saw her hesitant lips parting and talking.

"You twisted little harlot! Do you actually think about anything but sex?"

Hermione gasped for breath as she awoke on the sofa with Bellatrix standing above her and yelling her vocal chords out, looking utterly demented.

"I cannot believe this is still going on! And there you were swearing on your pathetic miserable life that you didn't think about me in any perverted way! You make me sick—so fucking sick! Why don't you go out and get down with some desperate slut—I'll give you one of my old dresses so you could pretend it is me you're shagging since you're so bloody obsessed. Perhaps then you'll stop thinking like a man and we could actually move forward!"

Disoriented, Hermione sat upright with her hands full of Blair's skin and bitter disappointment, ignoring the screaming witch and caring only about getting back to Blair and finding out what it was that she had been about to say; she needed to know—

"I'm talking to you!" bellowed Bellatrix, demanding her attention.

"What?" Hermione looked at her reluctantly. "What do you want?" she asked in a nasal voice, her nose clogged.

"What do I want? What do I—? I'll tell you what I want, you priss!" barked Bellatrix madly. "You wasted one last opportunity to get the corpus deus because you just hallucinated about having sex with me!" she yelled, spitting the last words with an unbelievable feeling of revulsion.

Hermione widened her teary eyes, shocked.

"I've heard you!" seethed Bellatrix. "I've heard all those disgusting sounds you were making while trying to say my name!"

"Oh my God! Oh my GOD!" Hermione raised her voice as she quickly caught on. "It wasn't—my hallucination wasn't about you! It was about—"

No, no no! Stop talking; she mustn't know!

Biting her tongue, Hermione watched Bellatrix's angry eyes narrow.

"About? About who?"

"Nobody."

"Of course!" the older witch blurted hotly. "Because there's no one but me!"

Hermione laughed in disbelief, her eyebrows shooting up. "Wow... you're so full of yourself! There's literally anyone but you!"

"Stop lying to me; you were about to moan my name!"

"It wasn't your name!" Hermione yelled in exasperation, leaning in.

"Whose then?" hissed Bellatrix. "Whose, mudblood?"

"Go to hell! I don't need to explain myself to you!"

Immediately after the words left Hermione's mouth, Bellatrix lunged forward, bestriding her legs and closing her freezing palm over Hermione's neck. "What did you say to me?" she hissed, the heavy curls spilling over her arms.

As though by reflex, Hermione's hands shot up. She grabbed Bellatrix's wrist while putting her other hand on her tricep, blocking the choking arm; her left foot stepped over Bellatrix's right calf and she pushed with her hips, flipping them over. The self-defence classes were obviously paying off, for the yelping Bellatrix lost the hold on her completely. Hermione leapt to her feet, trying to ignore all the tingling places that had come in contact with Bellatrix's body.

"Don't do that again!" she warned, looking at the stunned witch, who swiftly jumped to her feet too.

"You insolent little brat!" whispered Bellatrix, drawing her wand. "Don't you ever dare lay your hands on me like that!"

"Excuse me? You were the one choking me!" bawled Hermione, taking out her wand, too. "I was just defending myself!"

A mad smirk flew across Bellatrix's lips. "Somebody wants to fight, I see. Alright then, go on," she whispered. "Give it your best! I'll be more than happy to attend your disciplinary hearing to confirm you were just trying to show off and to see you get expelled."

"Do whatever you want, I'm not returning to Hogwarts anyway!" retorted Hermione carelessly, shifting on her feet, expecting the attack any second.

Bellatrix widened her eyes momentarily. "Oh right, I've almost forgotten that you gave up everything just for the sake of being with me," she said, prowling to the side.

Hermione snorted. "Yes, that's precisely that; I've bailed on my life because I enjoy getting abused every second of my existence."

"Why else would you do it then?" asked Bellatrix, obviously trying to provoke the real reason out of her.

"I've told you; I signed up for an auror programme in—" began Hermione but had no chance to finish, for at that moment she felt a sensation, as though a thousand pencils pricked her chest all at once. Gasping, she grabbed onto her shirt, looking at Bellatrix in shock.

"I'm going to do that every single time you lie," Bellatrix let out placidly, taking a moment before continuing. "Let me ask you again: what exactly is your intention?"

Hermione raised her wand but before she had a chance to point it at Bellatrix's chest, it flew out of her grasp and landed at the witch's feet. Gulping, she tore her eyes from her only weapon, locking them with Bellatrix's smug ones.

"I signed—" Another jolt, twice as strong as before, hit her stomach, making her squirm.

"Go on, lie to me as much as you like," added Bellatrix, smiling. "So what was it you were saying...?"

"I—" Hermione doubled over as two more jolts pierced her body. "Would you at least let me finish?!"

Bellatrix didn't. She kept asking and asking, firing spells at her for what felt like an eternity, until Hermione, unable to stand any longer, crumpled to her hands and knees in exhaustion. Splinters of pain were tearing up her body at every movement that she made. She heard Bellatrix's slow, deliberate steps coming closer and closer.

"Don't tell me after all this fun you've still got nothing to say," she whispered in her ear, sounding out of breath. Hermione's limbs gave up on her and she collapsed onto her stomach. Trying to gaze up, a hot flash washed over her and with a soft exhale, she surrendered to sleep once again.

She dreamt about lying in a gloomy forest. A snarling fox was perched on top of her chest, biting her neck until it tore her head off. She was looking at the lurid clouds above her when she felt herself sinking through the cold soil as though through quicksand and landed floating in the groundwater. She began swimming up toward the air she did not need and upon parting the surface, opened her eyes to the dusky twilight that was painting the walls coral pink. Her stomach was growling from hunger and perhaps the disturbing dream, too.

Tangled in a warm comforter on a small double bed in unfamiliar surroundings, Hermione tried moving but hissed, feeling every muscle in her body complain. A quiet pop sounded at her feet as though somebody had disapparated and, flinching, she propped herself on her elbows, probing the dim space to see whether there was someone else in the room. Hermione found that she was alone. After several moments of wariness, she lay back onto the bed. At that moment, the door on the other side of the room creaked, letting in a small patch of light which was immediately hampered by a woman's figure. Bellatrix sauntered in.

Hermione sat bolt upright in her bed, pulling the comforter closer to her body.

"Somebody's finally up, I see," chirped Bellatrix with an all too happy smile. "I hope you didn't sleep much though, you have to save some of that for tonight." She held out her left hand. "I brought your diary."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in aversion. "Do you know that what you've done to me might cost you a couple of years in Azkaban?" she said, pulling her knees up to her chin defensively.

Bellatrix let out a surprised laugh, slowly ambling toward the bed; she came all the way up to Hermione, placing her hands on the mattress, bending down to her. "You'd tell on me?" she asked sweetly before sitting down beside her. Hermione shrank back instantly. "And here I was hoping we might actually start to get along." The bed creaked as she moved closer. "I must admit I was quite impressed with your persistence earlier."

Gulping, Hermione tried to ignore the compliment that was causing her stomach to jump perilously. She chose to remain silent.

"What, you don't believe me?" Bellatrix added softly.

Of course she didn't believe her.

Bellatrix presented her with a dazzling smile, moving closer; unfortunately, Hermione had no more space to shift to. Bellatrix reached over to Hermione's nape, leaning in. "How would I persuade you?" She whispered against her ear, caressing her neck.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She was lying on the ground, with Bellatrix kicking her left thigh repeatedly.

"Get up; I've been thinking and I figured out what we're going to do."

Like a beaten up animal, Hermione heaved herself up, wincing in pain. She glanced at Bellatrix, who was, how else, blind and deaf to any signs of her being injured. Hermione was more than aware she needed to confront her about her abusive behaviour, for if she wanted any change to happen in their relationship, she needed to fight for herself every time Bellatrix crossed the line; otherwise Bellatrix might get the wrong impression that she was free to continue treating Hermione like garbage over and over again.

The thing, however, was that the unnerving dream left Hermione somehow speechless.

"I'm not even going to make you try to astral project," presented Bellatrix thoughtfully. "I've learnt that it won't work if the sleep doesn't come naturally and during the night. I'll just have to give you the diary before bed and then, in the morning, collect it back from you. Then it's all up to you to—" She paused, running her dark eyes over Hermione's guilty and flushed face before adding, "To Carpe Noctem—to seize the night."

—

Bellatrix expressed no remorse whatsoever about having been beating Hermione up for several hours when she showed her to one of the bedrooms in the sophisticated dark mansion that evening.

"I'll be back in the morning to hear about the dream," she said, unbothered, and Hermione remained silent; Bellatrix seemed relatively calm, the calmest Hermione had seen her except for when asleep and she had no desire to ruin that and entangle herself in more arguments. All she wanted at this point was to be left alone to reflect on everything undisturbed and with a clear mind. However, there was still one thing that needed to be addressed, after all.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Fine," she replied casually, scratching a pretended itch on her left shoulder. "Then we can start with the lessons."

"What do you mean?" asked Bellatrix, knitting her eyebrows.

"I," Hermione chose her words carefully. "I'd like you to help me with apparating."

"Apparting?" repeated Bellatrix.

"My exams are in three weeks," explained Hermione quickly. "You got the permission for Draco and me to use magic during the summer holiday last year. Can't be that hard to do it again, right?"

"Do you think that I have any time at all to teach untalented little girls how to use magic?" smirked Bellatrix.

"Fine, I'll be too busy myself then, I guess," uttered Hermione. "Look at it this way," she added quickly upon seeing Bellatrix's smirk slacken. "If anything happens, I'll be able to apparate, too."

"You say that as if there was a chance that if anything happened, I'd get knocked out first!"

"I just think it could benefit you as well," shrugged Hermione. "Besides, it was one of my conditions, remember?"

Bellatrix's eyes pierced her very core and suddenly, it was so hard to keep looking at her.

"Tomorrow," she said sharply. "One lesson and we're even."

—

Two hours later, Hermione was standing in front of a large vanity mirror in the bathroom made out of black marble. Wrapped in the flickering candlelight and a thick woolly bathrobe, she had just finished a bath and was now rubbing a small amount of macadamia oil into the tips of her wet hair.

Her stomach was finally full, although a bit queasy—Bellatrix wasn't the best of hosts, for she clearly had forgotten that Hermione was a human being and couldn't live off of plain air. Being one step ahead, Hermione had fortunately thought of packing some French toasts and redlove apples from their garden yesterday; and even though the toasts had been thoroughly dry now and too hard to eat, after spending almost two days without any food, they had tasted like heaven to her nonetheless; she had drunk some water from the bathroom tap, too, just before eating to get the digestion going but had not waited long enough for the water to absorb and ended up feeling full and heavy after consuming only half of the toast. And even though Hermione knew it wasn't a sufficient amount of food for her to function properly, she had not eaten any more so as not to overwhelm her stomach all at once.

Overall, Hermione felt much better than she had in the morning. A little bit of clean hot water and a modest meal had done wonders to her mood. She'd promised herself that from now on she would start eating more regularly; she needed to maintain her health in the best state possible, physical and mental. Hermione even felt forgiving toward herself about not fighting Bellatrix earlier when she kept hitting her with all those spells —regardless, she had stood up to her all the other times. One step backwards wasn't a disaster. She knew that tomorrow might be a better day.

Dressing in her grey pyjamas, she quickly ran her hands through her hair, dreading the state they would be in tomorrow morning since there were no sockets for a hair dryer. One second later she laughed at herself. With everything going on, her hair should be the least of her worries.

After brushing her teeth, she footed it to the large four-poster bed, almost identical to the one she had slept in at Malfoy Manor, and crawled under the cold blankets.

As she was lying in the dark, eyeing the malignant clouds in the darkening sky outside, her thoughts were straying between Blair and Bellatrix mainly, but also to her parents and Draco.

The sensible, rational side of her felt a bit silly about finding out that the thing she wanted to figure out the most wasn't the meaning of life as such but rather Blair's actual feelings toward her. She couldn't help thinking if perhaps Draco wasn't right about her all those months ago; thinking if perhaps she truly wasn't obsessed with Blair and had stopped caring about anything real and important altogether. It was true, she had often found herself daydreaming and reflecting back to that night in Greece when she had confessed her feelings to Blair while beating herself over being too embarrassed and scared to ask if Blair felt the same way.

Perhaps now, when she finally had her answer, she might accept the truth and move on.

Although... would she be actually able to do that? Even after seeing that barely noticeable change in Blair's eyes—would she be able not to look into it too much?

It might have been all just wishful thinking...

If only she could find out—Bellatrix wasn't lying when she had said that Lune de Voile would evaporate from Hermione's system within an hour; although what she had not warned her about was that it would take away the memory of the hallucination too. Hermione could no longer recall the bedroom or feel the mad happiness over seeing Blair's lovely face again after what felt like an eternity; or what it felt like to have her pressed so tightly against her for that matter; the only thing that remained was a fading ghost of her saddened voice.

No matter the misfortune though, Hermione was sure that she had seen something shift in her eyes. When they were gazing at each other, Blair had looked a bit unsure, hadn't she? After Hermione had said all those things she would never have the courage to say to Blair's face in reality, Blair did look uncertain—as though for a split second she was seeing things differently...

Hermione's stomach leapt. She would cry hot tears if she knew for sure Blair was capable of developing some sort of, even slight feelings for her. And she was in London now, what if Hermione...? Oh but she couldn't; by the time she'd be able to apparate, Blair would be back to America, and asking Bellatrix to take her home because she 'had forgotten' something wasn't an option in the least. So despite being mad with the desire to run after Blair right now just as she was, she knew she couldn't; Blair's safety would always come first.

God, when Hermione imagined she had almost told Bellatrix about her today; all because Bellatrix had accused her of such nonsense as hallucinating about sleeping with her.

Unthinkable!

Or was it?

Hermione felt her face flush against the soft pillow. She might not remember having Blair in her arms but she remembered very clearly the weirdly sensual dream she had had about Bellatrix right after; the possibility of the witch actually getting under her skin—all despite her messed-up personality—made her stomach knot. Hermione could not allow that to happen!

Yawning, she let her eyes linger over the diary perched on top of the nightstand beside her bed before closing her eyes. She drifted off to her silent voice, counting all of the reasons why falling for Bellatrix was a horribly bad idea.

That night was the first night in months that Hermione dreamt about the other Hermione again. However, the dream had nothing to do with the corpus deus whatsoever which, when presented to Bellatrix, enraged her to the point of refusing to teach Hermione anything as a punishment for not putting up enough effort. She left her locked in the bedroom the entire day while she went only God knew where.

The days went by. Bellatrix came in each night and each morning and upon learning Hermione still had nothing valuable to share with her, she left her locked away in the bedroom again, saying that once Hermione felt like dreaming about something interesting, she might earn all of her privileges—meaning being able to leave the room—back. Hermione tried arguing but her frustration fell on deaf ears and so just to not get utterly mad, she devoted herself to reading.

Daily, Bellatrix sent her a house elf with a small meal, usually consisting of buttered toast and a cup of black tea; Hermione had tried to talk to him on every one of those rare occasions, but he kept his mouth pressed tightly together—Bellatrix probably forbade him to fraternize with her. Still, after two days, although he still remained stubbornly silent, he began coming more regularly, bringing a lot more nutrient dense food to her than before. Now Hermione at least wasn't hungry anymore.

It'd been a week and she was slowly descending into madness; she was positive that if she didn't have any dream regarding the corpus deus soon enough, she'd certainly lose it. She set her mind on putting as much effort as possible into using the technique the venor floccus had taught her back at Hogwarts that night.

In the morning Bellatrix opened the door without any enthusiasm, obviously not expecting much from her, but Hermione was standing beside the window, shifting on her feet, awaiting her impatiently.

"I did it," she couldn't help a small smile. "I dreamt! Managed to speed up the time and I found it."

Bellatrix's face lit up. "What did you find?" she asked.

"Who," corrected Hermione. "Hepzibach Smith."

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I really really hope you enjoyed the new chapter! We're slowly getting to the real deal. ;)

As always, I'd like to thank you (so so so so so much) for reading and reviewing! Also, there's over 500 of you now and I'm absolutely speechless! I feel so grateful and so touched by all that support! Thank you!

With all my love, AP