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.

27. The Locket, The Cup And The Orphanage

CARPE NOCTEM / THE LOCKET, THE CUP AND THE ORPHANAGE/ CH. 27

Bellatrix shook her head, indulging in a perplexed frown. "Who is Hepzibah Smith?"

"According to Harry," said Hermione, "she was an old wealthy widow, a passionate collector of magical antiquities and from everything I've seen so far, I have a good reason to believe she could have had not one but two of the corpus deus in her possession!"

Bellatrix seemed momentarily paralysed. "Two?"

Nodding, Hermione wet her lips. "Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup. Albeit—" she hesitated, uncertain exactly how to put it. "Harry did not refer to them as corpus deus, he called them by a very peculiar name—horcruxes, I think."

"The founder's relics, of course!" Bellatrix's dark eyes widened in revelation. She took a few steps toward Hermione. "What else do you know about that woman; where is she now?"

"I—I don't know; I mean, she died from poisoning in her early seventies; Harry said that her old house elf was convicted of adding arsenic into her drink," enunciated Hermione colorlessly, trying not to show how frustrated she felt about passing on that misconception despite knowing it was completely fabricated—the disgusting yet clever sophistry Tom Riddle had orchestrated to wash Hepzibah's blood off his own hands. It was Dumbledore who had found out about it when searching for horcruxes decades later; he had sought out Hokey, the house elf, and discovered that her memory about adding something unusual to the milk the night of her mistress' death was false and planted into her mind by magic. Unfortunately, when he had presented the new evidence to Wizengamot, none of the members had shown any interest in pursuing further investigation into Hepzibah's death, especially when Hokey died two days later.

Hermione hated besmirching the elf's name any further just to save her own skin but knew she was obliged to keep the truth to herself—Dumbledore had warned her on numerous occasions about bringing the name Tom Riddle up in conversations with Bellatrix.

"That's all I know, I'm afraid," she framed, folding and subsequently unfolding her arms before tucking her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, feeling the rounded edges of a couple of coins there.

"How long has it been since her death?" asked Bellatrix interrogatively.

"Forty-fifty years ago, more or less."

The witch stepped closer. "I need to see the dream!"

"But I told you everything Harry told me!" blurted Hermione, a tingle of panic reverberating in her voice. She was fully aware that if Bellatrix saw the dream and found that she was lying to her, everything she'd been trying to build up up until this moment would crumble in an instant.

"Everything Harry told you," repeated Bellatrix, locking their eyes. "I think you're forgetting one simple detail, deary. How come Harry knew about the corpus deus? And," she paused, tilting her head. "How come he was discussing them with the two of his little friends?"

Hermione had the answer prepared. "How shall I know? The dreams always come in chronological order. This is the first time I pushed forward into the future which resulted in me missing all the events in between—logically, I must have skipped the backstory to this particular conversation, too." Pinching the cotton cardigan hugging her ribs, she shrugged. "The memory began with Harry briefing me and Ron on Madame Smith and ended with him saying 'Those must be the horcruxes. The cup and the locket.' I figured it must be what we're looking for. Nothing happened after that. Well," she faltered, creating a dramatic pause. "Nothing except for Ron and I; we—um—but I guess you're not interested in seeing that." She dropped her gaze to the floor as though embarrassed.

As expected, Bellatrix let out a disgusted grunt and Hermione couldn't help mentally congratulating herself for having thought of spicing up her narrative with Ronald Weasley.

"Did she have any children?" asked Bellatrix coldly, attracting Hermione's eyes again.

"Harry did not say."

"What do you mean he did not say? How could he not say?!" she snapped, glaring at her as though it was Hermione's fault her other self hadn't thought of asking Harry this question. "I need to know! How else am I supposed to find the relics? The old hag must be dead by now—the heirlooms either inherited or sold," fumed Bellatrix as she began pacing back and forth, her high heels clicking against the floor angrily. "If she had been a pureblood, it would make everything so much easier; I could trace her family in a matter of seconds!"

"But she could be," objected Hermione, following Bellatrix with her eyes. "She could be a pureblood, Harry, he—"

"Don't you think I would know?" Bellatrix gave her a severe look. "She'd be in The Sacred Twenty-Eight; no surname of Smith had ever been on the list; she must have been a mudblood."

"She was a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff!"

Bellatrix seemed unimpressed. "A mudblood indeed. Hufflepuff's unconventional methods of upbringing are infamous; she taught her only son there is nothing wrong with mating with mudbloods and as a result, he ended up marrying one. Their blood was desecrated!"

Hermione couldn't help saying: "But there is nothing wrong with marrying out of pureblood circles. I'd say it is practically imperative these days—there are just so few of you. I can't understand why you think so low of—"

"Why?" Bellatrix paused her steps, interrupting her: "Because that beastly breed of yours is good for nothing but serving as an example of how dreadful mixing wizarding and muggle blood is! Just look at yourself; surely, I needn't remind you of your abnormalities," she said flatly and raised her brows upon seeing Hermione's expression. "You asked so don't even think of crying!"

Hermione didn't want to cry, she wanted to slap Bellatrix but managed to control the urge, knowing she'd probably ended up losing both of her arms for such daring; she contented herself with shaking her head and rather circled back to their main problem. "What are we going to do about Hepzibah?" she asked.

Bellatrix let out a surprised chuckle. "We—" She motioned to herself and then to Hermione. "Aren't doing anything together! You're here to give me information, that's where your job ends!"

"But we had a deal!" protested Hermione. "I told you I want to participate in searching for the corpus deus actively; I laid out my conditions at the very beginning and you agreed to them!"

Bellatrix smirked. "I say a lot of things which I don't necessarily mean."

Hermione glared at her in flat disbelief. Bellatrix couldn't be serious, she couldn't renege on their deal just because she had already gotten what she wanted, big hypocrite! But if she wanted to play, fine, they would play. Hermione was done compromising and while she knew it might cost her dearly, she wasn't as gutless as to bow her head and nod to everything like a bobblehead doll.

Tearing her eyes from the smug witch, she walked over to the bed and grabbed Riddle's diary from her nightstand. She strode back to Bellatrix, shoving it into her hands, snapping: "Fine! Take it then! Take it and don't bring it back! I'm not putting it anywhere near me and neither am I trying any more tricks to find you another corpus deus; you can't make me dream without me wanting to and I can guarantee you that from now on I'm not lifting a finger to help you! And while you might think you don't need me anymore, there will come a time when you—"

Bellatrix drew out her wand, making Hermione falter. "Don't you ever ever raise your voice at me again!" she said quietly.

"Medicine doesn't taste the same when served on a different spoon, does it?"

Bellatrix looked as though she had just been slapped. "You insolent brat!" she said after a while, her voice resembling that of a provoked animal. "You remember once and for all that you and I, we are no equals! You aren't fit to breathe the same air as me so where is that audacity of yours coming from? One more time and I swear I—"

"You'll do what?" Hermione cut in fearlessly. "You'll curse me? Make me regret that I was born? Fine, go ahead! But you know very well that in the end—"

"Shut your mouth!" hurled Bellatrix at her. "Shut it! Be a damned burden then, for all I care!"

Staggered, Hermione pressed her lips together, her shoulders slackening. Had Bellatrix just capitulated? Without much fighting, without barely any resistance? Nevermind the couple of insults, if she was truly giving Hermione a chance to work on this with her, Hermione had better suck it up and compose herself; she mustn't let her know how astonished she felt at having won the round, for showing too little confidence might cause her to lose face. Hermione needed a different tactic, needed to remain calm as though nothing that extra had even happened.

Having given Bellatrix a moment to cool down, she cleared her throat, testing the waters. "So what do you think, what should we do?"

"Find her relatives, obviously," she reposted while putting her wand into her sleeve and the diary inside her robe.

"We could go to the library," suggested Hermione, seizing her chance. "The one in Greenwich, and have a look at the old copies of Daily Prophet. I believe it is possible that Hepzibah from our dimension died much later; perhaps we could find an obituary or something about the people who inherited her wealth! For a start, we could search within the copies from 1960 and continue up until 1970. Suppose there's—" Hermione looked up, counting silently. "Suppose there were 3652 copies in ten years; if it takes us two minutes to go through one copy, we could be done in three days at the most—that is, if we split the work. It might seem like a lot, I know," admitted Hermione, "but it's most likely the safest way to figure something out—I reckon going to the registry office would be far easier but you yourself know that only a court order can open those records; the identities of the founders' descendants are protected, and while you could use your connections, dragging more people into it would only draw unnecessary attention. We'd have to bribe the registrar and not even that could guarantee their silence if something unexpected happens; we need to be very careful about this and have as few witnesses as possible," finished Hermione breathlessly, glancing at Bellatrix who looked utterly baffled.

She opened her mouth but then closed it again as though she thought better of whatever she meant to say and frowned instead.

"I... it was just a suggestion," said Hermione quickly. "I had a lot of time to think about it but of course, I don't wish to dictate you what to do."

"You'd try that once!" snorted Bellatrix arrogantly.

Hermione bowed her head, inwardly cursing her lack of judgement. She had had one good chance to persuade Bellatrix to do this and she had to ruin it with her uncontrollable need to talk like a chatterbox! How she could have been so stupid!

"But... I guess it wouldn't hurt to have a look at some of the old Prophets, would it?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to Bellatrix; she couldn't have heard her right. Bellatrix would never take her words into consideration, let alone act on them, out of pride alone; she would simply make fun of her, wouldn't she? But, bloody hell, her eyes—they did seem serious. Very serious! Could it mean what Hermione hardly dared to assume? A little, just a tiny little step forward? Her stomach lurched.

"Yes, I think we should do just that, muddy girl." Bellatrix bit her lip. "And we'll do it right now." She walked over to Hermione and, grabbing a hold of the looser part of her sleeve, tugged her closer and without a word of warning Disapparated.

After the uncomfortable choking sensation, instead of the sumptuous chamber, Hermione found herself standing at the Greenwich wizarding library entrance on the first floor. Inhaling deeply, her heart leaped at the familiar woody smell. She knew the appointed building back to front—the lancet windows and tall Jacobean style bookcases; the infinite spiral staircase leading to the upper floors and small tables along each section equipped with two chairs. The Greenwich library was like her second home. During her school breaks, Hermione had come here every other day if her schedule allowed her to and, snuggled in the comfortable antique bergére in the attic, read the withdrawn books she'd found packed in cardboard boxes all over the floor. Everything about this place would have been ideal, hadn't it been for the hour-long drive which gave her mom nightmares, considering Hermione often came home after ten p.m.

It had been two weeks since Hermione had last visited the library; it had been a week since she'd caught a glimpse of any other human being beside Bellatrix, and it felt very surreal for her to see witches and wizards at the far end of the vast room, browsing through the volumes stacked in bookcases and talking to their companions as though it was the most natural thing in the world, not quite aware of how lucky they were to have their life firmly in their hands, not quite grateful for that privilege for that matter.

Wait... Wizards... they were all around them.

Hermione gave Bellatrix a stealthy glance, realising only now that she hadn't tried feeding her the polyjuice potion or altering her appearance in any way in order not to be seen with a 'mudblood'. How strange. Perhaps her feverish desire to get to the corpus deus had erased that tiny detail from her mind.

Casting around, Bellatrix wasted no time. She rushed past the librarian's desk without any sort of greeting to the old Mrs Benson who smiled at them before her emerald green eyes behind her panto glasses doubled in size upon recognising Hermione.

"My dear!" she exclaimed. "I haven't seen you for yonks, where have you been hiding? I missed you here!"

Her warmth almost made Hermione tearful: despite the fact it had only been a week, she longed for a kind word like never before. "Hello, Mrs Benson!" she beamed brightly. Her eyes darted to the elusive Bellatrix and back to the librarian, her joy faltering as quickly as it had come. "I'm so very sorry but you'll have to excuse me," she apologised softly. "I am in a bit of a hurry now, but I promise you that the next time I'm here, we'll talk!" Giving the good old witch one last reassuring smile, she jogged after Bellatrix who had vanished behind the Alchemy section.

Hermione caught up with her just as she was about to turn another corner. "This way!" She gestured to the opposite aisle from the one where Bellatrix was heading, pointing her in the right direction. Except for the faint growl, Bellatrix followed without raising any objections. Having taken the turn, they bumped into a young wizard dressed in an eggplant-coloured robe who presented Hermione with a sultry wink. Embarrassed, she instantly averted her eyes to the shelf markers pinned to the bookshelves, hoping Bellatrix hadn't seen the exchange; nothing nice would have come out of her mouth about it.

They had been striding along the bountiful bookshelves for a few moments when Hermione came to a halt, holding out her hand. "Here!" she breathed, pausing at the periodicals section in the middle of the seemingly endless aisle. Standing on her tiptoes, she threaded back and forth, running her fingers along the titles of the thick newspapers, searching for the letter D; she wandered down the row and ended up kneeling when she finally found the old copies of the Daily Prophet, her head almost spinning upon sighting the thousands and thousands of gazettes waiting to be devoured.

Drawing a deep breath, she looked around before casting a glance over her shoulder at Bellatrix who was watching her closely with her arms folded. Hermione motioned toward the table with two chairs about five feet ahead of them, saying: "I'll bring these over," and trying to pick up an armful of newspapers but Bellatrix was already waving her wand. The first mountains of copies, including the ones Hermione was holding, rose into the air and headed toward the table where they landed in two perfectly neat stacks.

Hermione and Bellatrix exchanged looks full of determination and for the first time, Hermione felt that there was a vague sense of unity between them, a feeling that now they were in the same boat which, for a change, wasn't sinking but floating toward the destination they had both chosen and would do the impossible to reach.

Both women moved at the same time. They walked to the table together and sat facing each other, peering through the thin crack dividing the two tall heaps. Blinking rapidly, Hermione dropped her eyes to the stack. She grabbed the first copy and heard Bellatrix do the same. They didn't utter a word as they flickered through page after page, trying to find at least a small clue that would lead them to Hepzibah or better, the two of the founder's relics.

Hermione would also welcome conspiracy theories about the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw but was well aware she needed to work systematically and focus on one thing first before jumping onto another; chaotic thinking would only slow her down. She was also trying not to worry too much about Gryffindor's sword for she knew exactly where that one resided. Perhaps this was what Dumbledore had in mind when he had said: 'By the time she comes for the last one, you'll have everything figured out.' So far Hermione had nothing figured out and so she could only hope Dumbledore's office would be the final stop they would have to take. Deep down she hoped the headmaster might be there to salvage the wizarding world if—when she failed.

Hermione cast the first copy aside, seizing another one. Due to the years and years of practice, the skimming bounced along nicely even despite her attention splitting between the quest and her bafflement at Bellatrix not protesting to having to flip so many pages and waste time with the old Daily Prophet; she actually didn't seem to mind at all—her face had acquired a focused expression which Hermione dared to survey discreetly for several seconds before fully realising what she was doing and rather diving back to work.

She flipped to the next page, almost huffing in despair. Even though Hermione had had a chance to read old Prophets before, she'd never gotten her hands on these particular copies and having so many interesting articles in front of her without being able to read them properly was unbelievably frustrating. 'Gringott's riot', 'MACUSA relocates to New York', 'Witches' suffrage'; Hermione had read about all of those events but never in so much detail; none of the books she had studied had recorded the events day by day, none of them had all the names, all the interesting, even the most casual events that had happened in between and weren't worth documenting in historical literature. It was hard to not lose oneself in just a few of them.

"You're too slow!" snapped Bellatrix, snatching the Prophet from Hermione's hands and flicking through the pages herself. Giving her a secret frown, Hermione grabbed another copy from the pile. Then another one, and another one but there just wasn't any trace of Hepzibah Smith's name in the least. It felt as though they'd been slogging through the pages for days now and Hermione's stomach seemed to agree more angrily with each passing moment.

"For God's sake, do something about that awful noise!" sibilated Bellatrix after the third loud growl had announced the state of Hermione's stomach to the sheer public.

"I'm sorry but I can't switch it off like a light," she whispered back, placing a palm over her belly as though that would mute the rumbling. Checking her wristwatch, she added: "Besides, it's three p.m; we've been here for hours! I'm hungry and surely you must be too. We should have a little break and get something to eat."

"Does it seem to you we have any time for that?" asked Bellatrix, nodding at the stack of unread Prophets impatiently. "But you go ahead, I can't stand listening to those sounds any longer. I'll continue looking for that old woman myself!"

Hermione bit her lip, knowing she was treading a thin line. "I—I think you should come with me... and have some water at least. I haven't seen you eat or drink anything since we arrived... Perhaps I..."

Bellatrix closed her eyes before looking up from the page, her murderous expression of 'get out of my sight' silencing Hermione quite efficiently.

Gosh, she was only trying to be nice...

Standing up from their table, Hermione reached for her beaded purse, usually fastened under her shirt, and realised she had left it in the bedroom. Luckily, she had found a couple of galleons in the pockets of her jeans so, relieved, she set off, leaving Bellatrix alone.

She jogged to the half-empty Café on the other side of the library, buying a plain croissant and a glass of pumpkin juice, eating in a hurry. After she finished eating, she thought twice before buying a short black coffee and asking for a big glass of water. With a beating heart, she returned back to Bellatrix who by this time must have gotten through at least seven more Prophets. Clearing her throat, Hermione put the coffee and the glass of water on the table next to Bellatrix's resting hand. "I—I thought just in case."

Bellatrix didn't seem to have heard her and so Hermione, partly relieved, partly disappointed, took her place at the table and went on searching, all the while conducting an internal monologue. She didn't like that Bellatrix was so careless about her health; her body couldn't just go all day without any food or water! God, if she had been doing this to herself all this time, no wonder she looked like a mess. She must be so dehydrated and—

Hermione jumped in her seat as Bellatrix kicked her leg under the table. "Concentrate!"

A couple more hours had passed. Hermione's eyes started to get itchy and her neck hurt from having been slouching over the Prophets for so long. She rolled her head from side to side, massaging her nape. Mechanically, she seized the untouched glass of water and took a sip before placing it back and, stretching, gave Bellatrix a fleeting look—she was completely lost in the process and hadn't complained once since they arrived; she was determined and composed—it was actually quite impressive.

Don't think about her!

Blinking, Hermione pointed her gaze toward the window. The sky outside was slowly turning cobalt blue and they'd barely made any progress; the closest thing they had found was the article about the supposed magical properties of Ravenclaw's diadem, but that didn't help at all.

Closing the last page of the Prophet she was currently checking, Hermione quickly skimmed the final article devoted to the thief by the name Mundungus Fletcher who had been caught selling heirlooms of the Peverells, and placed it onto the pile of the Prophets they had gone through. Noticing there was now a little less free space on the table, she stood up and returned the already checked Prophets back to their shelves but by the time she got back, Bellatrix had summoned more copies; in spite of Hermione's love for reading, her heart sank a little upon seeing the new stacks waiting for her on her side of the table.

Sighing, Hermione sat down and embarked upon another round of searching determinedly. She was half-way through the Prophets from 1962 when a photograph of a familiar-looking wizard caught her attention. 'Perseus Black to receive a Medal of Honor' read the title. Hermione had to think for a second before a lightbulb switched on. But of course, she mused, that's him—Bellatrix's uncle, the man that had appeared out of nowhere at the ball last summer; the one that had made Bellatrix so uncomfortable! Surely, he looked much younger in the picture but even there he exuded the same frightening aura as his older version of skin and bones.

Hermione gave Bellatrix a quick look before daring to peruse the article. She had barely had a chance to read the first five sentences when—

"Have you found anything?"

"No," Hermione quickly flicked the page. "Nothing that would help."

"Then get a move on, I didn't bring you here to spend some quality time reading!"

"I know, I'm sorry."

Hermione quickly tore through the remaining pages and cast the copy aside, reaching for another one. However, the images of Bellatrix's and Narcissa's faces upon meeting their uncle all those months ago had not left her mind in the least. She kept wondering as to why they had looked so disturbed—he was family after all; perhaps they just didn't like him, thought Hermione but instantly contradicted herself. No, there must have been something else going on. They had been both mortified, Bellatrix even more than Narcissa, and that was definitely saying something... Hermione felt uncomfortable trying to imagine what kind of person he must have been if he managed to induce fear in such a dauntless woman as Bellatrix Lestrange was... Most likely the kind that was as twice as cruel...

Hermione's eyes brushed the front page fleetingly: Nobby Leach to become first-ever Muggle-born Minister for Magic. Second page: Muggle gets stuck in a magical painting; Third and fourth page: Bewitched teapot responsible for third-degree burns, An orphanage to be built in honour of Madame Smith; fifth page: Ministry imposes restrictions. Hermione's stomach gave a lurch. Her eyes snapped back to the previous article.

"Oh my God!" she rasped, her voice shaking. "Oh my... I found something! I got something!"

Bellatrix leaped from her seat and walked over to Hermione, yanking the newspaper toward her. Hermione stood up next to her, their shoulders touching. Bellatrix didn't seem to mind at all—she even leaned into her. Heart leaping, Hermione gave her a stealthy look and realised Bellatrix's eyes were squeezed shut. She must have stood up too quickly, thought Hermione. She meant to ask her if she was alright but then Bellatrix's eyes opened again, scanning the page.

"Yes... yes, it must be her!" she whispered as she read the title herself. She turned to Hermione, who blinked rapidly; they were really really close. The corners of Bellatrix's lips lifted slightly. "My my, who would have thought you're not as useless as you look!"

Hermione's excitement died the second Bellatrix said that. She leaned away from her so they wouldn't be touching anymore but as Bellatrix reached for the newspapers to take them into her hands, her shoulder bumped into Hermione's once again; retreating, she sat back onto her chair, giving Hermione no chance to read.

Folding her arms, Hermione plopped down onto her chair, drawing angry circles on her skin with her index finger.

And there she thought—

"Listen to this!"

Hermione looked up in confusion. Was Bellatrix going to read the article out loud for her? No way...

"An estimated thousands of orphans..." started the deep raspy voice from behind the newspaper, making Hermione widen her eyes. Bellatrix was reading for her!

"...hang on, this is it—Alice Montgomery, the only twenty-two-year-old niece of deceased Madame Hepzibah Smith has made a selfless gesture of investing her entire wealth in building a home for the hundreds of orphans living on the streets of London. 'I lost both parents at a very young age'—oh poor you," commented Bellatrix. "'Auntie Hepsie had always been like a mother to me and I'd like to reciprocate that blessing by passing it on to as many motherless children as possible,' says Ms Montgomery. The estimated date of the preparation work is set for May this year; that is—" Bellatrix returned to the front page. "1962." She got back to the article. "On Southern Avenue in London.'

Hearing the address, Hermione's heart shot upward into her throat.

"That's a couple of streets from the place I live," she blurted recklessly, realising too late that she'd given away the location of her home. But then... didn't Bellarix already know where she lived? She must have—she had sent her a letter there, after all. Uncrossing her arms, Hermione went on, "It's called The Orphanage of Goodwill but I'm certain it's the one they wrote about!"

Bellatrix looked at her with a feverish glow. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Positive," nodded Hermione.

Bellatrix threw the newspapers back onto the desk, almost knocking off her untouched coffee. "It's too late to pay them a visit now," she said contemplatively. "And it would be utterly stupid to arrive there without any sort of a plan. I reckon we should get back and try to come up with something while we still have time."

Hermione was particular not to raise her eyebrows. Since when did Bellatrix count her in without Hermione insisting on it? Since when did she talk to her relatively politely? Wow, she must have been truly preoccupied with Alice Montgomery so as to forget to insult her with every word that exited her mouth.

"Come!" Bellatrix leapt to her feet. She seized the copy with the article about the orphanage and, leaving the rest of the Prophets sprawled all over the table, made to leave. Hermione, however, grabbed as many as she could and carried them back to their place. When she turned to get back for more, she saw all of them rushing toward her like an angry flock of seagulls. Hastily, she pressed herself against the bookcase on her left to avoid the collision and, half-startled half-fascinated, watched them pause in front of the bookshelf before sorting themselves into even piles and hopping right in. She glanced at Bellatrix, noticing she was holding a wand in her right hand.

"Move it," she ordered in a tired voice, waiting until Hermione made her way to her so they could set off together.

As they were walking side by side, Hermione couldn't help thinking of how differently Bellatrix was acting today—honestly, if she imagined away her pretended kindness back in Malfoy Manor and those several insults in the morning, this was the nicest she had been to her so far... But then it was most likely because they had hardly spoken to one another. Hermione wasn't naive; she was almost sure that once the initial wave of Bellatrix's excitement subsided, she would be back to her nasty self and would most likely try to make up for the lost time by being twice as mean to her.

They made it to the librarian desk. Mrs Benson's shift must have already ended because a middle-aged wizard in a scarlet robe had taken her place and so Hermione had no chance at saying goodbye. Perhaps next time, she told herself—if there was going to be a next time.

Expecting Bellatrix to stop at the desk for a check-out, Hermione slowed down but the witch walked past it with the newspapers still in her hand. Hermione jogged after her, whispering, "We need to—" but Bellatrix brushed her off.

"Don't be such a goody-goody!"

Great. They were stealing.

Sending a nervous smile to the librarian who didn't seem to have noticed anything, she was pulled forward by her cardigan by the impatient Bellatrix. They Disapparated second later.

They were back in the chamber in which Hermione had spent the entire week reading books, kicking the bed and cursing the day Dumbledore had thought of his plan. She looked at Bellatrix who distanced herself from her by a few steps and was currently unrolling the Daily Prophet, eyeing the front page.

"I'll send them an owl tomorrow morning," she said.

"With the letter saying what?"

Bellatrix looked at her as though Hermione had insulted her in some way, daring to ask questions, and Hermione anticipated a nasty telling off but to her great surprise, Bellatrix answered.

"That I'd like to arrange a meeting with the owner?" she quipped coldly, walking over to the armchair by the window. She picked up Hermione's 'History of Magic' from the seat and recklessly threw it on the floor before sitting down and crossing her legs. Had anyone else done this, Hermione would not control herself the way she did now. Biting her tongue, she merely shook her head, reminding herself she couldn't say a word about it; she'd finally reached a neutral ground with Bellatrix and ruining it in a matter of seconds because of a book would be just stupid.

Better refocus on something much more important—Alice Montgomery, namely.

"I see," she said, watching Bellatrix's dark eyes move from the article to her. "And... are you going to ask Mrs Montgomery about the relics directly?"

"Why, sure! Because I am that thick, Granger." Bellatrix tipped her head to the side. "I won't even shake her hand but ask her straightforwardly to tell me where she keeps the heirlooms of her long since buried auntie Hepsie." Bellatrix rolled her eyes, getting back to the article. "Of course I'm not going to ask her directly, stupid girl!"

"I didn't mean it like that," objected Hermione, feeling her cheeks flush. "I was thinking more of whether you're planning on going there as yourself or someone else—let's say, a journalist interested in the history of the orphanage."

"Are you trying to push your ideas on me again?"

"Of course not! I'm just thinking out loud."

"Good, because you're not in charge here, Granger, remember that!" said Bellatrix in a clear quiet voice.

Hermione looked at her shoes. "I do; I was only trying to help, nothing else."

Bellatrix remained quiet for a while, before exhaling loudly. "Fine then. Do tell me what that brilliant mudblood brain of yours has come up with."

Hermione's eyes snapped back to Bellatrix's challenging face, the two feelings battling inside her. Her dignity was urging her to stay quiet but her love for her family screamed louder—swallow the pride, don't mind her; so what that she insults you, so what?! Her words mean nothing!

"I was just thinking that if we went undercover," started Hermione slowly. "We could get the answers from her inconspicuously. See, even if Alice still has the heirlooms in her possession, she may not be very eager to sell them; and since I doubt you'd take no for an answer, it's better if she doesn't see our faces for reasons I'd rather not think of. We could pretend that we're someone else... I don't know... researchers or perhaps a family—"

"A family?" Bellatrix let out an arrogant chuckle. "You want us to take the polyjuice potion and pretend to be a married couple hoping to adopt a child or what?"

Hermione turned a brighter red. That wasn't what she had in mind at all!

"Because if so," Bellatrix went on. "Let me tell you that I'd rather do my own autopsy than agree to that!"

"You could never do your own—" started Hermione but paused. Hang on. "How come you know that term? It's not a magical procedure and you couldn't possibly—"

Maybe it was a hallucination but Bellatrix all of a sudden seemed to be slightly pink herself. "As I was saying," she ignored the remark, "over my dead body!" She folded the Daily Prophet in half and flipped the curls running down her chest over her shoulder, her leg bouncing.

Hermione gave her an inquiring look before clarifying, "No, when I said family I didn't mean that kind of bond; also, I'd much rather use a Disguising spell than the Polyjuice potion: works just as well and saves us twice as much time."

Bellatrix smirked. "You mean I could use it. If I remember correctly, you've still got a Trace on you and probably don't even know how to cast it."

Drawing her head back, Hermione folded her arms "Excuse me? I was the first one in my class who managed to perform it!"

"Should I congratulate you on not being a complete moron?"

Hermione dug her nails into her cardigan so as not to retaliate. "Anyway, what I was thinking was going as a mother and daughter or—"

"We are not doing that!"

"It was just a suggestion! There's no need to be so," Hermione stopped herself just in time before saying something she might regret. She breathed deeply before starting anew. "How about some non-profit organisation then—we might offer them a donation."

"You mean to offer my gold to support filthy little mudbloods?"

"Children. To support children!" said Hermione hastily. "I may come as your assistant. You could invent a whole new identity and say your great great something was friends with Madame Smith and—"

Sighing, Bellatrix uncrossed her legs and stood up from the chair. "You're overcomplicating things; besides, all of those ideas are lousy."

Hermione gave her a look of disdain. "At least I'm trying; besides, it's really late. We've spent the entire day reading and I'm exhausted. I'm sorry that I'm not throwing perfect ideas at your feet just like that. I think we should go to sleep and try to think of something tomorrow with a clear mind. And..." she paused, gulping. "While at it... I think we should start with Apparition lessons. I did my part. I've found you a corpus deus. Two—perhaps four of them, actually."

Bellatrix's jaw tensed up visibly. She presented Hermione with a furious look before turning on her heel and storming away, saying nothing to that.

Hermione could only hope that it was a sign of her resignation.

—

The next morning Hermione woke up to the unceasing knocking sound wafting from her bedroom window. She jolted upright, rubbing her eyes at the sudden daylight before peering toward the noise. Two barn owls were waiting outside, taking turns at pecking the glass. Hermione threw the covers aside and rushed to the window, jerking it open. The owls soared through, letting in the chilly morning air, making Hermione's arms prickle with goosebumps under her pyjamas. They both landed on the frame of her bed, the one on the left carrying a golden envelope while the other, a little larger owl—two modest-sized parcels.

A surge of exaltation entered Hermione. Perhaps it was mail from Draco! It was about time, after all—she had been waiting for his reply for seven days straight already; he must have remembered that her birthday was in two days, that stinkpot; oh how Hermione missed him!

Unburdening the two owls, she gave them an apologetical look for having no treats to offer to them; the best she could do was to fill the bathroom sink with water to at least let them freshen up. She only hoped Bellatrix would not pay her a visit now because she was certain the witch would kill her for establishing owl wellness in her house.

Leaving the bathroom door open, Hermione returned to the bedroom, closing the window half-way to reduce the cold. She sat on her bed and seized the golden envelope first. As soon as she took out the letter and unfolded it, she felt someone kiss her left cheek, then right and then her forehead—that last one scratched a little. Parting her lips, Hermione recognised her mom's handwriting and her eyes immediately filled with tears. Unable to read, she was holding the letter in her hands as though it was something sacred. Her mom, her lovely mom, she was writing to her...

Swallowing a lump in her throat, it had taken Hermione a while to get a grip and bring herself to look at the words.

Dear Hermione,

We have no idea how long it will take for the owl to reach you so we're sending it a couple days earlier to get to you in time. Perhaps it's not your birthday yet but we'd rather be early than too late. We were planning a huge birthday party for you, meaning to invite all of your friends over, but then the letter of your acceptance arrived. We didn't have the heart to spoil it for you so we didn't say anything and rather cancelled the preparations, thinking we'd celebrate once you get back. And you bet we will!

Now there's nothing we can do but to send you a letter and a few kisses—one from mom, one from dad and one from Blair.

Hermione's stomach leaped as though she'd just taken off on the rollercoaster. She let go of the letter, reaching her hands to her cheeks, but didn't get to touch them.

She heard the flapping of wings and looking up, realised that the owls had already returned from the bathroom and were ready to set off. Wiping her eyes, she dashed to the half-open window and let them out; she needed some time to process everything before writing a well-composed reply instead of an emotion-soaked mess anyway.

Closing the window and settling back onto the warm bed, Hermione seized the letter again, smiling through the tears.

So our dearest, sweetest girl, let us wish you the happiest birthday! You are the loveliest person we've had the privilege to know and we can be nothing but proud of you for growing into such a wise and beautiful young woman! We love you so much and we wish you nothing but sheer happiness and success beyond your wildest dreams; Ever since you blessed our lives, we've known that you were born to do great things! We're sending you a part of something we thought might help you get to them a little faster. Another part of it is going to wait for you here, until you come back to us.

Love, mom and dad.

P.S. We really hope you like it in your new school; Professor Dumbledore sent us a letter as soon as you had arrived reassuring us you're safe and liking everything so far. Hope you still feel the same way. We can't wait for Christmas to hear you tell us all about it!

P.P.S. Open the white parcel first.

The tears were rolling down Hermione's cheeks, big as glass marbles. For the first time in forever, she felt loved and cared for again and tried hard not to think about the fact there would be no Christmas with them this year.

Her hands reached for the parcel, already grateful for whatever was inside. She unwrapped a small white box in which she found a set of shiny car keys.

Jesus, had her parents got her a car? No! No, no! No! Hermione closed her eyes in despair.

Despite the fact that the Grangers weren't poor in the least, she couldn't help feeling guilty about them having spent so much money on her. They shouldn't have given her something so expensive, she would get a car herself once she saved enough money rather than just taking it as a gift from someone who had no idea who she even was! Hermione couldn't be further from the person they had raised her to be and reading all those praises made her unbelievably ashamed of the fact. She was a liar; such a filthy little liar, and the worst part was that she couldn't change a thing about it...

She wondered whether there was hope for her one day, hope that she could be sincere again, that she could sit down and talk to her parents, to Draco, to everyone and tell them about everything without pretenses.

Sucking back her tears, Hermione looked down. At her knees there lay unopened the second parcel. There on the list was Blair's name; Hermione had her kiss imprinted on one of her tingling cheeks... Could it be that this present was from her? Hermione still remembered the one she had received for Christmas from her; till this day it remained untouched inside the nightstand in her bedroom back home. Should she open this one? After all, it might not even be from her…

Hermione held her breath as she carefully unwrapped the parcel, not knowing what to expect.

A small piece of paper fell out. Did she want to read it? Hesitant, she took it into her hands, flipping it over.

Hermione let go of the note as though burnt and leapt from her bed. It was from Blair.

She could not read it, she couldn't! Pacing back and forth with her heart racing, she kept biting her nails, indecisive of what to do.

She glanced at it nervously. What might be the harm of just having a look... Besides, it was most likely a simple birthday wish...

She extended her arm but paused mid-air.

What if...

Oh, she was being ridiculous!

Reaching for the note again, Hermione brought it up to her eyes, trying not to mind her thumping heart and the fact that just a couple days ago, Blair's hands had held it too.

The necklace was a gift for my eighteenth birthday from my godmother who wished for me to pass it on to my own goddaughter once she comes of age; I know that technically you're not my godchild, but you're my precious English puff pastry and there's no one I'd rather give it to than you. Happy Birthday, love!

Blair

Unable to draw a breath, Hermione was staring at the note, reading it over and over until her eyes were filled with such heavy tears she could not see anything anymore. Lowering herself onto the sheets, she buried her face in the pillow. Again and again, she was falling down the rabbit hole—that is, if she'd ever stopped falling. Her heart was bleeding the way it had never bled. Why would Blair write her something like that when she knew how Hermione felt about her? Why? Was she trying to break her completely?

My precious English puff pastry... Hermione had to chuckle even through the tears as an enormous wave of warmth and tenderness was buzzing through her body.

And... she had written my. My as though…

No, stop!

Hermione had to try hard to not twist her words around and see in them what she wished to see instead of what Blair actually meant.

Breathe...

After Hermione had managed to control the tears, she sat back with a heavy sigh, looking at the small rose gold gift box that went along with the note. Necklace... Blair shouldn't have worried about giving her anything; not after Hermione's silent treatment that had lasted for twelve months straight so far. Besides, the note itself was worth thousands of gifts to her; she would have been all over the moon even if she had received just that small piece of paper. But no, Blair must be her extra self and give her a gift of such sentimental value that Hermione felt undeserving of accepting.

Having stared at the box for several moments, she finally took it into her perspiring hands, tracing it with her index finger. Hermione surveyed it up close before burying it in her palms, the suppressed love burning in her blood hotly.

What was she to do?

Slowly, she placed the box onto her knees before finally bringing herself to open it.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"No... Blair..."

There, on a small soft pillow, lay Blair's necklace, her necklace—not just some jewellery that she'd kept locked away in a box for years but her very own silver necklace with a tiny crystal on the side that as far as Hermione knew, Blair had not taken off her neck once. She remembered tracing it with her hands when she was just a little child and she also remembered the hot Greek sun reflecting from it last summer.

It was far too much to take in for Hermione. How could Blair have given her something so personal? Just... how?

Tentatively, she lifted the necklace from the box, letting it rest in her palm as though it was the most fragile thing she'd ever held—not because it might have been very expensive, not because it was a piece of jewellery but because it was somehow a piece of a living, breathing Blair; a small part of her that she had given to Hermione to have.

If it was possible to die from feeling too much love, Hermione would not live for another second. Every atom of her body was filled with melancholic affection.

Letting the chain slide through her fingers, she brought the tiny crystal closer to her eyes, a faint hint of gardenia scent filling her nostrils. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach clenching. It was Blair's perfume... gracious heavens, how was Hermione to survive now—

No, no, no! This wasn't the right time or place to lose her head.

She took in a sharp gulp of breath, trying to regain her control. She wiped her eyes hastily, forbidding her mind to think of any sort of plans on how to run after Blair.

Faced with the conundrum of whether or not she deserved to wear the necklace, she considered a lot of arguments before finally coming to a decision. If Blair wanted her to have it, who was she to fight her?

Hermione placed it around her neck carefully, clipping it at the back, and pressed the cold silver, fresh from Blair's skin, against her skin. An incredible wave of warmth flooded her abdomen. After all those months spent without her, Hermione felt that finally, she had Blair near and her heart itself could not calm down at the thought. Her eyes, too, were dripping with tears like two rivers and yet she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

She was happy. Insanely happy. And—

The bedroom door flung open, making Hermione flinch in alarm. She quickly turned her back on the intruder and pulled her pyjama top closer to her neck.

"What is this?" said Bellatrix Lestrange's voice gruffly from behind her back. "If I remember correctly, you wanted to train, so what are you still doing dressed in that ridiculous attire, may I ask?"

Wiping her tears, Hermione jumped to her feet. She grabbed the silk bathrobe from the nearby chair and wrapped it over her shoulders; fastening the sash, she replied with a clogged nose: "Well, it's still quite early, isn't it?"

"Wh.. have you been crying again?" snorted Bellatrix in disdain. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"

Biting her tongue, Hermione turned around to face her and almost gasped in shock—if she had thought Bellatrix's appearance couldn't get any worse, she had been mistaken. The witch couldn't have slept one hour straight last night: her skin was even more ghastly, her lips pale violet and her eyes so bloodshot Hermione's very own began to sting.

"What is it?" asked Bellatrix. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You didn't sleep last night, did you..." stated Hermione, feeling the warmth drain from within her.

Bellatrix snorted a chuckle of surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Did you?"

"Not that it is any of your business, muddy..." she raised her eyebrows.

Hermione bit her tongue, knowing she had no right to confront Bellatrix about her life choices, and yet—

"You look incapacitated."

Bellatrix considered her for a while before licking her lips and smirking. "Oh...Do I no longer meet your expectations—is that what you meant? Am I not attractive enough for you now?"

Hermione furrowed her brows. "My expectations? I couldn't care less about the way you look if it weren't for your health," she blurted coldly. "I care about the fact that you're going to make yourself very ill if you don't stop being so reckless with yourself. You can't just go without sleep, without food, without drinking!"

"What the hell has gotten into you?" asked Bellatrix, her amusement wavering, turning into sheer bewilderment.

"I just," started Hermione but paused, unable to explain—she herself had no idea why she was reacting the way she was. "Look... you need to take care of yourself; we won't go far if you end up in St Mungo's due to sleep deprivation or something as equally serious!"

"Alright." Bellatrix glanced to the floor, letting out a small conceited titter. "I'm not going to let some punk lecture me about what I should or shouldn't do!" she said, voice rising; she took a few steps forward, coming to a halt alongside the opposite side of the bed. Hermione noticed that up close she looked like a hospice patient, which pained her even more than Bellatrix's unceasing insults as she went on. "You're far too young and far too daft to have any idea what you're talking about! Don't trouble your head with my health if you don't want to worry about yours." Bellatrix lifted her eyebrows, her gaze flicking toward the bed, then back at Hermione and again to the bed. The barely visible lines on her forehead deepened. "What's that?"

Hermione followed the direction of her gaze, seeing that Bellatrix was looking at the small piece of paper lying across the messy sheets. Her stomach turned over in sheer dread.

"Ah, this?" she shrugged impassively, thinking on her feet. "It's just a letter my parents sent me—no, no, don't worry," she added upon registering a fresh new display of fury stealing over Bellatrix's face. "I didn't contact them; they wrote to me first and the owl found me without the address; nobody knows where I am... including me."

She grabbed Blair's note along with the real letter from her parents, folding it hastily before shoving it into the pocket of her bathrobe.

"Read it for me."

Hermione looked at Bellatrix's uncompromising face, her insides plummeting.

"Didn't you hear me? I asked you to read the letter for me!"

Hermione reached into her pocket, feeling for the letters. Strategically, she drew out the note from Blair first, hoping that perhaps Bellatrix might take it as a sign of Hermione purposefully trying to hide the second letter from her.

"The other one."

Almost gasping from relief, Hermione put Blair's note back and pulled out the letter from her parents instead. Unfolding it, she cleared her throat; there were no kisses on her face this time.

"Dear Hermione," she started hesitantly. "We have no idea how long it will take for the owl to reach you so we're sending it a couple days earlier to get to you in time. Perhaps it's not your birthday yet but we'd rather be early than too late. We were planning a huge birthday party for you, meaning to invite all of your friends over, but then the letter of your acceptance arrived. We didn't have the heart to spoil it for you so we didn't say anything and rather cancelled the preparations, thinking we'd celebrate once you get back. And you bet we will! Now there's nothing we can do but to send you a letter full of kisses from both of us," read Hermione, changing that part a bit. "So our dearest—"

"Alright, that's enough," said Bellatrix quietly. "Now, what is this letter of acceptance your dear parents wrote about?"

Heart skipping a beat, Hermione folded the parchment and tucked it back into her pocket, saying: "I told them I was transferring schools; sent them a fake letter of acceptance to this smaller university in Ireland which focuses on special studies... Special studies that will help me prepare better for the auror program in America I told you about earlier."

Bellatrix curled her lip up at that.

Thinking she was amused by her decision to lie to her parents, Hermione added, "I only did it because I knew you wouldn't appreciate my telling anyone."

"And your parents, they went along with it," said Bellatrix incredulously. "Allowed you to leave Hogwarts for a school they'd never even heard of, believed you blindly?"

"I'd never lied to them before, they had no reason not to," shrugged Hermione, feeling terribly guilty, for her portrayal of that situation suggested her parents must have been pretty naive and simple-minded people; unfortunately, she hadn't had enough time to think of all the aspects of her lies and so it was only natural it had backfired at one point; she just hated that it had to be her parents. "Besides, it's my life and my future," she went on, trying to redeem them a bit. "My parents can't make decisions for me and would never try to; all they ask of me is to be as happy as I can, whatever it is that I choose to do in life."

Bellatrix seemed to be considering her words carefully; Hermione could only guess but felt like she was inwardly collating the parenting methods of the Grangers and that of her own family which must have been exceedingly divergent. It was no secret that children, especially girls, born into pureblood families, had no say in decisions regarding their lives; from the way they carried themselves to how their thoughts were supposed to flow and up to the partner they were to marry and stay with until 'death did them part', they were ordered around in every way possible.

"And what about Hogwarts?" asked Bellatrix again after a moment's pause.

"I sent Dumbledore a detailed letter explaining that I was taking a year off to go abroad with my parents," replied Hermione promptly. "Sent me papers to sign the very next morning. That was it."

Bellatrix fixed her eyes on her, looking genuinely intrigued. "My, my, there's nothing like a well-thought-out plan, is there? Surely, it must've taken you a lot of time to come up with all of these ideas."

Hermione swallowed, knowing exactly what Bellatrix was trying to achieve here. "I had only a couple of hours, actually; you didn't give me much of a warning, did you?"

"Well, you certainly have a talent for thinking on the spot, then," pointed Bellatrix with a discontented look, which Hermione interpreted as: 'perhaps you've gotten away this time, but I'll be trying and trying until you're so entangled in your lies you can't find your way out.'

"Probably."

Snorting, Bellatrix said nothing for a couple of seconds before casting about. "Well, get yourself dressed; that is if you still want to learn how to Apparate," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"I do, I'll be right back." Hermione grabbed her beaded purse from under her pillow and strode off to the bathroom where she changed into a pair of skinny jeans and plain black t-shirt. She took a sip of water straight from the tap and brushed her teeth, the necklace on her neck swaying as she bent over the sink. Pressing it into her chest affectionately, she couldn't help thinking of Blair again. 'There's no one I'd rather give it to than you.' Smiling and with warmth entering her stomach from deep within her heart, she zipped her jumper all the way up to her neck, hiding that little miracle underneath it. Feeling much more optimistic, she gave it a quick squeeze through two layers of clothes before walking out of the bathroom. She found Bellatrix leaning against the window frame, peering into the morning garden.

She turned to Hermione but before she could say anything, there was a small pop and in the middle of the chamber appeared Bellatrix's house elf with a fully loaded tray in his hands. "Miss Hermione, good—" he started but froze as his eyes landed on his mistress, who was staring at him in sheer astonishment.

Folding her arms, she took a few slow confident steps toward his suddenly shaking form. "Who ordered you to bring the girl breakfast?" she asked quietly.

"N—No—no one mistress; no one," replied the house elf. The empty coffee cup on the tray began clinking as his hands trembled more intensely. Hermione gave the witch an anxious look before her eyes snapped to the house elf. In a heartbeat, he set the tray onto the floor and, kneeling, began banging his head against the floor and yelling, "Billey is so very sorry, mistress! Billey is a disgraceful house elf! Bad Billey! Bad! Bad! Bad!"

Hermione cried in horror. "Stop him! I did! I asked him for breakfast," she lied desperately.

"No, you didn't," said Bellatrix, watching the creature on the floor mercilessly.

Hermione ran up to him, crying out, "Please, Billey, don't!" She kneeled down, grabbing his arms and preventing him from injuring himself any further, which was, however, very difficult, for he was struggling and kicking senselessly.

"Don't touch it!" roared Bellatrix but Hermione held onto him stubbornly and so Bellatrix shrieked again, "Get out of my sight, Billey! I'll deal with you later!" The little house elf was immediately gone from Hermione's arms with another small pop.

Breathing hard, Hermione looked up at Bellatrix, repeating firmly, "It's not his fault, I asked him to bring me breakfast."

"Don't lie to me, the filthy must have taken a liking in you," snorted Bellatrix, looking her up and down with disgust. "Well, birds of a feather flock together."

Hermione got to her feet, narrowing her eyes. "You know what? I actually think that rather than being cross, you should be grateful," she said bluntly. "Because if it wasn't for Billey, I wouldn't have eaten once this week and I doubt that I'd be of any help in such condition."

For a second, Bellatrix looked taken aback but then composed her face into her usual arrogant scowl. "Take out your wand," she said abruptly.

Hermione felt her stomach drop to her feet.

"For Apparating," added Bellatrix, rolling her eyes as she surveyed Hermione's expression.

Relieved but at the same time a bit startled at Bellatrix leaving the argument opened, Hermione did as she was told, drawing her wand from the pocket of her jeans. Bellatrix obviously wasn't in the mood for rowing, or perhaps she was too tired—she most definitely looked it.

"So I expect you already have some notion as to how it works," said Bellatrix, turning from her and seating herself in the same armchair as yesterday, the shadows overcasting the red undertones of her under eyes grimly.

"Yes, Mr. Twycross, our instructor, advised us to keep in mind the three D's; that is—"

"Disaster, discomfort, distraction?" interjected Bellatrix, letting out a soft chuckle. "Because that's the precise epitome of his method."

Destination, Determination, Deliberation, was what Hermione meant to say. Did Bellatrix actually have any respect for anyone beside herself?

"Forget about those," snorted the witch, leaning her back against the chair. "All you have to keep in mind is strong confidence in yourself: you must have no doubts, that's it." She looked Hermione up and down. "Try it."

"Here? But at Hogwarts—"

Bellatrix tilted her head. "You don't want to splinch, do you?"

"No, of course not."

"Then don't question my decisions," she drawled in an annoyed voice. "Contrary to Twycross, I believe the more familiar the environment is, the better—there are far fewer distractions and you can fully concentrate on your chosen destination. Also, you don't have to worry about bumping into anyone since there's just the two of us. Believe me, I remember how chaotic it was back when I was learning it."

Hermione nodded, a bit surprised that Bellatrix was capable of sympathising with her on some level; moreover, her approach made a lot more sense to her than Mr Twycross' idea of putting all of the sixth years into one vast room and asking them to focus. It wasn't possible, especially when some students, like Neville Longbottom, used the wooden hoop they were supposed to Apparate into as a hula hoop.

"Alright, so if you're done asking questions..." Bellatrix lifted her chin, grazing her lower lip with her teeth.

Blinking, Hermione looked away, giving an awkward half-shrug, her eyes pausing on the tray on the floor. "Sure, I'll just put this aside," she said, striding toward it and setting it on her nightstand while trying to ignore the fresh scent of ground coffee. As she faced Bellatrix again, one more question popped inside her mind, nevertheless. "Ehm and what about the permission from ministry? To use magic?" she asked.

"Don't let that bother you," said Bellatrix with a smile. "You're not going back to Hogwarts anyway, are you?"

A wave of distress washed over Hermione. "Well, for now, but I was hoping to return eventually! I—if I get expelled, I—my parents..."

"Oh yes, I just can't imagine what they would say!" Bellatrix faked concern but then smirked. "God, don't start whining; of course I got you the permission. I have no desire to deal with bloody Ministry workers now."

Hermione wasn't persuaded. "Promise?"

"Don't be infantile and get on with it, we don't have the entire day!"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

"Come stand over here," ordered Bellatrix, motioning to the middle of the room, where Billey had Apparated just minutes ago. "You must believe it's happening; it must be the same sort of certainty as for walking or breathing—the one which you don't even think about for you simply know your body won't fail you."

Nodding, Hermione walked to the place Bellatrix had chosen for her. "Where should I apparate to?" she asked but waited for the answer in vain; Bellatrix was just staring at her, making her so bloody uncomfortable—Hermione didn't want her to see her fail but knew that it was exactly what was going to happen.

"You seem uncertain," noted Bellatrix, rolling her eyes to the side. "That's not going to help."

Clearing her throat, Hermione turned her back to her, hoping it might be easier if she didn't see her. It turned out it wasn't. As she focused her mind on the spot in front of her nightstand and spun, nothing happened.

Hermione's cheeks flushed harder.

"Try again!"

Hermione tried again; and again, and again, unwilling to give up but all of her attempts had the same result. On her fourth try, she even tripped over her own feet. Surprisingly, Bellatrix did not comment on that or anything—well, except for that time when Hermione cursed under her breath—that's when she let out a soft chuckle.

Vexed, Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, chiding herself inwardly—come on, Hermione; you're a witch, for Merlin's sake, the top of your class, and if Gregory Goyle learnt to apparate, how come you can't?!

Concentrating all of her senses, she spun for the fifth time, absolutely sure that nowshe was going to Apparate. Her entire body was consumed by a terrible choking sensation and she thought for a second that she had done something wrong and was going to die in the process but then the feeling subsided and she crashed into her nightstand, knocking the tray full of food onto the floor, almost scalding herself with the steaming coffee. She watched as the pumpkin juice, porridge, and scrambled eggs all splashed across the floor in one fine mess.

"Now, I'm hesitant whether to congratulate you on having finally Apparated or wonder at what a clumsy piece of work you are," said Bellatrix from the chair.

"I'd prefer congratulating," murmured Hermione, steadying herself. She pointed her wand to the floor, quickly whispering, "Evanesco!" to clean up the spilled food.

"If you manage to Apparate again, perhaps I will."

Hermione felt a jolt of surprise pinch her stomach; she tried again and Apparated to the foot of the bed now, two feet away from the smirking Bellatrix. She tried five more times, of which all were successful.

"Good, Granger, now if anything happens and I can't Apparate," joked Bellatrix, referring to their initial conversation from a week ago, "you could certainly do something."

Hermione smiled at the remark to which Bellatrix responded with a playful smirk herself; however, it disappeared the very next second.

"So, I taught you how to apparate, you told me about the dreams. I think we're done here," said Bellatrix as she slowly stood up from the armchair and smoothed down her skirt. "I'll be back for you in five hours," she added. "We're going to visit the orphanage of Goodwill."

The excitement wired through Hermione's veins like electricity. She was going to the orphanage with Bellatrix... but that meant...

"Or have you changed your mind?" the witch asked, completely misinterpreting the emotions displayed on Hermione's face—she quickly shook her head.

"I hate the idea of giving the little bastards anything but I guess people are more willing to talk when they feel indebted." Bellatrix curled her lips. "Of course, we'd have to alter our appearance because if this goes public, I'm going to have to kill myself... No one must know!"

"So... have you decided to donate anything?" asked Hermione, trying not to feel too smug about the fact Bellatrix had once again decided to go along with her plan.

"Yes, two thousand galleons," she replied with distaste, Hermione's mouth opening agape at that. Even though for Bellatrix it must have been more like two sickles, still, it was a lot of gold which might help the orphanage immensely.

"Don't look so happy," said Bellatrix. "I might still curse the gold if I feel like it, which I strongly do."

Hermione's unconscious smile faltered. "Why would you do something like that?"

"To feel better."

"To feel better about doing something nice?" she asked in disbelief. "Please... it's bad enough for those children as it is; besides, curses like that can always backfire?"

"Not if you cast them right."

"Please, just don't do it!"

Bellatrix snickered. "Do you realise that your begging me not to do it only makes me want it more?"

"So I guess I'll just keep quiet."

"Smart decision," she remarked as she walked past Hermione. When she reached the door, Hermione cleared her throat.

Pausing, Bellatrix turned.

"I just wanted to say... thank you," said Hermione with a blush. "For teaching me."

Bellatrix considered her for a second before turning back and walking away, closing the door behind her.

—

While Hermione waited for Bellatrix to return, she could feel the thoughts inside her mind swirling as if on a Venetian carousel. They were visiting the Orphanage of Goodwill in about an hour; the place located only four streets away from Hermione's house... from her mom and dad and if... and if Blair hadn't left yet, from her too.

Hermione was almost sick from the pulverised excitement that reverberated through her being and could not let her keep still for one second straight. What if she saw her? What if she didn't? Hermione couldn't tell which case frightened her more.

She was pacing like a caged lion and it was not until she heard a sudden noise coming from the bed that she paused her strolling. Spinning, she caught sight of Billey's slouching form setting the silver tray onto the sheets with his shaky hands.

Before Hermione could say a word, he blurted while keeping his eyes pointed to the ground, "Please, miss Hermione, say nothing to Mistress Bellatrix," and disappeared into thin air quickly; she hadn't even had a chance to thank him. Touched, she walked over to the bed, eyeing the plate of roast pork served with mushroom sauce and boiled potatoes, and a cup of steaming broth with silver cutlery and the snow-white napkin on the side.

Oh Billey, you shouldn't have run the risk for my sake like that, she thought, her heart warming at his gesture. Bellatrix might think of Billey whatever she wanted but to Hermione, he possessed more nobleness than any pureblood out there. She just hoped the witch wasn't anywhere near to witness his hospitality for the second time in a row today.

She was unbelievably grateful for him being so thoughtful in spite of Bellatrix's wrath, but since she felt far too nervous to eat, Hermione ate just a couple of spoonfuls of the broth for the sake of decency before taking the tray to the bathroom and setting it onto the sink. Billey would certainly find it and Bellatrix would certainly not go in there.

Ten minutes later, Bellatrix strode in confidently, dressed in a beautiful and most likely incredibly expensive graphite dress; it looked more like something from Narcissa Malfoy's wardrobe than her own which Hermione had suspected consisted of nothing but black. What a shame, though, for softer colours certainly suited Bellatrix very much too; even her skin looked healthier as compared to how it had looked this morning. The only worrying thing left was her significant weight loss which made the dress hang like a sack on her.

"Here," she threw a green mass of fabric that she was carrying onto the bed on her way to Hermione. "Go get changed and take this." She extended her right arm with her palm open. There on the pale skin rested the same glass ampoule of bright violet liquid as last summer when Bellatrix had demanded Hermione changed her appearance for the ball.

"And what about you?" asked Hermione as she held her palm up, watching Bellatrix reverse hers and drop the ampoule into Hermione's.

"What about me?"

"Aren't you altering your appearance, too?" she asked, eyeing Bellatrix's complexion which looked much better now.

"But I already did, muddypie," she replied and subsequently sighed at Hermione's confused expression. "I used a simple spell that doesn't necessarily change the features but rather makes it impossible to remember them. While people might see me, their memories would display the face of someone completely different. Is that a sufficient enough explanation for you?" she asked smugly.

Even though Hermione nodded, she was unable to remember if she had ever heard of such a spell. Deciding to test it, she looked away and tried recalling Bellatrix's face. She let out a small gasp of surprise. Indeed, when she wasn't looking at her, her mind constructed the image of a pretty woman in her prime with bright red hair and round freckled face.

"That's brilliant," she blurted out. "What kind of spell is that?"

"The 'Hurry up and do as I say' kind," replied Bellatrix, raising her eyebrows, and Hermione got the point immediately. Wasting no time, she placed the cold ampule onto her tongue and sent it down her throat. She'd done this before and chose not to suspect Bellatrix of giving her a potion that would make a chicken head out of her own. Having suffered through the uncomfortable sensation of a hot pancake sliding down her face, Hermione felt normal again. Taking the dress from the bed, she walked to the bathroom, careful to open the door in a way that wouldn't reveal the tray on the sink but as she stepped inside, she realised that it had already vanished.

Closing the door behind her, she peered into the mirror and found that she had become the same girl she had been at the ball one year ago; she had the same big grey eyes, the same pointy nose and plump lips; somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered whether the girl of such appearance existed or it was all just the work of Bellatrix's creativity.

She changed into the plain emerald robe which had a strong camphor smell to it as if it had been hanging in the attic drawer for ages and, coughing, smoothed down the tight front. Hermione was grateful for its modesty since it covered up Blair's necklace quite efficiently but at the same time vexed, for the rough material was scratchy as hell. Hermione could only hope she wouldn't get any sort of allergic reaction to it.

Having taken a quick look into the mirror, she pulled out a pair of bobby pins from the pocket of her jeans and twisted the front strands framing her face, clipping them in the back. Then she pinched her cheeks to cover up the fairness a bit and returned to Bellatrix.

"Good," she said, putting a scrutinising look over her. "You look plain."

Hermione walked past her to her nightstand and, taking the beaded purse into her hand, asked: "So, who am I supposed to be?"

"My timid little niece, Anna."

Oh, so they were pretending to be a family, after all; Hermione could only wonder as to who had kidnapped the real Bellatrix and replaced her with this version who was willing to link herself to Hermione in such a way...

"Obviously, while we are there," Bellatrix went on. "You are not to speak except to say hello, yes, no and goodbye, understood?"

Hermione nodded. Then Bellatrix cast another searing look at her. "So... how about you try apparating this time," she said finally. "The permission from Ministry lasts until eight p.m."

Having heard that, Hermione almost choked on her own saliva. Wait, what?! Was Bellatrix asking her to apparate? Did she even realise what it was she had said? That she had indirectly hinted that she trusted Hermione with her own life?! Hermione doubted that strongly.

"I'm only asking because you know where that orphanage is," clarified Bellatrix with a look that suggested 'don't misinterpret my words!' "We cannot use any of the fireplaces in this house to avoid being tracked down if anything happens. Instead, I'd have to apparate to Leaky Cauldron and use one of their fireplaces to get into the Orphanage, which I don't feel like doing since I don't intend to smell of ashes. Besides, Apparating to London is nothing that difficult, surely even a mudblood like you can manage."

Oddly enough, even Bellatrix's insult couldn't erase Hermione's still very much ongoing astonishment.

"Well," she started but couldn't finish. She wasn't confident to do this just yet; it was too dangerous to travel over such distance, let alone be responsible for someone else; what if she hurt Bellatrix? She looked too fragile as it was and if she was to make her even sicker—

'How sweet of you to put her well-being above your own,' the voice inside her mind pointed casually, the embodiment of which Hermione pictured as a thirty-year-old gay man filing his nails with a pink nail file.

It's not only that! She objected inwardly. What if she instead of Southern Avenue Apparated into her own house? Such misfortune would mess up their plans significantly; Hermione would have to rely on Bellatrix to explain it to Hermione's parents and perhaps Blair that her niece Anna, who'd be too dumbstruck to speak, was preparing for her Apparating test and accidentally ended up in their house...

"Very well, the Leaky Cauldron it is then!" Bellatrix ended her ordeal. Impatient as always, she stepped closer and took hold of Hermione's skirt but then Hermione blurted, "Wait!"

Her heart jumped into her throat like a puck in a high striker game. She mustn't refuse a chance like this and let Bellatrix think she was a coward; it would be like taking three steps backwards; finally she had her trust like this and her reaction was 'I can't because I'm afraid'? Hell no!

"I'll try, I'll do it."

Bellatrix visibly suppressed a smirk. "Will you?"

"Yes... but it's been a while since I've been on the Southern Avenue; the place might have changed a lot and I wouldn't want to risk ending up somewhere in Bristol; I'd much rather apparate somewhere near my house if it's no trouble...?"

Bellatrix only threw her hand at that, looking at Hermione in expectation.

"Okay..." Hermione moistened her lips, putting the beaded purse into the vast pocket of the dress while taking her wand out of the other. Then her stomach sank. She realised that she was to touch Bellatrix. But how could she? Bellatrix hated physical contact, especially when it came to Hermione! But then, she had asked her to do this, she must expect... must know...

"Before the day is out, Granger..."

Holding her breath, Hermione hesitantly reached toward Bellatrix's hand, her fingertips coming into contact with the cold, satin-soft skin of her palm. Next second she flinched, retrieving as Bellatrix wrenched her hand away.

"What are you doing?" she snapped.

"I—I was just trying to—"

"You don't have to hold my hand! The robe is just as good! I swear if you' trying—"

"No, no, no!" Hermione tried to fix it. "I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I promise I wasn't trying to take advantage of the situation!" she clarified quickly. While she herself thought it was a harmless touch, something was telling her it wasn't like that for Bellatrix at all and that she needed to explain herself before Bellatrix got the wrong idea. "I just... look, you are obviously very good at this; you're good if you just hold somebody's clothes but this is the first time I'm doing this and I don't trust myself enough to hold just a part of your robe. It's too dangerous and I wouldn't want you to splinch; I need to have a tight grip! Besides, it's only going to be a second..."

Bellatrix was staring at her with distaste while wiping her hand against her robe. "Fine," she said after a while of obvious thinking. "Do it but be quick; I wouldn't want to catch—"

Hermione waited for something painful to come but oddly, Bellatrix halted herself.

Progress...

Gulping, Hermione tried again. Her fingers slipped along Bellatrix's freezing palm and pressed against the back of her hand. Her stomach flipped as though a cluster of butterflies fluttered around in it. Trying to ignore the sensation, she tightened her grip, for Bellatrix's hand remained limp the whole time; imagining the side road beside the houses on her street, Hermione turned on the spot.

Duskiness enveloped them and the horrible strangling sensation squeezed the breath out her body. She squeezed Bellatrix's hand even tighter.

Feet hitting the ground, her first look went straight to Bellatrix, checking whether she was alright. She must have been as she instantly freed herself from Hermione's grip, hissing like a cat, her long nails scratching Hermione's palm carelessly along the way. Next thing, she was wiping her hand with her robe again but more feverishly.

'It doesn't matter; It doesn't! She can't become a whole different person overnight. Small steps, Hermione... Just focus on being proud of yourself for successfully Apparating!'

"Which way?" Bellatrix turned to her, completely ignoring the awkwardness between them.

With her palm still sensitive from Bellatrix's nails, Hermione cast around. At that instant, she would have sworn she'd just been through a mild heart attack. Thanks to that little chaos of a moment, she had completely forgotten where it was they had Appeared.

Hermione swallowed down a profanity. While she had managed to get them to the street where she lived, it wasn't the end of it as she had intended but rather the beginning, damn it, which meant that now they had to go past her house.

Blair... Hermione's already racing heart doubled in speed. Her mom, daddy...

"This way..." she pointed forward but remained still like a statue. She could not believe she was back, looking at the familiar majestic houses with shiny cars parked in front of them. There were Mrs Clarkes's punch-pink geraniums on the window sills on the left and Thompson's badger-dog Zucchini on the right. And there, a couple of houses ahead of them, Hermione's very own!

If only she could just...

"Come on then," said Bellatrix, disrupting her moment and confidently leading the way. Hermione had to jog after her although it took her just a few strides to reverse their roles. As if to deal with her anxiety, her steps became perhaps a bit too fast and long but fortunately, Bellatrix managed to keep up with her just fine.

They were closer and closer. Hermione's heart was beating so hard she could almost hear it and her legs felt as though they were made of rubber. She felt sick. Sick as though she was about to faint any second now.

What were the odds that her family might be outside, right at this moment? It was still August. The weather was a bit cloudy but other than that it wasn't that cold or windy...

If only Hermione could see her... she wouldn't say a word, wouldn't let it show that that blonde woman outside in the garden of that fine house she and Bellatrix were passing was the most important, the innermost happiness of both her soul and mind, the most cherished, the dearest person to her in this wide world. She wouldn't let Bellatrix know; if only she could just see her, hear her...

"Is it far from here?"

Hermione was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she might throw up. She only shook her head.

Each step carried them closer to her house and Hermione thought it was impossible for Bellatrix not to sense how nervous she was. Her hands were clammy and shaking as she cast a fleeting look at the slate tiles of their roof, just two houses away from them. Her heart almost tore itself out of her chest upon imagining how close she might be to Blair; how very close.

Her ears were ringing and she could hear barely anything except for the rush of her blood. They were one house away. And there was no sound of laughter or conversation coming from her house. None. Hermione gulped, holding her breath while straining her ears to hear something. She didn't. They passed Hermione's house without her letting it show. All the feelings of expectation turned into painful disappointment; so painful her hands had to grasp onto her stomach.

Nevermind... It's okay. It's totally fine. Hermione should be glad actually. What if she had given herself away? What if she had given everything away? No, it was a good thing she hadn't seen Blair.

"Just five more minutes," she said dejectedly but Bellatrix didn't reply.

They were walking in silence, occasionally meeting people, Hermione's heart leaping anytime she heard laughter or talking from the next fork but unfortunately, none of those turned out to belong to the one person she was hoping to see.

Sighing, she side-glanced at Bellatrix before turning her head to her fully. She couldn't be serious...?! Bellatrix couldn't look more snobbish even if she tried; she was keeping her hand close to her nose and mouth as though the air around them smelled of thioacetone; Hermione suspected it must have been due to the muggles passing them by who that drama queen was trying to avoid over such a distance as though they had some contagious illness she could catch if they got too close to her; a few of the people gave her frowning looks and Hermione tried to distract them by smiling, although internally agreed—Bellatrix was straightforwardly rude. To some extent, she understood: given the upbringing Bellatrix had had, and presuming she had never seen as many Muggles in one place before, her reaction was only natural... still, she was an adult and should have known how to behave by now.

After about five minutes of these weird encounters, Hermione spotted the entrance of a shabby little building—the Orphanage of Goodwill. "There it is," she said, nodding forward and across the street.

Bellatrix sped up. Hermione was so glad there were no cars driving at the moment for Bellatrix would have most likely gotten run over—or perhaps, knowing her, it would be the car that would get it. Hermione pushed the image of a burning Ford Anglia out of her mind and rushed after her. She could only pray this went well. They stopped at the heavy oak door. Not even bothering to ring the bell or knock, Bellatrix pushed it open and stepped inside first. As Hermione followed her in, she was instantly smacked in the face with the stench of stale urine and boiled cabbage combined with children's yells and laughter. She heard Bellatrix strangle a cough—at least now she had a reason to shield her nose.

"Mrs Morgan, surely it must be you!" said a kind, mellifluous voice on their left. Hermione turned, her eyes landing on a young woman of a small frame and short canary-yellow hair. She had her arm extended, pointing with her wand at the stack of white sheets in front of her. "I'm Sally, Sally Thornfield, the nursemaid," she introduced herself, smiling. "We've been so looking forward to meeting you!"

"Likewise," said Bellatrix in a fruity voice, beaming herself. Hermione tried to follow her example but felt that her cheeks had gone completely numb. Somehow, suddenly, everything became all too real for her. They were here, doing this, pretending to be someone else, deceiving... and if their plan wasn't to work out, they were to be reduced to doing something illegal and then if convicted, end up in Azkaban for the rest of their lives and—damn it, how on Earth could Dumbledore think this was a good idea?!

"Mrs Montgomery is waiting for you in her office. Please, follow me!"

Sally lead them up the wooden stairs that looked as though just a tiny step could send them crumbling in a heap of battens as it was creaking darkly; the entire place seemed to be half-tumbledown and too grim to be occupied by children, and yet there was still laughter coming from upstairs. Through the open door on the first floor, Hermione caught a glimpse of a small group of three boys around five or six, showing each other their milk teeth and the way they wiggled.

"Let me knock it out for you, Tommy," said the smallest boy on the right. "Did it for Jack last week, didn't even feel a thing, did ya?" He nudged the blonde boy in the middle who smirked and opened his mouth, showing his toothless gums. Hermione's lips curled up at that but Sally let out a desperate sigh.

She rushed inside. "Nigel! Not this nonsense again!," she said in a stern voice before sticking her head back from behind the door, looking at Bellatrix and Hermione apologetically. "You'd have to excuse me, madame, the office is right there, please go ahead." She pointed at the massive door ahead of them. "It was nice meeting you," she added hastily before retreating and saying, "If I catch you one more time trying to make money off of the—" The rest of Sally's sentence was smothered as she shut the door behind her.

Bellatrix glanced at Hermione, probably meaning to say something but then a cheerful voice announced: "Hello!" and a warm palm slipped into Hermione's. Perplexed, she looked down to see something standing somewhere just on the same level as her thighs—a girl of golden braids and wide green eyes, peering back at her.

"Oh hello," she replied automatically and smiled before glancing back at Bellatrix who had already set off for the office. Hermione rushed after her, the little girl following them, too.

All the three of them entered after knocking twice and hearing a joyous, "Come in!"

An elderly lady, as if taken right out of a fairytale, with snow-white hair and generous smile jumped to her feet briskly and dashed to Bellatrix, not even waiting to be offered a handshake but seizing Bellatrix's hand in both of hers and cradling them as though they needed protection.

"Mrs Morgan, what a pleasure," she said, emphasising every word. "I cried when I read your letter! No one has been that generous to us in years! Please, please, have a seat. And you? You must be Anna, darling!" Having turned to Hermione, Ms Montgomery squeezed her hand too.

Hermione couldn't feel worse; the woman looked so kindhearted and sincere, and somehow too old for her age, the premature wrinkles suggesting she must have gone through a lot in her life... and here Hermione was to add some more to that...

"Yes, madame," she said rather quietly, unable to face her, and so rather looked down at the little girl, who was still holding her hand.

"Hannah," said Ms Montgomery suddenly. "What did I tell you about bothering our guests?"

"That I shouldn't do it! But I haven't spoken a word! I swear on my mother's—"

"What did I tell you about swearing on your mother's grave?"

Hermione's heart clenched at hearing that.

"That I shouldn't do it! But I haven't—"

"Alright, alright," Ms Montgomery held out her hand. "Off you go now, I need to talk to—"

"Pleaaaase!" The girl named Hannah began jumping. "I want to stay! I'll be as quiet as a mouse!" she pleaded and Hermione had to smile upon seeing her pout and squeeze her hand even tighter.

"Oh alright!" resigned the witch softly. "But don't want to hear a word from you! Deal?"

"You have my word, Ms Monty!"

Shaking her head, 'Ms Monty' laughed. "Oh that child! But where was I? Oh yes, seat yourselves down!" she repeated as she went to sit behind her desk full of unorganised stacks of papers. "May I offer you something? Some tea, biscuits, perhaps?"

"No, no, thank you," said Bellatrix and Mrs Montgomery turned to Hermione, who shook her head, giving her a small smile. They sat down onto the two unsteady chairs. Hannah let go of Hermione and started prowling closer to Bellatrix.

"Let me express my gratitude again, my dear!"

"Oh please, Mrs Montgomery, don't even mention it! I'm just glad that I can be of any help. Seeing smiles on these tiny little faces is a thank you enough for me!" said Bellatrix, her eyes darting to Hannah, beaming at her affectionately.

Hermione almost burst out. God, Bellatrix was such an actress!

"You are very kind!" said Ms Montgomery, looking at her as though she was the most lovable creature on Earth. "If you don't mind me asking, though," she added curiously. "Why did you pick us, namely?"

"I—" started Bellatrix but paused, distracted by the little Hannah who had just started climbing onto her lap. "I..."

Hermione watched in awe as the girl bestrode her legs, wrinkling the silvery dress with her slippers; her eyes jumped to Bellatrix's face, expectant as to see what she was going to do about it, and had to suppress a strong urge to laugh because she could practically see how greatly Bellatrix was struggling as not to curse the little girl to hell and back.

"Hannah!" lamented Ms Montgomery.

"What? I said nothing!"

The matron buried her face in her palms.

Hannah settled confidently on Bellatrix's lap, facing her. "You are very pretty," she whispered with wide bright eyes, grabbing a handful of Bellatrix's lustrous curls into her hand. "And you have very pretty hair! Like a princess!" Bellatrix's jaw was tense, her eyes unblinking as she tried to compose herself—it was a mudblood touching her and giving her ridiculous compliments after all. "Eh... thank you, love," she said, trying to get her hair back but Hannah had won.

"I'll braid this for you, okay? Don't mind me while I'm doing it, you go on, chat!"

Hermione turned her head aside, rubbing her chin against her shoulder as though she had an itch while biting her cheeks hard. It's not funny! It's not funny, it's not funny!

"So as I was saying," Bellatrix started anew, her usually self-assured voice a bit uncertain now that she was helpless against the child. "My grandmother was a friend of your dear aunt way back when she lived in Scotland and which I reckon this orphanage was named after... ?"

Scotland? That information was new to Hermione. Where had Bellatrix gotten it from?

"Yes, indeed! Well, it used to before we had to change it due to some nasty family business but let's not get into that! I'd much rather hear about your grandmother! May I ask, what was her name? Perhaps auntie Hepsie mentioned her at some point; maybe I will remember. She used to talk to me a lot about her youth," said Ms Montgomery.

"Celia Alderidge," replied Bellatrix and Hermione froze like a rabbit, listening. Why did Bellatrix's imaginary grandmother have the same surname as Blair? She could only hope it was a damn coincidence. It better be!

"Alderidge... Oh, I don't remember her mentioning such name," said Mr Montgomery contemplatively but immediately her face brightened. "But what does it matter, surely they must have been great friends!"

"Yes, great great companions," nodded Bellatrix before drawing back as Hannah shifted and clumsily turned from facing Bellatrix to face Ms Monty as she called her. She leaned against Bellatrix's front fully and placed her dark hair over her own tiny shoulder to continue her work.

Bellatrix was smiling the whole time but Hermione knew she was livid; and Hermione enjoyed it immensely.

"They bonded over a mutual passion for collecting precious relics—at least, that's what she told me," suggested Bellatrix, eyeing the woman in front of her. Meanwhile, Hannah had finished the first braid, pulling down the pink scrunchie from her own hair, securing Bellatrix's with it.

"Here, you can keep it!" she said, smiling.

Hermione didn't know how long she could go on without roaring with laughter. Bellatrix had a bloody pink scrunchie in her hair.

"Oh yes, auntie Hepsie loved to collect things," said Ms Montgomery, smiling, too. "But it's been years, her house was always stuffed with various objects that I as a child or even as a teen loved to ask about. Sadly, I moved to Ireland and we fell out of contact for over seven years; it was only when I had moved back that we rebonded..."

"Oh I'm so glad to hear that," pointed Bellatrix. "We should always stay close to our beloved ones, isn't that right?"

"Indeed! Even though she could be a handful sometimes," smiled Ms Montgomery kindly, her eyes lost in memories.

"Well, I remember my grandmother saying that about her too," said Bellatrix, smiling herself, perhaps because that was the kind of turn she wanted the conversation to take. "She said they used to row over the relics a lot. They had the biggest fight over some artefact, I'm not even sure what it was exactly. Your aunt didn't want to sell it to her! Would you believe it? Rowing over such nonsense," Bellatrix laughed with just enough casualty, drawing back even more as Hannah was demanding more and more of her hair.

"I bet it was either Slytherin's locket or Hufflepuff's cup!—oh yeah, auntie was always protective of those!" said Ms Montgomery. "Well, good thing she isn't alive—she wouldn't like what we've done with them," the woman offered on her own and Hermione didn't know whether to be glad or feel awful about having gained her trust.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, did not seem guilty at all. She seized the arms of the chair and sat up straighter, saying nothing. Hannah stirred in her lap but did not leave.

"Yes," she went on. "I've been running this place for more than four decades now. Auntie was wealthy and she left me the majority of her gold but such place requires a lot of maintenance. We don't make any profit. In order to keep this place running, we needed to sell even her precious relics."

"I'm so sorry to hear that! Pardon me, I'm just curious." God, Bellatrix could be so polite if she wanted to! "Was it of any help? I've heard Mr Borgin isn't generous when it comes to money."

"Oh, thankfully we didn't sell them to Mr Borgin, although he'd been trying to push us to. I only consented about Slytherin's locket. But the cup, it was worth more than he could offer. We sold it to the auctioneer years ago, Mr Huxtable; used to send us checks every year before he passed away.

That was, apparently, all Bellatrix needed to hear. She forced herself to ten more minutes of talking before dramatically turning to Hermione.

"Oh my, what's the time, Anna, we can't miss out our next appointment!" she turned back to Ms Montgomery. "Time flies so fast when you're having a good time, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it's about time we left," nodded Hermione, her voice raspy from keeping silent for so long.

"You'll have to excuse us. Now, as I promised, Ms Montgomery," said Bellatrix, standing up, little Hannah sliding down her legs. Bellatrix took out a small black pouch, holding it out for Ms Montgomery to take. Teary-eyed, Ms Mongomery sprung to her feet, grabbed the hand holding the pouch and pressed her lips to the skin. Hermione noticed Bellatrix's lips twitching a bit but masking it well.

"My dear, you're so cold," the woman clasped her other hand over Bellatrix's.

"It's nothing," she replied, gently freeing her hand and putting the pouch onto the table.

Nothing? More like anemia, thought Hermione.

After the wave of pleasantries, Hermione and Bellatrix closed the door behind their backs, saying they would see themselves to the door.

"Will you come again?" Hannah ran after them but didn't get any answer as Bellatrix pulled Hermione by the sleeve and they rushed downstairs where they Disapparated.

Hermione had never heard someone curse as much as Bellatrix when they landed. She pulled at the pink scrunchie angrily and when she finally got it out of her hair, threw it away as though she had some unfinished business with it.

Hermione tried not to laugh and rather distracted herself by casting around. She realised they were in Knockturn Alley.

"You wait here," said Bellatrix as she unbraided her hair and adjusted it the way she wanted, still positively vexed.

"What? Why? I—"

"I'm going to Borgin and Burkes," she clarified. "They know me there; besides, the spell..."

Hermione parted her lips, nodding as she caught her drift. The spell wouldn't work. First, because Burke knew Bellatrix and second, the safety measures would halt the effect of the potion Hermione had taken.

"Oh okay, I'll be here, then," nodded Hermione.

Bellatrix returned fifteen minutes later. "That filthy traitor!" she seethed. "Said he sold it!" She put her wand into her sleeve and Hermione had a strong urge to go and check on the old Burke to see whether he was still alive. "I've asked him about the name and he had the audacity to lie to me!"

"How do you know?" asked Hermione.

"That he was lying?"

"Yes."

"Because he swore it was me who bought it two years ago."

---

A/N:

I. Oh dear... your reviews made me so emotional! I can't thank you enough for being so kind to me and I will never stop saying this—but damn, thank you, thank you for keeping up with this story and investing your time into reading it! I appreciate it so so much!

II. All the love to my beta reader, Irymia who is a total half-God for editing my mess of a writing in one day!

III. I love you, I love you and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, I can't wait to hear what you think!

VI. With all my love, AP