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.

28. Epiphany

CARPE NOCTEM / EPIPHANY / CH. 28

"If I may interfere," enunciated Hermione, "I think that as an auctioneer, Mr Huxtable could hardly afford anything as valuable as Hufflepuff's cup. It's more likely that he acted as an intermediary to acquire a sufficient amount of gold for the orphanage. Due to the fanaticism revolving around the founder's relics, he might have organised something like a silent auction to protect the identity of the new owner; notified only a few wizards he considered potentially interested in buying, took bids from them and settled with the highest price offered; that could also explain why the public doesn't know anything about the cup, where it is or who actually owns it," said Hermione, eyeing Bellatrix's discontented frown.

They were back at the manor in the affluent room, where Hermione had undergone Bellatrix's sleeping experiments on the day of her arrival—only this time, instead of lying on the floor or having been sprawled on the renaissance divan like a wandering starfish, she was standing with dignity and perfectly conscious at its foot. Across from her, Bellatrix was leaning against the writing desk behind which the elaborated windows were streaming in the soft crepuscular light of the slowly setting sun. Her face still bore the signs of incredulity at Burke's statement and not even Hermione's effort to divert her attention elsewhere had managed to erase it.

"As far as I know," she went on in a more pressing voice, "there are only four wizarding auction houses in London—it'll be no trouble to find the one he worked for, don't you think?"

Bellatrix curled her lip at that, saying, "Well, given Hamilton Huxtable worked for the Arcus Emacity at the Crystal Palace... it certainly won't be any trouble." Having noticed Hermione's open-mouthed stare, she added querulously, "Yes, I had the pleasure. Now, before you start contemplating any more theories, little miss Anne Conway, I'll have you know that this time you don't have to bother because I've already done the work for you." Bellatrix pulled away from the desk, her eyes finally present as they bore into Hermione. "Tonight we break in, go through the auction contracts, find out who has the cup and then puff—" She widened her eyes momentarily. "—we're gone."

A burglary?! Parting her lips, Hermione hesitated a moment and then asked, "Must we do it this way? The place is undoubtedly closely guarded and breaking in would be complete self-sabotage. We have one chance in a million that we get in undetected."

"Tsk tsk tsk, I must say that I'm a little disappointed in your lack of faith in me," said Bellatrix, pouting and resting her hand onto the table behind her back.

"I don't doubt your skills," emphasised Hermione. "I'm just saying that it would be hazardous to go there without a plan. How about we think of something that isn't illegal first?"

Bellatrix snickered at that. "Aren't you a little wimp!" she quipped.

"I am not!" objected Hermione incredulously with her cheeks aflame. "I simply don't want to get caught and end up being interrogated! Merlin, there must be dozens and dozens of charms placed upon those documents to protect them from being accessed—the whole facility, actually, and... and ..."

With her eyebrows raised, Bellatrix watched Hermione's hands as she threw them up in despair, trying to finish her sentence but failing to do so; concluding that there was nothing coming out of her, she said flippantly, "If you're too scared you can stay here; nobody's forcing you to go, anyway."

"I'm not scared!" gritted Hermione. "I'm just being cautious; there's a difference!"

Bellatrix gave a fake sigh of revelation which earned her a scowl from Hermione.

"Look, I suggest we—"

"No, muddy, you don't get to suggest anything," said Bellatrix in a sweet, yet weirdly resolute tone.

"The plan is set and I don't care one bit whether you like it or not. Either you're going along with my idea or you're staying here."

Hermione swallowed, knowing there was no way out of this.

"Fine," she consented and added rather derogatorily, "tell me one more thing, though: what are you going to do if after touching one of the documents, an Anti—Apparition charm goes off? We would be trapped and then arrested and—"

"Stop drawing ridiculous scenarios!" snapped Bellatrix, obviously losing her patience. "We won't get arrested! Now, get back to your room and wait until I come for you; there you can go on with your soliloquy without getting on my nerves!"

Irritated herself, Hermione bit her tongue and turned on her heel to leave but was stopped immediately. "What are you doing?"

Facing her again, Hermione gave her a perplexed look, saying coldly, "you told me to leave?"

"Yes, I did, but you're a witch, not a muggle—Apparate!"

As if it was too degrading to walk there on foot. Hermione swallowed an exasperated sigh as she drew her wand and Apparated from the annoyed witch into her room. A short-lived smile made it to her lips at finding that she was getting more precise with every time she did that; however, not even that was a strong enough consolation to ease her worries.

Casting a look at the darkening sky, Hermione reclined onto the bed with her legs hanging down. There was a fresh scent of orchids emanating from the mussel silk sheets that suggested Billey must have been here to clean up. Slumping her head over, she saw a laden tray on her nightstand. Hermione climbed toward it, realising only now how hungry she was. Already used to eating without a table, she placed the silver tray onto the bed in front of her and dived straight into roasted potatoes and stir-fried yardlong beans.

And while she was eating her dinner that most likely hadn't been approved by Bellatrix again, her brain was whirring like the fan in an overheated computer, trying to come up with a plan as to how to get to the auction contracts without actually breaking the law. Her values were all screaming at her to stay here and let Bellatrix do the work on her own, but damn it, how could she?!

Hermione let go of the silver fork and pressed the white napkin that was resting beside her plate to her lips, thinking.

She didn't have the freedom of choice and felt like Bellatrix must have had it figured out by now and was flat-out using it to her own advantage. It was almost like she was contextualising Hermione's behaviour as though she was a laboratory rat, and by trying to get her to overstep her boundaries, see how far Hermione was willing to go, but also learn about her strengths and weaknesses just so she could figure her strategics and outsmart her.

Besides that, and it was only now that Hermione had realised it, by getting Hermione to agree to something that might potentially ruin her future, Bellatrix must have acquired one more reason to believe that Hermione wasn't doing this for the sole purpose of experience—no one in their right mind would risk that much if the whole reason for their actions would be at stake.

If there was any truth in that, she had just given herself away...

Damn it, Hermione, what were you thinking?! You've been told to be careful around Bellatrix! He told you how smart she was and about her imperceptive ways of using it!

Hermione's hands raked through her hair.

Right... let's not panic now. It was just one silly mistake, after all—or perhaps no mistake at all! Perhaps Hermione was reading too much into it. Yes... she was just paranoid as a result of having to hide so much; besides, those were all just the assumptions stemming from her own overburdened mind...

One way or another, Hermione needed to let it go; in a couple of hours, Bellatrix was coming for her and they were bloody breaking into the Arcus Emacity auction house.

Hermione could not believe she was taking part in this.

Glancing toward the half-eaten dinner, she pierced one more potato with her fork, and another one and another until they mashed together and slid off the tines.

What was the worst thing that might happen tonight? First and foremost, if discovered, she and Bellatrix would get arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for breaking and entering for something below a year.

Pondering about it for a second, Hermione furrowed her brows. No, that seemed too far-fetched. Logically, Bellatrix with her connections wouldn't even make it to the trial forasmuch as she could give a generous amount of gold to the competent authorities to erase her name from the report. And Hermione? While she didn't have such resources at hand, she was still a minor; that was an extenuating circumstance, wasn't it? Still, by the time of the trial, she would already be legally an adult which would mean she'd only get away if she paid a fine of about five hundred galleons. Moreover, Hermione would have a record, thanks to which she wouldn't get accepted to any of the universities she would want to apply to later on; but above all, her parents would be notified and Hermione's heart would shatter to pieces over seeing them so disappointed in her because of all the lies she'd told them—and the worst part would be that she wouldn't even be able to explain why she had done such an atrocious thing... And Blair... Hermione couldn't even complete the thought.

The shame was crawling upon her like a vulture. She couldn't let herself be arrested. She must persuade Bellatrix to go along with her plan—but what plan exactly? She better thought of something.

Hermione had spent the entire evening and majority of the night weaving her ideas into something Bellatrix might consider worth utilising, but when the witch came into her room at two a.m., finding Hermione sitting on her hands in the armchair by the window, wide awake and bouncing her legs as though high on caffeine, she didn't want to hear a single word from her.

"No, Granger, I've already told you I'm not changing the plan so don't even start with me! Just tell me one thing—are you coming with me or not?"

Every bit of sanity inside Hermione screamed at her not to do this and she went against everything she believed in as she looked into Bellatrix's uncompromising eyes and nodded reluctantly.

Surveying her for a moment, Bellatrix seemed close to smiling before pursing her lips and saying, "Fine, but I'm warning you—there must be no mistakes on your part! I'm not going to look out for you. If you panic and lose your head, I'll leave you there for the aurors to take you under arrest, understood?"

"You can't be serious!"

"You've got one job," Bellatrix went on, raising her voice. "And that is to look for the contract—nothing else. Don't even think of casting spells or doing any sort of magic: the trace will give us away and we'll be screwed."

Hermione nodded again, her heart hammering. She already regretted her decision; there was too much at stake. Too much. Biting her lip, she gave Bellatrix a pleading look. "You wouldn't leave me there, would you?" she couldn't help saying, noticing too late how pathetic she sounded.

Bellatrix tilted her head, undoubtedly amused but trying to hide it. "Depends," she purred. "If you manage to find it before someone finds us... then as a sign of my gratitude, perhaps I won't."

"Why must you do this?!" cried Hermione. "I am already too anxious as it is! Instead of trying to make me more upset, you should reassure me so that I can focus on finding the document rather than imagining how getting an Azkaban number tattooed on my neck must hurt!"

"Do I look like a therapist to you?"

"Not even close, but you're a human being and surely you're capable of a kind word!" went on Hermione, the bubbling fear pumping her audacity.

"Calm down, you wuss!" snapped Bellatrix harshly. "If you can't handle this, I'll go alone! I don't need a child crying behind my back—"

"Just tell me nothing bad is going to happen!" Hermione interrupted her in a high-pitched voice. "That's all I need to hear!" She knew she was being ridiculous and that her throwing such a tantrum wasn't helping her resolution to gain Bellatrix's respect at all, but she needed to be reassured before throwing herself from such a precipice. And even though Bellatrix's frown was suggesting just as much—that Hermione was exceedingly infantile, the most pathetic creature she'd had the misfortune of knowing, and that she would do better if she went without her, she was still standing here, clearly contemplating.

It didn't take her long to respond, though; with the muscles in her jaw clenched and with her nostrils flaring, she gritted, "Nothing bad is going to happen, I have everything under control and no, I won't leave you there! Satisfied?! God, you're insufferable!" Her hands curled into fists and she was scowling at Hermione as if being kind to her was causing her inexpressible agony.

Having expected anything but a comforting word (sort of), Hermione blinked a few times; coming from Bellatrix, it should be more than enough, and yet—Hermione was pushing it, she knew as much, but she still couldn't help saying, "If anything happens, promise me you won't let the authorities alert my parents!"

Bellatrix looked close to murdering her. "Any more dead wishes?"

Hermione shook her head, hiding her nether lip under the upper one, biting on it. She watched Bellatrix as she, shaking from anger, drew a deep breath and ambled forward, stopping only when they were eye to eye. Hermione felt her heart rate increase. What was she...?

Bellatrix's unblinking gaze lingered over the frightened Hermione who was glued to those piercing eyes as if hypnotised, unable to look anywhere else.

"Find that contract so we can get out as quickly as possible," said Bellatrix, her voice all of a sudden soothing, as if she'd finally understood that the success of their mission truly was dependant on Hermione too and that however much she wished to be mean to her, right now she needed Hermione calm and focused.

Her eyes slid down toward Hermione's thighs, hesitating, then flicked to Hermione's eyes and back down as if considering something. Slowly, Bellatrix reached out and touched Hermione's forearm with the tips of her fingers before letting them slide to her wrist, which left Hermione completely paralysed.

"Not a word!" whispered Bellatrix, interrupting her silent freak-out. She seized her wrist, just enough for the pressure to be firm yet still gentle, and gave Hermione a reassuring, barely-there smile before she Apparated.

They landed abruptly outside in the cold dark. Gasping for air, Hermione tripped over her own feet and bumped her chest into Bellatrix's arm, bracing her free hand on her elbow, the sudden change of the witch's behaviour leaving her somewhat unbalanced. Bellatrix tried to pull away from her immediately but soon relaxed, letting Hermione steady herself first before releasing her arm and moving away from her.

Hermione's hands fidgeted. She curled them into her jumper, trying to make sense of the chaos happening inside her body—Bellatrix was just playing her act and was being nice only because she needed Hermione at ease. Nothing else! Shortly, she was going to be as nasty as before, she reasoned inwardly but her galloping heart was deaf to all the reasons why it was wrong for it to be reacting like this.

Hermione pinched her arm to make the confusing thoughts disappear and refocus herself on her current surroundings. There around her, in the pale light of the street lamps lay the deserted Crystal Palace Park, coated in a heavy mist, lonesome in the deep dark night. The air was fresh with an earthy scent of petrichor and felt rigorously cold even through her cotton jacket.

"There," whispered Bellatrix and Hermione turned to her, following her eyes that seemed somewhat wider and more alive in the depth of the menacing shadows. She was looking to their left where in the distance the granite sphinxes guarded the half-broken upper and lower Italian terraces, the very last remnants that had survived the fire in 1963 which destroyed the majority of the Crystal Palace.

A flurry of clothes ruffled next to her and Hermione turned back to Bellatrix, seeing her fumbling for something inside her pocket; she pulled out a fluid, silvery substance which Hermione immediately recognised as the invisibility cloak. She thought of Harry Potter and his very own invisibility cloak, recalling the many adventures it had succoured him and his two best friends through.

"We only have to use this until we're past the sphinxes," said Bellatrix quietly again. "We can't be seen."

"But they..."

"Shh!" Bellatrix threw her a warning look, silencing her. She placed the cloak over both of them and drew closer to Hermione who felt a sudden urge that had nothing to do with any romantic feelings, to grab her hand and hold it but knew better than that. She got at least a small comfort of their arms touching occasionally as they began threading toward the monumental statues.

Oh Blairie, if I didn't love you so much—if I wasn't so scared that you could lose your life, I'd have never agreed to this.

They were still around a good fifty yards away from the sphinxes and the droplets of rain glistening on the lawn had already soaked Hermione's trainers through. Thirty yards, twenty yards. They were advancing forward, quietly, the terrifying heads of the granite creatures appearing closer and closer. Bereft of breath, Hermione tried not to think too much about all the stories she'd read about them but couldn't; she recalled the legend about the sphinx, a monster of destruction and bad luck, sent by the gods to torment the town of Thebes to punish their king for carrying off one of the children of Zeus; it was believed the sphinx posed a riddle to the locals who passed by the rock that she had taken up residence on and devoured anyone who failed to give her the correct answer. The riddle went: 'I have four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening, but I am the weakest when I have the most legs. What am I?' Only Oedipus, king of Thebes, managed to get the answer right as he replied, 'A human being walks on all fours as a baby, on two legs as an adult, and with a crutch when he grows old,' which made the sphinx cast herself from the rock in defeat. To muggles, this had always been nothing but an ancient Greek legend but to wizards, it was a valid historical event; of course, the reality was slightly less fiction-like but the essence remained the same.

And it was actually quite recently that Hermione had read about a case of a sphinx attacking a group of pilgrims who had bumped into her in Kalahari desert and couldn't solve her riddle. The wizards had survived only because one of their members managed to Apparate them all back to Upington where their journey had started.

Hermione's heart thrashed wildly inside her chest, her imagination running wild and constructing one eerie scene after another—sphinxes opening their almond-shaped eyes, sensing their movements, their pulse, coming down from their concrete plinths right in front of them to... An owl hooted in the distance and Hermione couldn't halt a quiet yelp from leaving her mouth. Bellatrix stopped abruptly, grasping her wrist. Petrified, they were standing there, their eyes affixed to the sphinxes' unmoving forms. Hermione felt physically sick from fear, her breath reduced to a mirage of nothing as she dug her nails into the flesh of her palms, inwardly cursing her jitteriness.

She'd certainly woken them up! They must have heard her! Hermione was sure she and Bellatrix were going to die here. Surprising a sphinx, trying to outfox her... it was certain death.

They were glued to the spot for a number of moments, waiting, but when none of the creatures had stirred even a little, Bellatrix pulled Hermione forward—she, however, didn't move an inch. In no way was she planning to go any further.

Tightening her grip, Bellatrix faced her but due to the darkness, Hermione couldn't see her expression. It wasn't hard to imagine it, though: eyes flaring, lips primed or twitching, swallowing every profanity she wanted to spew at her.

Shame-no shame, Hermione was terrified out of her skin.

Having given her a moment to collect her bearings, Bellatrix tried a different strategy. Slowly, she stepped back and moved her arm that was gripping Hermione's wrist over Hermione's and pulled it toward herself with her elbow. Going through such a terror as she was, Hermione immediately responded to the touch and grabbed onto Bellatrix's upper arm with her free hand, while wrenching her wrist out of her grip and rather seizing Bellatrix's hand with her perspiring one. Bellatrix seemed to tense up at that but didn't risk having the sphinx wake up and went with it silently. Together they stepped forward.

Hermione moulded herself to the witch's side, letting her experience first-hand how frantically her heart beat against her arm; and even though she was still on the brink of passing out, Bellatrix's closeness made her feel somehow much more secure.

Huddled together like that, they came within a few feet of the sphinxes—their paws were gigantic, and so were their claws. They could kill them with just a single strike...

Hermione was barely able to keep it together; she couldn't help sinking her chin into Bellatrix's shoulder, feeling the silken locks bouncing off her skin as they walked. They were right in front of the beasts now, the cold dread circling through Hermione's veins like ice. She closed her eyes, beginning to pray to God that if he let them survive this... Bellatrix tried to free herself from Hermione's vice-like grasp but it took the girl a while to realise that they had already made it past the statues and to let her go. They ended up on the lower terrace, the sphinxes no longer in sight. Turning back, Bellatrix lowered herself and cast a non-verbal spell from under the cloak; there in front of them grew a translucent, fluid wall, moving as if made of tiny sea waves. Then Bellatrix threw the cloak off of them and stuffed it back into her pocket, which surely just like Hermione's beaded purse must have been magically enlarged.

"Proud of yourself?" asked Bellatrix angrily and Hermione flinched, casting around in fear. "They can't hear us now," she added, wiping her hand against her dress and for the first time it didn't bother Hermione. She felt an incredible amount of weight lift off of her shoulders as she breathed out heavily, too glad to have made it alive to care about Bellatrix's conceited act.

She watched her reach into her other pocket and pull out a small stone which, as she held it up to the light, reminded Hermione of a cracked ammonite fossil. Bellatrix's pale hand lingered by the concrete pillar to her right, hesitating before pressing the fossil to the small crack in its structure. It fit perfectly and Hermione gasped as the ground beneath their feet shook and slowly began to open to reveal a long underground staircase.

Bellatrix looked at Hermione, tipping her head toward it. "Go on," she said. "Or would you like me to take your hand first?" Shaking her head, she snorted. "Pull yourself together!"

Hermione felt a slight pinch inside her stomach, a certain sign of her pride being wounded. Bellatrix wasn't being fair. How could she expect Hermione to keep it together when she was completely unarmed? Unlike her, Hermione couldn't use her wand; she had nothing to defend herself with except for a few moves she'd learnt in her self-defence classes which were totally useless against shinxes or any sort of magic, anyway. It was only natural that she felt insecure and scared, especially after Bellatrix's unnecessary remarks about leaving her here.

There was no time to spit it into her face, though.

Bellatrix had her wand pointed toward the descending darkness at the bottom of the stairs, whispering. The twitching puffs of silver jolts flashed from the tip of her wand to meet the depth where they perished like a broken star. Hermione concluded that Bellatrix must have been trying to detect the protective charms cast upon that area.

"Nothing," said the witch after a while, taking the first step. She paused, turning around. Hermione followed her reluctantly.

Congratulations, said the voice inside her head, you've just become a criminal...

Bellatrix was walking two steps ahead of her, looking so self-confident as though she had never known fear. Hermione wanted to hold her hand so badly but rather wrapped her arms around herself—she didn't need to give her any more reasons to think she was using the situation to get close to her; Bellatrix wouldn't understand the science behind a simple touch, that it increased the sense of trust and therefore security and that that was the only thing Hermione wanted out of it—even the other version of herself liked to grab onto Harry's or Ron's hand or arm during their escapades.

Unprepared, Hermione recoiled in surprise as the torches on the walls sparked to life, lifting the ambient darkness from around them; they swished ghostly, their flames separating the walls, revealing an about sixty-feet long arch-roofed passageway ahead. Hermione was casting around, unsure if walking in the light was a good idea. A loud grating sound reverberated from above and as her eyes snapped up, she saw the ground over their heads closing; a terrible claustrophobic feeling entered her stomach. She glanced at Bellatrix but the witch didn't seem concerned at all.

They reached the bottom of the staircase, the unexpected scent of turpentine and linseed oil flooding Hermione's senses. She took a closer look at the stone walls: every inch was carved with what she thought must have been Jiahu symbols which were believed by many to be the oldest written words on Earth; Hermione wondered what they represented and why the architect had chosen to put those symbols specifically on the walls. She only hoped it wasn't some form of ancient magic to protect the place from intruders; she cast around in alarm but detected nothing except for the flaming torches and a large wooden door at the end of the passageway.

As they drew closer, she noticed it hung on iron pintles, reinforced with bands and studs but missing a handle. Having approached it, Bellatrix tapped her wand against its surface three times before drawing invisible lines in the air. Up and down, crosswise, and backward and forward. She repeated the movements three times before the door clicked and opened with a gentle swish. Hermione watched in puzzlement, unable to grasp how on earth Bellatrix had come to know the correct combination for entering—it certainly couldn't be easily available information and Hermione prayed that in order to figure it out she hadn't done anything thoughtless that could come back to bite them in the future.

Bellatrix pushed the door further open. She glanced at the riveted Hermione, pointing with her eyes to the gap of the door. She stepped inside and Hermione entered shortly after. They were in the dark again before the light came alive.

They appeared standing on the balcony of a lush circular foyer in which a number of shiny staircases were twisting down wildly and were flanked by diagonal mirrors, giving the room the impression of a rabbit hole amalgamated with a mirror maze; above their heads an enormous chandelier, made of thousands of cut-glass prisms, cast glitters and hues as the light hit the mirrors.

Hermione could envision one of the auction nights: the guests arriving, the long dresses of the women slipping down the stairs and glistening in the light. It must have been magnificent.

"Alright," enunciated Bellatrix, making Hermione turn toward her. "Seems like we're alone, however, I can't guarantee that it's going to stay that way once we access the file drawer. We don't have much time so you better hurry."

Hermione could practically feel her eyes widen at the pressure but still nodded, determined to appear braver than she felt. Bellatrix tore her gleaming eyes from her and set off to the closest staircase. Coasting down after her, Hermione tried not to panic at the sight of the shining mirrors playing tricks on her and making her paranoia spiral out of control—what if they were being watched, what if the mirrors were somehow recording them, what if up until now nothing had happened because they were being lulled into a false sense of security and then boom, at the end there would be aurors waiting?

Hermione had to grasp onto the cold baluster as her head spun from panic.

Breathe, just breathe, she told herself. Bellatrix has it under control, and even if she doesn't, she's wealthy and powerful and she bloody needs you; she'll do anything to get you out of trouble so stop freaking out!

They made it to the bottom of the long staircase. It was eerily quiet down there and the light from the chandelier was slowly resigning, too. Hermione could feel her heartbeat in her throat as her eyes landed on a long, dimly lit corridor in front of them; she gave Bellatrix a desperate look. But the witch wasn't paying attention: she was looking from her right to her left as though at a crossroads and then began walking straight ahead. Hermione jogged after her. Having taken about a dozen steps, Bellatrix stopped, turned and faced the plain wall.

She brought her left hand up and placed it along the stone wall, tapping her fingers slowly like a pianist playing the beginning of Chopin's Nocturne. She pulled back for a second, hesitating. Subsequently, her palm slammed hard against the wall which Hermione didn't expect in the least and she gave an embarrassing start. A lone ornamented door with what seemed to be a numeric keypad instead of a doorknob had formed in front of their eyes. Hermione drew closer and saw that what she expected to be numbers were actually anglo-frisian runes. There was a jolt of excitement in her belly. Perhaps she could help, she had taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts after all!

She parted her lips to say that she could try and read them but Bellatrix had already extended her arm and began pointing at the runes with her wand even without her help.

The door soon clicked open.

Again, Hermione stared in bewilderment—who the hell had provided Bellatrix with the password? Had she already been here before? She'd obviously attended the auction events, but she couldn't have possibly been told about the protective charms! Damn it, what had she done?

Bellatrix peered beyond the door into the dark room before entering; Hermione stepped in after her. The door closed behind them on its own and they were left standing in the darkness; a second later the lights switched on. They were surrounded by four walls packed from floor to ceiling with what seemed to be hundreds and hundreds of wooden drawer faces with golden knobs on them.

Head spinning, Hermione faced Bellatrix—she had told her they didn't have much time; told her she needed to hurry but there was no way Hermione could hurry and find the contract among millions of them!

Bellatrix, however, didn't seem to have time to share her concern as she was busy casting spells all around them; Hermione's heart beat faster. It was happening. It—was—happening.

When Bellatrix finished, she looked past Hermione and walked forward, bypassing her and stopping in front of the drawer faces. "Now, Granger," she said, turning her head towards her. "When I open this, you'll have about fifteen minutes at most to find the contract. My spells won't last long as there's ancient magic placed upon this room; there will be people coming in and trying to break them so... you better be quick."

"This is insane," said Hermione openly, coming closer to Bellatrix. "Look at these drawers! There are too many of them!"

"You don't have to go through them all!" replied Bellatrix sharply and pointed at the golden knob in front of her. "Just this one."

Hermione drew her head back. How the hell did she know everything about this place?!

"Get on with it," added Bellatrix and before Hermione could protest, she turned the knob and pulled the drawer open; a conflux of silvery mist, about as big as a bludger flew out of it and through the wall, soughing like a wind partridge; a Patronus warning.

It had begun.

Bellatrix stepped aside as Hermione rushed to the opened drawer—having peered inside, she broke out in cold sweat. Where she had expected to see tons of stored files of documents, she found a couple of hundreds of reagent tubes with blue liquid inside lying in parallel rows at its bottom.

But those... those must be memories, she thought. Quickly, she grasped the first tube in the upper row, turning it in her hands and hoping that in order to learn something about it, she wouldn't need to use a Pensieve. To her great relief, she saw a flurry of letters carved along the length of the shiny glass. It wasn't easy to read but after a moment Hermione managed to make out the word 'Excalibur', which as she recalled was the legendary sword of King Arthur. However intriguing, she didn't even think of inspecting it more. It wasn't what she was looking for. She put the tube back, seizing the one beside it, 'Cronus scythe'. A mild brush of hopelessness sunk into her stomach.

Calm down, you've only started!

She was holding the seventh tube when a flutter of voices came from outside the room. Gasping, Hermione dropped the tube which clunked against its twins in the drawer but fortunately didn't break.

"They arrived sooner than I thought," commented Bellatrix phlegmatically which almost made Hermione stop searching and turn to her to give her a look of disbelief—what the hell was wrong with her?! Why wasn't she scared at all while Hermione already felt like throwing up from fright?

Hermione forced her shaking hand to return the tube to its place and seize another one. She'd managed to inspect three more before a series of loud explosions slammed against the outside walls.

Flinching, she let out a sigh of despair; she couldn't think clearly anymore. God, they were going to get caught! The dread was overtaking her senses, making her hands unbelievably clumsy, the tubes slipping from her fingers as though they were made of water.

Pull yourself together, Hermione!

"If I could just Accio it!" she blurted out loud, snatching as many tubes as only could fit into her palm, twisting them in her fingers and reading their names.

"Well, you can't, the protective charms—" started Bellatrix but Hermione cut her off.

"I know!" she snapped rather angrily. "If you JUST helped me—"

This time it was Bellatrix who interrupted. "I have the guards to mind; if anyone comes bursting in, I have to be prepared!"

"How very convenient," riposted Hermione cynically.

Bellatrix exhaled a snort of surprise and said, "If I were you, mudblood, I'd watch my tongue and do as I'm told. If you don't find it in time, I'm leaving without you."

God, she was a bitch! Gritting her teeth, Hermione seized another handful of tubes—Brísingamen, Ariadne's diadem, The Cintamani Stone, Mirror of Erised. Nothing. The minutes were passing and the bangs were intensifying. Hermione felt like crying. She was never going to find that stupid little—her eyes widened.

At that moment, the wall behind her exploded in a shower of debris raining down on her like a hailstorm. Crouching, Hermione gave a startled scream and turning around, threw herself against the drawers, her back hitting all the knobs it possibly could; she faltered and as she slumped down onto the floor, there was another deafening bang and everywhere around her dispersed an influx of dark smoke, hiding a prominent hole in the wall that she'd spotted just for a brief second, out of her sight.

The only thing she could see was Bellatrix's extended hand, holding a wand that was launching the thick smoke.

She didn't leave her; she was still here!

Hermione felt a sudden infusion of fortitude flooding her body. In spite of her dread, she crawled back toward the open drawer, her hands working on their own accord. The sparks of red and blue were flashing behind her back as though a raging storm but she decided to rely on Bellatrix to protect her and fully committed herself to her task.

She only needed five more seconds.

Finally!

Hermione quickly stood up and, rushing forward, collided with Bellatrix's back. She grasped both of her arms, whispering in her ear. "I got it! Come on, we need to get out!"

Bellatrix didn't reply. She lifted her right arm, waving her wand high over her head which made Hermione lose her grip; she grabbed a handful of Bellatrix's dress at her hips instead, curling her fingers into it.

Bright purple light flashed from the tip of Bellatrix's wand, rushing through the smoke straight toward the hole where it blew up like a mine. The sound of something heavy falling, shoutings and pained yelps sent shivers down Hermione's spine. In spite of their current situation, she hoped no one had gotten seriously hurt.

Shoving her hand into her pocket, Bellatrix took out the invisibility cloak. She threw it over their heads and sprung forward, the mortified Hermione, who was holding onto her for dear life, jogging at her side.

They climbed through the hole blindly. Bellatrix immediately stuck her hand from under the cloak and cast more spells over her shoulder so as to prevent anyone from following them. Hermione let go of her and, restraining from looking around to see whether the incomers were alright, she synchronized her steps with Bellatrix's. They both began sprinting up the corridor toward the staircase that had been there before but to Hermione's horror wasn't there any longer.

What the hell were they going to do now?! She turned to Bellatrix, seeing her throw one more spell behind them where it blasted against the stone floor. Then she pointed her wand in front of herself, saying, "bellum omnium contra omnes!"

The staircase materialised in front of their eyes.

Hermione could feel a raw mixture of gratitude and relief cheering inside her. They ran up, taking the stairs two at a time. Her lungs were already hurting and her pulse was throbbing in her throat, but they were so close to the exit! As they neared the door at the top of the stairs, Bellatrix shot one more spell behind them before rushing to unlock the door with the same combination she had used when they entered. The door clicked.

It worked, damn it, perhaps there was hope!

They had barely taken two strides out of the foyer when a chilling, eerie voice sliced the air ahead of them.

"Did you really thought you could deceive me?"

Hermione froze in dread. The sphinx—she was slowly prowling down the last stairs, the only barrier dividing them from freedom. She was whisking her tail angrily and glaring at where she and Bellatrix were standing at.

Hermione felt so close to fainting that her knees buckled and tears of fright formed in her eyes. Again, a forceful urge to cling to Bellatrix nudged her but she didn't dare blink, let alone move her body.

"I know you're here..."

She wasn't breathing any longer. The sphinx was ten feet away from them and Hermione knew that this was their end.

Then Bellatrix slouched and slipped from underneath the Invisibility cloak. Hermione's eyes widened so much, the tears slipped out of them. She wanted to seize her elbow and pull her back but it was too late. Bellatrix feigned a movement of folding something and placed the non-existent thing inside her pocket. Hermione's stomach dropped—she was making sure Hermione wouldn't be discovered.

The sphinx halted her steps. "A woman," she said slowly. "Haven't had the pleasure, haven't torn one open in eternity!"

No, no, no! Hermione screamed inwardly, inching to Bellatrix who certainly must have gone completely mad to have reached the point where she would do such a thing.

"Don't get your hopes up," replied Bellatrix in a firm confident voice. "You can't harm me."

The sphinx laughed a horrible laugh; she sat down, her body taking up the entire width of the passageway. "How come? You have no business being here; I can do as I please with you."

Underneath the cloak, Hermione reached inside her pocket, drawing out her wand.

"Not before you pose a riddle... am I right?" said Bellatrix in a tempting tone.

The sphinx seemed to falter.

"You love riddles, don't you?" she went on and Hermione suddenly understood what she was doing. The wizarding laws had long since forbidden the tamed sphinxes to challenge people to solve their riddles; their only job was to guard things. But their instilled purpose must have been still very much present and burning them alive.

"What would be the harm in that?" whispered Bellatrix.

The sphinx's claws were out as she considered her. It took her a moment to respond, "alright, mortal, earn your freedom if you dare!" She narrowed her eyes before reciting:

"There is one father and twelve children; of these each

Has twice thirty daughters of different appearance:

Some are white to look at and the others black in turn;

They are immortal and yet they all fade away."

Hermione was listening with her attention splitting between the riddle and the problem of how much longer Bellatrix's charm could keep the guards at bay inside the auction house. If only—

"The year, the days and nights." She heard Bellatrix answer almost instantly.

The sphinx parted her mouth, looking so fierce Hermione would swear she was going to attack—in which case Hermione was ready to launch all the spells she knew even if it was just to distract her. However, there was no need: after a moment, the sphinx stood up.

Could it be...?

Without a word, she began moving backwards, letting Bellatrix leave. Sick from relief, Hermione forced herself to move, tiptoeing behind her and trying to walk step to step with the witch so her footsteps wouldn't be heard. Hermione could not believe their luck; they were almost outside.

Upon reaching the terrace, the sphinx seemed to have lingered a moment before taking off with a terrible grating sound of her stone wings flapping and began flying high up into the dark night. But there was another sound; quiet, almost unnoticeable...

A terrifying presage rose upon Hermione.

She dashed to Bellatrix, preventing her from moving any higher as she grabbed her elbow and threw the invisibility cloak over her head; her arms curled around her waist and she pulled her to the side just in time before the giant head of the other sphinx appeared where the first one had vanished mere seconds ago. She and Bellatrix flattened themselves against the wall, falling completely still. Hermione didn't move an inch even though her forearm hurt as it was crushed in between the wall and Bellatrix's lower back.

The sphinx had pointed her eyes into the dark, looking straight past them. She stood there for what felt like an eternity before moving and advancing down the stairs.

Hermione was barely breathing with her front pressed tightly against the side of Bellatrix's back and her fingers piercing the leather corset right under the witch's breasts. Her forehead was inches from Bellatrix's temple and the soft strands of curls that lifted slightly with each of her shallow exhales.

They were unbelievably close, Hermione's grip so firm it was as though Bellatrix's life depended on it—as if she might die if Hermione slackened it even a little.

From the direction of the foyer, there came the drone of male voices, making Hermione rake her nails deeper into Bellatrix's stomach that retracted at the contact.

Relaxing her fingers a bit, Hermione followed the sphinx's head, which was parallel with their bodies now, with her eyes.

They must get out of here.

It was as if hers and Bellatrix's minds worked together simultaneously. They both took one careful step up and paused, waiting. The voices were closer and closer. It was now or never. They sprung up, avoiding a clawed paw that had dispelled after them by inches as they ran toward the lawn. They caught sight of the first sphinx launching herself from the sky without flapping her wings.

Bellatrix managed to Disapparate just before they had a chance to see the granite creature crush into the earth and break herself into myriad pieces.

Hermione's feet hit the ground and the left side of her forehead hit something profoundly hard. Yelping, she took a few steps back. Holding her hand to her face, she focused in front of her, seeing that she'd crashed into the column of the four-poster bed in her dimly lit bedroom.

With her head throbbing, she bent over and placed her hands onto the soft sheets, taking deep breaths. She felt sick; her head was spinning, her stomach churned.

They were alive.

They had bloody survived!

Letting go of her wand, Hermione turned to Bellatrix. "Are you alright?" she blurted at the same time as Bellatrix, sounding out of breath herself, asked, "Do you have it?"

Relieved to see her relatively unharmed, sporting only a faint scratch on her right cheek and pieces of granite in her hair, Hermione slowly sank onto the floor. Her hand was shaking as she reached inside her pocket, pulling out the tube that she had pocketed in a hurry in the room full of drawer faces.

Bellatrix kneeled down next to her. The ringlets of her heavy locks spilled past her shoulders over Hermione's extended hand, who even despite her unceasing dread couldn't help noticing how fluffy they felt against her skin.

Bellatrix took the tube from her hand without them touching and brought it to her eyes. "You priss!" she barked, looking at Hermione as though she'd betrayed her somehow. "This is not what we went there for!"

Gulping, Hermione shook her head. "While you were fighting, I swapped the containers so they wouldn't know—so they'll think it's the Mirror of Erised we're after." Hermione lowered her voice. "We have what we went there for."

The angry frown on Bellatrix's face smoothed out; her lips parted as she glanced at the tube in her hand and back at Hermione, breathing out a surprised huff.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. "Do you think anyone saw us?" she asked, looking at her knees instead of Bellatrix's impressed countenance.

"Except for the sphinx that annihilated herself," she replied, standing up. "No."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "I thought we were never getting out of there," she admitted, shaking her head slightly. "You were incredible!"

"Well, you were preposterous," said Bellatrix as she ambled to the darkened window.

Hermione blinked in bewilderment, the words hitting her stomach like a cold fist.

Preposterous?

Well, alright, perhaps she hadn't been particularly heroic, but nonetheless she'd done what she could to be helpful even despite her limitations—she'd found the clue to Hufflepuff's cup, misled the chasers, and saved Bellatrix from the sphinx; didn't that count at least a little? If Hermione hadn't done anything, the beast would have kept them occupied until the guards came—Bellatrix would have been seen and either attacked by her or the wizards—or both at the same time.

And she said preposterous...

Nevermind. What else had Hermione actually expected? She'd never ingratiate herself with her. Folding her arms, she bit her inner cheeks.

"Don't pout, muddy," said Bellatrix, clearly amused.

Hermione ignored her.

"Aren't you curious about the contract?"

The sound of Bellatrix's footsteps on the wooden floor as she prowled back to her made Hermione turn her head more toward the door and away from her.

"It's not my fault you're a softie," she continued sweetly, sitting down onto the floor across from her.

Hermione let her eyes stray to her face, forming the coldest expression she could muster. Bellatrix smirked at that.

"That softie made sure you wouldn't get attacked!"

Tilting her head, Bellatrix let the tip of her tongue linger in the corner of her lip before biting the bottom one. Then she let out a soft chuckle. "I see what this is about; you expect me to thank you, don't you? Tell you how great—"

"No, I wasn't going for that," interrupted Hermione. "All I wanted was to say that you did a great job. I wasn't fishing for compliments or hoping you would thank me... Actually, I was going to thank you." Sighing, Hermione unfolded her arms, placing them into her lap instead. "Even though it's you in the first place that got us into that situation, it doesn't change anything about the fact that you were brilliant with the guards and the sphinx. You were one against many and you managed to get us out with as little as a scratch." Hermione glanced at the angry line on Bellatrix's cheek, perceiving a sudden urge to touch the reddened area surrounding it. Her stomach gave a lurch. "That's quite something."

For a second there, Bellatrix looked utterly perplexed as she stared at Hermione. Then she frowned. "Don't try to suck up to me!"

Hermione flipped her palm up in sudden exasperation. "I'm not! God, what is it with you? Has no one ever said anything nice to you and actually meant it?" Just as those words left Hermione's mouth, it occurred to her that perhaps, even though unintentionally, she might have hit the nail on the head.

Bellatrix had grown up in an upper-class family; she had married well, had money, power and glory; on top of that she was a very fine woman, appearance-wise, and must have been through enough flattery from men who were after only one thing—also the circles she moved in were surely cramped with phonies or fulsome social climbers with their counterfeit praises, who had never done anything that wouldn't benefit them in some way. It actually must have been really hard for people like her to distinguish between genuineness and hypocrisy...

Hermione felt her face soften as Bellatrix snorted and, scowling, stood up.

"I'm going to need a Pensieve," she said coldly.

Change of the subject; Hermione concluded she must have been right then, and the revelation cut deeper than she would have expected. Deciding not to push it, though, she cleared her throat and asked, "Do you have one?"

Bellatrix didn't reply, rather drew out her wand.

"Are you going to view it now?" asked Hermione again as she began standing up, meaning to ask if she could come with her, but Bellatrix Disapparated without telling her a word.

Great.

After standing there in disappointment for several moments, Hermione took a few steps back and slowly reclined onto the bed. Her eyes unfocused on the coffered ceiling.

She couldn't help wondering if Bellatrix actually had friends; real friends, not the likes of Crouch and all those purebloods that would abandon her the moment her ideas no longer fell in with theirs, but someone to be there for her through thick and thin.

As far as Hermione knew, she only had her family—Narcissa, Draco and, of course, her husband who seemed to care about her very much. Her mind strayed to that moment one summer ago, when Rodolphus had tried to console Bellatrix when her uncle Perseus had made an unexpected appearance at the ball which didn't seem to sit well with Bellatrix. He truly seemed to mind her wellbeing, and yet Bellatrix still treated him like garbage.

Strange.

Also, who knew where the wizard was now. Hermione hadn't seen him around since she came here and it'd been a week already. She found it quite odd considering he and Bellatrix were married—they must have shared a household, a bedroom, bed...

Alright, let's not go there!

Frowning, Hermione looked at her wristwatch. It was something past three a.m. Her eyes returned to the ceiling, her hands curling in her shirt.

When the sphinx had confronted them earlier, she had thought they were screwed... yeah, completely screwed...

Was that aspect of their marriage actually being fulfilled? According to what she'd read about pureblood traditions, it had to... whenever the husband pleased. But were they, despite their dysfunctional communication patterns, sleeping with each other? Draco had told her that Bellatrix was away from home most of the time and Hermione had seen herself how she and Rodolphus had done nothing but rowed after not seeing each other for such a long time.

Out of the blue, her brain reconstructed the movie scene she'd seen last summer where a married couple fought until the husband seized his wife and they ended up engaging in a heated make-out session followed by—

Hermione sat upright, gritting her teeth.

Could it be with them like that too? Bellatrix playing hard to get and driving him crazy and then letting him push her up against the wall and—

Crap, she shouldn't be thinking about such things. Whatever Bellatrix and her husband did or didn't do was none of her business. Just like she shouldn't think about what Blair and Maxim might do once Blair came back from the Grangers...

Hermione felt her heart clench painfully. Perhaps she should have a shower and try to get some sleep—Blair and Maxim would certainly get it on—it had been such a long day, today's morning seemed so distant to her as if it had happened three days ago—more than once—standing up, she unzipped her jumper and threw it across the room onto the armchair in such a frustrated manner as if it belonged to Maxim himself.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, Hermione raised her top and tried to untie the beaded purse from her waist when she gave a start as Bellatrix Apparated back into the bedroom. Yanking the top down, she took a few steps back, feeling the warmth spread into her cheeks.

"Charles Barbary," said Bellatrix without any intro or showing any sentiments over having interrupted her. "He's the owner."

"Eh... Barbary?" repeated Hermione nervously, folding her arms and subsequently scratching her nape. Her fingers brushed against Blair's necklace and she seized the collar of the shirt, lifting it higher to cover it.

"Yes, I just said that, muddy."

Hermione tried to blot out her intrusive thoughts and focus. Barbary... Barbary... "I think I've heard of him," she stated slowly, biting her lip.

"You have?"

"But I can't quite remember where..."

"Think!"

Hermione's eyes began to aimlessly roam around the room. Barbary... why did she have a feeling it had something to do with festivals... music... or hippogriffs? No ... Barbary...

"But of course!" Hermione's eyes widened and she took a step closer to Bellatrix. "Heathcote Barbary! He's in a rock band called Weird Sisters! They were performing at the Yule Ball in my fourth year when there was a Triwizard Tournament!"

"Weren't you listening, Granger? I said Charles Barbary!"

"That's his grandfather! I've read a book about all the members because, well... Unlike most of my classmates, I don't particularly enjoy that sort of music and since they were—"

"You wanted to seem cool instead of nerdy, huh?" snickered Bellatrix.

Hermione's cheeks grew even hotter. "My point is, Charles Barbary is Heathcote's grandfather. We know where to look for the cup and I..." Hermione froze momentarily. "Hang on!" She strode to the bed. With a little struggle, she untied the purse from her waist and plunged her arm deep inside. It took her two minutes to pull out a stack of last month's Daily Prophets.

Hermione dropped them onto the bed and filtered through them until she found the one she was looking for. "Just a second!" she murmured and while was tearing through pages, Bellatrix sauntered to her. "Here it is!" Hermione held the article up for her to see. "They are going on tour next month. We could get VIP tickets and go backstage after their performance. I'm not a fan but..."

"A month? I'm not waiting that long!" objected Bellatrix, taking the newspaper from her, her tired eyes scanning the page.

"What else do you suggest then?" Hermione threw up her hand. "I doubt we can get to them anytime soon. They must be busy rehearsing."

"And getting knackered in between." Bellatrix lifted her eyes from the article, looking at her. "You said he's in a rock band—he'll be at a bar somewhere—that's what rehearsing means, deary. We just have to find the right place and we have him." She threw the newspaper onto the bed.

"So we'll be keeping an eye on all the bars in Britain, right?" asked Hermione, trying not to sound caustic.

"Only three of them."

"Three?" Hermione furrowed her brows. "Which ones? And how come you —"

Bellatrix flung her head back, "You ask far too many questions, it's giving me a headache!"

"How can I not?" blurted Hermione in aggravation. "You never explain anything to me!"

"Because there's no need for you to know anything, Granger!"

"Yes, there is! That's our deal!"

Visibly irritated, Bellatrix took a step closer. "No it's not! The deal—!" she faltered, her eyes fluttering. Her hand sprung forward, gripping Hermine's top at her stomach, scratching her with her long nails, obviously fighting for balance.

Hermione recoiled in shock. She automatically grasped Bellatrix's arms and guided her to sit down onto the bed right next to the tossed newspapers.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked in alarm, bending down to her.

Bellatrix released her top and curled her hands into the sheets instead. "Don't touch me! I'm fine!" she blurted and immediately tried to stand up but Hermione put more pressure onto her arms. Bellatrix was trembling.

Hermione looked at her nightstand, wishing for a glass of water which miraculously happened to be perched on top of it. She seized the tumbler glass and held it for Bellatrix to take, but the witch tugged her hand away.

"What have you done to me?" she murmured, lowering her head.

Hermione widened her eyes. "Me?! This is what you've done to yourself! I've told you, you needed to take care—" Biting her tongue, she stopped rumbling and softened her tone, "Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better!" She seized Bellatrix's wrist and forced the glass into her hand.

"You first," said Bellatrix weakly from underneath the mane of black curls that were hiding her face.

"What?"

"You drink from it first... How else am I supposed to know that you're not trying to poison me?" she demanded.

"What?! Why would I want to do that?" asked Hermione incredulously. "I would never—!"

But Bellatrix turned her head aside. Hermione didn't understand what it was with her. Why would she think Hermione wanted to harm her? Besides, it had been just an hour ago that she'd refused to even hold Hermione's hand and now, she was willing to drink from the same glass as her?

"Alright, I'll do it."

Bellatrix raised her distrustful, exhausted gaze to Hermione, who took the glass from her icy hand and forced down a gulp.

"See? It's just water!"

Bellatrix waited a moment. Seeing that after taking a sip Hermione was still alright, she accepted the glass from her and drank some water herself.

Unbelievable...

"You need to rest," pointed Hermione, putting the glass back onto the nightstand.

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do! Just lie down for a while!"

"Don't patronise me, Granger!" gritted Bellatrix.

"I'm not! I just want to help!" Gently, Hermione touched her arms again, trying to get her to lie down.

"I don't want to do this... " said Bellatrix in a strangely vulnerable voice, still trying to fight Hermione but then her eyes began to close and her hands fell to her side. "Just... don't touch me... please..." was the last thing she said before collapsing onto the sheets.

Hermione's stomach clenched. She quickly felt for a pulse on Bellatrix's wrist. It was weak but regular. Now what?! She should call Billey to take a look at her and make sure nothing serious was going on. Hermione was aware that Bellatrix wouldn't approve but she was in no state to argue.

Deciding to accept her rage rather than risk her getting seriously injured, Hermione called his name urgently.

When the little house elf appeared, she briefly explained to him what had happened and asked him to check if Bellatrix was alright. He was hesitant at first but Hermione's persistent suasion made him agree to run a few spells to check her over. After a series of small sparks resulting from his snapping his long thin fingers, Billey concluded that Bellatrix was okay but extremely exhausted and needed to rest. He clapped his hands twice and the bedsheets began to move and lift the unconscious witch a bit and make her roll into a much more comfortable position.

"Billey, I don't think she can breathe properly in that corset," expressed Hermione anxiously.

The elf responded that while he could transfigure her dress into something much more comfortable, he wasn't sure how 'mistress Bellatrix' would react to that once she woke up. Knowing she was entering the lion's den, Hermione told him not to worry for if Bellatrix had any problem with that, Hermione would take the blame. Billey seemed reluctant but eventually acceded. She didn't want to make Bellatrix feel violated, and so she asked him to only loosen the laces on her corset a little.

After the simple spell was completed, she asked him again if he was absolutely sure that Bellatrix wasn't internally injured, and only when he crystallized for the third and the last time that no, she wasn't, and that yes, she was going to be fine, did Hermione let him go.

When Billey Disapparated, she slowly reached behind Bellatrix and seized a wad of the blanket that was resting on the sheets, in her hand. She pulled it up to just below Bellatrix's chin and stepped back, fixing her eyes on the sleeping witch.

She couldn't stop her words from repeating inside her mind.

'What have you done to me?'

'How else am I supposed to know that you're not trying to poison me?'

Hermione couldn't wrap her mind around it. How could Bellatrix entertain such horrible thoughts? It really offended her that after all this time, Bellatrix knew as little about her as to think she would be capable of bloody killing her.

But it took one to know one...

Hermione buried her face in her palms before tugging her hair behind her ears, leaving her fingers tangled in it.

'Don't touch me... please...'

Please. That was the first time she had heard Bellatrix use the word in such context. It sounded beseeching, fearful almost, which was incongruous to Hermione, given the basic self-preservation instinct should have kicked in first and made Bellatrix reach for the helping hand rather than push it away. It was as if she'd rather have something happen to her than let Hermione touch her. That just didn't make any sense; she couldn't despise her that much. Unless... unless she had meant it in a completely different sense—as in 'don't touch me while I'm unconscious'. But then what did she think Hermione might do?

A sinister thought started to creep up on her, and she halted it just in time before it had a chance to fully develop inside her mind.

Her hands slackened their grip and fell to her sides. Was that what Bellatrix thought of her? Hermione put a gutted look on the sleeping form. She'd never given her a reason to think that of her! Never!

And here she thought that things were starting to look up for them...

Folding her arms, Hermione trudged to the armchair. She sat down onto the jumper that she'd thrown there earlier and that she didn't bother to put aside, drawing her legs up and hugging them. She was so disappointed in Bellatrix; so bloody disappointed and aggrieved it knocked all the other events they'd been through so far out of her mind.

So to Bellatrix she was a maniac, basically.

Right.

Good to know.

From now on, Hermione wouldn't get within ten feet of her. She would keep her distance anytime Bellatrix would try to approach her, and let her experience first-hand how crappy it felt to be treated like a leprosy patient over something as nonsensical as presumptions.

Hermione sank further into the armchair. She leaned her head against the soft upholstery, clocking that the light inside the bedroom was fading and getting replaced by the dusky purple coming from the fogged-over windows. It was morning already. And she was so exhausted. Perhaps she should have a quick shower to freshen up—no matter her disenchantment, Hermione didn't want to fall asleep just in case Bellatrix would wake up and still felt nauseous.

She unfolded her numb legs from the seat. Rubbing her thighs, she stood up and tiptoed into the bathroom, divesting herself of the clothes. Close inspection revealed three blossoming bruises, one on the outside of her left forearm and one on each of her knees; what a great souvenir from her first felony.

Hermione took a hot shower and returned back into the bedroom, taking her place in the armchair. Snuggled like a baby, she realised that the warm water probably hadn't been the best idea as it had relaxed her muscles and mind far too much. She tried stretching and if she hadn't been afraid that her footsteps would wake up Bellatrix, she'd also have gone strolling around the room because blimey, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

Perhaps if she closed them just for a moment... Only one tiny moment...

Hermione woke up to the bright light of the day, feeling as if instead of the armchair, she'd spent the whole night stuck in a pillory. God, did her neck hurt! She tried shifting and found the rest of her body undergoing the same agony. Slowly, Hermione composed her limbs into a much more refined position and tried turning her head.

She gave a small start. On her right, there stood Bellatrix with her arms folded and her hair so messy it was quite difficult to make out the murderous expression incised on her face behind it.

"I hate you!" she spat in lieu of 'good morning'.

Hermione sat up straighter, replying, "Okay," and moving to get up from the armchair. Surprisingly, Bellatrix stepped back, letting her.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, her former resentment flooding back in. "Obviously something that doesn't sit well with you," she said, putting more distance between them. "So what have I done this time?"

"Oh, the cheeky muddy doesn't know, does she?" Bellatrix tilted her head. "Don't play stupid!" she snapped. "How come I spent the night here?"

"I don't know, perhaps you found the bed too comfortable to leave?"

"Don't you fucking joke around; I'm in no mood for that," barked Bellatrix and Hermione actually took a step back. "You've wasted ten hours of my time! I thought we were on the same wavelength? Why would you deliberately sabotage everything we've been working towards?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've been trying to do the opposite! I couldn't just wake you up and say 'Oh, you're alive, cool, let's go to the bar to find Heathcote Barbary now!' You fainted from exhaustion, and since you're practically not getting any sleep at all, this was the only way to make you rest."

Bellatrix screwed up her face. "Make me?! Who the hell put you in charge to decide what I should or shouldn't do? You think you can just stand here and order me around?!" she yelled in anger. "Fuck you, Granger! You don't get to do that! No one does!"

"I was just—"

"I don't care!" Bellatrix didn't let her finish. "You had no right to assume anything! I've already told you my health is none of your concern and I mean it! You're neither my family nor my friend; you're just a stranger that I was forced to interact with! Don't forget your place!"

"You were SICK!" Hermione raised her voice too, unwilling to let her lashing get to her. "You think it would have benefited you more if I had just let you fall to the floor and poured water over you? I did what I thought was right! Perhaps you haven't realised it yet, but you're not a robot. You're a human being and you need to treat yourself as such! What would have happened if you had fainted in the auction house?! You're saying that I'm a saboteur but by hazarding your health like that, it is you who are putting us at risk!"

Bellatrix stared at her in bewilderment and Hermione took her chance to continue.

"Also, I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of your sleep! It's what you're supposed to do! Did you miss something? Did you have any appointments?"

"None of your business, mud!"

"So you didn't."

Bellatrix gave her an angry look before schooling her face into an expression that Hermione classified as a, for her very dangerous, scrutiny. "Tell me something—why did you let me sleep here?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. God damn it, right now, when she needed to clear up this particular thing. She folded her arms. "As I said, I wanted you to finally get some rest. I knew that if I woke you up, you wouldn't go to sleep since you had already wasted five minutes on it."

Bellatrix licked her lips. "Is that so?"

Hermione's cheeks burned harder. "No, actually it isn't!" she sighed, deciding to hide her discomfort behind sarcasm. "I totally did it for the reasons you think. Even though you specifically asked me not to touch you, I dared press two of my fingers to your wrist when checking your pulse to find out whether you were alive. I also put a blanket over you but sadly enough, without touching a single hair on your head. And then, since I am so perverse, I took the armchair even though the bed is bloody gigantic because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation."

"You little arrogant—"

"I'm not arrogant," Hermione spoke over her. "I'm just pissed that this is what you think of me when all I meant was to help you!"

"Nobody asked for your help!" snapped Bellatrix. "Next time, even if I'm bloody dying, you're not to interfere, got it?"

Hermione frowned. "No matter what you say, if there's going to be a next time I'm going to do the exact same thing; so if you don't want to go through this again, I suggest that you start taking better care of yourself."

"And I suggest that you shut your insolent mouth because if I hear one more word from you about this, you won't live to see your birthday," replied Bellatrix promptly.

Hermione pressed her lips together. It didn't surprise her one bit that Bellatrix was back to death threats; Hermione had learnt long ago that, just like a lizard shot blood out of its eyes when in danger, Bellatrix did shoot threats—she must hate to come across as vulnerable and since this incident had left her somehow at the mercy of Hermione's hands, no wonder she resorted to her defence mechanism.

"So—" Bellatrix tossed her hair back, lifting her chin. "If it's clear that from now on we'll be leaving my personal life out of our conversations, I think we should move onto the stuff that we're actually supposed to be dealing with."

Sure, I wouldn't want to waste any more of your precious time, let's talk as if nothing happened, thought Hermione.

"As I was saying yesterday," Bellatrix continued, changing the tone of her voice just like a person with dissociative identity disorder would switch from one persona to another. "We'll track that inebriate and then... I'll leave the rest to you."

Nonplussed, Hermione furrowed her brows. "What do you mean, to me?"

Bellatrix smirked, clearly back in her element. "I mean, you'll make a pass on him, get him intoxicated—well, profoundly more intoxicated; make him talk—obliviate him if necessary... and that is it, I guess."

"You expect me to do that?" Hermione's hand motioned toward her chest.

"Who else?"

"You!"

"He's a musician," said Bellatrix as if explaining the obvious. "He certainly fancies young lassies."

If Bellatrix wasn't a presumptuous ass, Hermione would have told her that even despite her ghastly face, she'd easily outshine any young girl at a bar. Under such conditions, however, she only frowned, saying, "No, I couldn't possibly manage to do this!"

"Of course you could," said Bellatrix silkily. "Just forget about being a misandrist for a while and be sweet to him."

Hermione gave her a nasty look. "This won't work!" she paused, warmth creeping into her face. "I have no experience in flirting..."

Bellatrix bit her lip before smiling. "No worries, muddy, I'll teach you."

—

Two days had passed since their conversation.

Hermione had officially become an adult—she was legally permitted to use magic and she'd also passed her Apparition exams with a surplus of praises from Mr Twycross (Dear Lord—the precision, the poise!) and that, to Hermione's huge surprise, Bellatrix had arranged with the Apparition test centre, of her own accord, for her to take earlier than had been initially planned—of course, Bellatrix hadn't forgotten to emphasize that she'd only done it to make things easier for herself and that Hermione shouldn't try to interpret the gesture in her own twisted way.

She could be such a delight, sometimes.

Hermione was very appreciative anyway but after telling Bellatrix so, she still ended up feeling upset over her responding with a 'You should be!' to her 'Thank you, I'm genuinely grateful!'

What else could she expect, though? There had been no talking to Bellatrix ever since her fainting spell. Why, Hermione didn't understand, for Bellatrix hadn't seemed one bit mad when she had left the bedroom that afternoon. It was only the day after that the tables had turned. She was suddenly so distant, twice as mean and just impossible to deal with. She'd also seemed to have completely forgotten about their plan to keep tabs on those three bars she had mentioned earlier.

At first, it scared Hermione, for she'd thought that her trying to be helpful the other day had only exacerbated their relationship; but after having thought about it, a different idea crossed her mind—perhaps Bellatrix's cold demeanor was just another one of her defence mechanisms; it sounded so crazy to her, but what if her resentment was slowly turning into something else? What if she had developed some level of gratitude to Hermione for being there for her and being concerned and for generally caring so much? Considering her views, such feelings would have naturally made her ashamed of herself, and so of course she would oppress Hermione to feel in control again.

But then, perhaps it was something completely different... perhaps it was as simple as Bellatrix being mad because a bloody kid was trying to tell her, a grown-up woman, what to do...

Either way, Hermione had to be patient and let her sort her feelings out on her own. If anything, it had at least given her some time to deal with her personal stuff.

Hermione got a chance to compose a response letter to her parents, using the rule of a three-quarters truth—which basically meant telling the truth under different sets of circumstances. She wrote about how wonderful it was to hear from them and that while she was incredibly grateful, she felt like they shouldn't have spent so much money on a car and that she could never be able to repay them for being such amazing parents (regardless of the car). Then she transitioned to that fourth quarter that would complete the three-quarters truth rule, writing that when compared to Hogwarts, the new school was quite arduous, but she felt positive she only needed some time to get used to it.

Hermione had mulled over mentioning that she wouldn't be coming home for Christmas but eventually decided against it. Letting her mom know four months in advance would only leave her with too much time to try and finesse Hermione into changing her mind, which was honestly unnecessary trouble.

So at the end of the letter, she had only scribbled a small note regarding Blair's present as very touching and asked her mom to tell Blair 'thank you' for her the next time they saw each other. God knew, Hermione couldn't write her directly. Because writing to her would be like talking to her and talking to her would be like seeing her and seeing her would be like rubbing salt into her wound... And she didn't need to drown in such sentiments either.

She dispatched the finished letter on the way from the Apparition centre because Bellatrix was a nasty piece of work and wouldn't let her use one of her own owls.

This was the most bittersweet birthday Hermione had ever had. Sweet because of Blair and her parents and bitter because for the first time in her life, she wasn't celebrating it at home. Hermione missed all those things she had previously taken for granted or found too embarrassing to appreciate—the singing, blowing out the candles and making a wish while everybody was looking at her, endless hugs and air kisses... She was such a loser for never seeing the magic in it before.

Well... sometimes loneliness could be quite eye-opening if one let it come through.

Honestly, how strange it felt; before, Hermione was used to being surrounded by people—be it Hogwarts or the bookstore she had worked for just a couple of days ago. And now, she had not a single soul to talk to.

If she at least kept in touch with Draco; but he hadn't written her once, which actually wasn't that surprising considering he had no idea where she was but still... he was yet to send her a birthday wish and Hermione shamelessly expected him to find a way to deliver it no matter what.

Hermione missed him so much. She couldn't believe that the school year was starting in a couple of days and she wasn't going to be there with him. She imagined him and all the other kids getting on the train, being excited about the new year while she... she had to sit here with a burden on her shoulders. Hermione tried very hard not to drown herself in self-pity and think about her youth seeping through her fingers like sand and how much time she had wasted so far trying to live according to the rules and hardly having any fun.

Her thoughts had fled to Blair once again, to how she used to tell Hermione, very kindly, to loosen up a little and just try to enjoy herself as much as she could; that life was all about experiences and that it didn't matter if they turned out to be good or bad because they would still teach her a lot.

Gosh, if only Hermione could go back and make the most of her days... even if it meant putting a book down once in a while or getting a bad grade in school—well, maybe not the latter but still...

Unfortunately, there was no changing the past—Hermione could only learn from it and just like Blair had said, 'a bad experience was still an experience', Hermione needed to see even this entire fiasco with Bellatrix as nothing but a life lesson.

Had she not moved in with her, Hermione would have probably never realised how much she was missing out on and would have hardly learnt how to stand up for herself... the witch, whether she realised it or not, was toughening Hermione up...

In a grander scheme of things, perhaps it wasn't all that bad.

—

Her positive mindset hadn't lasted for too long, though.

Couple days later, the frustrated Hermione found herself pacing around and cursing Bellatrix for having locked her inside the bedroom like a prisoner—anytime she tried to Apparate or touch the doorknob just for the sake of getting some fresh air, she rebounded further into the room, landing on her butt.

After a few tries, Hermione bitterly concluded that there was no getting out of here unless Bellatrix cared enough to come back and lift whatever spell she'd used.

What was Hermione supposed to do until then, though? Cry in anger? Read books? Lethargically lie on the bed or, if she felt extra productive, charm some hairstyles on the fruit that Billey had left for her to eat and titter at it from the insufferable boredom? Four times check! But what kept her occupied most of all was frantic overthinking; she was constantly going back and forth between Blair, Draco, her parents and of course, the corpus deus.

What intrigued her was Bellatrix's visit to Borgin and Burkes where the witch had learnt that the Slytherin's locket she'd come to purchase had already been sold—to her.

If Bellatrix hadn't lost the memory of herself buying it... there was a very high probability that someone had been impersonating her. But who? Who the hell would do that and why? Dumbledore? Perhaps, despite him saying that he wouldn't meddle, he was doing something after all, just in case Hermione screwed up. But what if it was someone else? What if there was someone else fighting for the same cause Hermione and Dumbledore were?

Just as she was analysing who on Earth could possibly know, the bedroom door flung open. Hermione, lying on the bed face up, didn't move an inch and acted as if she hadn't heard the clicking of heels against the floor as Bellatrix (who else) walked inside.

"Great news, muddy," enunciated her voice as the door clicked closed. "Seems like we got lucky; you'll be meeting the man of your dreams tonight."

So that's what she'd been doing all this time—hanging out at bars. Hermione heard something land on the bed next to her head but she still chose not to react.

"Upset, are we?"

"You think?" she gritted through her teeth.

Bellatrix had the audacity to chuckle. "I'll be back at half past ten," was all she replied to her. "Better make yourself look presentable; Merlin knows you need it."

A sudden fury rushed through Hermione. Leaping to her feet, she turned toward the door, finally willing to splash her frustration into Bellatrix's face and confront her about locking her up but the witch was already gone.

Cursing, Hermione punched her right thigh. How she hated Bellatrix's condescending ways; how she hated herself for trying to give her the silent treatment which, obviously, she couldn't have cared less about. All Bellatrix minded was her bloody plan. The plan Hermione didn't want to have anything to do with.

What if she refused? What if, out of pure defiance, Hermione said that she wasn't going anywhere? Bellatrix would most likely drag her by her hair, anyway. God, if only she could... Even though... perhaps she could—if she planned her retaliation around something else—

Her eyes slid to the bed. There on the sheets were what seemed to be a blood-red satin dress and a pair of black scarpins. She kneeled onto the mattress and took the mass of fabric into her hands, resisting the urge to burn it with her wand. Hermione held it to her eyes. The last time she had worn a dress like that was back in Greece.

Presentable, she had said... Fine, Hermione would look presentable...

—

When Bellatrix, dressed in all black as usual, entered the room at half past ten, she seemed to have frozen momentarily.

Hermione had taken her 'request' quite literally. She had made the high heels higher, the midi-length strappy dress of a cowl neckline tighter and the split that initially had gone to her knee, up to her thigh. She wore a matching matte blood-red rouge and a generous amount of mascara on her lashes that, in her opinion, brought out her eyes and gave them an unusually sultry touch. Her hair was parted on the side, shiny and voluminous, with loose waves coming down her back and her left shoulder.

In no way, shape or form did she look seventeen anymore.

"I hope you don't mind but I changed it a little bit." She looked at Bellatrix, tugging at the thin strap, holding the dress together.

Bellatrix curled her lip down. "Not at all, the more you look like a cheap slut, the better, right?"

Hermione felt a solid punch hit her stomach but hopefully didn't let it show.

Damn you Bellatrix! If you think of me as a slut, just you wait!

"So," she said, tearing her gaze away from Hermione's waist and directing it at her eyes instead. "The plan is quite simple. You have to make him notice you. I know that you're just a timid little prissy but..."

"No worries," said Hermione, trying not to mind the insult. "I figured what to do."

"Oh, have you?"

"Yes, I have."

She knew exactly what to draw from—or who—Hermione had been watching Blair interact with men for almost a month and they all seemed to melt like liquid sugar in her presence (much to Hermione's dismay); all she needed was to copy her gestures and that would be it. Hermione had had enough time to practice in front of the mirror this afternoon. It had made her feel like a complete idiot but since she'd considered it necessary, she'd done it anyway.

"Granger, you cannot screw this up!" warned Bellatrix.

"I won't!" Hermione tilted her head, narrowing her eyes a little. Bellatrix looked away and oh my, would Hermione love to believe it was because her appearance had some kind of effect on her or that she was at least surprised by her sudden confidence in behaviour.

"I certainly hope so," she grunted, looking at Hermione again with a deep frown. "You do whatever you want with him, except for one thing," she added sternly. "If he offers you any alcohol, accept it but don't even think of drinking it!"

Hermione nodded; of course she wouldn't drink. The last thing she needed was to make a fool out of herself—like last time.

"Once you learn something about his grandfather, you find me and we're out of there," said Bellatrix, inching closer and drawing her wand. She pointed it at Hermione whose breath hitched in her throat.

"What are you doing?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, saying in an annoyed voice, "I'm going to use the deluding charm on you—the one I used on myself when we went to that crappy orphanage? Nobody will remember your face."

A chilling sensation swept through Hermione's body as Bellatrix cast a spell over her.

"Alright then," the witch approached her and reached for her wrist but Hermione tugged it away, stepping back. She sauntered to the armchair and picked up a black coat with her beaded purse inside its pocket. Hermione put it over her shoulders and walked back to Bellatrix, offering her just the sleeve.

"You really don't have to touch me, I know how much it bothers you," she said coldly. Bellatrix didn't reply, only looked at her with raised eyebrows. Hermione noticed she looked much healthier than she remembered; her skin almost had a little glow and her eyes weren't red anymore. It made her heart skip a beat. Had she taken Hermione's advice?

She didn't dare ask but even if she would, there would be no time for it as Bellatrix grabbed the offered sleeve and Disapparated.

---

A/N: Okay, so I planned on writing so much more but then I figured it would be far too much for one chapter so I'm leaving you with just a taste of what's coming. I really hope you enjoyed it, though!

Also, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You have no idea how much I appreciate you and the time you invest into this story! My, how I WISH I could reply to the guest reviews directly; however, since I can't let me just express my feelings here (for everyone to see what an emotional mess I am, haha)

Guest 1— Thank you for taking the time to write me such amazing detailed reviews, you beautiful soul! I was smiling through tears when I read the last one and I can't even describe how much of a difference it made to my day, that wasn't going so well until then. Thank you! If I could hug you, I would!

Guest 2— Darling, me too! I wish I could update every single week, but it's not that easy, unfortunately... trust me I do what I can but you know, I need to live my life, first. :)

Anyway, thank you ALL so much! Can't wait for your thoughts on the new chapter!

All my love AP

(the author of the sphinx's riddle is Cleobulus)