A/N Sorry for the late update. I had this chapter drafted and decided I hated pretty much all of it so I started almost completely over. It took longer than I expected but I am finally done.

Imagine the magic that might be under the madness

Between the mundane automatic and the silicone sadness

-The Magic, Icon for Hire

Hermione sat, legs dangling over the edge of the rocky cliff, watching the water turn to mist below. She traced the letters of her scar before following the still healing lines Bellatrix had given her. She enjoyed feeling the scabbing on her arm, the raised marks of where metal had broken skin. Staring at the rocks below, Hermione briefly entertained the idea of letting herself fall. It wasn't that she wanted to kill herself, she was just tired of the side effects of death. It was nice to know she had a way out if she was cowardly enough to take it. She could feel the beasts behind her, waiting for her to let go, to give in. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of killing herself. It was too easy, and she didn't do anything the easy way.

There were footsteps approaching her, purposely pronounced so she would not be startled. She wouldn't have been startled, anyway, never really was. Linda and Jerry treated her as if she would break at any moment and she despised it but kept quiet. It wouldn't do her any good to confront them, it might reveal her beasts. She didn't care enough too, either. Hermoine enjoyed being left alone with nothing but her voices. They had never been particularly comforting but since Bellatrix had visited her she had been able to appreciate them more. Before, she had struggled so hard to stay ahead of them, to not let them catch her. Bellatrix showed her it wasn't the end when they caught up to you. It's the end when you let others tell you insanity is useless.

"Hermione, you should be careful. If you fall there's no way you'd survive," Linda whispered gently, sitting next to Hermione, though she stayed further from the edge. She studied the girl's more relaxed posture, even if Hermione was slightly tense at her presence. She leaned back on her hands, legs idly kicking back and forth and her face was turned to the sky. Occasionally, a rock was jarred loose and plummeted to the water below, although neither witch could hear its impact.

"I won't fall," Hermione intoned, staring at the horizon. She had kept her new marks a secret from the two soul healers, somehow. She intended to keep it that way and had adopted her new position when she heard footsteps.

Linda nodded even though Hermione wasn't looking at her, allowing silence to fall over them. Linda wished she could get more out of Hermione. The young witch always seemed lost in thought and distant. Linda understood that Hermione was still in the grieving stages but she had not seen such a severe case of despondency in all her years as a soul healer. Hermione didn't react to anything. She was utterly unfazed by everything, face remaining blank. Linda was most disturbed by Hermione's eyes. They were empty but also full of experiences no one her age should have. It was truly incredible how much of a survivor Hermione was. She couldn't imagine going through half of what Hermione endured in the past year, especially being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. Just that alone was enough to break a person irreparably.

"You're staring." It was a simple statement and Linda almost didn't hear it. Hermione's mouth had barely moved and the wind nearly tore the words away from her.

"You're looking a bit better. Weight-wise, I mean. There's still more to be done but you're making progress."

Hermione shrugged, deciding not to respond verbally. There wasn't really anything she could say. Personally, she didn't care if she gained her weight back or not but she wanted to, for Bellatrix. She didn't really understand why but she told herself it was so she could experience true insanity. That's what she yearned for, what she so desperately needed because she wasn't ready to die and that was the only way she could live. Bellatrix hadn't been to the reservoir again but Hermione still went every night around midnight, just in case. She was ready to leave, hadn't really wanted to come to the Isle, anyway. Maybe she should tell everyone she was going to search for her parents and hide out with Bellatrix until the world forgot about her. Then they would strike, ripping the world asunder to match their minds and souls.

A faint smile crossed Hermione's face but Linda didn't see. She stood moving away from the edge after peering over it one last time. Linda waited patiently, standing as Hermione turned her back to the horizon, looking calm rather than blank. It was different but she supposed it was a good change. Hermione followed Linda to the cottage, keeping pace with the soul healer but not speaking. Linda was content to walk in silence and Hermione appreciated that. The silence brought her comfort words didn't. It wasn't nearly what Bellatrix gave her but it was the next best thing. Hermione idly ran a thumb over her forearm, letting it fall back to her side. Linda placed a hand on the small of Hermione's back, allowing her to enter the cottage first. Hermione permitted the touch, having grown slightly more comfortable with her. Her muscles still tensed slightly, unaccustomed to such gestures.

"You look much better, Hermione. How are you feeling?" the familiar Scottish lilt greeted upon their entrance. Minerva had found herself missing Hermione's presence and decided to check in. It didn't surprise her when she felt the urge to see her could-be-daughter.

"Mostly the same. I like the quiet." Hermione's voice was quiet but not weak. It was still flat but there was a hint of something more.

"I suppose it's nice. It can be a bit oppressive sometimes, are you spending time with people?"

"Linda and Jerry sometimes sit with me. It's nice to have some company that isn't-" Hermione cut her sentence off, not wanting to say the words. Minerva nodded, lightly embracing the younger witch. Hermione patted the Scottish witch's shoulders a bit awkwardly, quickly stepping away. Minerva's eyes were watery and her mouth was turned down in a forlorn expression. She knew Hermione needed time to acclimate to other people again but it still hurt.

Bellatrix was in the library, books scattered across the table, a mess of pages and quills. She had done nothing but read for the past week, trying to devise a plan to get Hermione away from the people holding her back. She had grown incredibly frustrated and had taken to throwing books around in small fits of rage. Her house elf dared not disturb her except to bring food. Bellatrix fell onto a chair, rage temporarily diminished. Leaning her head against the back of the chair, trying to squash her frustration. Deep breaths were useless and she felt the lingering urge to destroy running through her. Jumping from her chair, Bellatrix stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Sitting around was useless. She had always hated the waiting part of planning. She was bored and by herself and she was going to go crazier if she sat around for another moment. She was a woman of action, not meant to sit around waiting all the time. That was what she had hated about being a Death Eater. Voldemort had made her wait for fourteen long, miserable years before she had felt anything but cold and damp and hungry. It was no wonder she was crazy, she had to be in order to survive, and she was a survivor above all else.

Wandering the dilapidated building was her only option of escape. It was too early to go to the reservoir to see Hermione and she didn't have a plan to get the girl away, either. She didn't want to disappoint Hermione by telling her she had to stay, not that she understood why it mattered what the girl felt. If she even felt anything but pain. Bellatrix smiled, remembering the taste of Hermione's blood. It had been exactly like she remembered from the day she had tortured her and Bellatrix had been craving the taste since she had watched Hermione wander the grounds of Hogwarts alone. She wanted it now, too. Causing pain made her feel better, no, lighter, and she could breathe through the suffocating insanity. It was different from Hermione's insanity, hers was self-inflicted as a coping mechanism but it was just as dangerous. Hermione's was a result of trauma but it made her crave pain, something Bellatrix was all too eager to give.

Bellatrix let out an insane giggle, soon turning into her normal cackle. She could form Hermione into whatever she wanted, so long as she used pain to guide her. It wasn't just pain to the younger witch, either, it was so much more. It was something that made Bellatrix feel a feral possessiveness, more than she already felt. Hermione was hers, of course, but she was especially hers when she was inflicting pain in the girl. Hermione would never belong to another. No one else could give her what she needed, the only thing Bellatrix was capable of giving. It was strange how things worked out. Bellatrix had thought Death sent her back to help Hermione heal and then the world, but they were both too broken to be fixed. Neither of them wanted to be fixed, anyway. Being broken was so much more interesting and the world deserved to suffer. For what, Bellatrix didn't know or care, but she supposed she didn't need a logical reason. She was insane and that's all there was to it.

The garden was overgrown, vines and weeds dominated the space, making the area more jungle-like. It didn't matter to Bellatrix, she hated the garden as a child. It was more Narcissa and Andromeda's hobby. She had preferred the library or her room. Books had been the only thing that saved her from insanity in her younger years and her room had always been her safe place. It hadn't mattered that her father was a horrible man, her bedroom was a fortress of protection. She had stopped enjoying the outdoors early in her childhood but after her time in Azkaban, she had a renewed appreciation for the fresh air. That wasn't her purpose today, though. Throwing open the door to the sad excuse of a tool shed, she grabbed the first sharp thing she saw. The axe was heavy and rusted, its disuse obvious. None of that stopped the dark witch from swinging it at the large vines, hacking without skill or tact. She just needed to break, to destroy, to ruin. It was her hobby and she excelled at it. Magic would have been too easy, even though she despised doing things by hand. When she was in a mood she needed to feel things break at her touch, wanted the satisfaction at tearing it apart. Magic was too clean, too impersonal.

Sweat covered Bellatrix's body as she dropped the axe, not bothering to put it away. Her elf would take care of it. She surveyed the damage, large chunks of soft green vine littering the grounds. It was a good thing it hadn't been poisonous but Bellatrix didn't care either way. She felt better, enough to last her for a while longer. A visit to her young witch was in order soon, even if she still didn't have a stupid plan. If anything, she would just stay in her Animagus form unless they were alone. She didn't want to do that, didn't want to resort to such ridiculous tactics. It might come to that but she would prolong it as much as possible.