A/N: Hello, hello, my dear readers. I'd like to take a moment to thank you all for dealing with my inconsistent updates. I appreciate all your reviews and follows and what have you.
Enjoy!
"Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think of the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will want to make sense of all that I am."
-Christopher Poindexter
Hermione and Bellatrix lounged in their room, one on the couch and one at the desk. Bellatrix stared blankly into the empty fireplace, dark eyes steady even though her movements were restless. Hermione sat quietly at her desk, grading papers by the light of a lantern. The only sound in the room was the gently scratching of Hermione's quill on parchment and an occasional sigh.
"Hermione."
"Yes, Bellatrix?" Hermione didn't look up from the essay, quill still scribbling corrections.
Bellatrix turned her gaze away from the fireplace, focusing on Hermione's back. "The Weasley man. What department does he work for in the Ministry?"
"Something related to Muggles and their stuff."
"And Shacklebolt is Minister?"
"Yes." Hermione knew Bellatrix knew all this information already, but she also knew the dark witch needed to think aloud.
"Hmm." Bellatrix tapped her finger against her lip, her eyes following the movement of Hermione's quill.
"If you're thinking about who to use, Arthur is our best bet. I don't think anyone would believe that Kingsley would try to blow up the Ministry. Arthur lost two children in the war, and he cared a lot about Harry, so it's almost like he lost three. If the Ministry had stepped up and taken care of Voldemort, they probably wouldn't have died so young."
"He was always even-tempered."
"Everyone has a breaking point, Bellatrix." Hermione set down her quill, turning in her chair to face the dark witch.
"What's yours?" Bellatrix leaned her elbows on the armrest, her knees digging into the couch as she leaned closer to Hermione.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "We both know I've already passed it."
"Well, what was it, then?" Annoyance seeped into Bellatrix's voice but Hermione was unbothered by it.
The young witch was quiet for a moment, looking into Bellatrix's dark eyes. "It's hard to say."
"Was it that night in the Manor? Did I break you, push you into the depths of your mind?" Bellatrix's voice was no more than a whisper and she leaned closer to Hermione, eyes gleaming predatorily.
Hermione shivered despite the heat she could feel radiating off the dark witch. "It started before that."
"But that was the turning point."
"Yes." It hadn't been a question, but Hermione felt the need to answer, anyway.
"When did you know it would be me? When did you know I would be the one to make you into what you're meant to be? What you've always been."
"At the Ministry. I didn't know at the time what it was, though. Everything got louder and quieter at the same time, I thought it was just adrenaline but it wasn't. It wasn't until that night I understood. My dream was because of you. The cliff, the waves, everything. You weren't in it that time, but even still, I knew."
Bellatrix smiled victoriously, abandoning the couch in favor of standing in front of Hermione. "And when did you know you would come running if I called you?"
"When you gave me this," Hermione whispered, holding up her bare arm for Bellatrix to see. The dark witch grabbed Hermione's wrist, running her other hand over the scar almost lovingly. Hermione shivered at the touch, her scar aching pleasantly at Bellatrix's proximity.
"A beautiful mark for a beautiful girl." Bellatrix seemed to not realize what she just said, all her attention on the scar. Hermione felt her breath catch but ignored the tightening in her chest.
"When did you know you would be able to take me?" Hermione's words barely disturbed the air between them and, for a moment, she thought Bellatrix hadn't heard her.
"The night Minerva stopped you from walking into the forest," Bellatrix whispered, rubbing her cheek on Hermione's arm, her next words tickling as she continued in a whisper, "You almost came right to me."
Hermione inhaled shakily. "I didn't know you were in there. I just knew that's where I needed to be."
"You needed someone to help you." Bellatrix stared into Hermione's eyes, the distorted hazel curiously flat.
"Yes."
"Someone to guide you through the murkiness. Would you have fallen without me, I wonder? Or would you have made it to the end?" Bellatrix yanked on Hermione's arm, pulling her out of the chair. Hermione stumbled into Bellatrix, the dark witch pulling her close. Bellatrix smirked as Hermione's eyes came to life.
"You know I need you."
"Do I?"
Hermione wasn't familiar with this game, it wasn't something she was used to. Still, the thought of something new excited her, and she knew exactly what to say, exactly what Bellatrix needed to hear. "Whatever proof you need, Bellatrix, it's yours."
"I don't need anything," Bellatrix growled.
"Whatever you want, then."
"The Weasley. We use him as our scapegoat." Bellatrix released Hermione roughly, ignoring the way the young witch swayed a little bit as she regained her balance.
"Bellatrix, wait." Hermione reached out to the dark witch, her fingers closing around her wrist.
The dark witch turned to look at Hermione, eyes burning with an inner fire. "What?"
"I do need you." Hermione searched Bellatrix's eyes for something she could recognize, relieved when the fire dulled.
"I know." Bellatrix eased her wrist out of Hermione's grip. "I need you, too."
"Are you going out?"
"Yes."
"Be safe. I'll leave the window open for you."
Bellatrix nodded even though Hermione had already turned back to her desk. She stayed to watch the young witch settle back into her chair before opening the window and shifting. The air through her feathers was a welcome distraction, even if it wasn't the same as being in her normal form. It was a minor inconvenience, but it would all be worth it. She would gladly trade a few months of freedom if it meant succeeding in her plans. She had already lost fourteen years, a few months was nothing compared to that. Bellatrix's figure blended into the night perfectly. It was a new moon and the only light came from stars too dim to see anything by. She wheeled through the air, her temporary freedom soothing her.
The highest point of the castle was Bellatrix's destination, but she was in no rush to get there. She flew in lazy circles, letting the updrafts carry her higher. When she finally reached the top, she perched on it easily, looking down at the school grounds. From this high up, it all seemed so small. It was part of the reason she enjoyed it. She was a casual observer, even though there wasn't anything to see at this time of night. It was a good place to think. To think about the events that had lead to this, about what she had admitted to Hermione, about what she had really wanted to say. 'I need you' might as well be the equivalent of 'I can't live without you,' which is much too close to 'I love you.' They weren't capable of love, at least, Bellatrix didn't think so. They were capable of need, something so much more dangerous than love. And, really, that made it so much more condemning for them both.
Bellatrix ruffled her feathers in annoyance, letting out the equivalent of a sigh. When Hermione had first joined her, she hadn't expected to feel this way. She hadn't expected to want to need Hermione, or to want the young witch to need her. But how could they not be drawn to each other? They were the same, true, but they were so, so different. Hermione was calm where Bellatrix was barely restrained energy. Sometimes, you have to be the same to be different, and as Bellatrix realized this, she cawed in irritation. Emotions had never been her strong point, she usually left that to her weaker sisters.
Now, she was faced with feelings she couldn't understand, and she hated things she didn't understand. But she understood Hermione, and she understood they needed each other if they both planned to survive. So what if she began to care for the girl? It was natural to care for things that were necessary. That's all it was. At least, that's what Bellatrix tried to convince herself. She lied to herself. She did it all the time, but if she lied enough, she might begin to believe it. She knew that was a lie, too, but she abandoned the thought. She wasn't ready to admit that her feelings for Hermione stemmed from more than need. She knew how the young witch felt, she was transparent. Bellatrix shook out her feathers, spreading her wings but hesitating before she took off. She wasn't done thinking, not yet.
Hermione was trying to finish grading the essays her students had written. She had a hard time focusing on the words in front of her and it didn't help that the essays weren't that great. Her mind kept drifting to the plan, to Bellatrix. It almost seemed like it would be too easy to weaken the Ministry. It might take a few years until Bellatrix could seize full control, but they had nothing but time. She just had to keep everything hidden. Hermione forced her thoughts back to the essays in front of her, willing herself not to turn and look out the window for Bellatrix.
Hermione growled in frustration when her thoughts returned to Bellatrix again. The light from the lantern was growing dim but she had stopped reading the essays long ago. She was halfway done but could hardly concentrate. Bellatrix's confession of needing her rung in her ears, echoed in her head, it was all she could focus on. Those four words, barely uttered in the space between them but louder than everything. She couldn't help it, she clung to those words, just like she clung to every small admission Bellatrix gave to her. She collected them inside herself, pieces of the puzzle that was Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione wanted to be a piece of her puzzle, needed to.
The lantern light flickered and when Hermione felt her gaze drawn to the window, she took a quick inhale and focused on the essays on her desk. Bellatrix could handle herself, not that there would be a problem as long as she stayed a raven. Her quill scratched over parchment, filling the silence of the room but doing nothing to stop the echo in her head. It brought a faint smile to her face as her quill scribbled over abominations masquerading as essays. Bellatrix understood her, gave Hermione everything she needed. Hermione hoped she gave Bellatrix everything she needed, too, or at least could someday.
Hermione stood from her chair, taking a break from grading as she started a small fire in the hearth. She could have used magic, but there was something about creating it without magic that was so much more satisfying. Creating something with the power to destroy. Is this what Bellatrix felt, why she didn't use magic as much as people believed? Hermione didn't know, and she didn't consider herself to be an expert on Bellatrix's behavior, but she had the feeling she was the closest thing Bellatrix had to a friend. It didn't really mean anything to either of them, they were drawn together because of circumstance. Still, Hermione figured she knew Bellatrix better than most people. There was something inside both of them, something other people didn't have. It wasn't evil, per se, but it wove tendrils of darkness around them. A darkness that they used to shield themselves from the outside world.
Fire roared to life in the hearth, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. A small, triumphant smile graced her face as she made sure it was there to stay. She stood, the light of the fire casting everything in orange. The light of the lantern had flickered into nothing while Hermione had been away. The young witch paid it no mind as she stared into the fire, lost in the easy movement of the flames. They seemed liquid-like at times until they suddenly violently snapped. Hermione sat on the floor with her back against the seat of the couch. Her legs were extended, the soles of her feet warmed by its considerable heat. She draped her arms over the seat of the couch, stifling a yawn. With a flick of her wrist, she levitated the rest of the essays and her quill to her, expending her magic effortlessly. Bellatrix had been teaching her a great deal, and this was so much easier than grading the bloody things by hand.
When Bellatrix finally flew in through the window, it was well past midnight. As she shifted, she noticed the dying fire in the hearth and Hermione sitting on the floor, asleep, with papers scattered around her. Bellatrix tried to fight the gentle tug of her lips as she gathered the essays, careful not to make too much noise. Hermione's arms were on the couch and her cheek pressed against her left shoulder. Her legs were extended and the dark witch carefully stepped over them to avoid tripping. She rifled through the papers, seeing that they had all been graded. She put the stack of essays on Hermione's desk and closed the window. She cringed as it slammed shut against her will, cursing under her breath as she cast a furtive glance in Hermione's direction.
"Bellatrix?" Hermione called out, startled. She rubbed the sleep from her face, searching for her wand.
"It's just me. Sorry, I was trying to be quiet, but something decided not to agree with me." Bellatrix glared petulantly at the window.
"It's okay. Where are the essays?"
"I put them on your desk. Not that they can really be called essays," she said, making sure the window was latched.
Hermione groaned as she flexed her neck and arms, moving from the floor to the couch. " I was thinking the same thing. I don't know what it is about the students, but they do not know how to write essays. I can do better than that in my sleep."
"I don't doubt that." Bellatrix joined Hermione on the couch, watching as the young witch tucked her legs to her chest.
"Where did you fly?"
"The top of the school. I didn't really fly so much as let the wind carry me."
"What's it like?" Hermione put her chin on her knee, eyes flicking over the dark witch before resting on her face.
"It's...freeing. There's nothing more incredible to me than the feeling of the wind around me and watching everything grow smaller and being able to just go. Knowing my wings can carry me to my destination, that I can go anywhere, I love it."
Hermione smiled, her eyes tracing the sharp planes of Bellatrix's face, harshened by the light of the fire. "You learned it when you were young, didn't you?"
"I had to. It was the only way I could escape when things became too much." Bellatrix clamped her mouth shut, glaring at Hermione. "Whatever it is you've done to me, stop."
"I haven't done anything, Bellatrix. But I can see it, just like you can see me."
Bellatrix frowned, studying Hermione's face. It held nothing but honesty, like always. "I could teach you."
Hermione blinked in surprise. Bellatrix had never offered to teach her something, she had just done it. "Why wouldn't you just do it?"
"Because this is something you have to want to do. I can't just teach it to you. You have to make the choice to learn."
"I don't know." Hermione shrugged, stifling a yawn.
"Go to sleep. I'm sure those essays were exhausting."
Hermione sensed the change in Bellatrix's demeanor and nodded, rising from the couch and climbing into bed. Bellatrix stayed on the couch, listening for the change in Hermione's breathing. It didn't take long before the young witch was undoubtedly asleep. Bellatrix watched the fire until it died, sitting in the dark for several silent moments. She wasn't even sure if Hermione possessed the ability to become an Animagus. Surely, she did, considering Hermione seemed to have innate magical power. It was surprising because she was a mudblood, but at the same time, Bellatrix knew it was through sheer willpower. Anyone could see Hermione's tenacity, but Bellatrix could see more than that. She saw why Hermione was the way she was.
Bellatrix couldn't help but admire Hermione's tenacity to survive. Not just survive, but defy the notion of fate. Everyone expected her to help pick up the pieces of the war, to want to help. They couldn't see what they had helped her become. The war she had endured hardened her, partly because of Bellatrix, but also because she was barely more than a child fighting a war started before she was born. She had been thrust into it, but she hadn't let it phase her. Hermione had adapted to it, just like Bellatrix had. It was a trait they shared, among other things. They really weren't that different at all, and Bellatrix couldn't fathom how no one noticed. She wasn't complaining, it just made her suspicious that something bad would happen. Bellatrix shook the feeling off and climbed into bed, leaving space between herself and Hermione.