I thought we could all do with something light hearted. I wrote this a little while ago, I don't know if I like it, but thought it be good to share. A bit different to Paint it Black. Anyway. Enjoy
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters and no money has been made from this.
Enjoy...
Not Strong Enough
Chapter one
April 5th…
"Congratulations or commiseration?"
The words slip unbound from her mouth; she hears them bounce around in the small, enclosed space. The murmur of the elevator as it moves inexplicably slow between floors. Two perplexed eyes turn to regard her. Something flickers in their depths, perhaps amusement, maybe disbelief a hint of distaste.
"Pardon?" The voice clipped, not amusement then.
Her foot twitches, perhaps the floor will just open and swallow her alive. Maybe the doors will fling open, and she can leave, never to cross paths with this black beauty. Anything is better than this agonising awkward silence. Is it too late to claim a mental illness? Could she be one of those people?
"Your divorce," Once more her mouth is moving before the mind can catch up. "Congratulations or commiserations?"
Why? Why did she elaborate, her mouth runs dry as she struggles to formulate any more words. Only if this could have happened sooner before she spooked this stranger. Before her nosey eyes peeped a glance at the divorce papers hidden behind a bland brown folder. Ignored the white mark left on the wedding ring finger, stained from years of marriage that is no longer honoured. Who divorced who? Was it amicable? Why is she still thinking?
This woman is yet to blink, she remains staring with those unnerving impossibly black eyes, but she refuses to shrink in the gaze. Her legs wobble regardless, but she knows this is far from fear. Her heart is pounding, her mind turned to mush she feels every inch of her skin tremor with electricity. It's been so long since she's had this connection. If only she didn't ruin it with a stupid conversation.
They break their awkward stare the older woman gazes down at the files in her hand perplexed. Maybe she doesn't want it to end, perhaps she has just gone and rubbed salt in an already painful wound.
"Who are you?" That voice again, sharp, intelligent, reserved.
"Hermione Granger," Hermione holds her hand out.
Why? Perhaps she could use a time-turner to try this all again, without digging holes with strangers let alone beautiful stunning ones. Why did she have to give her real name, she could have left here with her reputation intact.
She's staring again at the outstretched hand. Hermione is too, wondering why her hand remains in the air. Wondering why her mind is working so damn slow today.
It's a shock, the touch of cold skin against her warm hand. A rush runs through her body, it makes their encounter stranger. Makes it real. Those beautiful eyes fully focused on Hermione, perhaps wondering what world she has come from. Perhaps also wondering why they are shaking hands.
"Bellatrix Le… Black." The woman clarifies the slightest stutter. "It's congratulations. I suppose."
The words are carefully selected, poised, and consider several times before speaking. A lesson Hermione could learn from, a lesson her mind is yet to master. She breaks the handshake abruptly, returning to holding the folders not stepping away.
All she can smell is her perfume as it encases her.
Perhaps she should mention she already knows who Bellatrix is, that she works with Hermione's best friends. Maybe mention they've passed each other at the Ministry, that Bellatrix has never once looked her way. Having heard the stories in the ministry knows exactly the type of divorce that is happening. It's in the gossip columns, after all, two of the biggest families in the wizarding world have split. A scandal once upon a time.
While the world gossiped, she noticed, noticed how people gave Bellatrix a wide berth. Since the divorce, how people stop to whisper and small talk stops in the cafeteria when Bellatrix walks by. The chatty dinner lady never knows just what to say. How isolated the witch had become since the news of her divorce. She also heard the other rumours, not to ask Bellatrix regarding her divorce that it doesn't end well for others. Heard these rumours from her friends, perhaps the biggest gossip around.
"Well, in that case, I'll raise a glass for you tonight at the Scarlet Hound." Hermione cracks a smile.
The elevator comes to a stop, the doors sliding open she breaks from the elevator, as others push past, leaving a bewildered Bellatrix behind. She sends a salute at the amused witch before wandering off in search of her destination she has work to get back to.
The crowd has died down in the bar, the empty glasses collected from the table, its late, majority have moved on to another bar or stumbled home. She watches the group she came with some girls from school celebrating a Hen do. She still wonders why they bothered inviting her, but she accepted and came regardless. Spent the night shooting shots, wandering through bars to end up at the Scarlet, Hermione's favourite haunt. She spends a few nights after work here, either alone or with work colleagues.
Now she merely observes her group, as they drink and play pool, flirting with some guys. With their laughter she smiles into her wine, flicking through a book she brought with her. She knows why she's here, she's the reason Wearger made into the ministry, the reason she reached those high scores. She helped her study late at night, away from prying eyes, so no one knew that she was struggling. They became good friends, and spent many a night drinking after work, she enjoys Charlotte's company, the secret geek.
Perhaps it should bother Hermione, how their friendship is obscure, how Charlotte hides the help she had from a muggle-born from her family. Except, it doesn't bother Hermione, it's a friendship that goes both ways. One day, Hermione knows, one day she will call in that favour at the ministry and all the awkward days out with Charlotte's friends will be worth it. Perhaps it's manipulative, perhaps it's calculating. It's just how it works, always good to have the daughter of the judge on her side.
"Usually people drink at bars." She could recognise that clipped voice anywhere. "They don't usually read, especially on a hen do."
Those dark eyes turn to regard the rowdy crowd in the corner, not hiding the distaste. It doesn't particularly help the bride-to-be is currently grinding against another man. If Hermione was a good friend, she would go send Charlotte home before she made any more mistakes. But she's not that kind of friend.
"Whisky," Bellatrix orders the barman, before slipping into a vacant seat.
"People don't usually stalk other people?" Hermione fires back, marking her page.
"You told me you'd be here remember?"
"It wasn't an invitation," Hermione replies taking a sip from her wine as the barman places Bellatrix's drink on the table.
"Oh, silly old me," Bellatrix smirks turning to the few remaining shots on the table. "Are they mine?"
Confused, Hermione glances at the drinks, merely raising an eyebrow at the dark witch wondering why Hermione would be saving her shots. She didn't expect Bellatrix to turn up, let alone even remember their meeting.
"You said you'd raise me a glass? Be a shame to waste them."
Chuckling, Hermione slips one of the shots over to the witch picking up the other for herself.
"Cheers," Hermione smirks.
"Cheers to being divorced."
Snorting, they both take the shot at the same time, Hermione wincing at the acid taste that lingers. Turning the glass upside down she places it down on the table.
"Tastes like cat piss." Hermione mumbles.
"Much experience with that then?"
"More than you know," Hermione mutters, flushing seconds later.
A harsh bark breaks from ruby red lips. It's startling, a true smile breaks the emotionless face a hand raises towards the bar, the quick order of a bottle for the table. The exchange of gold. A bottle of whiskey a glass sliding Hermione's way. She wants to vanish and disappear into the leather sofa, how many more times can she embarrass herself?
"Bisexual, right?" Bellatrix states reclining in her seat.
"Ugh, yes?" Hermione responds hesitantly.
"People talk Granger, especially about other people's sex life."
"Tell me about it." Hermione agrees to accept the drink and takes a swig. "Look earlier, in the elevator, I'm so…"
"No," Bellatrix interrupts, swigging her third glass before pouring herself another. "No. Don't apologise. You're the first person to speak their mind to me in fucking months. It's refreshing. Don't ever apologise for that."
"You have great breasts." Hermione comments.
Another laugh, another gulp of whiskey.
"Will this day ever end," Hermione mutters, rubbing her face, her mind fuzzy? "I'm drunk for the record."
"I gathered; I'm trying to catch up with you," Bellatrix smirks. "How many have you had?"
"Umm, who knows how many shots and I think this is my second bottle of wine."
"Better slow down then," Bellatrix mentions, pulling Hermione's glass of whiskey away. "You know… I'm not like that?"
"A witch?" Hermione asks.
"No, like, you know…"
"A muggle-born? No? I'd never have guessed."
"Shut up."
"I mean, you've got too much attitude, let alone an air of arrogance."
"Gay, I'm not gay…" Bellatrix snaps.
"Oh! Why didn't you say so?" Hermione asks smirking at the witch. "Please, you're shaking like a mandrake, I know you're not gay."
"I am most certainly not shaking." Bellatrix argues hotly.
"Oh please, Bambi looked less scared than you."
"Who the fuck is Bambi?"
"Oh, you uneducated swine." Hermione shakes her head sadly. "Were you dragged up?"
"You're cruising for a bruising." Bellatrix threatens darkly.
"Promises, promises." Hermione remarks before pouring herself a glass of wine. "It's fine, I know you're not gay etc. That doesn't mean I can't admire."
"Oh, please do admire away, it gives me a big head."
They sit in comfortable silence watching the group become messier, the flowing of alcohol and the poor life choices. She sips her wine as Bellatrix drinks more whiskey, amused by the actions of others.
"They don't know do they?" Bellatrix questions. "They don't know that you're unspeakable?"
"They probably wouldn't care," Hermione comments swirling her wine around her glass. "You did your homework on me?"
It doesn't surprise her, she knows Bellatrix is an Auror, she would have searched the records for Hermione's name if roles were reversed.
"Not very often someone speaks to me, wanted to make sure I didn't have a stalker." Bellatrix continues. "I don't believe you, not many people know an unspeakable, I think they'd care more than you're letting on."
Sighing, Hermione reclines on her seat slipping her feet onto a chair she relaxes, it's true many people find Unspeakables some sort of mystery. They have their little following, have seen some wannabe's, seen those impersonating an unspeakable. She wonders if they know it's a criminal offence to impersonate anyone of authority.
How many realise that it's mostly research, that they spend many hours in a dark room writing reports studying artefacts? That's it's not glamorous, there's no secret cult. It's just a job where the only ones unspeakable can talk to our other colleagues. Even then, it depends, they can only share information if they are on the same research.
"Most likely," Hermione nods swigging her wine. "They will ask questions that I won't be able to answer."
"So why hang out with them?" Bellatrix asks. "They don't seem like the sort you'd hang around with."
"Hmm, you'd be right."
"Then why?"
"Would you think less of me if I said insurance?"
"I think it is wise to keep the daughter of a judge in your pocket." Bellatrix concedes after a second reflection.
"A favour given is a favour earned."
"Is this what this is then? Will I be another favour?"
Hermione snorts, placing her glass down, and turning her full attention to the woman next to her. Despite the alcohol, Bellatrix's attention is focused, untouched. She feels every bit of the prey in those dark eyes, being summoned up by the calculating brain.
"I doubt you would allow that to happen." Hermione comments.
"No, but you never know."
"I'm afraid not Auror Black, I owe you no favour nor expect one in return. Stay for the lazy conversation if you will or drink your whisky far from here. I am merely intrigued by you. I never intended for you to follow."
"Are you telling me you're tired of my presence?"
"I am telling you to do what you will." Hermione smiles. "Stay or go it makes no odds to me."
"You're not very good at making friends."
"Is this what we will become? Friends?" Hermione questions.
"Depends, how good is your alcohol tolerance?"
"It has improved significantly with my job."
"Good, let's leave this place I want cocktails."
Smiling, Hermione is all too happy to leave the pub, to leave her friends to make their mistakes. She swigs one more drink from the bottle, before leaving a tip on the table. Swing her bag over her shoulder she allows Bellatrix to lead the way. Stumbling out into the damp air, she feels the alcohol take effect, grasping Bellatrix's arm to the stable she allows the Auror to drag her further down the alley towards the flashing lights of a club.