A/N: Sorry, that took forever! I have a very very very full schedule these days, but I will try to keep things as timely as I can! So sorry again about the very long wait.

Part 2 Chapter 7

February 2 2004, Weasley residence outside Wicklow, Ireland

'The memories are... diverse. They've cast a different light on the whole thing – and revealed unflattering details about wizarding society, anti-pureblood sentiments and frankly... Well, it would come as no surprise to me if the deposition, should it become public, ended up galvanizing isolationist as well as supremacist supporters. Right before the election, too. There's a lot of pressure on me right now to get this right.'
Hermione sipped her tea nervously, tapping the toe of her shoe against the wooden beam under the table.

'So you're not sure Bellatrix Lestrange will come out of this looking, well... wrong?' Harry looked upset and a bit baffled. Hermione was at a bit of a loss herself, twitching a hand through her hair in frustration and furrowing her brows.

'What? No, Harry, of course she's wrong. Her views are wildly wrong apart from being absolutely horrible, that's not the issue. It's just... she's thought things through, she's clever, she's suffered. She's a bit more like a martyr than expected. I'm concerned about it.' She's looking healthier, too, and I don't want to put a tragic beauty spin on this whole martyr mess either she thought.

'Well, I reckon everyone's got a sob story, haven't they?' Ron leaned back, his feet planted on the ground and his hands reaching toward his back. Still supremely confident it would all work out – Ronald Weasley had gained a lot of perspective in his adult years, but was still unwaveringly certain he'd been on the right side of history every step of they way in his fight against Voldemort. 'You don't get to the top of the Death Eaters without spilling a bit of blood and a bit of your own brains, right?'

'I don't think so, no.' Hermione thought about it. 'But she could be doing this on purpose.'

'Are you mad? That'd be impossible.' Harry scoffed.

'Didn't you say you'd been thorough?' Ron demanded. 'Didn't you say she didn't want to do it?'

'Well, yes. But it's not as if you know what that entails, Ron, to be thorough. Analogies are analogies and all. There could be margins of error of which you remain blissfully unaware – I have tried to represent her as well as to condemn her, it's a tough balance is all.'

She sighed heavily, signalling an end to the conversation as she scratched her scalp in frustration. Conversation as stress-relief didn't really work when you were not able to actually talk freely and the Department of Mysteries was nothing if not thorough in it's tongue-tie curses and Mauna Vows – there were even incidents of Unbreakable Vows being taken in the higher-up ranks. Hermione knew she was lucky she could say what she could as Harry and Ron were Harry and Ron – being their friend had it's privileges. Still, Bellatrix's memories were not the unending parade of horrors she'd sort of hoped they would be – Hermione would have to make deliberate choices about what to include in the deposition. She could make an argument and decide the results through presentation. She hadn't intended for Bellatrix's faith to lay in her hands, but it appeared it had still come to pass – whatever she handed over would surely all be used.

January 4, 2004

It was a strange shift that occurred for Hermione when the prisoner moved to her permanent cell. There wasn't anything about Bellatrix that required her constant attention any longer so the time had finally come for privacy to be (at last) re-attained.

Bellatrix seemed disappointed by the arrangement after having experienced it for only a few days. This, Hermione felt most strongly, did not bode well for the rest of Bellatrix's life (and really, the rest of Hermione's life as well seeing as pureblood wizards frequently lived to 150). However, Hermione understood quite well why it was that the woman was having difficulty adjusting. She was staring down a lonely century ahead which likely felt quite daunting. The promise of a visit from Narcissa had still not been upheld – and now it seemed more urgent than ever, as the likelihood that Bellatrix would offer any co-operation seemed to hang on this promise being complied with. Hermione had charmed a sort of baby monitor system in Bellatrix's sitting room, hoping to be able to keep her visits to a minimum by keeping a distant eye out, but the thought the woman was lonely sent errant pangs of sympathy through her. And yet, the almost pleasant routine they'd had going nauseated Hermione the moment she had some distance from it – what had she been thinking? She ached inwardly for the consideration she had shown the – the monster, really. The image of Bellatrix flashed before her eyes often, a nightmare looming quite large in Hermione's mind once again.

December 17 2003

'We're almost done here, I think.' Hermione smiled, inordinately pleased with the progress of the process. The madwoman she'd been charged with was making sense, finally, and the preparations for the island were paying off in the form of a blossoming new community. 'In fact I expect we can move you into your house now. No need to stay so close.'

'Finally! Some privacy at last!' Bellatrix exclaimed loudly. 'I thought this day would never come. I am utterly surprised every day you forego doing a thorough physical search of my person the way you're always hovering over me.'

Hermione inexplicably blushed at this accusation, silently cursing herself for doing so. Bellatrix seemed not to notice as she was busily arranging herself into an impossibly petulant pose complete with blowing impatiently at loose strands of hair – the re-energised woman who'd risen through her therapy.

'Well, you'll be happy to know I am moving you into your own house this evening then.'

Bellatrix froze for only a short moment, but it was noticeable. Her eyes were wider than usual and her voice was hitched in surprise when she replied 'Oh good.'

December 24, 2003 Leaky Cauldron, London England

The loud screech of 'Hermione! Over here!' followed by a maroon arm waving frantically in a corner greeted her almost immediately as she stepped into the Leaky. The place was filled with absurd Christmas decorations and smelled of spiced cider and that mulled wine scent that drenched the entire season. As she approached the corner table she noted with some cheer that there were full tankards of butterbeer and goblets of oak-matured mead alongside that trusted old friend, the always-welcome firewhiskey.

There was no way around the blunt truth: Hermione absolutely hated Christmas. Ron absolutely hated Christmas, too. So it was natural they greeted each other with an enthusiastic hug before scanning the room with distaste and exclaiming a satisfying 'Ugh' in unison. Behind them a woman's voice giggled lightly and Harry got up and brusquely offered Hermione a perfunctory hug so the closeness allowed him to announce 'God, I hate everything and everyone and their stupid fucking seasonal cheer can stuff it.' quietly in her ear. 'So, how're you?' he continued a bit louder as he pulled back into his seat – placing himself on a chair opposite Hermione, next to the source of the giggling.

'Oh, you know. Busy.' she tried to keep her tone sort of airy, adjusting her voice to allow for some decidedly false bravado. 'I've been worse.' she settled on a bit more solidly as she dumped her folded up scarf, hat and woollen mittens on top of her coat, setting a heating charm on them and shrinking the pile down to a handy size. 'How're you all?' she tried to make it sound casual and not at all accusatory or challenging when she added 'Everything going alright?'. Ron folded his arms and Harry furrowed his brows before responding 'I've been worse.'

'Oh, shove this!' Ron blurted out. 'I fucking hate Christmas! I can't bloody sleep thinking about every cold, miserable thing that's ever happened during it.' Hermione was mildly amused to register his annoyed huff as he leant back in his seat, defiant.
'My aunt and uncle sent me a bicycle.' Harry said quietly, plodding on more confidently. 'I think they're trying to say 'thank you for not letting us die even though we were horrible guardians' but I could be wrong. They haven't invited me over or anything.'
'Does it matter? We all have to come to the Burrow or mum'll go mental.' Ron observed.
'I suppose. But an invitation would be nice, though, you know a lovely 'Please come, we will do all the cooking. You won't have to sleep in the cupboard as we've just refurbished the guest room.' would quite possibly have me considering going, really.' Harry remarked seemingly without humour. Hermione chuckled.
'What? You'd really consider it?' Lisa Turpin's wide-eyed surprise at that had Harry guffawing enough that she coloured. 'I mean...' she tried carefully, 'they were so horrible to you. I'm not sure I could forgive something like that.'
'What do you know about it?' Hermione found herself asking, curious. Harry hardly ever talked about this to anyone besides Hermione (the old heart-to-heart not being the social skill in which Ron quite excelled), or so she'd thought.
'Oh, just what I've seen in the press over the years, you know. They were abusive or something to that effect. It's why he... why he doesn't talk about his early life ever.' Lisa blushed deeper when catching Ron's incredulous expression, adding in a smaller voice 'Of course no one knows anything about it really, it's all speculation.'
'What?' Ron snorted, his ears colouring slightly. 'Cruel? I'll tell you, I'll tell you how fucking... those bastards were beyond cruel. I had fly to Little Whinging one summer because they were starving him in a bloody cell they'd installed in their house.' Ron wheezed. 'They're complete bastards!'
Harry looked at Ron fondly before addressing Lisa. 'I wouldn't rule out visiting them, but perhaps not on Christmas. It's stressful enough as is without adding family drama.'
When Harry looked expectantly her way Hermione felt acutely that she needed to divert attention from her own familial state. 'Enough chatter, let's get the seasonal drinking started already!' she blurted, raising a small glass shaped like an oversized upside down champagne cork high over her head. 'To Ogden's!' as Harry and Ron joined in with their drinks and shouting 'To alcohol!' in unison before they all dipped their head back and downed their drinks.
Only Lisa Turpin looked a bit confused, so as Hermione raised her second shot (this time a deep green liquor she suspected of being a wizarding variety of absinthe) she shouted instead the more seasonal 'To friendship!' to which her favourite men raised their own for a rousing 'To friendship!' in return. Never mind that her parents didn't want to come up for Christmas (or ever really) – never mind the frightening memories creeping in or the loneliness brought on by being so sad when everyone else was so happy – never mind no Christmas dinner would ever again occur without a fair bit of memorialising those no longer alive to attend. Never mind the reminder she'd spent her most memorable holidays getting almost-murdered by Voldemort rather than with her family anyway.

'Remember that time at St. Mungo's over Christmas?' she started.
'First or second time?' Ron mumbled.
'Second. After the war.' Hermione added.
'Ugh.' Harry grunted decisively, raising another small glass of something amber. 'To permanent injury!'
'To wounds that never heal!' Hermione added quietly toward Harry, smiling at her friend. 'I am inordinately fond of both of you.' she added, growing a bit red in the cheeks.
Ron smiled warmly, unflappable. 'We are inordinately fond of you as well, Hermione.'

December 27,2003

Bellatrix had a small parchment mounted on a little side-table in her sitting room. When she wrote on it, Hermione could see the writing on her own corresponding piece of parchment, which she carried in her pocket where it would vibrate softly until she read it. This way, Bellatrix could alert Hermione to emergencies. This way, Bellatrix could also persuade Hermione to let Bellatrix visit by way of announcing she had lost 'several heirloom toe rings' which she needed to search for or other such very poor excuses to leave her new abode. She didn't really mind the transparency of her excuses – so long as they worked. She would go mad if she had to spend the rest of her life in the deafening silence of her own solitary company.

Bellatrix had never quite taken Hermione seriously as an adult woman until she saw the liquor collection Hermione had arranged on her sitting room table. It stopped her dead in her tracks, momentarily too distracted to continue on in her actual quest (anything interesting she could sneak back into her own home).
'What?' the unusually sour tone of her guard demanded.
'Oh nothing, nothing.' Bellatrix began before deciding to give up the pretence. 'I don't suppose I could bother you for a drink?'
'Absolutely not.' was the very finite answer. She decided not to press it.

She liked this, though. She never quite knew anymore what the mudblood would say, or how she would say it. She'd become the most interesting thing in Bellatrix's life, loathe as she was to admit it. She spent hours speculating when might be the best time to press for a visit, or what her captor might be doing that took precedent over responding to her requests once she'd sent them. The object of study was merely the only non-static object in her life, of course, but Bellatrix was still enjoying it more than she normally would. Her mind had quietened and discovering curiosity and enthusiasm and interest again had thus far been a very lovely journey. The only human companion she'd be having regular contact with for the rest of her life turning out to also be a bit more complicated that she'd originally thought was just an additional piece of fun to be savoured.
'Can I stay for a bit while you drink?' she finally asked after catching Hermione looking fairly longingly toward her colourful selection. She's quite surprised, really, when Hermione responds 'Fine, whatever. I can't be bothered either way.' before immediately going to the nearest bottle of Dowdy's Blood-Brewed Dragon Essence. It's not really made of dragon – it's just a stout with a silly name. Even so, Bellatrix is surprised by the choice.

'So, what do you actually want?' Hermione begins, brusquely. They've looked through the house for non-existent toe rings for a short 20 minutes, but evidently it's been longer than the woman had hoped. Bellatrix bites her lip, searching for a response. 'Nothing much. Were you very busy?' she can't quite help the arching of her eyebrow or the teasing tone as she glances toward the drink selection.
'Yes, I was attempting to drown myself.' is the answer she receives. The deadpan delivery has her giggling in spite of herself. She decides to chance it and gingerly steps over and sits on one of the familiar leather chairs, allowing her hand to run over the arm of it and noting with some displeasure that it is quite cold.

'Perhaps you're bored.' Hermione announces before taking a massive gulp of the stout – it is blood red, tinging her lips darker, making her appearance sickly and vampiric. 'I should really hurry so you can enjoy your Christmas present.'
'It'll be easy enough to set up.' Bellatrix agrees, trying to hide her unbridled enthusiasm. Hermione stares into the air for a long while.
'Would you like to borrow a book or something?' she finally asks.
Bellatrix borrows a little novel by a fellow named Dostoyevski before allowing herself to be guided none too gently back the her quarters – a thrill running through her as she's shoved ahead of Granger down the garden path.

December 28, 2003

She waited until lunch the next day before announcing she had finished the novel – and urgently needed a new one. So very urgently – surely Granger does not want Bellatrix to simply keel over and die from boredom, does she?
After a good long hour of constant messaging a belligerent Granger shows up, swaying slightly and standing with her legs planted widely and drawn to full stature like the captain of a ship shouting commands while sailing through a heavy storm. 'FUCK YOU!' she screams loudly at Bellatrix before slamming the door and stomping away. The door is left unlocked – so she follows, carefully, after thawing from the position where she had frozen when Granger screamed.

When she entered the house it was quiet until she sneaked into the sitting room where Granger was curled up in a chair. She barely moved as the visitor took her own seat.

'Do you like Christmas?' Hermione finally asked.

'No. I mean, it's been so long since I've celebrated I can barely remember it, but I'm not very attached to the whole thing. I don't have anyone to celebrate with any longer.'

Hermione turned her head, which was placed firmly on the armrest, and gazed at Bellatrix for a while. She was plastered, that much was clear. 'You're not my guest, you know. It's not my job to entertain you. I should really just take the parchment away if you can't respect the system.'

'I've never had much respect for systems. That's why I'm here.' she smiled back. Granger sighed, annoyed. 'Nor have I – and yet I've avoided your faith. Stupidity landed you here – stupidity and cruelty.'

'Oh, excuse me to the Golden Girl or Citizen of the Year or whatever.' Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Granger snorted loudly.

'This idea that I'm a model citizen is one I must confess that I chafe at. I'm nothing of the sort. The war at least forced me to face the rather nasty undertones of my personality and the aftermath did not invite much moral jubilation on my part, either. There are an equal measure of people who are very happy with me and ones who are very unhappy. Christmas underscores the point. Everyone is dead, sad, injured or all of the above. There's a fucking vigil being held every year and I am somehow expected to be there, grandstanding about the nobility of loss or whatever. Including the losses I caused.'

'At least something was noble about your losses. There's nothing valuable about sacrifices made for a cause that loses.' Bellatrix tried to sound consoling.
Sensing the other woman would be unlikely to remember much of this conversation anyway, she chanced at speaking out loud another nagging thought she'd been having. 'I don't mean to suggest I've done nothing wrong either. Personally I resent the idea that I can be, or should be, forgiven. I have done nothing useful with my life. If the means are justified by the end, well, our end failed. Judging by recent writings I've been taunted by in the books I've borrowed from you the end was never what I thought it was regardless of how I went about accomplishing it, so it's all a waste. I am responsible. What I did was pointless and unforgivable. I accept my punishment as relaying the responsibility for my actions onto someone else seems both futile and dishonest. This whole thing about how Azkaban made me insane, the Dark Lord manipulated me, my family's obsession with isolation left me unprepared to deal with the complexity of the actual world and all that nonsense? I am a person. I did this. No payment could ever be enough to repay what I have done when it was all for nothing.'

Hermione stared at her, sitting up then and narrowing her eyes as Bellatrix felt herself colouring under the attention, embarrassed at her own frankness. Finally, Hermione collapsed back on the armrest. 'Winning isn't all it's cracked up to be either.' she said. 'Honestly, I don't feel all that heroic about my war efforts. Sure, there were battles and that whole torture business and such, but mostly it was trying to understand puzzles and overestimating myself and underestimating everyone else. I thought I was so clever and I thought I was taking the moral high ground every time however rarely it was actually the case.'

'Everyone does that when they're young, though, don't they?'

'I suppose maybe that's true, yes. But they don't all go quite as wrong as I did. I was truly awful at times. I maimed an innocent girl and I didn't fix her in spite of seeing the damage every day because... well, I didn't care that she was innocent. I thought it set a good example not to bloody cross me.' she raised her eyebrows at Bellatrix. 'So much for being righteous and good and pure and whatever other bollocks descriptors they've come up with.' She seemingly caught herself and corrected 'That I've come up with and tried my hardest to project.'

'Well, I wouldn't know much about that. No one ever pretended I was the best little witch there ever was.' Bellatrix smiled.

'She killed herself when I received my Order of Merlin first class.'

'You feel you murdered her, is that it?'

'Absolutely, I do. She's not the only one, either. But I do think of her this time of year - Christmas at St. Mungo's makes me think, well, how much time did she spend there because of me? It's why they gave me this job, I think. I've given up on being horrified by people. It seems wrong to try to be superior when I am anything but. Perhaps I've finally learned my lesson and it's too bad about the body count.'

'It isn't the same, Granger. You defended people when you could.'

'I handed Umbridge over to be raped by centaurs.'

Bellatrix knew then that she looked a bit shocked, she couldn't help it. Granger sat up, morose, before plodding on.

'I did it as a plan B after my attempt at having Grawp the giant murder and eat her.' She looked as if she realized it sounded every bit as brutal as it must have been, her eyes wide and glassy. Bellatrix knows she had reasons. - she's read the books. She knows most would find it justified. But it seems that now, years later, Granger herself simply can't.

'Seems you'd make a good Death Eater had we had the sense to recruit you.'

Hermione gave her prisoner a hard stare. 'Maybe. But I don't really think so. I do however think that it is a bit misleading to judge me only for the worst things I have done, and as such I try to refrain from doing so with other people.'

Bellatrix sat for a while, silently, before leaving and going to her own house. She stared out the window – the view was beautiful and completely false, a clever bit of magic meant to make her days a little less morose. She decides to ultimately write an apology to her guard for the intrusion that had turned, well, a bit more personal than she expected Granger would have liked.

'I was testing your tolerance for obstinacy today. For all intents and purposes I am stuck with you for the rest of my life, so it's not as if I do not actively need to know how things work with you. I know it's all horrible for you, but I'm thinking of it as an undignified arranged marriage of sorts. I am sorry – and I will leave you to your life.'

She barely sleeps at all.