Nightfall had come yet again.
Bellatrix watched inattentively as the shadow devoured the last speckle of sunlight on the wall across from the bed she was lying on … for the third time.
Three days. It had been three days since Basilius had abandoned and left her behind in this cottage; three days she had been lying here in this exact spot not moving even a millimetre, drowning in self-pity.

She loathed herself for doing so, but try as she may, she just couldn't muster up the energy to heave herself out of bed.
There was nothing to do for her, nowhere she needed to be, nowhere she would be welcome. She had hit a wall; no way around, over, under or through it.
What purpose did she serve now?
How could she go on, knowing the only person to ever appreciate her didn't need, didn't want, was even disgusted by her?
Tears threatened to fall again and the vampiress squinted, trying to suppress them.

A deep growl sounded from the depths of her stomach, startling herself. Bellatrix only realised now how hungry, or thirsty, or whatever one wanted to call her vampiric cravings, she was.
With a heavy sigh, that sounded more like a groan, she sat up and rubbed her temple.

She needed blood, fast.

Her head was throbbing already, a clear indicator of her weakened state.
She knew that, at this point, if she didn't feed up on blood soon her condition would only worsen exponentially.

The thought sickened her.

She had always hated people, thought them beneath her, disgusting, just vermin crawling about. But now she would have to approach them, touch them, bite them … drink their blood.
An unpleasant shudder went down her spine and her stomach convulsed. She didn't even want to imagine sinking her teeth into the filthy necks of random commoners, choking down their dirty blood.

She felt like throwing up, but at the same time knew exactly that there was no way around it. If she wanted to survive she'd have to swallow her pride and embrace her vampirism, become an animal.

Frustrated, Bellatrix buried her face in her hands, breathing out heavily.
Was there even a point in surviving? Was there anything left to live for?
She had no friends, no family. At least no family that would accept her; it was just as split as the world was. One side denied her for what she was, the other despised her for who she was.
Even Basilius, who claimed to care for her oh so much, had abandoned her just like the rest.

No, she was on her own.

The realisation hit her harder than she anticipated.
She'd never been one to socialize much, always rather avoided contact with other people, even with the people she cared about or felt attached to. But to know she could never be close to them again, that they rejected her very existence, hurt her in ways she would have never thought possible.

The vampiress breathed a heavy sigh as depression took hold of her heart and engulfed her entire body, drowning out her surroundings.

Perhaps it would be best to just disappear, to lie down in this bed and wither away.
No one would miss her. No one would care. No one would even notice she was gone.
Bellatrix shifted her head a little to lace her fingers into her hair, quietly staring down to the floor, seeing nothing, content to wait for the sweet release of death to claim her.
She was done ... with everything.

A few seconds passed in complete silence, before a mirthless chuckle filled the room, gradually rising into an empty laughing fit.

It was ridiculous.

She was Bellatrix Lestrange, for crying out loud; a proud and powerful witch of the highest class. Many trembled in fear by the simple mention of her name, wet themselves by her mere sight. The rest regarded her with awe and servility; her sheer presence emanated an aura of dominance, daring any onlookers to deny her the befitting reverence.

So, how?
How had it come to this?
When had she become so pathetic?

It must have been her transformation into a vampire.
That made sense.
Basilius had turned her into an animal, a lesser being, a creature belonging nowhere and to no one.
Yes, it was his fault. He did this to her.

But as much as she would have wanted to believe that, deep within, she knew it wasn't true.

Her journey on the downward spiral to paltriness had begun much earlier; long before she'd ever met Basilius or even wasted as much as a fragment of a thought on vampires and the likes.
No, it had started on the day she submitted herself to someone else; when she chose to fall in line rather than lead. It was when she bowed to the Dark Lord.

"No!" she exclaimed and clawed her head even harder as she shook it frantically, "no, no, no, no, no!"
That wasn't true; it couldn't be. Her Lord had given her everything: strength, purpose, comfort, a place to belong to.
He had chosen her, out of everyone, to be his most trusted follower; the only one he was interested in … the only one he cared about.

Except, he didn't.

She had always remembered her joint moments with the Dark Lord fondly. But the more she thought about it, the more she realised that there had never been any true connection between them.
He only ever spoke kindly of, or to, her whenever she had performed a deed he'd deemed commendable. Whenever she had tried to get close to him, he had just shoved her aside. When she had professed her deepest love to him, he had disregarded her completely.
She remembered his look of utter revulsion upon finding out about her being a vampire and the blinding glimmer of gleeful cruelty in his red eyes as he tortured her.

He had never cared for her at all.

Why had she been so blind?
How could she not have noticed that she had never been more to him than just another follower, an accessory to his person, a tool to victory, his personal plaything, a bloody lapdog?!

And just like that, something in her mind snapped. Gone were her feelings of frustration, sorrow and despair; snuffed out by this new burning sensation of pure rage.

"How dare you betray me?!"
Tears of anger filled her madly widened eyes, her boiling fury bubbling up even more.
"I gave you everything, devoted my whole life to you!"
Her body started shaking violently.
"HOW DARE YOU THROW ME AWAY?!"

Bellatrix convulsively bend over, her choler uncontainable. She let out a screech of wrath, effectively shattering the windows of the cosy cabin.

"I'll … kill him. He … must pay," she muttered darkly between heavy breaths and raised her head again. Her eyes fell on her wand, which was neatly placed on a dark green, silken pillow sitting on the desk. A handwritten note was placed next to it saying:
Don't make me regret this.

"I won't," the vampiress assured the message and took her weapon.
"From now on this wand shall only serve one purpose."
She grasped it tightly.
"The destruction of Lord Voldemort."

With a loud cackle, she disapparated.

Bellatrix groaned in frustration as she sat on a park bench somewhere in the heart of London. The sun was just about to set and a nearby street lamp flared into life, shining its pale light upon the dejected witch. Of course, if somebody were to pass by, they would only see an empty patch of ailing grass, as she had erected several magical barriers to keep away from prying eyes.

It had been about three weeks since her ground breaking decision to oppose the Dark Lord. But even though her change of mind had done wonders for her motivation and vigour, it'd soon become painfully obvious to her, that her newfound endeavour was easier said than done.
After all, Voldemort was the most powerful dark wizard who'd ever lived, not to mention his army of loyal followers, who'd literally do anything for him and to top it all off, there was also the fact that he was practically immortal.
So, no matter how you looked at it, Bellatrix had found herself in a sheer insurmountable situation she could never hope to master by herself.

But what choice did she have, really? It wasn't like she could ask anyone for assistance. She was still a wanted criminal, after all; in both the magical and the muggle world. She had been rudely reminded of that fact the very first day she had come to London. While window shopping for clothes which would allow her to blend in with the vermin, some random passers-by had recognized her from wanted posters or news reports and had immediately alerted the authorities – what, in turn, had also set magical law enforcement in motion.

Thus she'd wound up in this god-awful park, forced to hide from the eyes of the world, only able to leave during night time to reduce the chance of possible discovery, yet again stuck and unsure of where to go or what to do next.

A deep and drawn out sigh escaped her throat, followed by a strained groan, as a wave of fatigue washed over her body, drawing attention to the other problem that had occurred:
Over the past few weeks she hadn't had a single drop of blood to drink.
She had tried, of course. Several times she had ambuscaded unsuspecting pedestrians, dragged them into shady back alleys, determined to get her fill. More often than not, her victims even had surrendered to their fate and practically invited her to bite them.
And yet, Bellatrix had faltered every time to take the final step. In the End, she hadn't been able to go through with it even once.

Frustrated, she buried her face in her palms.
Why? Why couldn't she do it?
It was essential to her survival. She knew she had to drink blood to stay strong, to stay sane.
So, why was it so difficult?

Because drinking people's blood was filthy?
No.
She'd had blood before; admittedly, only ever out of a bottle, but still. Thinking about it now, there was no way of telling where that blood had come from.

Was it the act itself that bothered her?
Probably.
The mere idea of biting someone's neck disgusted her to no ends.

The image of a young brunette popped into her mind.

Or, perhaps, it was because she only wanted to drink her blood?
Most likely.
The girl had occupied the vampiress' mind quite frequently these past few weeks. Especially whenever she'd been about to sink her teeth into one of her victims.

Bellatrix leaned back and looked up into the clear sky, watching the stars and reminiscing about the night in the ministry.

She couldn't recall biting her that day, or anything that led up to it, for that matter. But what she did remember was the wonderful taste of the girl's blood, the exhilarating feeling of the girl being at her complete mercy and the unbelievably comforting warmth that had enveloped her as the girl pressed her body against her own.

She licked her lips hungrily and breathed a longing sigh. Oh, what she'd give to experience that sensation once more.

"Hermione …" the witch mumbled the girl's name into the darkness. At least, that was what Potter had called her just before Basilius had fled with them.

That thought gave her a start. She snapped into an upright position and stared unseeingly into the ground, the gears in her head turning vividly.

"STOP!"

That girl, Hermione, had tried to protect her.

"Please, stop."

She had to have known that Bellatrix was a criminal, a Death Eater, a vampire; she'd even attacked her. But despite all of that …

"Please, stop hurting her."

… She had tried to stop him, to keep her from harm.

Subconsciously, the witch grabbed the shoulder the brunette had cried into back then.

In spite of the fact that she could never have stood a chance against the Dark Lord, Hermione had still stepped in to shield her from the torture, taking the full blunt of it in her stead.
She hadn't minded the consequences, or even considered them; all she had wanted in that moment was to save Bellatrix.

That girl was just too kind for her own good.

And suddenly, it clicked.
The vampiress broke into a laughing fit over the ridiculousness of her situation, reprimanding herself for being so blind.

The girl, Hermione, was the key.
Not only would she not mind to drink the brunette's blood, but she was also friends with the Potter boy.
She was the chance she had been looking for this whole time; the chance to sneak her way into the light; the opportunity to gain allies in her quest for revenge.

Her laughter gradually died down, but an anticipatorily gleeful grin remained.

She was no fool, however. Of course, she knew that the odds were against her, that there was only a slim chance of success.
But she wanted to hold on to this flickering light in the dark, to keep alive the faint glimmer of hope, that maybe, just maybe, if she played her cards right, she might be able to—

"Living it up big, aren't we?"

A sarcastic voice right next to her interrupted her train of thoughts. Alerted, she jumped up off the park bench and whirled around, wand at the ready, pointing it at the rude intruder who casually leaned on the bench with his forearms, regarding her with a tired smirk.

"Who are you?" the witch asked, maybe a little too urgent.

"Relax," he replied languidly, jumped over the backrest and firmly placed himself on the bench, "I'm not here to fight you."

Bellatrix, slightly irritated, tightened her grip around her wand, staring daggers at her unwelcome visitor.
"Tell me who you are," she demanded with imperious emphasis, snarling menacingly.

Unfazed, the stranger only regarded her with an unreadable gaze, eyeing her face intently.

"You look awful," he eventually said, looking her directly in the eyes, what served to vex her immensely.

"When was the last time you had—?"

"I asked who you are," the witch cut in fiercely, her voice burning with fury, and took a slow step closer, building herself up regally before him.

"My, aren't you scary?" he drawled parenthetically and rolled his eyes.

Bellatrix, her anger skyrocketing, closed the last bit of distance between them and pressed her wand to his throat.
"This is your last warning," she snarled menacingly and gave him a little stab with her wand.
"Who are you?"

"Jonathan Strauss," the stranger said and stood up, forcing her to take a step back to keep him on arm's length.
"Basilius asked me to check on you."

Bellatrix' stance faltered a little bit by the mention of the vampire's name, which her counterpart took as an opportunity to remove her wand off his throat.
She quickly caught herself, however, and, although not stabbing her wand into him directly anymore, reaffirmed her domineering position, to demonstrate that she was the one in charge here.

"So, Basilius sent you to watch – babysit – me and make sure I won't step out of line."
She clicked her tongue, infuriated, tears of anger welling up in her eyes.
Bellatrix wasn't exactly sure what was more upsetting to her. The broken promise of letting her find her own way, or the fact that she seemingly didn't mean enough to Basilius to check on her himself. But regardless, even if she didn't want to admit it, it hurt her deeply.

"Not exactly," Jonathan contradicted and sat back down on the bench, crossing his legs comfortably, "He seemed more concerned about someone doing something to you."
He shrugged nonchalantly.
"Besides, I was going to talk to you anyway, so, two birds, one stone, I guess."

Like before, her demeanour wavered and she lowered her slightly trembling arm, her eyes darting back and fro – mind and heart at war once more.

Ugh!

Was she happy or angry that Basilius cared for her?
Was she grateful or offended that he sent someone to check on her?
Oh, how much she hated these conflicting emotions.
But, with a disgruntled growl and a quick pinch to the bridge of her nose, she managed to force those question into the back of her mind and focus again on what was right in front of her.

"And what do you want from me?"

"Oh, nothing much, really," he chirped pleasantly with a sly grin on his face, "I just heard a few things regarding you and one Ms. Hermione Granger and it got me curious."
He indicated the seat next to him with an inviting gesture.
"So, relax already, sit down and we'll have a nice chat."

Bellatrix glanced at the bench, contemplating his offer, but, even though she would've loved to rest her fatigued body, leaned more towards declining it.
She couldn't quite discern what it was, but something about that man unsettled her tremendously.

"I'm fine where I—," she wanted to refuse, but, as if on cue, a wave of debility crashed down on her and she staggered dangerously.
Before she realised it Jonathan was by her side for support, wrapping an arm around her waist, while also putting one of hers around his neck.

"You okay?"

"Don't touch me!" the vampiress reproached feebly, but in the same moment had to lean heavily on him, as her legs gave out momentarily.
He heaved her over to the bench and sat her down. In her daze she felt him fiddle with her wrist for whatever reason and only managed to focus again, when he snapped his fingers in front of her face, eliciting an aggressive snarl from her.

"When was the last time you had some blood to drink?" he asked undeterred, urgently staring at her.
She was already about to give a snarky retort, but the serious tone in his voice gave her pause.

"About three weeks ago," she admitted meekly a few seconds later and averted her eyes.

Jonathan sighed exasperatedly.
"Dumbass."

Bellatrix shot him a menacing glare and fletched her teeth, but he simply proceeded with impassively wrapping something around his left upper arm and pumping his fist several times afterward, his arm gradually turning purple.
With a raised eyebrow she watched the strange display, as he suddenly pulled out a knife from his pocket. Pent-up and ready to fight him the witch grabbed her wand and was in the motion of raising it, when he, however, put the blade on his palm and slit it open, blood gushing out.

"Here you go."

He held out his hand to her, albeit unnecessarily.
As soon as he had cut his palm, Bellatrix' whole focus lay on his wound. The scent was so captivating, so enticing; almost to the point of making her tipsy by the smell alone.
She licked her lips eagerly, wanting to do nothing more than to gulp down the delicious meal in front of her. She wouldn't even have to bite him. He willingly offered it to her.
And yet …

"No."

… She still couldn't do it. She still couldn't even fathom the idea of feeding off another human being, like an animal … like vermin.

"No good, huh?" she heard him say, "Then how about this?" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how he produced a little bottle out of another pocket and plopped it open.

Everything went dark.

"Back to your senses yet?"
His words cut into her brain like a hot knife through butter.

Startled, she shot up into an upright position, trying to make sense of the situation.
The two of them were on the ground, Bellatrix on top of Jonathan. On his neck were bite marks, blood trickling out of them. She hastily swiped her mouth and looked at the blood on her fingers that came from it with shock.
Panicked, she got up on her feet, stumbling backwards. She fell over and crawled back until she hit the park bench. Her left hand touched something, what turned out to be the small vial Jonathan had pulled out before, the faint fragrance of Hermione's blood emanating from it.

Her heart raced harder than ever before, dread slowly intoxicated her mind; her body trembled. She turned her gaze back to Jonathan, who'd sat up by now and healed his wound.

"W-What happened?"
Her voice was a quivering mess, barely audible.

"Well, you refused to drink my blood, so I tried offering you Hermione's and then," he started to explain casually and burst out laughing, "and then you went full-on beast mode. Holy crap, Trixie!"

The vampiress only stared at him incredulously.
Why was he laughing?
How could he possibly find this amusing?
Did he really think her misery to be a laughing matter?
It wasn't. It wasn't at all.

The mere thought that she could go haywire like this at any given moment was so extremely terrifying; she couldn't even retort to his outburst or reprimand him for the disgusting nickname he had just given her.
Guided by her fear, she cowered herself up, hugging her knees tightly, silently crying into them.

A few seconds later she felt a hand soothingly stroking her back. Her body tensed up at the unexpected skinship, what helped her to regain her composure and she snuck a peak at him.
He didn't look at her. His gaze was set into the distance, his mind probably far away. It made his kind gesture look automated, mechanical. It almost seemed like he was only half aware that she was even here, that it was her he was touching.

And suddenly Bellatrix realised what had been so unsettling about him before, why she was so especially wary of him:
He wasn't afraid of her.
His lack of caution and casual interactions were proof of that.
He didn't appear to be at all suspicious of her, or even register her as a threat.

The vampiress should've been furious about that fact, she knew that, but, strangely enough, she wasn't; what would have been aggravating only a few minutes ago now gave her comfort.
She sat back up straight, what apparently brought him back to reality, and eyed him curiously.
She had to know.

"Why aren't you scared?"

"Of what?"
He seemed genuinely confused.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes even further.
"Of me."

He burst out laughing again and gave her a matey pat on the back.

"Shut up!" she yelled, swatted his arm away angrily and jumped to her feet.

"Sorry, sorry," he managed to spurt out through his laughter.

Bellatrix' ire rose with every passing moment. Out of the corner of her eye she made out her wand and grabbed it immediately, pointing it at the laughing idiot.

"Shut! Up!"
She was almost screeching at this point.
"Or is the idea of being afraid of me that funny to you?!"

"No, no, that's not it, Trixie."

"Don't call me that!"

"You just caught me off guard."
He wiped a tear from his eye and moved to sit down on the bench again.
"I know there's plenty of reason to be afraid of you. It's just that I have had to deal with so many people so much worse than you in the past, that you almost seem tame in comparison."
He chuckled one last time and looked at her apologetically.
"I'm sorry."

Bellatrix was dumbfounded.
No matter what she did or said to him, nothing fazed him. Whether she threatened him with her wand or screamed at him at the top of her lungs, he just sat there and took it in stride.
Defeated, she let her arm sink and slumped down on the bench next to him, grasping her head in frustration, and sighed in surrender.

"Hey, now," she heard Jonathan say empathically, as he nudged her with his elbow, "no need to feel so down, Trixie."

She grumbled displeased.
"Don't call me that."

"I bet there's a myriad of people out there who'd piss their pants just hearing your name."
His words were true, but they did nothing to lift her spirit.
"Take Hermione, for example. If she were to see you right now – oh, boy – she would freak."

That made her perk up.
"Is that right?"

Fantastic.

She rolled her eyes inwardly.

There goes that idea.

"Well, yeah. Being chased around by a crazy, mindless Death Eater vampire will do that to you," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging.

"I'm not crazy," Bellatrix muttered darkly and shot him a glare, "and I'm not a Death Eater any longer either."

"Oh?"
He quirked an eyebrow and leaned in on her, an impish smirk on his lips.
"Care to share?"

"There is nothing to share," she scoffed and scooted over to put some distance between them, "I simply decided to kill the Dark Lord, nothing more."

"I see," was all he calmly added while thoughtfully stroking his chin beard.

Swallowing down her ire over his lack of reaction to her revelation, she grumbled and turned her gaze into the distance. She breathed a sigh of defeat and sunk her head.
"But I can't do it."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"He is too strong."

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Jonathan asked nonchalantly, re-earning him her attention, one of her eyebrows raised in a silent demand for elaboration.
"Well, you say he's too strong for you. So, how do you plan to even the odds?"

Caught off guard, Bellatrix didn't know how to answer. She averted her eyes again, gazing into the distance, as she mulled over if she should tell him. So far, he hadn't seemed to be hostile. But that could be a deception. Maybe he was just waiting for the perfect moment to strike; he had given her a suspicious vibe from the very start, after all.

But then again, he did offer his blood to her and he didn't back away after her attack, took it with a laugh even. That was not the behaviour of an enemy.

"I—," she started and pinched the bridge of her nose, interrupting herself with a strained groan, "I need to gain allies."
"I thought that, maybe, I could somehow come to an understanding with his enemies and work together with them to take him down."
But if the girl is as scared of me as he says, I can forget about that.
She clicked her tongue for good measure.
"But that's impossible, I suppose."
Her voice grew bitterer with every word.
"Since I scared off the only person who might've possibly been willing to listen to me."

"You are talking about Hermione, aren't you?" Jonathan inquired, what she only acknowledged with a grunt.
"That might not be a lost cause, actually."

Bellatrix' head shot up, her bewildered eyes searching his.
"What do you mean? You said yourself that she's terrified of me."

"She is," he confirmed and flashed a lopsided, sly grin, "you merely need to convince her otherwise."

The witch continued to gawk at him in confusion.

"When you really want something, you are willing to do anything necessary to get it," he went on undeterred and pointedly returned her gaze, "or was your resolve to kill Lord Voldemort but simple twaddle?"

"NO!" she yelled and jumped off the bench, resolutely staring down at him, "I will have my revenge! I will do whatever I'll have to!"

"Excellent," he replied, smiling contently and produced a small piece of paper out of his pocket.
"I've got Hermione's address right here. And you can have it—"
The vampiress immediately reached out to grab it but he pulled t away and considered her admonishingly.
"—in exchange for your wand."

That gave her pause.
She narrowed her eyes in a threatening manner.
"Why?" she drawled darkly, hiding her wand behind her back protectively.

"Because, strictly speaking, vampires are prohibited of possessing or carrying a wand," he explained leisurely and comfortably leaned back, "but even more than that, it's that I don't trust you."
"You may claim that you've turned on the Dark Lord, but there is no way for me to tell if that's actually true. I mean, after what I've heard about you, for all I know, this could just as well be an elaborate plan to sneak your way into his enemy's ranks to get him all the information he wants."

Bellatrix huffed angrily. Even if that idea would have sparked joy and hope within her only a month prior, now the mere thought of doing something for him was repulsive to her.

"But I hope that you will proof my worries unfounded," Jonathan carried on and stood up, shortening the distance between them, "and this will be the first step into that direction." He held out his hand, smiling encouragingly at her, the strip of paper with Hermione's address perched on his palm.

The witch, however, was yet unsure whether she should give up her most precious possession just to learn about the girl's whereabouts. She was certain that she could find her on her own, given enough time. But time was of the essence. Voldemort wouldn't wait long to make his move, so she had to be quick, if she wanted to be able to face him.

Slowly, she pulled out the wand behind her back, cradled it with both her hands, as she shot Jonathan a troubled look.

"I know it's even harder for you to trust me. Especially after the only person you ever put your trust in betrayed you like that," he said understandingly, yet sounding a little bit vexed, "but rest assured that I don't mean you any harm and that I wouldn't take your wand if I wouldn't be sure, that you could handle yourself just fine without it."

A wave of pride and superiority rushed through her at his acknowledgement of her talents.
Bellatrix took another uncertain look at her wand and then stepped closer to her counterpart. Hesitantly she put the stick into his opened hand. She had to collect herself for a few seconds before finally letting go of it and taking the slip of paper in its stead.

Jonathan nodded approvingly, sporting a reassuring smile.
"I promise, your wand will be in good hands."
He stowed it away in his suitcase, which Bellatrix only now noticed he had on him, and clapped his hands once.
"Alright. That has been a fun night. But it's time I got going – lots of things to do."
He turned around, seemingly wanting to disapparate, but stopped in his tracks.
"Oh, one more thing."
He reverted back to face her.
"I mean, it should go without saying, but I'm gonna do it anyway."
Suddenly, his demeanour changed drastically, enveloping him with a maleficent aura.
"If you dare to hurt Hermione, if I hear you brought her any harm – and I will hear about it – I will make it my lives mission to hunt you down …"
He leaned in even closer.
"… And tear you apart."

It wasn't the first death threat she'd ever gotten, nor was it the most menacing. But looking into his eyes told her that she had to respect it, that it was sincere. She had no doubt that, if she were to hurt her, he would hold true to his words. Because these eyes she looked into right now weren't those of a watchful protector, but those of a murderer.

"Understood," she therefore simply muttered, which brought his easy-going attitude back.

"Perfect," he exclaimed gleefully and walked a few steps backwards, "so long, then, Trixie."
He gave a salute and then disapparated.

"Don't call me that," she growled irritated, meanwhile reading the few words written on the piece of paper she had gathered. She let herself fall back on the bench and lied down, never taking her eyes off the name scribbled on the paper.

It was some time in the afternoon; the sky was covered in thick, grey clouds; rain poured down relentlessly. In the midst of it all sat Bellatrix on a bench in a playground not far off Hermione's house, soaked to the bone, her head hanging low.
Yet again she was irritated. It had been a week since the girl had first spotted her standing across the street, but since then, nothing worthwhile had happened. The most she had gotten out of the brunette was maybe a glimpse through one of the windows.

She groaned, frustrated, and laced her fingers into her wet hair.

How was she supposed to make any contact with Hermione, when she was too afraid to even look at her?
How could she convince her that she wasn't her enemy anymore, that they shared a common goal?

Bellatrix sighed deeply and drawn out.
It was pointless.

"She will never believe me," she breathed, the sound of her voice swallowed by the continuous prattle of the rain.

But suddenly the downpour stopped.
Bewildered, the vampiress looked up and saw a shaking, delicate arm holding out an umbrella above her.
Wondering who it could belong to she turned around and was presented with the sight of none other than Hermione Granger. Her whole body was trembling. Through no fault of the cool rain, Bellatrix deduced, but due to the sheer terror she had to feel at this moment – what was quickly confirmed. As soon as their eyes met, the girl immediately froze up, like a deer caught in the headlights, standing there paralyzed with fear, mouth agape, lips quivering and barely able to speak her next words:

"A-Aren't you cold?"

Happy New Year everyone.

Finally, I got around to do the "Hermione 'saves' Bellatrix from the rain" scene. That one was stuck in my head since I started.

I'm sorry that it took so long again - I actually tried to finish it off in time for Christmas. But, as it always is, other stuff happened and it got delayed.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

And for the few who worry: Rest assured that I, as long as I don't say otherwise, will keep writing this story ;-)

PS: Of course, a big Thank You goes out to everyone who follows, favourited and/or reviewed this Fanfiction.