Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Trigger Warnings Listed at End of Chapter
Chapter 59
Hermione tied off her beaded bag and tucked it neatly inside her dress. She'd secretly hoped for another makeup session with Bella, but it hadn't come up. It wasn't until afterwards that Hermione recalled it was a masquerade ball; no need for fancy makeup. Dark fabric fluttered as she walked and the layers of her dress slid against one another. As she turned at the landing, portions of the dress started retracting and shrinking. She and Bellatrix had managed to enchant them so they constantly shifted form, from a conservative floor length, full sleeved black with stitched patterns, to an almost fluorescent flaming red and orange strapless mini with strategically placed slits and cutouts across the back and midriff, and everything in between. She stopped at the hall mirror and affixed the mask over her face. Enchanted to bear the likeness of Marie Curie from a black and white photograph, waves of purple or green tint occasionally flitted from one side to the other.
"For the radiation," she had explained to Bellatrix the day before.
The pureblood witch had only rolled her eyes. Hermione smiled as she recalled Bella stealing a glance at it; she'd been impressed with the charmwork. She sighed as a slit crawled up one calf, revealing a single high-heel. She should have departed five minutes ago.
"You're putting it off," she thought, "but you can't put it off any longer, she's waiting for you."
Heels clicked on linoleum as she walked to the living room, turned, and apparated with a pop. The chill late autumn air hit her and she blinked in the darkness. She'd arrived some distance away to give herself time to get situated, but as she nearly turned her ankle on the first step, she wondered if she should have given herself a shorter walk. Her wand went into a strap high on the inside of her thigh, and, invitation in hand, she balanced carefully as she made her way up the path towards the black iron gates of Malfoy Manor. White and orange balls of light decorated the tops of the dark fence, and unlike when she'd been dragged here by Snatchers less than two years past, the gates stood open and welcoming. Witches and wizards milled about the entrance, including what looked like a middle-aged uniformed security wizard with a noticeable paunch. Hermione swallowed her apprehension and took her place in the queue behind an older witch with an elaborate mask, or more accurately a headdress, with peacock feathers reaching up at least two and a half metres into the air. With the extravagant getup in front of her, Hermione thought her outfit might be understated, until a thin, elderly wizard arrived behind her wearing normal dress robes and a simple black mask to cover his nose and eyes.
Hermione handed her invitation to the security guard, who peered at it through a blocky contraption with a looking glass in the centre, then nodded and dropped it into a bin next to him. Hermione held her breath as she crossed into Draco Malfoy's territory. Glowing orange and white lights similarly decorated the front garden and the fountain past the gates, and the pleasant ambiance of the manor grounds stood very much at odds with her earlier memories of the estate.
Most of the wizards appeared to wear standard formal dark coloured dress robes, and the older witches wore more traditional, conservative gowns. Milling about on the grass, however, in a sign of changing times, several younger witches had obviously dressed to impress, and Hermione spotted more than one slinky outfit with slits and cutouts similar to what she and Bella had concocted. White-gloved servants wearing white ties wandered about the grass, offering champagne flutes, wine glasses, and hors d'oeuvres on silver platters. The press had a stand set up near the fountain for photographs and interviews, but peacock-lady ignored it and made a beeline for the entrance, and Hermione followed her.
A red carpet marked the path from the entrance foyer to the ballroom. Furniture and tapestries had been replaced, but though the décor of the mansion had been completely altered, the smell of the place remained the same. Her heart hammered and her palms went sweaty, and though she tried to replace thoughts of her suffering at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange with newer, happier memories of young Bella Black, she couldn't help but stare in the direction of where it happened.
Thankfully, the red carpet did not pass through the drawing room, or even near it. Hermione followed the soft tones of live instrumental music to the ballroom, where guests milled about around the edges, all of them staying by the tables and avoiding the wood dance floor. A stage had been set up at one side of the room, and rich tapestries hung from the ceiling, waving gently in the air currents. At even intervals down the centre, golden chandeliers hung, all of which had been further enchanted with more floating globes of luminescence. Occasionally, a glowing ball would float down into the crowd, where it would lay on the ground until someone touched it. Then, likely as some part of the entertainment scheduled later in the evening, it would float back to the ceiling and re-attach itself to a chandelier. Large cloth covered round tables occupied two sides of the room, and a large wooden dance floor separated them. Most of the guests were wizards and witches, or possibly veela, but a few goblins or leprechauns and elves mingled in as well, easily spotted due to their smaller stature, and all looking somewhat out of place, especially considering the house elves' large eyes made wearing masks difficult.
"No house elf servers, that's interesting," she thought as she noted more white-gloved waiters weaving between guests.
She stopped near the entrance and scanned the crowds, looking for Bella.
Draco stood quietly near the stage and observed the guests as they filtered into the room by ones and twos. He nudged Shawn in the ribs. The one-time-would-be Auror turned towards him, and Draco caught sight of his mask, one of his own creation: a wand, wooden on one end but morphing into a muggle wire at the other, and trailing blue sparks of electricity. His and Draco's masks were identical, and Draco hoped it would help them generate some interest.
"I'm fairly certain that's one of the veela over there," he said as he nodded towards a blonde witch, her tresses done up in intricate braids, in a dark blue gown and silver mask, "no flirting."
"Yeah yeah, I know," Shawn replied. He sidled his way over to the witch in question, and Draco continued to scan the crowd as the ballroom grew more crowded. The goblins and leprechauns were easy to spot, but Europeans and veela would be a bit more challenging.
"Those wards better bloody hold," he thought. All he needed was for someone too nosy for their own good to stumble on the greenhouses or the potions lab or weed curing cellar.
"Should have made them painful," he thought, but accidentally immolating a foreign VIP would likely not endear him to anyone; the whole point of the ball was to make some contacts and drum up business.
The band finished their opening set, and the lights dimmed everywhere except the stage. Minister Winthrop, wearing a rose tinged mask of a moustachioed white face, stepped up and pointed a wand at his throat as the crowd quieted.
"Welcome all, to the last Fall Ball of the century," he said, "as we look forward to the new millenium, let us take a moment to honour all those who could not be here with us today."
"What an odd mask," Draco thought as he waited in the uncomfortable silence, until Winthrop spoke again.
"And a round of applause for our new attendees. For the first time at this traditional Ministry celebration, we are proud to count several dozen muggleborns as well our veela, leprechaun, and elf friends," he said.
Draco participated in the polite applause that followed.
"And may I also thank our host, Lord Malfoy, who was recently awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class, for endeavour beyond the ordinary," Winthrop said.
"Bloody hell," Draco thought. The applause which followed his name fell far short of even the polite clapping for the inclusion of Beings, "at least they're not booing or hissing, that's a step in the right direction."
He raised a hand in acknowledgment as a spotlight fell on him.
Hermione smiled behind her mask and clapped enthusiastically as Winthrop spoke, until he got to Draco. She frowned and stared at the blonde pureblood from the opposite side of the stage.
"I know he was helping Harry, but an Order of Merlin?" she thought.
"If we are to heal as a society, we must truly accept that reform is possible for anyone," Winthrop continued, "as I look around, I see we are still short one group of Beings, for there are no muggles in attendance, something which I hope we can remedy together. Let the past be in the past, as we join hands and look forward to a brighter, more unified future."
Another round of applause, this time slightly more confused, and Hermione joined in enthusiastically, as if to make up for the lacklustre response from the crowd. Winthrop kept speaking, extolling the accomplishments of his administration thus far, the reduced crime and improving economy, but Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on his words, owing to his mask.
"That's a Guy Fawkes mask," she thought, and something odd stirred in her chest, "why would he choose that?"
Winthrop spoke about the tradition of the Ball, heralding the end of autumn and the arrival of winter, but Hermione's mind wandered down the path of the significance of Winthrop's choice of mask.
"Is it a subtle nod to muggle culture?" she thought, "but Guy Fawkes tried to assassinate King James, and Winthrop is Minister for Magic…"
Something didn't add up, but she was out of time, and besides, Winthrop could be trusted.
"And now for the first dance, may I present Lord and Madam Malfoy," Winthrop said.
A spotlight fell on Draco and another figure, obviously Narcissa Malfoy, as he led her onto the wooden dance floor. He wore a dark blue robe with silver trim, and she wore a far lighter shade of blue for her gown, with her long blonde hair in an elaborate braid and pinned up away from her neck. Intricately wrought flowers formed patterns on her golden mask, which left her jaw and mouth free. Minister Winthrop descended the steps next to Hermione.
"Ready to do your duty?" he asked.
She nodded, though now faced with the reality of sharing a dance with Draco Malfoy, she felt anything but. Still, determined not to let her boss down, she hooked her arm through the Minister's proffered elbow. Draco's mum stood farther away from them, and Winthrop left her facing Draco as he continued towards his own dance partner. Malfoy's mask was some mish-mash of a wand and a thick electric wire, an odd choice. The band started playing softly, as if waking from a deep slumber, and Draco bowed while keeping his eyes on her, but Hermione's lip wanted to curl.
"Curtsey, Granger, it's a traditional event and the niceties must be observed," Draco said, and she caught his grey eyes through the mask, "unless you want people to think it was a mistake to invite muggleborns."
She forced her body through the motions, the cross and dip of a small curtsey, and then her hand was in his, one palm barely brushing his shoulder, while his hovered a hair away from her waist.
"It's one dance," she thought. She glanced to the right, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bella as the music started and Draco led her with small steps, but only caught Percy staring at them in his conservative black and white dress robes and mask.
"Eyes on me," Draco said, "if we're going to do this, we should at least do it properly."
She glared at him.
"Please, it's not that bad," he said, "I wager you've been through worse in this house."
The drawing room. Bellatrix Lestrange cackling as she parted flesh with a cursed silver knife, carving letters into her arm until blood pooled on the floor.
"No," she thought as she pushed the memories away, "I will not have an episode now."
She came back to the present, though her arm still itched.
"-fucking her. She's family, so I mean this in the most polite way possible: What in Merlin's name has possessed you?" Draco asked.
"He cursed Katie and got Dumbledore killed, and he asks what's possessed me?" she thought as her grip tightened on his hand, "How dare he!"
She put as much acid into her response as she possibly could.
"I don't need to explain myself to anyone, much less you. Not that you'd understand even if I tried," she replied, "all you know how to do is whatever is easiest, most convenient, most profitable, and who cares if anyone is hurt along the way… I mean… respect for an individual instead of the group they belong to is probably such an alien concept to you it's not surprising you don't get it."
Draco scoffed, but he stiffened and his gaze grew steely.
"Is that so?" he said, and Hermione knew she'd hit a nerve.
"Who did you have to bribe for the Order of Merlin, hmm? How much did that cost?" she asked, "because I know you didn't earn it like we did ours."
Draco's eyes blazed behind the mask, but his response was ice.
"Far more than you can possibly imagine, stupid swot," he replied, "you don't know what loss is."
That caught her off guard, but she had to respond.
"Loss? Look at this place," she said as she glanced around the grand ballroom, "even after everything, you're still richer than our entire class put together, Lord Malfoy."
They'd stopped dancing, and Hermione realised the music had stopped as well. Draco looked like he wanted to say more, but it was now too quiet, so instead he stepped back and bowed to end the dance. Hermione paused and curtseyed again, and then they were swept up with different partners. It took her about two seconds to realise who had taken her hand.
"Really Ron, a Cannons logo?" she asked as she looked up into the crossed orange beater bats.
"Yeah, everyone's going to think I'm a tosser, but they're Tammy's favourite team," he replied, "so, I don't care."
She clamped her mouth shut at that.
"That looked like a fun dance with the ferret," he said.
Ron was always good for a bit of Draco bashing.
"He's such a git, acting all 'oh woe is me, I've lost soo much to the consequences of my own actions'," she said, "as if he and his friends weren't trying to murder us all a couple of years ago."
Ron cleared his throat.
Their conversation was interrupted as he swapped out with an older man she didn't recognise.
"Miss Granger. You were missed at Renewal, glad you could make Fall Ball," he said.
"I…" she said, as his voice and green eyes stirred memories, "Mr. Tilworth?"
He smiled and nodded.
"Best of luck to you," he said as Ron swapped back in.
"Did Harry err… tell you what happened?" he asked.
"…regarding what?" she asked.
"With Draco," Ron said.
When she didn't respond, he pulled her closer and spoke quietly.
"He was dating a muggle. Death Eaters kidnapped her a few weeks ago and she didn't make it," he said, "I don't know how long they were together, but it must have been a while…obviously he couldn't tell anyone. It sucks."
"Draco, a muggle?" she thought as another wizard swapped in for Ron, this one a young stringy man with a flaming pink face mask and a small patch of facial hair between his lower lip and chin.
It beggared belief, but if it were true…
As Hermione went through the motion of the dance steps, her mind made the connection between Draco seeing a muggle, and Ron secretly dating Tammy, and then the trauma of having her snatched away, unable to even mourn her properly.
"Not bad, Granger," the stringy young wizard said, but she couldn't place his voice.
"A muggle?" Hermione asked as Ron swapped in again.
"I know… but I saw it myself," Ron replied, "it was pretty fucked up. It was her and a bunch of other muggle girls. She was the only one that died though."
"Merlin, are you actually feeling bad for Draco Malfoy?" she thought.
The dance ended, and Hermione excused herself to try and find Draco to perhaps apologise or at least take back what she'd said, but a tap on her shoulder had her turning around to face the Guy Fawkes mask of Minister Winthrop.
"Miss Granger, a word?" he asked.
He led her to the side of the stage and gestured to the dancing, swirling guests of widely diverse heights and colours of dresses, robes, and masks.
"Isn't it wonderful?" he asked. She knew what he meant… so many Beings, all mingling and dancing together in harmony.
"Yes, so far… let's not jinx it," she said.
He chuckled.
"I mean to bring the Statute proposal to the Wizengamot soon. Have you spoken to Mr. Potter?" he asked.
"I have. He wants more time to think on it," Hermione replied.
"Unfortunately, time is in short supply," Winthrop replied, "I think tonight would be a perfect opportunity to press him on the matter, especially given how well the event is going."
Hermione nodded. She understood when her boss gave her an order.
"I'll try to find him," she said.
Bella watched from the edge of the crowd as Hermione danced with Cissy's son. The dress bloomed red and orange as the fabric retracted and shrank, while Bella's own lengthened and grew dark. Draco and Hermione danced as if they had poles bound to their arms and legs, stiff and tense.
"Not surprising, considering how much they dislike one another," she thought.
The first dance ended, and Bella made her move towards Hermione, only to be intercepted by a voluptuous, dusky-skinned witch wearing a large peacock headdress. The fit of her low cut deep blue dress pressed her ample breasts together, accenting the dark line of her cleavage.
"May I have this dance?" she asked.
Leana.
"Well, it would be rude to refuse," she thought.
Bellatrix bowed to save her from tilting her ridiculous headdress, and her former roommate and lover smiled and curtseyed in return.
"How did you know?" Bellatrix asked.
"I'd recognise that silver hairpin anywhere," Leana replied as Bella lead her easily through the other spinning, waltzing couples, "have you thought about my offer?"
"I have," Bellatrix replied, "I'm still considering."
"I promise you won't regret it," Leana said, "we can explore Tuscany, Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome…"
"It does sound lovely," Bellatrix said, but all her thoughts dwelled on a certain muggleborn with a matching dress, who danced and spun mere metres away. She caught Hermione's eye for an instant, a stroke of lightning as ships passed in the night, and her heart skipped a beat.
They ended near one another as the song finished, and the witch in a Marie Curie mask tapped Leana on the shoulder.
"May I?" she asked.
"By all means," Leana Zabini said as she stepped away, "I should pay my respects to the lady of the manor."
"Please do, she's been dying for some company," Bellatrix said.
Leana smiled and waved with just her fingers, then she and her peacock feathers sashayed towards the left end of the stage where Cissy stood alone with her hands folded.
The band started a crooning number, and Hermione slipped her hand into Bella's, her touch electricity. She took a shuddering breath as Hermione ran her thumb over her hand, as was her habit. Bella longed to see her face, hidden by the mask, but had to settle for staring into chocolate brown eyes, and she stared right back.
"I've missed her… Merlin, I've missed her so much," Bella thought. Her cold seemed to evaporate as she drew close, and the fabric of their dresses brushed against each other.
"I want to dance like we did in the spring, remember?" Hermione whispered.
"At Hogwarts, when I was Julia," Bellatrix thought, "It was here that I crucio'd her and cut up her arm. Can she truly look past all that I was?"
Staring into Hermione's eyes though, so full of emotion and desire as flickers of purple and green crossed the black-and-white visage of the muggle scientist, Bella realised it was a question for another time. She certainly wanted to dance like they had, but couldn't simply acquiesce. She shrugged one shoulder, an attempt to make herself appear aloof.
"It's Fall Ball, that's not a traditional dance," she replied.
"Really? You're going to let that stop you from doing what you want?" Hermione asked. Bellatrix could practically feel her smirking beneath the mask. Challenge accepted. She stepped in close and caught a glimpse of a young couple behind Hermione, the lady with a full face mask emblazoned with a gold talon, silver and gold ribbons in her fiery red hair. Slits on the sides of her dress revealed pale skin and a diamond engagement ring sparkled on her left hand.
"Potter and Weasley," she thought as they swayed, completely lost in one another, and then Hermione's arms were around her neck, their bodies pressed together, and she lost herself in her own partner.
The enchanted dresses continued to shift and move like lovers' caresses as they transfigured themselves. Hermione's shuddering breath ghosted over her ear, and Bella ran her fingers over her back, seeking out smooth skin and sliding beneath where the dress had grown slits for a moment, then retreating before they closed again. She closed her eyes as the whole world faded to darkness. Just like the spring dance, nothing else existed except she and her lover in her arms, only this time, Hermione knew who she was. She knew, and she still pulled her close on the ballroom floor. Warmth pooled in her stomach as Hermione's breasts pressed against hers, and their dresses shifted beneath them.
"This is where I'm meant to be," she thought as Hermione's arms clutched her close.
Too soon, the song ended, and Bellatrix looked around to see they'd drifted to the edge of the dance floor, near the double doors. Hermione glanced to one side, and then back to Bellatrix. Mere feet separated them from the hallway, and the allure of a stolen tryst in Malfoy Manor called, perhaps to erase the horrible memories of the previous year. Her heart thumped in anticipation of the excitement, the risk of being caught, of having Hermione pinned against a wall, her dress hiked up, a hardened nipple between her fingers, but then she felt a tap on her shoulder.
"May I have the next dance?" an older wizard asked, one wearing a simple black mask and standard traditional dress robes.
Bellatrix nearly turned to snarl at him, but Hermione ran her fingers over her ear, and a chill shot down her neck all the way to her toes.
"Go on, I'm sure there will be more dances," Hermione said.
"Bloody tease," Bella thought.
Hermione moved away and turned her head to flash a smile over her shoulder, even though Bella couldn't see it through the mask. Bellatrix watched her go, until her new partner cleared his throat. She curtseyed, the motion drilled into her from childhood, and he took her hand.
"Clearly practised," she thought as he led her easily through the first steps. Then she caught something familiar in his eyes behind the mask, and her own widened.
"Rod!" she thought.
The heat of her budding arousal crumbled and fled as flashes of their former life crossed her mind, and her headache pounded anew. The low buzz of a privacy spell filled the air as Rodolphus Lestrange squeezed her fingers, and led her on a small circuit amongst the other guests.
"Hello love," he said.
"You shouldn't be here," Bellatrix said, "it's not safe."
"No where is safe, not for me," Rodolphus said, "I came because I need your help."
"What you need is to leave the country," Bellatrix whispered.
Rodolphus looked wildly around the room, his movements erratic, as if he hadn't slept right in weeks, and had subsisted off wideye alone.
"I can't, not unless he instructs me to. I made a Vow," he replied. He glanced around again, "But even if I hadn't, he'd know. I don't know how… he knows things he shouldn't. It's like he's everywhere at once, always watching..."
The Death Eater, her former husband, continued casting his gaze about, never lingering long on anyone, while the masked guests ominously swirled and spun around them.
"Who, Augustus?" Bellatrix asked.
"Yes! Augustus," Rodolphus hissed, "but he can't protect us. Potter's Sevens are picking us off one by one. If it's not them, it's the bloody Aurors, they're everywhere. Alecto and I barely survived an ambush last night. We need your help… I need your help."
"Help with what? You made a Vow and you can't run… I assume it also means you can't move against him. You're fucked," Bellatrix replied.
He didn't disagree.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Rodolphus replied, "…he was very convincing."
Bellatrix shook her head.
"But if you… saw for yourself," Rod continued, "you could… come to your own conclusions."
"He can't tell me, but he wants me to take down Rookwood? So he can flee?" Bellatrix thought.
"You're mad," she said, and he stifled a sharp laugh.
"I suppose I can see how that might be funny, coming from me," she thought.
At the same time, the promise of a duel to challenge her skill called to her; she felt it in her blood, and her heart raced in anticipation despite her attempt to calm it down.
"If I took down the rest of the Dark Lord's followers, could that lead to some kind of redemption?" she thought, "Rod would have to go to prison or flee, but there's no way out of that."
But then… she wouldn't have to leave England, and she could stay in London and build a life with Hermione. While they had been speaking, Lestrange had subtly steered them towards the entrance of the ballroom, and now he gripped her hand tightly and pulled her through the exit, into the nearly deserted hall.
"I need you to come with me, now," he said quietly, and Bellatrix spotted his old wand in his other hand as he started walking quickly down the red carpet, tugging her along in his wake.
"He's going to try to side-along with me," she thought, "Not good, I can't reach my wand without him noticing."
She glanced at the catering staff… none of them were looking her way, and she couldn't call out to them thanks to the privacy spell.
"If I try draw my wand or run, he might stun me and carry me out," she thought. She lagged behind, forcing him to tow her forward.
"The bloody hell is wrong with you? Fucking bewitched, that's what," Rodolphus muttered as he tugged her past the grand staircase, "I saw that dance. The mudblood cunt's done something to you, but as soon as she dies, the spell should-"
Bellatrix's vision bled red at the slur, and a warm spray splattered her neck and eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and she ripped the mask off and blinked to clear her sight. Hair fell in ringlets over her shoulders, and she looked down to see her favourite silver hairpin glistening bright red in one hand, and the masquerade mask, enchanted to look like phoenix feathers, now spattered with blood. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
A witch shrieked, and Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder to see a woman in a green strapless gown and white gloves with her hands over her mouth.
"Drop it, Bellatrix!"
She turned to see guests pour out of the grand ballroom, gawking and pointing, and one in particular, a blonde middle-aged witch wearing a white feathered dress, had her wand out and aimed in her direction. It took a second for Bellatrix to realise what had happened, and she pointed.
"It's… Rodolphus Lestrange, he snuck in!" Bellatrix said as she pointed.
"It's true, I saw him!" the witch in the green dress and white gloves said, "he ran that way!"
Only then did Bellatrix see the trail of blood on the red carpet, and the memory came to her, how she'd slipped the silver hairpin free and sank it into Rod's soft throat in one fluid motion. She looked down at the red splatters and smears on her fingers and palms, and let the hairpin slip to the floor, and it fell next to Rod's black mask. The hairpin was enchanted; the wound wouldn't heal with magic.
"Merlin, did I just kill him?" she thought. Not that she cared overly much, but he was one of the few connections remaining to her previous life, and they had been married, after all.
The blonde woman quickly took charge.
"Everyone, back into the ballroom, now," she said, "Davis, is that you? You're on crowd control. Potter, keep an eye on her."
"But-"
"That's an order. You got her out, she's your responsibility. Weasley, with me," she said.
She kicked off her heels and took off down the red carpet after Rodophus Lestrange, and Weasley tore off his mask and sprinted to keep up.
Draco descended the staircase, mask in hand as he scanned the scene beneath him.
"What did you do?" he asked.
Bellatrix stared up at him questioningly, and he averted his gaze.
"For your own safety, everyone back in side, let's enjoy the party eh?" Shawn Davis said as he motioned guests back towards the ballroom.
"Let me through," Hermione said as she pushed her way out, mask in hand, "Bella, are you okay?"
She stopped short, mouth open, when she saw the blood.
Hermione nearly fell on her face trying to stop running in heels when she saw Bellatrix's bewildered expression and blood-soaked hands.
"What in Merlin's name is going on Potter, bloody walking catastrophe," Draco asked, "you better not have fucked this up."
Harry ignored the insult.
"Death Eater was here, maybe you should have had better security. Do you have someplace private we can clean up and figure out what happened?" he asked.
Draco sneered.
"Why don't you tell your boss. The Ministry handled security," he replied, then he paused and glanced behind them.
"I suppose the drawing room is out of the question," he said as he shot a look at her and Bella, "use one of the larders, the caterers can show you the way. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to attend the guests and try to salvage what remains of the evening."
Hermione moved to Bella's side, but her eyes were slightly glazed; she looked faint.
"I… I don't feel so well," Bella said.
"Come on, it's probably shock, or…" Hermione said, but that didn't fit. Bellatrix Black was not squeamish.
She led her by the elbow into a makeshift larder. Boxes of food, fresh vegetables, fruits, and unopened crates of utensils and cups and other items lay stacked against the walls and strewn about the floor. Hermione sat Bellatrix down on a box of fresh potatoes, and she leaned her head back against the wall. Harry and Ginny joined them and closed the door.
"Like I'm scraped too thin, not enough of me to go around, or something," Bella muttered.
Harry passed her a towel from a rack, and Hermione gently wiped the droplets of blood from her neck and around her eyes.
"Mmm, that feels nice," Bella said as she closed her eyes and a soft smile graced her lips. Something was definitely wrong with her.
"Perhaps he hit her with a spell?" Hermione thought. Harry apparently had the same thought as he cast a few diagnostic charms, then shook his head slightly.
"I need to question her. What happened?" he asked.
The pureblood witch spoke slowly, concentrating on each word. As Bellatrix described the conversation with Rodolphus though, Harry's proximity reminded Hermione of Winthrop's directive, to press him on the upcoming debate on the Statute of Secrecy. She tamped it down while Bella spoke, but as soon as she finished and Harry and Ginny shrugged at one another, she took a breath and it burst forth.
"Well Harry, I think that's all we can do for now," she said, "I spoke with Minister Winthrop, have you given any thought on his proposal to withdraw from the Statute?"
Ginny shot her a questioning look, and Harry sent her a placating gesture.
"I have, I think we need more information, and more research and preparation," he said.
It wasn't what she wanted to hear; Winthrop was counting on her to bring him on board.
"But Harry, think of the people we could help," she said, "the people we're already helping have benefitted yes, but we could do so much more."
"Is this really the time?" Ginny asked as she gestured at Bellatrix.
Hermione rounded on her; this was supposed to be a conversation between her and Harry.
"Do you know how many muggles die every day from things we could help them with?" she asked, "do you know how many dozens have died since we've been in this larder? How long should we wait?"
Ginny's expression hardened as she prepared to retort, no doubt with some of her infamous Weasley fire, but Harry held up a hand to draw Hermione's attention back to him.
"Yes, I know, but I don't think it's been thought through," he said, "what if we withdraw from the Statute, and there's a violent reaction. I mean… wizards haven't exactly been kind to muggles over the last century. Some of that might come out, and then they'll be out for revenge. Thousands of people could die, tens of thousands, or maybe even more."
"Thousands of people are already dying," Hermione said.
Rancour rose up in her. She knew she was right on this. It was-
Harry had continued talking, but a loud ringing in her ears drowned out his words.
"If you can't make the difficult decisions, then at least don't stand in the way of those who can!" Hermione said.
"Now hang on-" Harry said.
"No Harry, you hang on. People are dying, right now, and even if a few people die on the way to normalising relations with muggles, it'll be worth it. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the benefit of all," she said, "it's for the greater…good."
Hermione trailed off in shock, then stumbled backwards and tripped to plop her rear down on a large sack of apples. Ginny Weasley had apparently had enough.
"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" the redhead shouted, "will you listen to yourself?"
But Hermione wasn't listening, not to Ginny, not to anything. Multiple thoughts collided in her head and her breaths came fast and short.
"No, that's not possible," she thought, but all the pieces fit, and as she desperately searched for one that didn't, that would prove her theory wrong, all she found were more that came together, like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Her heart told her to continue pressing Harry on the Statute, but she forced her mind down the path it had discovered. Ginny's voice came back to her, slowly increasing in volume to her ears, and Harry's wide-eyed gaze alternated between the two of them.
"Are you even listening to me?" Ginny asked, her eyes ablaze.
"Ginny, shut up!" Hermione said, "Harry… oh Harry, I'm so sorry."
Press him on the Statute.
"No!" she said, and she looked into Harry's emerald eyes, now steeped with concern for her, "there's something wrong with me… I'm under some kind of compulsion. Oh god Harry, the Aevum."
A chill crawled up her spine and the hairs on her neck stood on end. Harry blinked and cast a wordless privacy charm on the door.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, "do you need to go to St. Mungo's?"
Ginny had quieted as well; all eyes were on her.
"…everything he does, even though he never said it," Hermione muttered, "and he wants to remove the Statute… Oh, Andromeda's cottage last year, Avery, the Elder Wand, maybe..."
"You're not making any sense," Harry said. His wand moved in a motion for diagnostic charms.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fingers to her temples in an attempt to organise her thoughts against the insistence to continue convincing Harry to support repeal of the Statute.
"Think… who else was a master duellist, who knew about the Elder Wand, well versed in the Dark Arts, very charismatic, who wanted to abandon the Statute of Secrecy?" Hermione asked, "Ginny… every lesson was about the greater good, wasn't it, even though he never actually said the words."
Harry looked at her blankly, and Ginny shook her head in confusion.
"I…" he said.
"The Aevum, with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows at the top, but it's not only the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. It's also his symbol," she said.
Realisation dawned on Harry's features.
"Grindelwald," he said.
"Gellert Grindelwald," Hermione said, and she forced the words out. The fact that it was so difficult meant she was on the right track, "Grindelwald is alive. He took the place of Frances Winthrop, probably before he became DADA professor. Of course he knows about the wand, it used to be his. Avery's imposter had a time turner, he can be two places at once… he could have been pretending to be Avery and… you said he was a much better duellist than you, and Winthrop nearly beat Flitwick."
"He let Flitwick win," Bellatrix said quietly, her head still leaning against the wall, "he was ffffucking good. Maybe as good as the Dark Lord… maybe better… wouldn't know unless I… saw him fight for real."
Harry shook his head.
"But… that's impossible, I saw Voldemort kill Grindelwald… we were here when it happened, that's why it took Tom so long to get here. I mean, I didn't just see him die," Harry said as his hand went to his scar, "I-I felt it."
Hermione paused, then stared at Bellatrix, who wore a concerned but still spaced out look on her face.
"I remember that night," Bellatrix muttered, and she ran her fingers down the pale, unblemished flesh of her forearm where the Dark Mark used to be.
Seconds passed in oppressive silence, as if the boxes of food and spices stacked along the walls stared down at them accusingly. If the Aevum could return Bellatrix Black to life in a young body, and she could disguise herself as a transfer student…
"Fuck," Harry said as he came to the same realisation, "But.. Avery's attack was timed with a Death Eater raid on Diagon, so that would mean… Fuck… Are you sure?"
"No," Hermione said as she stood up, "but I have a pretty good idea of where we can find some answers."
Chapter 59 Trigger Warnings: Blood / Gore
A/N: Thank Merlin! Do you any of you know how difficult it has been keeping this twist under wraps for over 4 years?