Hermione sighed, just having gotten out of bed. It hadn't gotten any easier after the end of the war.
Sure, she came out of it rich and fêted, but she could hardly bear the price of that—forever acting out the role of the third wheel war hero. Nobody would stand her true complexities—just surface appearances. Then again, there were things—and people—she couldn't talk about, even to her former friends. That was why she was living where she was now—an expanded mansion in the middle of nowhere.
But enough of dwelling on the past. Hermione poured a pot of tea, and sipped while waiting for her regular cornucopia of wizarding newspapers to be owl-delivered. Her scar ached more than it had in a long time.
Alas, the news promptly proved as dull as dishwater—a parade of puerile rubbish from across magical Europe, as if the Genoan Minister of Magic accidentally sending a nude postcard to her Venetian counterpart was the scandal of the century, and other such rot. Quickly discarding them, Hermione began work on her modified Fidelius—necessary if she wanted to use this as her business address without attracting mail from every Tom, Draco, and Harry.
Fortunately, modifying the Fidelius to conceal the connections between two facts—such as Hermione Granger is operating her business from such-and-such an address…
and Hermione Granger's business accepts post
—rather than a singular fact in itself was a more engrossing task than
reading the latest drivel from the press. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by a weak sensation from the wards—luckily not indicative of a person…perhaps an animal?
Just within the wards was…a black cat? Strange. And was that her scar burning more? Could that mean—no, it couldn't possibly, it must just be the scar acting up. In any case, she had to get the cat inside—there wasn't anyone else here for miles around.
Ignoring her scar prickling with pain, Hermione brought the cat into her kitchen. She poured it some milk and, seeing it being lapped up, returned to her research. She couldn't let herself be distracted from such crucial work by a cat of all things.
Rather soon after, however, she heard a clatter from the kitchen and her scar writhed. She entered…and got far more of a surprise than she was expecting. Where the cat had been, Bellatrix now stood. Feelings which Hermione had buried deep resurged at the sight.
I…thought you were dead,
choked out Hermione.
Not nearly as much as believed,
replied Bellatrix.
Hermione decided that her research could wait. She embraced Bella, and as they began their reunion with a long kiss, she realised why her scar, all that remained of her Mark, had been acting up…it was reacting to Bella's own Mark. At least one mystery had been resolved, she thought as she melted under Bellatrix's touch.