Chapter 1
Hermione's head swam as she slowly made her way back into what was left of her beloved castle. Bodies lay everywhere, some bleeding out, some dead. She tried to swallow down the bile and saliva rising up her throat when she heard Mrs Weasley's despaired cries and turned her head away, only to come face to chest with none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her knees hit the ground and Hermione heaved; almost nothing came out apart from acidic spit, they'd run out of food days ago. Her torn palms smeared blood onto the shattered bricks below her and she barely managed to keep her wand from rolling out of her grip.
"Protego." Was all she could manage and Hermione looked up to face her fate, already knowing the woman towering over her could tear through her weak barrier in less than a second.
"You'll be coming with me."
Hermione flinched back when her ward was ripped away with barely a twitch of the older witch's finger but she barely had anywhere to go, on her hands and knees as she was. She'd honestly expected the death eater to have kicked her prone form by now.
"We don't have time, come on." Hermione continued watching Lestrange and tensed further when two heeled boots stepped closer. "Up!"
She reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled up by the scruff of her jumper, anticipating horrific consequences should she refuse, and followed along quietly as a tight grip on her forearm guided her away from her friends. She could picture the swollen purple bruise that would blossom in the shape of a hand very soon.
"If you make a sound, I will silence you. Nod if you understand."
Hermione did so, already knowing to play the long game with her impulsive adversary. She'd be lucky to twitch the wrong way and not be severely punished when Lestrange was so alert, watching her every movement.
"The wards are down, I will appearate you to a Black family safe house. Nobody can cross the boundary without a blood member," a shiver raced down Hermione's spine at the evident threat and she hid her wince as she was manhandled to the witch's left, "so I wouldn't even try."
Once they were safely out of sight, Lavender's mangled corpse lying feet away from them, nails dug into Hermione's soon-to-be equally bruised right arm and Lestrange efficiently twisted them out of Scotland. Neither witch stumbled upon landing but Hermione did pause upon sensing the heavy warding on the property line before them, if she crossed, she knew instantly she'd never be free.
"Give me your wand, girl."
Hermione hesitated only for a split second before slowly drawing her wand, watching Lestrange's obsidian eyes observe her clinically. It only took a flick of her wrist to point it at the woman.
"Flipendo."
The spell was easily batted away with a wordless shield and a vice-like grip wrapped around her wrist, squeezing tightly until tears clouded Hermione's vision and her fingers unclenched, twitching uselessly after her only defense was snatched easily from her.
"Try anything like that again, dearie, and you best hope the imperio with your name on it isn't too strong."
Hermione wordlessly watched as the woman keyed her magical signature into the wards, already setting countermeasures to prevent her escape, and turned away only when tears fell down her cheeks. Her hand was still restrained, but she was determined not to give her assaulter the satisfaction of her own despair, tears of pain would have to do for Bellatrix Lestrange.
"In you go."
Hermione took a deep breath as the raven haired witch watched her expectantly, eyebrow raised as if she could see exactly the torment she was putting Hermione through. Resentment welled in her gut and Hermione clenched her teeth, exhaling harshly through her nose before stepping over the warding boundary, effectively sealing her fate.
"Good girl."
That was enough to snap Hermione's limited self-containment. Her left arm reared back and went to strike the smug smirk off the other witch's face, but inches before it impacted with Lestrange's cheekbone, spindly fingers curled around her wrist. Almost immediately, Hermione found herself spun around with both arms twisted around each other behind her back, effectively cutting off her strength and circulation.
"Naughty, naughty." But even the scolding was full of delight. Hermione spat on the overgrown grass at her feet. "Oh well, I suppose an imperio will have to do for the time being."
And suddenly, Hermione's head was filled with cotton and all the pain and desperation washed away. She didn't understand why she'd resisted so much earlier, when she could have been feeling this good. Nothing mattered if she could float among the clouds forever.
"Helloooo!"
Hermione blinked her eyes open, even though she didn't remember ever shutting them, only for her nightmares to become a reality. A scream tore out of her throat at the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange straddling her lap, one hand twirling Hermione's greasy curls, another holding her steadily against the back of a plush sofa.
"Hush now, don't be silly, girlie." Lestrange leaned further forward, nose tracing up Hermione's throat from the base to her left ear, then inhaled deeply. "We have so much to talk about."
"No please," Hermione's voice had taken on the high desperate quality she distinctly recognised from her most recent nightmares, only heard once before at Malfoy Manor. "I don't know anything, I swear. Please, no more."
"Sh, sh, sh." Lestrange cooed, tilting her head back to meet terrified chocolate eyes, "this isn't about the war, about the cause. I want to talk about your parents."
"Oh Merlin, no please don't hurt them." Hermione's hands trembled harder and she instinctively raised them to claw at the woman in desperation, torn nails digging uselessly into black lace. The soft skin of her nail beds, the pads where the white tips used to be before this very woman shredded them off, felt every thread and pore but couldn’t for the life of them sink into skin, grasp onto Lestrange. Her fingers wove into the lace instead, as if it would keep the woman there, holding her down, rather than off hunting down the only lighthouse amongst the storm.
"Please, I'll do anything."
Hermione didn’t know how she would cope if the only hope left in her life was snuffed out. A raspy voice at the back of her head snarked that it was only fitting, that Lestrange would take her final hope away from her. It sounded remarkably like Kreacher.
"You misunderstand, lovey…” Lestrange paused and leaned too far forward. Hermione could smell the firewhiskey on her breath. “They aren't your parents. Those muggles adopted you and never even told you, did they?!"
"No. No, no, they didn't tell me anything, I swear! I don't — "
"No, they didn't. Because Dumbledore stole you and you're mine!"
Stunned silence resonated through the pair, with a loudness that silence had no business having. The older witch exhaled heavily through her nose and they continued to watch each other carefully, catching the most minute shifts in expression.
Lestrange’s rotten teeth ground together when Hermione slowly began shaking her head and her claw-like hands came up to forcefully still the girl’s head, curling around her skull. They needn’t have, for the brunette had frozen the moment she caught the movement of black out of the corner of her eye, but the woman had moved none-the-less and Hermione felt her heart begin to metronome in her throat as the absolute vulnerability Lestrange’s hold on her exposed. Her skull had been pulled back a little, just enough to leave her entire throat exposed. She swallowed heavily.
Her hands spasmed reflexively and Hermione realised they were still tangled in the woman’s sleeves. She peeled them out of the lace one by one, not looking, not daring to so much as glance away from the dark predatory gaze cataloguing her every move. She then let her hands drop limply onto the sofa, palms up, wrists bare and not a wand holster in sight. Ron had said it was the right thing to do with kapas.
"You're mine." Lestrange reaffirmed, clearly waiting for Hermione to dispute the claim. She narrowed black eyes when Hermione didn’t. "You're my daughter.”
“I understand,” she whispered, because it was obvious the woman was waiting for a response. Fighting her now would have been downright suicidal, and Hermione still had a little hope of survival if she could just hold on for long enough.
Black painted nails dug into her scalp and her neck clicked as her face was turned this way and that. A nose pressed up against her ear and the long inhale served to raise the little hairs on her throat. She flinched sharply when teeth snapped closed above her jugular. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, little bird, do not presume that you can lie to me.”
“I’m no— “ the fingers curled and pulled a clump of her hair taught. Hermione couldn’t hold back her whimper.
“You cannot fool me dearie,” Lestrange hummed. “I know you don’t believe me and your weak platitudes wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny if Wormtail were interviewing you.” The grip on her curls loosened and the woman pulled back completely, mockingly widening her eyes as if about to reveal a massive secret. “You belong to me and you've got the black birthmark to prove it.”
Fuck my life.
That was the most prominent thought in Hermione’s mind. Any other time, she might have even welcomed the overwhelm of a single streamlined thought, but now was not the time for her brain to depict the building blocks that lead to her (progressively more likely) doom.
Neville’s face when she finally had the guts to ask his opinion on her magical tattoo, the sheen of horror and the pallor that had covered his cheeks. The shaking hands as he pressed his grandmother’s book of family runes into her clammy palms weeks later. She remembered how he’d promised to bring it back with him before leaving for the Yule holidays, how he’d pulled her aside specifically, the urgency in his voice when he begged her to tell no one, not even Dumbledore or Harry.
After, when they’d returned, he’d walked her to the prefect bathrooms for weeks when she’d been wanting a relaxing bath on Saturday mornings, swore up and down she couldn’t risk someone walking in and seeing, her wards had felt the tickle of his presence pacing up and down the stones. He’d taught her to hide it one night, wand spitting light in protest as he slowed the wand movements for her to copy. If his Head of House found out Neville could be disowned, even by a light House.
"What makes you think we're related?" She finally managed to forced out, tongue poking out to lick her chapped lips. Hermione didn’t like the glimmer of knowing in the older witch’s pupils, the uncannily familiar glint unsettling her empty stomach.
"I cast a spell on you…the kind that eats you alive." Hermione flinched back when a hand came up to caress her cheek but Lestrange pressed forward, gliding her palm against Hermione's dry skin. "And yet, here you are. Do you know the only possible way for you to have survived?"
Her nails dug into the palms of her hands.
"Lady Magic doesn't allow a mother to kill her own daughter," a kiss was pressed to her forehead and Hermione fought back a shudder of disgust. "Or you'd have been digested by your intestines days ago."
Yes, the phrase most prominent in Hermione’s mind certainly described her feelings on the situation.