Hermione looked in the eyes of elder woman and smiled gently. Slowly, she got up and leaned on her hands. She looked around herself. The bedroom was filled with books — about charms, jinxes and hexes. She loved that abut the elder woman — she was so intelligent, so eloquent, so elegant. Just so perfect. The magical artefacts around her from the different ends of the world, making her remember with who she had to deal with. The elder woman had never asked — she took them with a fire and a wand. The elder woman got impatient, so she drew her to herself and kissed her, making Hermione laugh. The elder woman put her hand on her back, slowly drawing some patterns with her fingernails.
The expensive underwear looking good on her — Hermione always knew she had a good-looking body, but she had never thought about highlighting that. The elder woman was the one who told her how to dress, how to act. She bought her dresses, suits and other clothes — almost too expensive as for a Muggle-born girl. Girl. Hermione was an adult now, but she still remembered.
She, almost every night, has dreamt of the day when — as a girl — she had met Narcissa Black. It had been in the middle of some fight. The blood-like moon above them. She remembered the dust, the blood, screams in unison. The wizards and witches who en masse fell to the ground. Empty bodies with such empty eyes. She had been looking for Tonks who had been supposed to be there with her, to protect her. The ravens looking directly at her. Quickly, she had reflected some spell. Then, she had understood she had lost her. She saw someone begging for death. She had tried to see something else than juts blood, destruction and war. She had started to run in the Ron's direction, tripping over the body of a schoolgirl from the same year. But from Hufflepuff. In seconds, she had yelled to him, telling him to run, she had thrown a spell at Greyback and got into the fight with some Death Eater, repeating to herself like a mantra that she did not want to die. She had seen him falling in front of her due to a killing curse, not her curse. Then, behind his back, she had looked in the ice-blue eyes.
The scenery was changing. She had been sitting in a fine living room, breathing deeply, still in shock. In the back of her head, she had been hearing over and over as Harry had been yelling to her, trying to alert her. Chandelier with candles, green walls and white carpet. Crystal chairs, ice-blue eyes looking at her. She had tried to get up, but physically hadn't had any strength to do so. Then, Narcissa started speaking. She had known, she had known perfectly well that Hermione hadn't wanted to fight. She had been just a Muggle-born girl. Nobody had taught her anything about the wizards' traditions, about their world and their history — only the greatest good. And again, nobody had told her anything — she was like an animal with a blinker, just listening to orders but not understanding them. Narcissa had known, she had known perfectly well that Hermione hadn't wanted to fight because she hadn't known what she had been fighting for.
So Narcissa had told her. She had given her the proper history lesson, smiling gently at her and stroking her hair. She had known, she had known perfectly well that the thing that Hermione had valued the most was knowledge. She had given her the time to think about every single word she had said. But Hermione was only a Muggle-born girl — nobody ever had taught her the other side of the story.
"But he wil- he hates me for my blood. It is mixed with a mud." She had said it and smiled mockingly, with disrespect, harassingly, with disgust.
"He forgot about my dead husband's blood because he was no longer of use to him. He will forget about the mud in yours, once you prove you could be of use to him. To us."
She moaned in her lips, feeling her thigh between her legs. Her fingers left red paths above her collarbone. "I have to go." She said with some kind of difficulty. She could feel her fingers unhooking her bra, her other hand toying with the end of her underwear.
The elder woman looked at her but let her go with a sigh. She sat on the bed as she watched Hermione dressing up. "What will you tell them?" Again, it was the green suit she bought for her. The elder woman took a look at her own clothes, more uniform-like.
"As always, the truth." She could see as the elder woman tensed due to her words. She nervously bit her lip due to her sharp gaze. "I made love to a beautiful woman and then left." Hermione loved her lover's laugh, deep and somehow dangerous. "I need you to give me a hickey on my neck. It has to be visible." She said after a moment of thinking.
She could see as the elder woman stood up and walked up to her. She took her chin with her fingers, making younger woman look at her, "are you sure you just don't want my lips on your skin again?" She asked, kissing the line of her lower jaw.
"Positive." She said it slowly, with hesitation, earning another deep chuckle next to her ear. "I will tell you any news next time."
"Go, my little lizard."
Hermione went out of the building with some kind of prudence, carefully looking around herself. She knew that nobody would accuse her of anything — after all, she still was Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl. The elder woman's house was a no-apparition-zone, so she had to go anywhere else. She preferred covering her face with a mask and a scarf to the charms. Anyone with any abilities could see through most of them. She ran into the alley and after making sure she was alone, apparited herself to her house. The last thing she saw was a paper flying above the street. What she didn't see — it was a poster addressed to all the witches and wizards who still wanted to live in a free Wizarding Britain, who still wanted to live far, far away from segregation, pain and dark magic. It was a poster calling for a fight; for ours and yours freedom.
With a little dizzy, she opened her eyes and looked around her kitchen. She, for a long moment, started at the photo of her, Harry and Ron. She was flooded with a wave of shame and guilt. The bad news, the dry fact — the awareness that she would not help them. The sad sight, the drops of blood, the crying, the pain when they said how much she meant to them. Hermione forced herself to look away. She, slowly, purred a glass of wine for herself and go to her bedroom with a sigh. But she was doing a good thing. She thought. Maybe. Or not. Maybe she just wanted to be selfish at least once and have a good life that she had never had a chance to have. Or maybe both. Or maybe none.
Her apartment was small. She rather resided there from time to time than live. Quickly, she made it past the living room like a shadow. The books everywhere — when she remembered the price she had had to pay from them she wanted to thorn herself apart. She almost dropped the glass when she saw the faces from her photo sitting on her bed. She didn't even have a chance to look around for her wand or at least something to use. Just in case.
"What was the first thing Hermione Granger has ever said to us?" In a moment, Ron stood up and put up a wand to her neck, waiting for her answer with a sharp gaze. She could feel as he pressed it to her skin. Hermione couldn't recognize him — she had disappeared a lot of time before but it was the first time when they tried... this. And Ginny wasn't around. She used to be.
"Has anyone seen a toad?" She swallowed hard, thinking of her times as Hogwarts. She watched herself as she has become the thing she despised as a teenager. But the grown up Hermione Granger didn't want to do the right things. She wanted to have her peace — whatever it would take. "A boy named Neville's lost one." But she found her confidence again, looking curiously at them.
"Sunshine, daises, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow" Harry answered without a smile but clearly feeling better. Ron took a step away from her, letting out the held air. He pointed his wand down. She took a look at her room, at the first sight nothing was touched. That was a good sign.
"Where, the hell, have you been, 'Mione?" He looked at her with a desperation in the eyes. He was gesturing too much. "We've been worried!" Something had had to happen.
"I- I was around." She licked her lips, and knowing she had their focus, she scratched her neck. Ron looked at that point and took her hands in his, making Harry walk up to them. After a moment, Hermione pulled out her hands with a visible sight of discomfort. She wasn't his.
"With who this time?" He asked. "Do you even know if you can trust them?" She could feel his anger floating in the room. "Where have you even met them?" Them. He still hoped that Hermione could be with a man, not only women. And if she could be with a man — then she could be with him. His failure.
She had met Bellatrix not so soon after her first meeting with Narcissa, but it was undeniably her fault. Just the process of making Hermione believe that serving him would be a good thing to do was a journey — it took years. And Narcissa hadn't really had to do anything - it had been the courtesy of the Order. They hadn't done anything to make her stay, to make her understand. At first, it was so hard for her — living the double life. But after the while she got used to it. When she was with the Order; she listened to every single word, she watched every single movement, she stole every single thought. On a mission, she still would do anything they asked for. Officially. Unofficially, she would do the bare minimum.
When she was with the Death Eaters; she spoke every single word she had listened to, she repeated every single movement she had watched, she showed every single thought she had stolen. On a mission, she still would do anything they asked for. With a hundred percent of a confidence and commitment.
But it had always been Narcissa. Narcissa had been giving her the orders, she had been reporting everything to her. And one time, Narcissa couldn't have been there due to a problem with her son. So instead of her, she had had to report everything to someone. And Narcissa didn't even alert her about such a thing. Sometimes, she had found herself forgetting that she hadn't been working for Narcissa — she was just a person above her. But likewise, someone had been above Narcissa.
When she had come into her living room in a rush she had seen such a cold, serious woman in front of her. Golden chandelier with expensive candles, green walls with silver ornaments and white, foreign carpets. Crystal chairs with marks of the basilisk, heavily lidded, dark eyes looking at her. She had been sitting in the armchair, legs and arms crossed. Narcissa's smile had been cold. Always. Only once Hermione had seen her smiling with a little of warm. But that woman had another kind of smile — cruel.
Everyone said that the woman was the enigma — always changing, always in another mood. Everyone had to walk like on heels and breathe as quietly as possible, not knowing what mood she would be in today. Maybe she would praise them, maybe she would kill them. Russian roulette. But nor for her. Hermione found the woman the same in every situation — cruel in a fight, cruel in a conversation, cruel in bed, cruel in love.
'Do tell' had been the only thing she had heard from her. With a caution, she started. When she had been talking and talking, she had been thinking about the woman. She hadn't seen her before so she had had to be someone. Her fear had risen sharply when she had spotted the medal ribbons on her uniform. Many of them. They had been covered by the dark curls. The hands with scars. Quickly she had connected the dots and almost gasped when she had looked again at the Dark Lord's Lieutenant General. Hermione had known that the woman had noticed her discovery — her smile changed. From cruel to sadistic.
"So it was true." The woman had stood up and walked up to her with a — this time — mocking smile. She had taken her by her chin, pushing her to herself painfully. She had run her fingers over her cheek. Hermione had looked at her with fear but she hadn't dared to look away or move. The touch of the elder woman hadn't been pleasant - and the elder woman hadn't wanted it to be. "If you have to turn somebody in, you will turn everyone in." She had laughed at her and pushed her away, not caring if she would bump into anything.
"Meet me at my place. I will send you an owl." She had giggled like a child, "do not you dare to disappoint me." That had been the moment when Hermione had understood she couldn't refuse - even if she had wanted to.
"Her name is Pansy." She smiled shyly, apologetically. But they knew that smile — she used to have it when she had talked in the same way about Astoria, Fleur, Luna, Zaria. "She actually um..." She sat on the bed with a dreamy look on her face, it was quite a challenge, but a pleasant one — to talk about her like it had been the first time they met. "We bumped at each other when I was in the middle of the fight, she helped me. A lot." She looked at them, couldn't think about anything other than her. In the reality, Hermione didn't know — had Bellatrix helped her or had she destroyed her?
"And how do you know if she's not a spy?" Harry asked with with squinted eyes and suspicious face. Because I am the spy.
"At first I thought so too." She smirked. "But then she gave me the location of some group, saying that if I want, I can stop them; she didn't do it herself because she's a medwitch, not a fighter." Oh, Bellatrix wasn't a fighter also — no fighter could kill as many as her. She faced them, looking more serious now. "I know it was stupid of me but... I went there. I won. And... I wanted to thank her."
Hermione sat on one side of the table and debated earnestly with The Order. She and Ron were of the opinion that The Order should finally come out of hiding and focus on active fighting rather than constantly moving in the shadows. Harry and Remus were of the opposite opinion — they argued that The Order should concentrate on spreading its ideas and recruiting new people. They believed that The Order was too weak, too small, too unprepared.
And Hermione knew that they were right — that was why she promoted her idea even more. Remus Lupin was a werewolf, one of the darkest creatures on earth; his magic was not made for light magic and never would be. Sirius Black was a Black; his magic was not made for light magic and never will be. Tonks was young and quick, but she let her emotions take control too much. Albus, the most powerful of them all, would never step foot on the battlefield.
The Order didn't have a good line of attack — all these people were better at defence — and that was why Hermione was promoting her idea even more.
With an insecurity, stress, hesitation she sat in front of her — making sure she was the second to do so. That day Hermione wore her best suit, matching her dress. Her job wasn't about fashion — they both knew that. But working like that, Hermione was surrounded by rich, beautiful, elegant people and she had to make an impression. And she just wanted her to look pretty like a trophy in her collection. In fact, Hermione didn't really mind. In fact, Hermione couldn't really have a chance to mind.
"Hello, my little lizard." Bellatrix looked at her, smiling like an angel that she wasn't. "What do you have for me today?" She rested her hands on the tabletop, placing her elbows on it. She put her head on her hands. In that state, she didn't really look like the Lieutenant General. But she herself didn't really look the spy also, Hermione guessed.
And Hermione started talking about everything; she spoke every single word she had listened to, she repeated every single movement she had watched, she showed every single thought she had stolen. It was about how the Order wanted to form new groups, change its way of doing things and its founding principles and create new ways of moving; not on the ground and not above it, but below it. A panicked Lavender even had wanted to diplomatically ask France for help but Albus had put an end to that by saying there would be no magical Entente cordiale.
She stopped for a moment, thinking in a silent. "No, it is boring. I will tell you something else." She smirked and stood up, walked up to her, feeling her eyes on herself. She stood behind her and purred quietly, leaned over her ear, gently brushed it with her lips, "The Order is working, right?" She let herself feel Bellatrix's magic and oh, it was pure pleasure. Despite the cruelty of the woman, her magic was addicting; once she tasted it - she only wanted to have more. "But we know who runs it, how, when... we just don't know from where." She kissed it softly, listening to the changing breath of the elder woman. "Grimmauld Place 12." Hermione whispered to her ear, chuckled and moved away, though she was still close, almost too close.
For a moment Bellatrix was just looking in the darkness in front of herself, all the cogs were working, analysing the newly acquired information. Hermione thought she did something wrong and wanted to move away but was stopped by the hand that Bellatrix gently put on top of hers, on her shoulder.
"I can't believe." She chuckled to herself and shook her head in amusement. "My spies for years tried to steal that one information and..." Hermione noticed how she said 'my' instead of 'his'. "And then you showed up and did it... Did it in such a short amount of time." She twisted in her chair, now being face to face with her, she gently put her hand on her cheek. "My dear Hermione, you just don't know how I love you... My own pearl in the crown of the British Empire."
"Don't look at me like that." Hermione managed to say, feeling pain in every part of her body. Everything became fuzzy, gray, harsh, overwhelming. The noise in her ears, the voices in her head telling her they had been right the whole time. She wanted to cry in her room or to kill Bellatrix. Maybe both. She didn't know. Something broke.
"Like what?" At that moment when she looked at her, Hermione could see the storm that was starting at the eyes of the elder woman.
"I don't know," she hesitated. "Like you could love me." She made a few steps away, too scared to make eye contact. "You don't love me. Please, don't give me the expression that you could." Magic in the room changed. "I don't want to suffer, Bellatrix. Don't make me suffer saying things like that." She took a deep breath and crossed her arms on her chest, looking at the wall. "I should have ended it a while ago. When I- when feelings weren't involved." She sighed. "I don't even know why I am doing it now." She could feel little needles poking into her magic, little knife strokes across it.
"Tell me, what makes you stay then?" The woman stood up and walked up to her with a — this time — sadistic smile. She took her by her chin, pushing her closer to herself painfully. She ran her fingers over her cheek. Hermione looked at her with fear but she didn't dare to look away or move. In her mind — she had to make a point. The touch of the elder woman wasn't pleasant and the elder woman didn't want it to be. Her fingernails forming red paths, making her tilt her head to the side. "There's a hundred ways to leave a lover." She laughed at her and pushed her into herself, holding her tightly around the waist. "Perhaps, you are not stupid enough not to know that I'm the only one that you need."
She brought her face dangerously closer to hers, "I am the only one you have." Her grip was getting stronger and stronger, making her stay still. "Do you not see it? Who else do you have?" She whispered near her ear, sounding like the devil herself. "Narcissa? She only cares about her son. Harry Potter? That pathetic red boy? The Order?" She could feel like Hermione was trembling with stress, she smirked. "They would have killed you if they knew." She laughed in her skin and licked the place. She made eye contact with her, "I am the only one you have."
"No." Hermione tried to free her hand but Bellatrix's grip on her wrist was too hard. "You say it like... like you care! You are not my last hope or something... You are saying it because you know, you know perfectly well how it will affect me. She tried to struggle, but after several unsuccessful attempts she stopped. "You are a sadist, Bellatrix. You want me to suffer."
"What else, pet?" She smiled and licked her lips with excitement. "Why would I want to do that?" She said it in a mocking tone, "after all, I love you. Maybe you are just too ungrateful and unable to see that very simple thing?" She kissed her, forcing Hermione to respond to the unpleasantness. "Do not you see as I buy you clothes? As I came here today, despite the work I still have to do? As I praise you with harder and harder missions, seeing your true potential?!" The blood on her wrist. "What else you could possibly dream of?"
"Don't say you love me! You don't love me!" Hermione looked at the elder woman's fingers. The blood slowly, almost unnoticeably started to reach the word carved out in her skin "You love the control you have over me." Her heart started to ache. Loving that woman would be- loving that woman was the end of her. She looked at the closeness between them, nodding to herself. "If there's another life after this one, that one... and they many more after... I'll surely never fall in love with you again." She looked her straight in the eyes and smiled mockingly, with disrespect, harassingly, with disgust.
"I will tell you any news next time, madam."
"You saw them too?" Harry asked Luna who nodded in agreement.
They talked about the eyes. Only a few of the members of The Order met at the unnamed location to share their fears. Wherever they were, they always felt someone's presence behind them. Whatever they did, they always felt a pair of eyes on them. Whatever they said, they always felt that someone was listening. Even when they were alone. The paranoia reached a higher level when one of them had killed a raven, fearing that even it would turn them in.
The portraits at Hogwarts were spying - they saw everything and whispered about it to the headmaster. It was a fact. But they felt like every poster on the street, every picture in the newspaper, every portrait with former members of the Order was looking at them.
It wasn't an animagus, they would know. But whenever they felt something like that, they also felt someone's magic. But they didn't know it, couldn't match it to anyone for their side or from the other.
That magic was dark. Sharp, it made them feel millions of cuts. Cold, it made their own slowly die. Then the storm came, bringing with it all shades of gray. That magic was mad, it wanted to hurt them — for fun, to fulfill its own whims. And suddenly it was becoming light. Nice, it made them want to be near it. Warm, as if she wanted to apologize to them for past wrongs.
Fred pointed it out; lately the magic had been darker than the sky on December 23. It cut deeper, devastated faster. Ginny thought — however strange it would be — it belonged to one person.
"I think," Ron started, looking at each one of them, "that we have a spy. Someone is spying on The Order!" His voice raised a little bit, seeing the disbelief on their faces. "Look, I know I'm rarely right but now I am!" He stood up. "When we were at The Burrow, Ginny said she always felt like someone's presence was always close to her. Luna felt like someone was always in her mind, watching the world through her eyes." Ginny nodded to herself and shrugged her shoulders in displeasure. "Now, when we were at Sirius's it was nice. It was. Remember, a few days ago Dumbledore gave the name to the few more from The Order. And after that again. Yesterday I thought I wouldn't go to sleep because I felt like someone was watching me!"
"Guys, I think Ron's right." Harry stood up and started to walk in circles. "When I was talking with Dumbledore about our plan I felt — but I thought it was just my imagination and tiredness — that this stupid deer on his wall was listening to us with understanding."
When Luna wanted to say something about how Snape had been killed after he had told them about the propecy and the plan Voldemort's plan of takeover it, she was cut off by the blue phoenix. Dumbledore, for the request of Remus Lupin, called a meeting about the lemon sorbet. It was a code for spies.
Bellatrix was sitting on a dark, expansive chair. Death has reared herself a throne. She tried to distract herself with the paperwork but it didn't really work out. The screams surrounding her, the little voices in her head making her go insane. It was so unlike her, to think about her and feel off about herself. At their last meeting the elder woman had let her go. She almost didn't notice her disappearance. She didn't miss her. After all, she didn't need someone who couldn't appreciate her efforts.
But when she thought of her, she got all excited. All excited because she could remember the look of helplessness in the eyes of younger woman, all excited because she could remember the look of fear mixed with Hermione's own excitement. They used to have so much fun together — like when she had thrown a knife in her direction and could see as Hermione slowly had come to the realization of what Bellatrix really was. But Hermione had stayed; she had been too scared to leave but for Bellatrix it hadn't really mattered. Like when she aggressively pushed her onto the wall and was yelling at her while grabbing her wrist. And after all of the scene, the only response she had got had been a moan.
Maybe it was her own doing — destroying Hermione's magic to that point when both of them couldn't recognize it anymore. Of course the younger woman was still herself, being able to control it and use it in the best way possible. It was just the addictivity of her magic; it was hot but when Bellatrix's magic reached for it, it became all cold. Hurting her, making her heart freeze. It was light but then she could almost see the darkness that occupied Hermione when she took her into her arms. The darkness that welcomed her, making her heart burn.
Bellatrix Black wasn't the Lieutenant General for nothing. She was possessive, she loved control more than anything and anyone. And she was capable of the maintenance of it. The younger woman was right, she knew that. She loved when Hermione — with her every breath, with her every touch — changed for her, broke for her, adapted for her; only because she ordered her to do so. Loving Hermione could be one thing — but loving the control over her was another one.
Bellatrix didn't even have a chance to take out her wand when she noticed that she wasn't alone. When she quickly stood up and turned around, she could see as the Despair walked up to her with a dry smile and sparked its hands on her neck, making her suffer more than Hermione ever had had because of her. Every breath was painful, every thought was hurting. "She felt me too." It purred to her ear with a mocking chuckle. The grip of its hands got stronger and stronger. Bellatrix thought she would choke on the lack of air.
With, that time, her own hand gently placed on her neck, she started to go into the hallway. The storm near her. Torturing made her feel alive — the screams, the begging. The feeling that all of their lives depended on her. But oh, she loved even more to lose herself in that feeling of electricity, the ecstasy flowing through her body and soul as she thought of how Hermione had allowed her to feel alive on herself.
But at that very moment it all seemed to be too less. The bodies falling en masse; one by one. Her, shouting with anger. She wanted her. To feel her hands on her body, her lips desperately tying to cover hers. She wanted her magic. To let her magic reach to something similar, something pleasant. She wanted her body. To have the chance of making red paths with her fingernails, making Hermione's mind go blank. She wanted her mind. To could hear any solution she had, any thought. She wanted her. She needed her. So desperate of her. But as a Black — she would get what she wanted.
"Dobby," she said it in a cold voice, clearing her dagger of blood. The pop happened. "Go to Miss Granger — whatsoever she would be doing — and inform her that I ordered her to go here. Now." She laughed but it wasn't pleasant. "Being mine is not her decision to make, is it?"
"Good evening, madam." The words echoed in the nearly empty room. Being the one and only standing among the empty bodies on the battlefield always scared her. It was such a displeasure, seeing them fall one by one, one by one like a domino. Being not the one and only to stand among the empty bodies on the floor of the common room which belonged to the woman who caused all of it always scared her even more.
"Good evening, miss." She said it with a palpable mockery. "Do not you think it was a little bit rude? To leave your lover like that?" She nodded with disappointment. "You were the one talking about how bad I treat you, Hermione." Her voice was soft, devastated, hurt, upset, heartbroken, insincere. "And then as a proof of your words you," she emphasized, "left me," she emphasized again. "How do you think I felt? Seeing you go like that?" She walked up to her, crossing hands on her chest. "You were the one who promised not to hurt me. Not otherwise."
"I've... I only- no, no, no, no." She aggressively ran her hands through her hair, letting the air out. She made a step back, needing to be further to the woman. "You don't care about me. You always haven't" The room was becoming smaller and smaller. She was staring at the floor trying to figure out something from her words — something different than the truth. Because — unlike Hermione before — Bellatrix gave her facts, not feelings.
"Oh, of course I care about you, my little girl." She, again, walked up to her. With a soft, calming touch she fixed a strand of her hair, putting it behind her ear. "I am here, aren't I? You need me, my darling girl. Not otherwise." Hermione looked at her, blinking without a purpose. The room was becoming more and more red while Bellatrix's words started to make more and more sense. Maybe she was just a monster who had been still learning how to love gently, kindly, softly, without breaking or hurting or killing by accident.
"No, Bellatrix, no." She couldn't look at her or at her shadow. "I know you. I know the only thing you care about is your win. You would sell me three times and buy five times if it would guarantee you the win." But what if Bellatrix would try...? Maybe she just didn't know how...? "Someone like that... Someone like you simply can't care about someone else." She shrugged her shoulders, "you don't want me, you want the information I can give you. That is the thing you care about." But maybe she really cared about her, one time she had hit Amycus Carrow instead of her. The shawl didn't play a role.
"Oh, poor little girl." Bellatrix took her in a tight hug. "Who told you this, hmm?" She ran her fingers through her hair. "Without you I am drowning in this sea." She smiled dangerously, feeling as the other woman hugged her back. "I know you need me, that is why I am here, making you calm. But you know that too, do you not? You came here to talk with me because you know that, too, you need me, little witch." She pushed her back, making her look at her. "You will be of use to me, I will be of use to you."
"You have to help me, because it's been raining for sixteen days and my life is slowly becoming a blur." Hermione said with a hint of desperation in her voice. "You have to help me, because I'm as tired as God, who worked for a week — and failed to create the world..." She tried to smile — but like the god — failed. Bellatrix words made so much sense now. She didn't want to think why she had done what she had done. Why she had caused all of the pain to the elder woman. Maybe, Hermione didn't have problems with Bellatrix's doings. Maybe, Hermione was the problem. Her heart started to ache when she thought about that. She didn't want to hurt her more than anything.
"I will help you, my love." She took her hand in hers. "I will do anything for you, do not you believe?" Bellatrix's facial expression was so soft, so calm, so unlike her. Hermione liked it — it did make her feel loved. But Hermione did not pay attention to her deadly-empty eyes.
"Just please, Bellatrix..." She looked at her with tears in the eyes. She felt— she knew she was more broken than her own, destroyed by the elder woman, magic. "Don't leave me." She took her by her collar, holding it like a drowning man would clutch at a razor.
Bellatrix placed her hand on her left cheek, stroking it gently. She looked at her and smiled not-mockingly, respectfully, non-violently, sympathetically while saying those mocking, disrespecting, harassing, disgusting words, "then do not try to escape."
Hermione went out of the building with some kind of prudence, carefully looking around herself. She knew that some would accuse her of something — after all, she was Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl. The elder woman's house was a no-apparition-zone, so she had to go anywhere else. She preferred covering her face with the charms to a mask and a scarf. Anyone could recognize her because of them. She ran into the alley and after making sure she was alone, apparited herself to her house. The last thing she saw was a paper flying above the street. What she didn't see — it was a poster addressed to all the witches and wizards who still wanted to live in a free Wizarding Britain, who still wanted to live far, far away from segregation, pain and dark magic. It was a poster calling for a fight; the one you don't suspect may be the most dangerous of spies.
With a little dizzy, she opened her eyes and looked around her kitchen. She, for a long moment, started at the photo of her, Harry and Ron. She was flooded with a wave of numb and exhaustion. The bad news, the dry fact — the awareness that she would make them lie still. The sad sight, the drops of blood, the crying, at the very thought of not seeing them again — she would try to forget. Hermione forced herself to look away. She took a deep breath and turned around with a sigh. Her eyes widen in shock when she saw a wand pointed at her.
"Please, don't make me do this." His hand was shaking, "please!" He shouted at her and — probably again — started crying. "They said... They said it was you!" Hermione could see the pain in his eyes, as with every word his world was falling apart more and more. "Say something!" His hand shook hard, making him throw a random spell near her. "Hermione, please, say something! Deny it!" She could see as Harry put his free hand to his heart, feeling the unimaginable pain. "I don't want to kill you but I will if you will keep silent!" Hermione was looking at the boy, at the child whose world was taken from him piece by piece with a cruelty bigger than hers. But did she know that boy? It was Harry, he had been her friend. But at that time, they stood after the opposite side of the barrier. She tilted her head a little to the left. No, she did not know that boy. "I... will..." He murmured with the difficulty due to the tears.