Why did Lucifer fall? In Judeo-Christain spheres this question is always asked. Why? Some argue it’s predestination, he was always going to fall. Others say it was choice, he was just evil and greedy. Hermione thinks neither is right. Neither fully encapsulates the reality of divinity. What’s the explanation for why the rest of the angels fell? Why did they all follow him? They’ll say it’s because they too were evil and power hungry. Hermione always wondered why no one asked what drove them away.
That’s the reality of it, that’s what Hermione comes to believe.
One day at a time, they drove out the fallen angels. They cut and pushed until the fallen had no choice, they had to leave.
Hermione isn’t an angel, not by a long shot. It doesn’t stop the order from seeing her as such and treating her accordingly. It takes her a long time to realize this. Years, months, eons. She learns it in the pitying and demeaning manner in which they treat her. It’s only reinforced with every word from Bellatrix’s mouth, every caress that’s heavy with desire. She desires to be free of Azkaban, to lay claim to Hermione, to spite all her enemies. Hermione knows Bellatrix is want for much.
They push her away, slicing their ties with each remark. Every time they treat her as if she’s less intelligent because of her lineage, when they act apologetic like a hoard of sycophants dying to receive her approval, it all drips with tokenism. She’s only special to them because of what she is and not who she is. She’s no more than a political tool drenched in cloying honey to make her palpable to the masses.
She falls.
They have no one to blame but themselves. They stuck the wings to her back, burying them where they never should have been. Just as they put the saw to her wings and started to carve.
She knows what they must tell themselves and each other. That she’s despicable, a fraud. That she’s irredeemably evil and greedy.
Hell, maybe she is. All she knows is that if it’s between them and Bellatrix, she’ll always choose Bellatrix. She hadn’t planned on it, there’s no one that could have planned or expected it. It just happened.
She’ll never be sure what drew her to Azkaban that day.
It’s as if there is a silent beacon that beckons her closer. It’s a sick sort of temptation to see the woman who’d tortured her. An opportunity to see someone who held so much power over her struck low. It’s her execution day, maybe that’s what ultimately pushed Hermione to that prison.
It’s easy to reach Azkaban, it’s worrisomely easy to buy her way in.
She taps her wand periodically, her fingers nervously bouncing off the wood as she waits. The roughness of the wand has been worn down by practice but her hands have been hardened by war. The guard shuffles nervously nearby. He tries his best not to look at her. He knows who she is. Hermione’s sure there isn’t anyone in the wizarding world who doesn’t know her. He knows why she’s here; that’s a lesser known fact.
Bellatrix Black is behind the door he guards.
The guard clears his throat nervously, sweat gathering over his brow as he awaits his superior. The warden is due anytime now. Hermione had greased the palms of both men, a necessity that hardly burdened her. She has more money now than she knows what to do with.
“Miss Granger?” The warden’s more collected than the guard. He’s a man used to breaking rules, used to the power he has. He knows he’s being paid and that he has the advantage. The guard still fears being caught. The warden knows that this transaction will benefit him.
“Warden.”
“You have five minutes.” Hermione paid enough to have a year in that room but she’s aware Bellatrix is rarely left alone. An Order member or ministry official could be by at anytime. The warden nods to the guard and the nervous man turns to open the door. Hermione takes a deep breath and steadies her hand. She keeps her hand near her wand but she stops tapping. She walks in.
“Muddy!” A high pitched crow greets her. Bellatrix is across the room, damp from the ever present rain. Her hair is tangled and matted. She’s small, smaller than Hermione remembers. Her bones jut out violently, pulling her skin taut. Her grin is even more crazed than the last time Hermione had seen her. Her teeth are broken and browned, hidden behind an iron mask that serves as a muzzle.
She’s a mess. It gives Hermione confidence, she moves her hand away from her wand.
“Bellatrix.”
“Keep my name out of your mouth.” It is a threat. A hiss that’s meant to intimidate Hermione.
“What will you do about it?” Bellatrix lunges at her, her hands attempting to grab her. Hermione easily deflects her. She slams Bellatrix into the stone wall, a hand around the woman’s throat. She pushes the hard iron collar of the muzzle deeper into Bellatrix’s throat. Hermione can feel her larynx struggle, her breathing stutter. They aren’t at the mansion anymore.
“Everything okay in there?”
“Just fine warden, five minutes as we said.”
“Oooo, someone’s not supposed to be here.” It has to hurt to speak through the pressure against her throat but she does so anyways.
“You’re dying today.” Bellatrix’s eyes scan her own for a moment, searching for the truth of her words. A laugh gurgles in Bellatrix’s throat, stopped before it can escape.
“Finally. Come here to gloat? Think if you shove me around you’ll somehow have won.”
“We did. Voldemort is dead, his most trusted followers are being executed. You lost.”
“We both know that’s not what this is about.” It isn’t. It’ll never be just the war. To Hermione, Bellatrix is something beyond the war. She finds herself locked into a new war, one with only two players. Harry and Ron have no place here. Voldemort and the Death Eaters have no place here. It’s just them and whoever lands on top. She’s come here to make sure Bellatrix knows it will be Hermione.
“I have won. You dedicated your life to a man who never loved you and to a side that lost, now you’ll burn for it.”
“You think you win by my death. I may burn but I’ll join my Lord. You? You will have to keep living.” Bellatrix’s hand finds the tender scar on Hermione’s arm, her thumb brushes over it before pressing. “You’ll live with me forever, pet.” It’s growled into her ear and Hermione shudders. Revulsion fills her and her hand begs to push harder, to push until the woman’s throat gives and she chokes on her own blood. That’s not who she is. It’s not who she wants to be. She won’t let Bellatrix turn her into a monster. She relents.
“Think what you want Bellatrix but it won’t matter in a few hours. I only wish I could be there.” Hermione had asked to be there but had received worried glances and a firm rejection. The guard opens the door and Hermione walks out. She catches Bellatrix’s gaze, their eyes locking. Bellatrix raises her thumb to her muzzle, slipping it between and licking at it. She doesn’t break Hermione’s gaze. Hermione leaves while she still has any ground to stand on.
Her mind doesn’t stop racing for hours, the clock ticks closer to Bellatrix’s execution. She knows what she’s going to do long before she does it. She knew the moment she left Bellatrix’s cell, maybe even the moment the door opened.
“Minister Potter.” Hermione’s breathing heavy from the apparations and running.
“Hermione, what’s wrong?” James asks, looking up from his desk and shooing away a concerned clerical worker.
She thinks about it carefully, the exact way to word it. She knows how to get what she wants, how to play the man before her. It’s the same way she can play any of them. She acts like what they want her to be. “We can’t kill her.” Hermione says it with stern righteousness, full of arrogant gryffindor pride. She says it a little too emotionally, too worried. He softens around the edges and the pity finds home in his gaze.
In all honesty, she didn’t think about how she was playing a part. It didn’t even occur to her that she had to put on a mask for someone who’s supposed to be a friend, practically a parental figure.
“She’s a monster, Hermione. She’s killed countless innocents and tortured the Longbottoms to insanity. You know better than most that she deserves no mercy.”
“We can’t become her. After everything we sacrificed and fought for, we can’t lose ourselves.”
“Why do you wish to save her?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do, it’s the only thing we can do in the wake of the terror they left. We show the world we are better.”
James looks down considering her words. Including the world seems to have an effect, James wants to be known and remembered. “I’ll talk to some people.” Hermione knows what that means, what James wants he gets. Bellatrix Black will live another day.
She never thought she’d be the one to stop Bellatrix’s execution. She thought she’d be the one to push it forward, encourage the bloodthirsty survivors. Instead she pretends to be someone she’s not to get her way.
Then, she wasn’t entirely aware of her situation. The way the others looked at her and treated her, that came later. That was whispered between the dark stones of Azkaban, manipulations hidden in worry. Then, she thought she still had a chance in the world.
She stops the execution for many reasons but only one reason holds true. Even then, she knew exactly why she did it. She wants to say it’s because she has to win, that the silent war between the two demands that Hermione keep Bellatrix alive. She wishes it is just wanting to spite Bellatrix and keep her alive, away from her dark lord.
Instead, it’s because for the first time since the end of the war someone looked at her differently. Bellatrix didn’t look at her like the others. She is full of hate, anger, and disgust. It shouldn’t make Hermione want to save her, Muddy still rings around her ears after all. It’s an impossible want, something that shouldn’t exist. The energy between them is rejuvenating, so utterly different than anything else she’s been forced to endure in the past months. There isn’t even the slightest glint of endearment. Bellatrix doesn’t look at Hermione like she’s looking at a kitten, she looks at her like she’s looking at an enemy.
It feels fantastic, invigorating. It makes Hermione’s blood pump like it hasn’t since the last time she ran from death.
It is interesting that she’s hailed for her altruism in the coming weeks when what follows is as far from altruism as one can get.
She returns to Azkaban two weeks after Bellatrix’s would have been execution. She bribes her way in just the same and gets five minutes. It’s always five minutes.
Who would have thought five minutes would be enough to fall?
Bellatrix watches her enter with dark eyes, her manic grin growing more with every step. Hermione won’t be unnerved by the absolute focus in Bellatrix’s gaze. “Looks like I’m still alive.”
“Looks like it.”
“Couldn’t stand to watch me burn after all?”
“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
Bellatrix tilts her head, a short bark of laughter escaping her lips. “Of course you did, muddy. Let’s not play pretend. You came here to gloat last time and ended up saving poor wittle me.” Bellatrix makes herself laugh all over again but there’s nothing short about it. It’s an obnoxiously sustained laughter, one that has the guard outside audibly grumbling. “What exactly do you expect to happen now?”
She can’t tell Bellatrix that she has no plan or expectation, that she came here because of some internal pull. “I get to bask in my victory.”
“Here I thought we agreed not to play each other.” Bellatrix purrs. It’s an unnerving sound, one that makes the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up.
“You’re the one trapped here for the rest of your life. What do you want?”
“Entertainment. Lucky me that you seem to be the best entertainment around. Admittedly not half as fun without all the screaming.”
Hermione doesn’t lunge at her, she doesn’t even approach Bellatrix. She’s not playing this game by Bellatrix’s rules. “You certainly were more impressive then.”
“Come now, muddy. Why are you visiting me? Are you hoping for conjugals? I’m afraid this doesn’t get my dragon roaring. I require courting, mood lighting that isn’t wretched lightning.”
“You summed it up, entertainment. Peace is…”
“Boring? Mind numbing?”
“Yes.” Bellatrix looks slightly surprised yet pleased at her admittance. It’s not the truth nor is it a lie. Despite fighting for peace she finds it lacking. The high energy she has become accustomed to is gone. She has more time for reading, which she’s appreciative of, but her hands don’t shake with adrenaline as she turns the next page.
She doesn’t want Bellatrix digging deeper into her motivations for being here, she doesn’t want to think about it.
Every outcome is created through a series of decisions. Hermione went to Azkaban and saved Bellatrix’s life. That was her first decision that set them on this path. This is Bellatrix’s first decision, one that would lead them to the most unlikely of outcomes.
Although Bellatrix hasn’t stopped antagonizing her during either of Hermione’s interactions, there was something missing. Hermione can see it as Bellatrix’s eyes flash dangerously, that intangible something brimming to the surface. “You’re not meant for peace, not after everything. They don’t realize it, do they?”
Hermione bristles but doesn’t show it, she needs to keep her upper hand. “I wouldn’t pretend you know much about me or them.”
“Why not? What are you going to do to me? Are you going to hurt me?” Bellatrix almost sounds excited. Hermione wonders about her relationship with Voldemort and what it entailed that this gets Bellatrix excited.
“You hardly know me.”
“I’ve tortured you. I know you better than anyone, definitely better than those who flock to you. They don’t know you, pet.” There’s something unsettling about the way Bellatrix is acting now. It’s different, a shift in her posture, an undertone to her voice.
She hates how quickly Bellatrix narrows onto her insecurities.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know them.” She shouldn’t engage Bellatrix like this, she shouldn’t.
“Don’t I, though? I had to know them, understand their moves and motives, to destroy them. I know that they’re probably sidelining you, protecting the fragile mudblood. Are they using your status for their own popularity yet? You’re just a prop to them.”
Hermione laughs but it comes out a bit too bitter. “They’re my friends, my family. You’re a deranged sociopath.”
“If I’m deranged, why do I make so much sense?” Bellatrix cocks her heads and even though Hermione is sure to keep distance between them, she feels like Bellatrix has her pinned once again.
“Only dead leaders heed your words.” Bellatrix bares her teeth and practically growls, her anger spiking. She tries to strike Hermione but she’s been careful to keep her distance from Bellatrix. “Time’s up.”
Hermione turns to leave, knowing their five minutes are reaching the end. “I’ll see you soon, Muddy.” Bellatrix coos to her. Hermione doesn’t argue, doesn’t say she won’t be back.
She will.
She comes back, again and again.
Once a week, then twice a week.
No one else knows in her life. They don’t even question her about her disappearances. It’s entirely because they don’t notice where she goes.
“When’s the last time you saw your friends?” Bellatrix taunts, her attention too earnest to be genuine. They’re just another weapon in her arsenal. They’re just another way to emphasize the point, she pays more attention than Hermione’s own friends.
“When’s the last time you saw yours?”
“Dolohov was just screaming yesterday! Thanks for asking.”
“I don’t think that counts.”
“Why not? You scream still, don’t you? You think of me, of us, and you wake up absolutely panting. Does that get their attention? Their guilt? If only they could have saved you. Because you need saving, don’t you?” She wonders if Bellatrix realizes how often Hermione nearly kills her. She’s sure Bellatrix has an inkling. That’s Bellatrix’s favorite part of their battle and Hermione does everything to make sure she starves of it. She wants Hermione to react? To grab and claw and pull? She won’t.
Morgana knows she wants to.
“I’m not you. I hardly need to trick the people nearest to me with nightmares for them to care. Do you think after everything you did that a single person cared? No matter the screams, he didn’t care did he? What about your sisters? I know-”
She got too close that day, she miscalculated the length of Bellatrix’s chains.
Bellatrix all but tackles her, the both of them falling to the floor. Bellatrix’s hands grab at her wand, Hermione a second behind. Bellatrix digs the wand into her chest, just where Dolohov’s curse scarred her. “Listen carefully, Muddy. They’ve abandoned you. You can come here and rant about how much they care but I cannot tolerate such lies. We both know the truth. They don’t need you anymore, not to win a war. Why keep you around? Your purpose now is to be plastered in the papers. I am worshiped by the masses, an icon to many. He valued me, perhaps he didn’t care the way you think he should have. From where I’m sitting, that’s more than your friends will ever do for you.”
Hermione’s breathing heavy, nerves at how easily Bellatrix can kill her. One word, one flick of the wrist, and Hermione is no more. Bellatrix drags the wand down, resting it gently on her stomach. She runs her other hand over the same path, Hermione’s close enough to see the way Bellatrix licks her lips. “You didn’t let James execute me, so I won’t kill you. Next time though…” Bellatrix laughs, jostling the both of them. Hermione still hasn’t remembered how to breathe.
Bellatrix takes her wrist and puts the wand back into Hermione’s grasp, closing her fingers around it tenderly. She brings their joined hands to the muzzle and Hermione breaks out of her reverie. She flinches and repeats Bellatrix’s action, pointing the wand into Bellatrix’s stomach. Bellatrix’s eyes burn dark, ripple with pride. “Well, come on then. Kill me.” Belltrix leans closer, pressing her forehead against Hermione’s. Bellatrix’s wild hair falls around them, hiding them from the world’s view. It’s just the two of them and all the things that shouldn’t be.
“I’m not you.” Hermione snarls, her pride wounded from how Bellatrix took her down. Bellatrix is barely even alive at this point, it’s more than a little embarrassing.
“Shh, there’s no need to pretend here.” Bellatrix takes on a soothing tone. Her fingers circle Hermione’s clenched fist, the wand stabbing into the too thin frame atop her. “We’re very much alike. You want me dead but can’t kill me. I want you dead but I can’t kill you. The only difference is our place in this world.”
“You’re a psychopath. I’m nothing like you.”
Bellatrix twists her wrists, pushing the wand deeper into her own stomach. “Sociopath, psychopath, do make up your mind. All these muggle terms, Muddy. You’re avoiding the subject, we can’t live without the other in our lives. You can chalk it up to whatever you want but it’s the truth. They wouldn’t understand that. If they knew that you come by here, they’d condemn you. They’ll betray you. They already have.”
“You’d kill me in a heartbeat.”
“Would I?” Bellatrix’s hand lands on her chest once more, just over her heart. “It’s beating, quickly I might add. Nervous? Excited? Is this because of me? I haven’t killed you, yet.” Bellatrix’s nails tap against her in rhythm with her heart.
Bellatrix brushes her nose against Hermione’s, the metal grates just above her upper lip. Hermione pulls away, falling out of their shadowed world. She pushes Bellatrix off of her and stands, tucking her wand away. “Do not for a moment believe I am incapable of killing you.” Hermione threatens, promises really, before leaving.
“You alright?” The guard asks as she leaves. He must have heard the scuffle. “I’d have helped but I know you prefer your privacy.”
“I’m fine.”
She’s not fine.
She can never let that happen again. Bellatrix likely would kill her for being foolish enough. Bellatrix likes having her own fun with Hermione but she doesn’t want to engage in battle with someone weak, she needs competition. Hermione shudders that somehow that’s her first thought, her first consideration. Not worry over her own life but that she’d lose what she’s found in that cell.
She hates what’s happening. She needs to stop going there.
She doesn’t.
Wednesday and Friday are their days. She goes every single time, no one notices.
Bellatrix words start to stick and she knows that’s what she wants. To cause doubt, to fuck with her head. The issue is she isn’t entirely wrong.
She visits, they taunt each other, sometimes going farther than other times, Hermione leaves.
Months pass.
It’s a craving, one they both share.
It changes when she gets a sternly worded letter from the warden one night.
She shouldn’t have visited today. She shouldn’t. The knowledge leadens her steps, her pace half as quick as usual. The guard looks at her with a raised eyebrow, so far from the nervous inexperienced criminal he once was. Now, he barely flinches at their transgressions against the government. He watches her without bowing his head or flinching away. He carries no respect or pity for her, he knows better by now. He notices her posture because he sees her so often, therein lies the rot of their dealings. She’s here, in the cell of the worst Death Eater, too often. She nods to him, not explaining her behavior.
“Pet, you look positively terrible.” Bellatrix could be concerned, maybe. If this were a different world. If she wasn’t just trying to gain power through Hermione’s weakness.
“Do I?” Her voice sounds dangerous in the quiet of the cell.
“What’s wrong now? Let me guess! A blood traitor friend of yours said something that annoyed you. No? Okay, mommy and daddy still can’t remember you? Ooo, now I’ve made you rather cross. Last guess, I promise. I did something that made you angry.”
Hermione breathes out and lets Bellatrix approach her. Of course she isn’t wrong. The warden told her exactly what happened and Hermione hasn’t calmed down since the night before. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, of course it does!” Bellatrix huffs at her nonaction, she always likes it best when she can pull a reaction from Hermione. Hermione lets her walk closer until she’s in reaching distance, that’s not always the safest option. She hasn’t let it happen since their last altercation. It doesn’t help Bellatrix usually tries to kill her at least once per visit. Instead of striking, Bellatrix’s fingers crawl up her shoulder. Her hand rests on the side of Hermione’s neck, thumb brushing along her jaw. “Do I need to kill someone?” It’s entirely too fond, Hermione’s breath catches. She shoves that feeling down, it can’t see the light of day. Unfortunately, she’s sure Bellatrix saw it.
“You already tried.” Hermione scoffs, irritation pooling out. Yes, that’s better. Irritation and anger are better friends than this sickness that grows between them.
“Oh! That’s what this is about! I hardly thought you’d be upset about some mudblood guard.”
“Obviously I’d be upset that you thought biting a fucking guard’s ear off was a good idea.” Hermione spits out.
“I didn’t much think about what kind of idea it would be, not all of us plan out every movement. Sometimes a girl just wants to bite.”
“Don’t play dumb, you’re one of the most brilliant witches this world has seen and likely ever will see. You planned it. How you pulled it off considering the muzzle I haven’t the faintest clue.”
Bellatrix’s eyes are twinkling, she looks smug and pleased. “I see now. You’re upset I played with someone else.” Hermione felt the flush spread across her cheeks. Rage, at the very insinuation. Embarrassment, for it’s true.
Hermione thinks that a person should feel some semblance of shame when they're treated like a rabid dog. Muzzled in and confined for worry of being bitten. Instead, Bellatrix offers her a wide metal smile. Hermione's coming to see the mask and her as one, metal and bone waiting to cut her down.
Hermione does what Bellatrix likes best, she reacts. She reaches out and wraps her fingers around the metal bars of her muzzle, pulling Bellatrix closer. The fit between the bars is tight, her fingers are likely chafed against the crude iron. She cannot for the life of her fathom how Bellatrix got to his ear without being stopped. “You mean nothing to me, don’t mistake my visits for a shred of connection.”
Bellatrix doesn’t blink nor does she pull back from Hermione’s hold. Hermione knows her hold is dangerous, stupid, she expects maybe getting bit for her attempt at reclaiming the power during this encounter. She doesn’t expect chapped bleeding lips to press against her finger. It’s soft, barely even a press of her lips. It’s like a suggestion of a kiss, the possibility of one. Too soft, Bellatrix’s eyes too warm around the edges. It doesn’t make Hermione melt.
It’s wrong, disturbing. It unsettles Hermione to her core. Softness has no place between them, in this hellhole of a place. They’re threats and violence, each taking chunks out of the other until one is left standing. This isn’t soft or caring, this is a weapon. It surely isn’t a kiss but rather a knife to her throat.
“Don’t be jealous pet, you’re the only mudblood for me. Besides, why would I tear your ear off when there’s so much more fun we could have?” Bellatrix murmurs against her fingers, still not leaning away from Hermione’s fingers. Hermione flinches, pulling away too quickly. She feels the burn from where her fingers dragged against the rough edges, small tracks of blood left behind.
She thinks about refuting Bellatrix’s claims, arguing that she is anything but jealous. It isn’t true. Of course it isn’t true. She’s burning up with jealousy, she hates that Bellatrix had anything to do with someone but herself.
It’s wrong. It hits her in this moment how wrong their whole ordeal is. She shouldn’t be here, listening to Bellatrix’s poisonous words. She knows how often Bellatrix talks poorly of those outside, Hermione’s friends and allies. Bellatrix whispers all of her worries, all the worst things Hermione’s people do or say. She knows Bellatrix has been trying to use her and turn her against the others. Hermione is aware of the manipulations.
If she’s aware, why is she here? Why does she continue to return like clockwork? Surely she gets nothing out of this.
“I won’t return.” Hermione grinds out, refusing to watch Bellatrix lick Hermione’s blood off the metal. Bellatrix doesn’t even have the manners to look like she believes Hermione.
Hermione breaks their cycle. She doesn’t visit on Wednesday. She doesn’t visit on Friday either.
It’s three weeks later when she cracks.
She isn’t even sure if it counts as a crack, it’s a fissure, an earthquake. It’s the splitting of her very self.
She does the unforgivable.
She hates herself for it.
She tries to stop herself, she tries to dig her heels in, but she is helpless to her own desires.
She cracks.
It takes a long time for her efforts to reach fruition. During that time, she thinks.
She thinks about Bellatrix, their war that’s grown out of hand. It almost feels like they’re predestined. Bellatrix’s words have been her Trojan horse. Her downfall, hidden by a dangerous companionship. Was Troy doomed to fall? Was it really the Trojans fault for letting the horse in if it was fate all along? Hermione doesn’t know anymore. If she’d been asked before, she would have said yes. With absolute certainty the Trojans were to blame for their own stupidity. Only a fool would let a trap that obvious happen. Now, with cold ivory fingers wrapped around her throat with a gentle mockery of affection...she doesn’t think she can blame the Trojans.
It’s the jealousy and worry that pushes her over. The worry is almost worse. She could be jealous for days and it wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s the worry that makes her start searching through tomes. Bellatrix could be punished for something like biting a guard’s ear off. She could be executed. The thought of Bellatrix dying makes something swirl in Hermione’s gut. It’s something dark and heavy, buried deep within her.
She can’t allow that. Bellatrix can’t die, not now. Not after she saved her, not while they’re war wages, not while she’s Hermione’s.
Hermione searches, studies, and practices.
It’s old magic, magic that no one would believe her capable of. It’s too dark for her friends to believe she’d ever do it and too difficult for Bellatrix to believe her capable of. This spell will spite them all. It surely will damn Hermione in the process.
It’s a month later when she returns to Azkaban.
The guard looks pleased when she shows up, obviously missing her money. “Good to see you again.” It’s empty, not genuine. She wonders if it’s their deal that’s drained him of who he used to be or working in this place.
Bellatrix does look a bit surprised to see her this time at least. “It’s poor etiquette to stand a girl up and not bring her flowers.” She can feel Bellatrix’s weighted gaze evaluating her. Hermione gets it, she looks even worse than the last time they saw each other. It’s been a lot of sleepless nights. Now that she’s here...can she do it? She shouldn’t, that’s not the crux of the issue. She knows it’s wrong, it’ll probably get her killed, but she knows that isn’t what’s stopping her.
“I don’t think you’re the flower kind of person, Black.” Hermione almost smiles. She missed this, as wrong as it is. She hasn’t felt the way Bellatrix’s presence takes that weight off of her in so long. It’s made her rethink some things.
“You’ve never asked.” Bellatrix pouts, walking closer to Hermione. Hermione remains out of her reach. She needs her head for this decision and she knows if Bellatrix gets too close, she won’t be able to think at her best. “I like to rip the petals off, I imagine they feel it.” Bellatrix’s predatory smile fades a little and Hermione’s unchanging expression. She reaches a hand out between them, waiting for Hermione to close the distance.
That’s not something Bellatrix does.
She claims and takes. She twists the wand deeper, controlling Hermione’s own threats. She doesn’t offer or wait. Hermione’s hand slides into Bellatrix, a sigh escaping her. Bellatrix tenses to pull her closer but Hermione shakes her head.
“What is it you want?”
“You, closer.” Hermione laughs at that before quickly stilling. She’s never laughed in this cell, that’s never been their way. It seems it’s Bellatrix’s way, her lips spread in delight. “I change my mind, I want that again.”
“Do you want to leave this place?” Bellatrix’s happiness falls off of her, an angry sneer taking its place.
“Are you offering?” Bellatrix snaps. She’s radiating rage, her eyes bounces across the stones around them. She’s...cagey. This place really is terrible. Hermione just hasn’t had the need to care about it until recently. What’s that make her? The humanitarian, the person who should have been fighting to tear this place down.
“Yes.”
Bellatrix freezes. Hermione shocked her well and truly for the first time. Bellatrix has always managed to wield the upper hand. “What?” Bellatrix’s voice sounds off, she hasn’t gathered herself yet.
“Would you want to leave, if I offered?” Hermione reiterated, a calm taking over. Her decision made, her acceptance no longer weighing against her conscience.
“James would never allow it. None of them would.” Bellatrix’s eyes dart across Hermione’s face quickly, trying to understand this move.
For the first time, it isn’t a move. There’s no ulterior motive.
“It’s a good thing they won’t know.” Hermione hums, her body rigid even if her mind is calm. She needs to be ready to back up if this goes wrong and Bellatrix lashes out.
“Let me get this right. You, Hermione- what’s your last name?”
Hermione blinks at the interruption. “Jean.”
“Jean.” Hermione swallows at the way Bellatrix says it. “You, Hermione Jean Granger, want to break me out behind the ministry’s back?”
Hermione tilts her free hand back and forth. “Sort of.”
“Why?” Bellatrix succeeds in pulling her closer.
“You’ll die here, eventually. I can’t have that.”
“Why?” It’s a growl but Hermione knows it isn’t a threat, she isn’t in any danger of it.
“I don’t know.”
Bellatrix’s hand brushes up her wrist, over her forearm, tracing the scars she left. “Yes, you do. Tell me.”
“I need you.”
“Pet, take me away.” Bellatrix husks, her fingers digging into her arm.
“You’ll have to let me go for a moment.” Hermione noted Bellatrix’s reluctance to do as much.
Hermione marks the glyphs she’s spent sleepless nights memorizing. They emanate dark before fading, she knows where they are. She doubts anyone else will. She deems it strong enough after five glyphs and moves to examine Bellatrix’s restraints. The chains aren’t enchanted with an alarm system but the muzzle is. “Why aren’t your chains enchanted too?”
“Some people hold grudges.” Bellatrix shrugs as if she isn’t one of those people. “The more important question is where did you learn magic like that?”
“Books.”
“This is old magic, difficult even to pure-blood prodigies.”
“Suppose it’s a good thing I’m not a pure-blood then, this was easy.” Hermione almost grins at Bellatrix’s expression. A mix of anger at her slight toward pure-bloods and hunger at her demonstration. She backs away when she registers the hunger, keeping some distance between them.
She starts the incantation and Bellatrix hovers near her.
It shudders into existence, a mirror image of the Bellatrix standing beside her. It looks the same, moves the same, acts the same.
“I chose well.” Hermione wants to argue Bellatrix didn’t choose her, she got stuck with her, but she doesn’t. Bellatrix’s almost reverent tone keeps Hermione’s tongue still. “What now?”
“Now, you go in the jar.” Hermione twirls her wand smugly.
“Absolutely not.”
“I need to put you in my bag, jar is the easiest solution.”
“I could fit in there without it!”
“Yes but I don’t trust you not to go through my things. Just deal with it, you’re going in the jar.”
“No one puts a Black in a jar.” Bellatrix refuses.
“Too bad, we don’t have all day.” Hermione gets Bellatrix out of her chains and shrinks her. Once she’s secure in the jar, spitting expletives the whole way, she tucks the jar away in her bag.
Bellatrix will surely make her pay for it later.
“Good day.” The guard says as she leaves, she smiles tightly at him.
As soon as she’s clear of Azkaban, she apparates to her home.
She stops for a moment. A minute to collect herself. Once she takes Bellatrix out of the jar it’s all real.
Bellatrix isn’t yelling or hitting the jar anymore. She watches Hermione, not even looking around their surroundings. Hermione opens the jar and Bellatrix is standing before her once more. “You actually did it.” Bellatrix murmurs disbelievingly.
“I did.”
Bellatrix finally looks around, her brow lowering as she takes in her surroundings. “Pet, is this your place?”
“It is.”
Bellatrix looks at her like she’s the biggest idiot. “Your friends will find me here, this is the worst place to hide a criminal away.”
Hermione walks away, leaning against the back of her couch and crossing her arms. “They won’t find you here.”
“Of course they will! They can show up at any- oh.” Bellatrix stops herself as it dawns on her. “They really don’t visit you.” Bellatrix is satisfied, her smirk hooks into Hermione. “I told you they didn’t care, they aren’t really your friends. Have you known all along?”
Hermione irritably runs a hand through her hair, looking away from Bellatrix. “That’s not true. They just don’t come around. It doesn’t mean they don’t care.”
“You planned this out with the knowledge they wouldn’t come here, ever. I think you know, Muddy. It’s okay. This just means you’re all mine.” Hermione looks at Bellatrix sharply. Bellatrix leans against her, causing Hermione to grab onto the back of the couch to keep them both standing. Bellatrix moves her hands in a jerky motion, stopping as she realizes they’re no longer bound by chains.
She gets distracted looking at her unbound hands, lost in her own head. “There are some things we should go over.”
“Are you going to try and give me rules? You know how I do with those.”
“If you leave my flat and are seen, you’ll be killed on sight. I don’t recommend leaving it.”
“You took me from a cage to put me in a new one?” Bellatrix’s voice sounds dangerous.
“A cage, sure, but a cage where you won’t be tormented by the guards or poor living conditions.”
“My savior.” Bellatrix is in fight mode now, her words dripping with acid.
“If you want to go back to Azkaban, I can take you back on Friday.” Is it an offer or a threat? Hermione isn’t so sure.
Bellatrix’s fingers grab onto her shirt, holding her closely. “If only they saw you like I do. You can be so cruel.” Bellatrix nudges her head back, her thumbs dragging across her collarbone. “It’ll do nicely.”
“What do you want?”
“You, closer.” Bellatrix presses her face against the side of Hermione’s head. She pushes hard, like she can’t get close enough, like all she wants is to consume Hermione. “This fucking thing.” Bellatrix grumbles and Hermione knows what she means. The muzzle keeps Bellatrix from what she wants.
Is it what Hermione wants? Is she safer with that metal between them, keeping Hermione from having to surrender another part of herself to Bellatrix?
Has Hermione already given it to her?
Living with Bellatrix is an experience. Most of the time it seems Bellatrix is pleased at the direction they’ve taken. Happy to be out of Azkaban and even happier to be able to have Hermione in her grasp at all times.
The first night isn’t an easy one for either of them.
“Won’t my clone disappear when you fall asleep?” She’d never call Bellatrix anxious or scared but it’s the closest she’s heard her.
“No, I made sure it could continue while I sleep. It’s what took the longest to figure out, if I’m being honest.”
“So smart.” Bellatrix hums, hand trailing across Hermione’s abdomen.
“You won’t kill me while I’m asleep, will you?” Hermione asks tiredly. It’s been a long day.
“No one will ever touch you again as long as I’m around.”
“Is that a yes or no?”
Bellatrix digs her nails into Hermione’s stomach, causing her to hiss in pain. “Don’t tempt me.”
Bellatrix slips into her bed from that first night and Hermione never tries to push her out.
How did this become her life?
She continues to go to work and function as if she doesn’t have Bellatrix Black in her flat. No one looks twice at her. Doesn’t stop the same inane chatter, the same rote compliments.
She isn’t sure if she’s surprised that Bellatrix stayed. Part of her expected her to leave, part of her knew she wouldn’t leave.
She starts working on helping Bellatrix get better.
“What did you even eat? How could you eat through this monstrosity?”
“They gave me gourmet slop. It would get stuck and dry around the bottom of this thing. Now my sense of smell is mostly dead after years in Azkaban but even I knew it smelled like death.”
Hermione feels nauseous at the thought and gives Bellatrix a straw.
Despite getting her way, Bellatrix doesn’t let up.
She spews the same poison against the people in Hermione’s life. An unintended consequence of living with Bellatrix is that she isn’t always put together when she arrives. She’d have time to gather herself before a visit to Azkaban, she doesn’t have that time now.
She slams the door on her way in, Bellatrix looking up from where she’s making a shake of some sort. “You look upset.” Bellatrix smiles, frustratingly still enjoying Hermione’s worst moods.
“Fucking Lily.”
“You’re fucking Potter’s mom? Risque. I’ll have you know, she isn’t worth the effort.”
Hermione stops mid-step, raising an eyebrow at Bellatrix. Bellatrix wiggles her eyebrows and Hermione scoffs. Bellatrix laughs and visibly licks her lips and Hermione shakes her head. Hermione decides to lose this one and hope Bellatrix is messing with her, the thought of Lily and Bellatrix does unpleasant things to her.
“She acts like I’m a child.” Hermione bites out, pushing Bellatrix aside to add enough for another shake.
“You’re their infantile mudblood. They dress you and hold you up as their doll of glory. So young, so pure. They don’t know you.”
“Can we pause the mind fuckery until I at least have my shoes off?”
“It’s just the truth. They are using you as their trophy.” Hermione shoots Bellatrix a look but she just grins.
“Honestly, I’ve already broken you out. What more do you have to gain?”
“Escape has never been my goal.” Bellatrix moves around behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist.
“What has been?”
“This.” Bellatrix takes the first shake poured, the one Hermione poured for herself. She laughs and wanders away.
She didn’t need Bellatrix to answer, Hermione knows what her goal is.
Bellatrix grows stronger and healthier the longer she’s away from Azkaban. The same can’t be said for Hermione. She feels weaker as the days go on, weeks passing and taking her pallor with it.
“Muddy!” Bellatrix calls out excitedly as she drags herself through the doorway. Bellatrix is on the computer. Hermione’s brain stalls.
“You’re on muggle technology.”
“Yes! We’re moving.”
Hermione blinks owlishly. “What?”
“What?”
“I’m tired of being trapped her because you live in the middle of bloody magical England. I found us an out of the way spot. We’ll have land so I can actually go outside. You’re rich, well I am too but I’m also a criminal with no access to my funds, so you can afford it.”
“We’re- what? No!”
“Pet, we need to get our own place. No wonder Weasel and you didn’t make it! This is how a relationship progresses. We need our own place, I’m tired of living in a place that is only yours. Relationships need to be fair to both partners.” Bellatrix says condescendingly.
“We’re not in a relationship.” Hermione goes for the obvious point first.
Bellatrix pulls Hermione between her legs by her belt loops. She looks up at Hermione with a no nonsense attitude. Her fingers brush against her skin, just above her pants line. “Are you sure about that?” Hermione’s caught in the trance and Bellatrix smiles with triumph. “Just because I don’t have Gerald Benderforth Granger the Fourth’s permission does not mean we aren’t together.” Bellatrix adds.
Hermione doesn’t laugh, she absolutely does not. “You know that’s not my father’s name.”
“Do I? No, I’m sure that’s right. Look at the damned house already.”
It’s definitely isolated. It’s in the country, built amongst hills. It has stables and pens, obviously a ranch or farmlands. “We can’t take care of animals.”
“We don’t necessarily need to get animals. I’d like to. Really sell the part. We could hire some people to take care of them.”
“Then they see you and it’s all over.”
“I meant people who wouldn’t care if they saw me.”
“What am I, a death eater rehabilitation center?”
Bellatrix nails dig into her hips and pull Hermione onto her lap, able to deliver her words low and still be heard. “Don’t be mistaken, I’m not rehabilitated. You can’t domesticate me, pet. I still treasure the memory of your screams, the Longbottoms, anyone who I came across.” The air around them is stilled, frozen in apprehension.
“That’s what you want of me. To fully fall under your spell, to mold exactly how you want me. You want me away from my friends, bent to your will. I’m not mistaken about who you are, don’t mistake who I am. I don’t doubt you’ve changed, I am not yours to have. We are not together.”
“You’re always fighting it. You say you want me dead when you don’t, you say you’ll leave when you can’t. What good does it do to refute it? How does it feel, Hermione? To hate me so much but want me nonetheless?”
Hermione doesn’t look away from Bellatrix burrowing gaze, to look away would be to lose the challenge. She keeps eye contact even as the conflict within her stirs.
“We’ll get the house.” Hermione says to save herself from the conversation.
“Good.”
Bellatrix thrives in the open air.
They both start noticing Hermione’s declining state.
Hermione all but falls into the couch when she gets home, her breathing labored even though the apparation wasn’t that far. She’s tired, she feels ill, and she’s glaring at the offending headline.
“They really don’t stop with their propaganda, do they?”
Hermione weakly tosses the newspaper away, turning to look at Bellatrix. “It was Lily’s doing.” She’s out of sorts enough to let the hurt slip in. Bellatrix latches onto it.
“Of course it is. They can’t keep doing this. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.” She’s taking the kind route this time, trying to work her way into Hermione’s good graces. It works even if she’s aware of it.
“What are you going to do? You can’t be seen, we’d be damned.”
“Admitting we’re a we now, are you?” Bellatrix runs a hand through her hair, moving to take her temperature. “You’re getting worse.”
“It appears so.”
“I don’t know which you were answering.” She moves to lay on the couch, letting Hermione lay on her. Hermione presses her cheek into Bellatrix’s chest and tries not to shake. She fails. She feels cold, her body hasn’t stopped shaking in days.
“It has to be the spell.”
“Yes.”
“How much longer do you think you have?”
“I can do it.”
“No, you can’t. You’re going to die if you keep it up.”
“I’m not weak, I can get over this.” Hermione argues, Bellatrix sighs.
“I don’t want to go back but you’ll die if you keep this up. Where does that leave me? They’d hunt me down once they realized I was gone.”
“Touching.”
“You know I don’t want you dead. No one else would play with me quite like you do.”
“I’ll take you back Wednesday, that way the guard doesn’t suspect anything.” Hermione murmurs, drifting off.
“I’m going to wreck havoc when I get back.”
“Of course you are.”
“Take care of Death while I’m gone?”
“Death?” Hermione has no idea what Bellatrix is talking about.
“The sheep I’ve been hiding from you.”
“You named a sheep Death? You’re hiding an animal from me? You’re capable of taking care of another living being?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. Death is an honorable name, you have the awareness of a wooden post, and I’m good at training things to respond to me.”
“Why would you even want a sheep?”
“I was planning on collecting enough wool to trap you in it then I was going to dump you in the lake.”
“You don’t gain anything by killing me at this point.”
“You’re right. I was going to do that to Lily.”
“That sounds about right.”
The days pass quickly and slowly. It’s getting worse, Hermione even takes time off work. She can’t get enough energy to leave the house.
Bellatrix isn’t happy with this.
“Just take me back today!” Bellatrix snarls.
“It’ll break the pattern, it will raise their suspicions! That’s the last thing we need. Are you not worried? What happens when we go back?”
Bellatrix fumes. “Who cares!”
“I do! We can’t risk it. You would be executed and I’d be locked up.”
“It’s better than you being dead!” Bellatrix kicks a glass, shattering it on impact. Hermione looks at her with disappointment until she notices the blood. She sighs and stands. “Well then.” Bellatrix isn’t yelling anymore at least.
“Why?”
“I was mad.” Bellatrix shrugs, stepping back.
“Don’t move while there’s glass around.” Hermione warns her.
“Oh no, what will I do if I step in glass? It’s not like you have magic to get it out and heal me. I’ll bleed out and die right here.”
“I’m going to leave you to die in Azkaban.”
Getting Bellatrix back into Azkaban is just as easy as getting her out was. The guard looks unnerved by her appearance again. “You aren’t contagious, are you?”
“No.”
Hermione breaks the spell and the relief is instant, Bellatrix stops her from dropping.
“Back to the chains for me.”
They don’t say anything as the chains lock back in place. They don’t say anything as five minutes pass by.
Hermione leaves.
Going back to their house isn’t right. It became their house, not Hermione.
It’s empty.
She goes back to work and nothing’s different. She sees her friends and they don’t notice anything’s wrong, they didn’t even notice her distance.
Everything is wrong without Bellatrix. She feels lopped in half.
She can’t live without Bellatrix in her life.
Next Wednesday comes around and she all but marches into her cell.
Bellatrix snaps her head up at Hermione, a grin spreading across her face. Hermione strides right Bellatrix and lays her head against Bellatrix’s, her breathing heavy but not from the spell. She knows.
Bellatrix breathes just as heavy, anticipation in the air. Bellatrix is shaking with it, tasting the victory before Hermione even speaks. “I can’t live with you in here and me out there. I need you.” Bellatrix laughs and Hermione grabs at the edge of the muzzle, fingers brushing against Bellatrix’s cheek. She understands Bellatrix’s need for it to be gone, to be closer. To consume the other.
She knows this was Bellatrix’s end game all along.
Bellatrix wins the war between them and she wins against the others by dragging Hermione to her side. She’s made Hermione desire her, and need her to get through life. She’s nurtured the doubts and worries in Hermione’s head until they’ve become unbearable. If Bellatrix can’t overthrow the ministry, she can’t follow Voldemort, and she can’t exterminate muggle-borns, she needed a new mission. Hermione has always known that.
She knew Bellatrix’s new goal was to claim Hermione for herself.
Does she care for Hermione? Does she care or desire her? Is it all just a game to her? Hermione isn’t sure, she can’t be sure. This isn’t a game of truths, no matter what Bellatrix has claimed. They’ve never been honest with one another.
It’s just the challenge of enemies. The call of battle singing in their veins, only satiated by their new warfare.
“Did you know if someone marries an inmate in Azkaban or a criminal about to be tried, they can live with their spouse?”
“You expect me to marry you in this terrible place?”
“Where better? We have each other. That’s all we need.” It’s sentimental coming from Bellatrix.
“No one would allow it.”
“You’re right. Lucky you, I have a plan. We just need to get them to zim to find their zing.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“No one appreciates my genius! We make them so caught up in themselves that they don’t even realize what’s happening.”
“How?”