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“It’s been years.” Hermione says, sounding almost exasperated. Which would have been something new, had it not been the other two thirds of the trio on the other side of her desk. 
   “I know Hermione, but they just keep coming out of the woodwork.” Harry explains, sounding just as tired as she is. “We’re really trying here.” Ron chimes in, giving a sympathetic look the brunette’s way. 
 
“I know.” She concedes, giving them both a strained smile. Work for Hermione hadn’t even paused after the fall of Voldemort. She’d dived head first into finishing her seventh year at Hogwarts. Something Ron and Harry had opted out of.

Then immediately following her graduation she’d gotten an internship at the ministry and fought tooth and nail to climb the ladder and be where she sat today. 
 
Minister of Magic. 
 
“Thank you, both of you. How much more time are you estimating it will take to find the remaining? I want this done as of yesterday. Two decades is too long to still be chasing Death Eaters, we aren’t even certain are still alive anyway.”

Ron scoffed, giving a lazy kind of smile that reads

‘really?’

. “As much time as it takes. We’re not exactly drowning in leads to follow, now are we.”
 
“We’re looking into late next month at the earliest, if we’re

very

lucky. . . .Late next year if things keep going as they are.” Harry translates, giving an apologetic expression to be delivering the news this wasn’t likely to be over any time soon.
 
“We received word of a potential person of interest in Athens, though! It’s the first credible lead we’ve had in a solid six months, so it’s a start.” Ron’s trying to soften the blow. She knows it. 
 
“I need a lot more than potential to send anyone to Greece. Let alone the two of you. Who is it? Carrow, Greyback, Macnair?” The list of the three remaining, yet to be apprehended. In order of largest threat to least. Carrow only above Greyback due to being a risk to Azkaban security. She could try and free her brother. 
 
Alecto and Amycus had been separated in a sting many years ago. Alecto made it out before backup could be called in while Amycus was hauled back to the Ministry for sentencing. The man had cried for days, maybe even a week.
 
The Minister needs to know more before feeling comfortable allocating any more resources. Especially if she’s going to start the paperwork for approving an international arrest. 
 
Harry and the youngest Wesley boy exchange glances which is never a good sign.  “Well. . .we don’t know for sure, exactly.” Harry finally manages.

Hermione raises a singular brow. How could Ron think that’s considered a lead, when they don’t even know who they’re running after?
 
“But the source is reliable! They were the tip that got us Yaxley.” Ron interrupts, never knowing when to just let Harry do the talking.

“It’s just like Harry said, they just keep popping up nonsensically. It’s impossible to pin them down. This could even be someone we haven’t thought of.” That earns him a sharp swat from the Boy who Lived. The last thing they needed to be doing was adding to Hermione's stress with hypotheticals. 
 
“Well they can’t hide forever.” Hermione concedes, setting an elbow on her desk and pinching the bridge of her nose with frustration.The battle of ignoring this and potentially letting someone slip through their fingers is weighed against sending her two best aurors out and it be a dead end. 
 
“How much time in Greece would you need to confirm? Not arrest,

confirm

.” She’s speaking only to Harry. 
 
“Three days.” He says without any hesitation. If the lead is dry, or a false alarm, three days was still a nice break from their offices. 
 
“You have two, and if you sense it’s a dead end before then you

come back

. Is that understood?” 
 
Both boys, men now really, nod I’m unison. They had to jump on this opportunity. As Ron had said, it had been half a year of nothing. No arrests. No leads. Nothing, and the number still out there in the world was three too many for Hermione. 
 
“We won’t disappoint you Minister.” Ron grins, very excited to be given a longer leash. 
 
Hermione can’t help the playful eye roll she throws their way. 
 
“Well go on then, I’ll owl the Greece Minister and Auror Department to let them know you’ll be arriving.”
 
This would be interesting.
 
-
 
Bellatrix all but flew in the door, and went to her cauldron, cussing under her breath. There was still a leech on the table, in her hurry she hadn't added it to the cauldron. Carelessness. Years she'd used the potion to wander into town without fail, calculated the exact second the effects would begin to wane, but the one leech had shortened the time by 10 minutes, just enough that a fellow shopper had caught sight of the curls slipping through the blonde and her faded tattoo through the tanned skin.
 
She slammed her fists on the table and screamed in anger a moment before taking a breath. She'd take precautions, additional charms and wards to hide the house, she would extend the time between visits to the town to three months instead of two.

And if all else failed, she'd move locations, she'd done it three times before, a fourth would be simple enough. 
 
Since she had faked her death at the Battle of Hogwarts, Bellatrix had been careful in her escape, moving slowly across the continent from where she'd started in the Forbidden Forest, across Scotland, through London, a brief stint in Germany and then a longer stay in Romania before a ship brought her to Athens. Her rage calmed for the moment she found her notebook, recording down the date, time and hair used for the polyjuice potion, always making sure to never use the same hair in a single quarter of the year, and then admiring the fruit she'd picked up at the outdoor market this time. Fresh peaches.
 
-
 
Upon arrival by port key the boys exchange pleasant greetings with the foreign ministry.

The man who’d sent in the lead already waiting for them with a grin reserved for old friends. “Good to see you Weasley, Potter.” He nods, shaking their hands.
 
“What have we got, Harrison?” Harry asks, always jumping straight into things rather than beating around the bush. 
 
Harrison chuckles, merely shaking his head.

“I take it she hasn’t given you much time.” He says, exhaling softly through his teeth. 
 
“Can you blame her? We’re what, nearly twenty years post war? It is bloody ridiculous. At this point we ought to just let ‘em alone.” Ron defends. 
 
Harrison shakes his head, a suddenly solemn look taking over typically jovial features. “I don’t think you’ll be saying that in a moment.” He informs, turning to the Greek Ministers and bowing his head to excuse himself. “Thank you for allowing them to come speak with me. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to do just that.” 
 
He leads both men by the shoulders showing them into a nearby conference room. “Coffee? Tea?”
 
Both Harry and Ron shake their heads. Harry putting up a hand. “No, we’re alright. Thank you. I think we’d prefer it if you could just elaborate. Your letter said it was important, but didn’t elaborate at all. It was rather difficult to even get over here.” 
 
The older man nods in understanding, not taking a seat of his own but beginning to pace.
 
“So who was it?” Ron pushes, increasingly uncomfortable with the way the man was acting. 
 
“You’re going to think I’ve gone mad.” The boys exchange looks. Harrison had become a fast friend and brilliant foreign intelligence agent after practically heading the operation that lead to the capture of Corban Yaxley. Anything that had him this rattled was something to be feared. 
 
“Surely we won’t think that. What? Are there multiple of them trying to rebuild? Planning an attack?” Harrison shakes his head to every question. Taking a breath and biting the bullet. 
 
“I do believe the person I saw in town today was Bellatrix Lestrange.” The room fell silent. The name of the notorious ( and dead ) death eater echoes off the meeting room walls and back to them. 
 
“Well that’s, that’s just impossible Harrison. She’s dead.” Ron finally speaks because he believes this is truly just absurdity. “Are you certain it wasn’t Alecto?” The only female still yet to be apprehended. No the two didn’t look similar, but she was the only one of the two still alive.
 
-
 
"Look, I wish I had different news to give you. It was shock for me too, she was out at the market of all places buying produce, I think she's polyjuice potioning herself, and I think today the effects warbled. I saw the tattoo." Harrison responded, having seen photos of the wanted female Carrow to know the witch he'd seen earlier hadn't been her.

Wishing beyond hope that it had been a mistake on his part, and this far more dangerous woman hadn't been under his nose this whole time.
 
Bellatrix, cautious but unaware of the conversation happening miles away, blissfully sat and bit into the peach, juice running down her chin, but she didn't care. Peach season was short lived in Athens, only a few weeks where it wasn't too hot that they dried out on the tree and not too wet where they fell to the ground and turned to mush. She'd only timed it right one other year and it was taking all her self control to not eat the entire basket right away.

Her hunger satisfied, she wandered out to the garden she'd made, tending to the various plants and flowers. She'd acquired the seeds through trades, theft and a bit of luck, all manner of plants for potions, healing and meals and over the last decade had grown a quite bountiful garden. As she watered and plucked leave to dry and bottle later, she realized In her hurry from the market she realized she hadn't purchased any wine and she knew there were barely dregs left in the bottle she had left. Perhaps she could nick one somewhere? She couldn’t risk another visit to the stalls but several months without alcohol was sure to be a miserable existence. 
 
-
 
Ron sat leaning forward. His elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

“How are we going to tell her Harry?” He moans, sounding on the verge of tears. 
 
“We’re not.” Harry says simply. Writing down everything. What town, which market, all the details Harrison was providing. 
 
“You can write that all down or, I could show you where I saw her go.” Harrison grins and Harry’s pen falters. 
 
“What?” Ron’s addressing Harry. “What do you mean ‘we don’t’! She’ll bloody kill us if we keep this to ourselves!” He protests. Harry not moved by his words.
 
“We’re not telling her something we don’t even know it true yet.” He turns to Harrison, nodding his head. “No offense.”
 
“No, none taken. I wouldn’t believe it coming from either of your mouths either.” Harrison was ttrying to keep things light. 
 
“We follow him, scope it out. If…if it’s true we don’t tell her until we have her back at the ministry. If it’s not, we never worried her to begin with.”
 
Ron is still none too pleased, eye bulging at the idea of not saying anything until they’re in her office again. Of bringing the woman back at all. “Nah mate, If it’s her, if it’s really her we bring her back dead. Actually dead this time!” 
 
“Hermione won’t want that. She faces no consequences that way. We’ll be in trouble for an unauthorized execution.” Harry fights back and Ron reluctantly agrees. “All right then, it’s settled. Now would you please show us where she went?”
 
“We can walk from my place in town.” The older man nods, apparating out of office with a touch to each their shoulders.
 
-
 
When they landed, the market outside the window was still bustling with afternoon shoppers, stalls of produce, jewelry, clothing and even livestock. From the window Harrison pointed to the produce stand, the only one selling peaches.
 
"I saw her there, I think she knows someone saw her, she took off but the kind of walking where they aren't running but its purposeful, she didn't stop at another stand and disappeared, down that side street. Towards the mountainside estates."
 
Ron snorted derisively. "You think she's out here living comfortably in an estate Harrison? Not exactly stealth and shadows for a criminal."
 
Harry interrupted. "That's just it Ron, if everyone thinks she's dead, she wouldn't be worried about anything like that so long as no one sees its her. Far as we've been concerned the last nineteen years she wasn't a worry." Harrison nods in agreement. 
 
"Those estates have been owned by the same families for decades, not likely she's bought one, but people build cottages up there, to try and feel like they're part of it. Foreigners are always buying up land that way, building small things, the size of a shoe box." Ron still didn't look pleased. 
 
"I swear, if she's been living it up here while we've been running around looking for the Alecto, I'll Crucio her myself, Mione'll understand."
 
-
 
“We can’t just walk up on her she’ll recognize us.” Harry thinks out and Ron and Harrison nod in agreement. The older man leads them into a small mom and pop shop. 
 
“If anyone knows anything it’ll be Elena.” He assures stepping inside and greeting the man behind the counts. “Adonis! Good to see you, good to see you. Yes I was just here this morning but I’m actually looking for Elena. Is she around?” 
 
“What did my girl do this time, Harrison?” The man asks as he continues to ring up the customer. Harry clears his throat to make his presence known.

Waiting for the customer to exit before speaking. 
 
“A good friend of ours has gone missing. We were just wondering if Elena knew anything about the people who live in estates, or surrounding area.” Instead of immediate compliance the man laughs. 
 
“Aurors. Well why did you just say so? Elena! Get down here, Harrison wants to talk to you.” He bellows, deep voice echoing around the small convenience store. 
 
Footsteps can be heard running above them and then thundering down the stairs. “Harrison? He was just in this mornin—“ She stops short on the last step. Staring at Harry and Ron positioned slightly behind the familiar face. Her eyes round as saucers, fear clear in her expression and posture. 
 
“I…don’t think I’m going to be able to help you.”
 
-
 
Adonis looked confused. “Elena, what do you mean? Harrison just wants your help finding someone, old friend of these two fellows. Asking about those estates on the mountain.” 
 
Elena still stared in fear at the two unfamiliar men, shaking her head and retreating up the steps.
 
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about those houses. I can’t help you.” And she was gone.
 
“Well that was a bit strange, think she knows something we don’t?” Ron asked, seemed even in Greece women ran from him.
 
“I apologize for her, let me go speak with her. Excuse me for a moment.” The man disappeared up the stairs, leaving the three men in the shop alone and coming back down shortly. “I’m sorry, she’s insisting she won’t speak with you.” 
 
-
 
“It’s either Bellatrix or someone else on our list.” Harry exhales, the group of them tapping their toes as they awaited the shop owners return. 
 
If the aurors hadn’t been sure before, they were the moment Adonis came back down the stairs and gave the news that she was still refusing to talk.  “We can protect her.” Harry insists essentially pleading with the man who would not be moved. 
 
“My girl doesn’t lie.“ The father says firmer than anything he’s said prior. 
 
Harrison interjects before Harry can start up again. “She might if there was a very good reason behind it, like protecting you perhaps?” The man shrugs away the hypothetical. 
 
“Would you let me go apologize to her, at the very least? I think these two blokes were rather intimidating, especially since she doesn’t know what we needed to ask about. My mistake, truly.” One hand on his heart the other up in the air as if giving his word to the other older man. 
 
Adonis stares at his friend, a friend much longer than Harry or Ron could call him such. Searching his features for tells of dishonesty. Seeing none, he nods up the stairs. “Be quick, ministry officials are known to scare off business.” 
 
Harry and Ron are once again left in the downstairs as Harrison climbs the steps. Knowing the upstairs well enough to navigate to a closed and locked door.

Knocking gently. 
 
“Elena? Elena, I just need to know one thing. Just one I promise.” The door cracks only slightly, Elena sitting on the floor on the other side looking petrified. 
 
Harrison crouches to her level. “I’ve never let anything bad happen to this family, and I never will. Just tell me, did your mom know her?” Daphne had been passed for three years. As much as Adonis had adored her, the woman had a. . .colourful past that she did her best to keep the family from.

Only as she got older had Elena been the exception. He wasn’t sure exactly how much Elena would genuinely know. Only that if trouble had bought a house up the hill Daphne would have warned Elena to stay away.
 
-
 
Elena was still apprehensive but trusted Harrison, she didn’t know a lot but she’d share what she did. “Mama only saw her once, she had blonde hair and a German accent, said she was a tourist but Mama had a bad feeling about her. I’ve seen her in the markets, once every half year I never speak to her, but it’s odd she only comes once every half year. And for a tourist..she’s been here almost a decade.” She answered and then hugged her knees to her chest. “That’s it. I promise.”
 
While they waited for Harrison to return, Ron spotted some sweets in the shop, they were strange looking and didn’t have a price. He didn’t have any euros with him anyway. “Hey Harry any chance you-“ Harry rolled his eyes. “No Ron, we’re not here for snacks.”
 
-
 
Harrison nods, getting far more of an answer than he could have ever suspected.

A decade. He’d most certainly be disciplined for letting this go unnoticed. Damnit. 
 
“Thank you Elena. You did good.” He assures, patting her shoulder in reassurance as he stood. If only Daphne we’re still here. He’d have some colourful words for keeping something like this from it. Though he certainly couldn’t blame her, knowing so well who they were dealing with. 
 
“Just take it.” Adonis says as Ron continues to stare at the snacks. “Do they not feed you where you’re from?” 
 
Before Ron can open his mouth to answer Harrison is back down the stairs. Nodding in thanks as Adonis. “Thank you again, I’m sorry to have startled her. We must be going. Long lost friends to reunite and all.” He’s all but dragging the aurors out by their collars, Ron putting up quite a bit of struggle as he hadn’t gotten to take everything he would have liked. 
 
“What’s the rush! She doesn’t know anything!” Ron complains to the annoyance of the other two. 
 
Harry turning his attention to Harrison. “Well?”
 
A solemn nod. “It’s her. I’m so sorry.“ 
 
Ron drops the candy bar he’d manage to snag. “Bloody hell. What are we meant to do?” 
 
“How do you send mail quickly around here Harrison?” Harry questions pulling out his notepad again and scribbling a call for immediate back up and their precise location.
 
-
 
Harrison rubs the back of his neck with his hand, he had been hoping he hadn't seen what he had earlier, but Elena's description confirmed it, he'd seen a tanned blonde with a German accent at the fruit stall that morning. 
 
The same one Daphne had warned Elena to stay away from almost ten years ago. "Mail depends on where it's going, pigeons are quick for local mail but if you're wanting that to get back to London, you're quicker to use a charm to send it, like apparition for the mail." He shrugged, glancing up at the mountains and cursing under his breath. Ten years. She'd been here ten years and he'd never noticed it. His boss was going to have his head.
 
"Now do we tell Mione Harry? She'll want to know what's been going on, and if you're requesting back up she's going to wonder why."
 
-
 
Harry flicks his wrist to create a copy of the note. One for the Greek ministry one for London. Harrison catching a pigeon and holding it still while Harry tied the note to it's leg. "I.." he starts, trying hard to multi task. "Am the Head of Magical Law Enforcement-Aha!" The pigeon is ready and Harrison lets it go.
 
"When I call for back up, it comes. If Hermione insists on knowing, we tell her it's Carrow." He grunts adding that to note, just in case it accidentally wound up on Hermione's desk, before charming it away
 
"Now why would we lie to her Harry? Now

that's just asking for it, really." Harry could reach out and strangle Ron, he could be so dense. "Because! In her own words just because -you- have the

emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean she does." He hisses.

"Do you really want her

that

worried if something goes wrong?"
 
Ron backs down, shaking his head at Harry.

"Right.." He mumbles shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting from foot to foot. "'Soo…s’pose I should go 'n help Harrison and the others put up the anti-apparition barrier?"
 
"Yes Ron! Go! I'll be waiting at the ministry for our people to arrive, and we'll met at the bottom of the hill as soon as possible. It'll be best to tell no one that it isn't a Carrow they're capturing. He doesn't need anyone getting cold feet or stumbling their performance due to nerves. Besides it would be Harry and Ron on the very front, to make the actual arrest.
 
-
 
"Alright alright, I'm going. No need to get snappy." Ron grumbled, apparating away to join Harrison in creating the barrier so Bellatrix couldn't escape again. He still can't quite believe she's alive. 
 
But Bellatrix was very much alive, sitting in her house on the hilltop, reading a book, sipping her tea and completely unaware of the plan unfolding a few miles away. Someone had

possibly

seen her, but the idea that it was someone in the Greek Ministry wasn't even fleeting thought, in fact she was planning that her tomatoes would need to be picked in the next few days before that heat hit and they became sundried right on the vine. 
 
The past ten years had been calm, comfortable and lonely. No one wrote to you when they thought you were dead. Meeting new people wasn't a priority when you were trying to stay hidden either. Books were good company, and little by little she'd stolen ones from tiny bookshops and libraries around Athens for her collection.
 
-
 
Harry can't believe it either. Isn't sure he truly will until they're actually hauling her into the Ministry. As he steps back into the Greek Ministry he's greeted by a team of Aurors, both his own and not, with looks of concern. The Greek Minister of Magic giving a serious but questioning look. Harry need only nod, watching as the face of up to date officials morphed from disbelief to horror. 
 
"I need the Greek Ministry to go to the hillside and help Ron reinforce a barrier. British ministry, you'll be our perimeter. Slowing closing in as Ron and I close in on our target. Evacuating as we continue to make the circle smaller. Suspect is a

highly

skilled duelist. Do not engage unless things go awry. Am I understood?"
 
He's met with a sea of nods and murmurs of agreement. "Great. No time for questions, thank you this case is

time sensitive

! Everyone to the hillside. Decide amongst yourselves who's wrapping around. Let's make this quick and easy."
 
-
 
Bellatrix glanced out her window and blinked, there was an odd number of people just milling about now that hadn't been there earlier. Spotting wands in a few hands in the distance she shrunk back.

Some poor soul was in trouble with the Ministry and she had zero intentions of being caught in any of the crossfires and again checked the charms that kept the house concealed were still in place.
 
Aurors, both from the British and Greek forces were murmuring amongst themselves. Had they really found a Carrow out here? They'd been looking for her for years. Did they think she'd still have a wand, although there

were

stories that perhaps she didn't need one. Was this the last high profile case? 
 
Ministry officials from Greece, nervous to be apprehending someone considered so dangerous by the British Ministry, uneasy that such a person had been residing here undetected.
 
-
 
Harry steps onto the base of the hillside, quieting any lingering whispers, Ron coming to his side.
 
"One of the Greeks said something isn't right about that area over there." Ron nods in the direction of a small bundle of houses within the slowly shrinking circle.
 
 "Says it feels different than the rest of it, the magic that is." He informs sort of scratching his

head. "It's good to have an idea but we

can't raid three houses at once, yknow?"
 
Harry squints at the cluster of houses. Searching for any sort of sign, no matter how small. His well trained eyes, which had him as house seeker for

seven years, catch a ripple on the mountain. Not even near the houses and a lightbulb goes off.
 
"Ron, what if it's not three houses?" Ron, for his part, looks at Harry like he's grown a second head. 
 
"Harry there's three of them right there, do you need new glasses?" He asks, staring.
 
Harry sighs as Harrison joins them. "Thinking she's smart enough to use concealment charms?" The man asks staring in the direction Harry was.
 
"I think she's exactly that smart." He confirms. "Now the question is what do we do about it?"
 
-
 
Harrison scanned the area, scratching his head. "Someone would notice people popping out of nowhere, especially the side of a mountain, it would have to be large radius, allowing her to come and go without drawing attention to the nothingness there." He thought aloud more to himself than to Harry, looking for an ideal place for a door.
 
"Normally I'd suggest a standard revelio charm but, knowing what I do about her, she'd have reinforced the charms against things like that."
 
Ron groaned. "Brilliant, we know where she is but can't get to her!"
 
-
 
Harry ponders this for a moment. A tricky situation indeed. "This is all land owned by magical families. No muggles?" He questions to Harrison who nods. 
 
"For the most part. Maybe one or two muggles, why do you ask?" Harry grins at the response.
 
 "We'll flush her out under the guise of an evacuation." He feels Hermione level brilliant right now. "So long as she's unsuspecting she'll comply. She'll polyjuice herself again, of course but we'll still have to pounce. We have witness testimony of what the polyjuice will look like. It'll be admissible." The young man assures before continuing on.
 
"But it will have to be a Greek auror, she'd recognize Ron or I instantly. She might even recognize you from the market, so someone else to be safe." The other two nod in agreement, needing to stay out of sight of wherever Bellatrix may be looking out from so they fall back.
 
Harry arranging with the other head auror who quickly casts a voice amplification spell and begins to instruct all those listening to vacate the premises for their own safety.

"This is an emergency evacuation from the

Greek Ministry of Magic.  All those residing in hillside residences and surrounding estates please come out, with your hands up and find the nearest auror to escort you back into town. Again, this is the Greek Ministry of Magic-"

He repeats his instructions, including a description of a fake wizard they're supposedly looking for.
 
Harry spends the time, as slowly, slowly people begin trickling out of their homes, to go around and tell the British aurors to fall back, becoming a secondary line of defense. He was pretty sure after 19 years Bellatrix wouldn't recognize many, if any at all, of the British aurors but the risk was too large to take that sort of chance.
 
As people exit their homes members of the Greek ministry are there to lead them back down the mountains to safety. A few men being stopped by the aurors for supposed questioning. Harry loved that about this job. Words we're hardly needed or exchanged in the heat of it all and yet everyone still ended up on the exact same page.
 
-
 
Bellatrix had just begun a new chapter when the announcement startled her, moving to the window to glance out and watching the hordes of people leaving the buildings, escorted by the Ministry officials.
 
She listened to the announcement, a dangerous wizard at large. Not a natural disaster or similar, her house was hidden and the odds of knowing said wizard if they did come knocking were in her favour. As was taking them down. Still, if it was the Ministry, they'd conduct a sweep of the area, the house might be revealed. Grumbling about this day being most inconvenient she picked up the remaining leech and dropped it into the remaining potion mixture, dropping a red hair into the potion and stirring several times, the announcement continuing to repeat.
 
"I heard the first time, Salazar sakes." She mutters.
 
 A few more stirs and the  potion turned the proper colour, downing a spoonful and coughing at the taste for the second time that day. Almost immediately her dark curls morphed into long straight ginger tresses, her cheekbones softer and her skin olive. Madeline she called this one, the French one. 
 
She took the path through her garden, around the side of the house and through the clearing of trees, blending in with a few other families, holding her hands up in surrender and following the trail down the hillside.
 
-
 
"None of these are her." Harrison worries, scanning the small crowd of people over and over. No, no this wasn't right. This wasn't going how the imagined it.
 
 "Well she's got to be in there somewhere." Ron almost yells but catches himself. "Harry what'll we do?" Harry, the chosen one yet again so it seemed, exhales as his brain works quickly to find a solution.
 
"It's mental." He murmurs settling on his plan. "Mental is what got us out of that bank, through Hermione's doing.
 
 "Spit it out man!" Harrison pats Ron's shoulder in an attempt to calm the ginger. 
 
After a moment, Harry launches into the plan. "Harrison you tell us who you can identify, for certain. No maybes. We keep the rest here detain them for questioning. If you saw her polyjuice slip, it can't be a good batch. And even if it is, well. . .it'll wear off eventually."
 
-
 
Harrison's eyes flew wide, mental indeed.

"You want to detain anyone I don't recognize? That could be a lot of people, and these people have good lawyers, we'd need a reason to detain them. A good one at that." He nodded, but it sounded like a good plan, Polyjuice potion at its- strongest lasted at maximum an hour, if they detained them all an hour or more, the potion would wear off for certain. And they'd be face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. That thought made a chill run down his spine. 
 
"Alright, I'Il start identifying, you come up with the reason they're being detained. I'll need a second Ministry official with a portkey to transport them back easily." He nodded and began really surveying the crowd now, some names easily came to mind but a few he hadn't seen before.
 
Bellatrix was walking down the hillside, looking straight ahead, there was a boathouse at the docks. Once she reached it, she could hide out there until nightfall and return to her home. 
 
Harrison spotted a redhead that wasn't familiar and nodded to his partner.
 
"Excuse me miss, I need you to come with me for questioning. This portkey will take you there. Please don't worry, you aren't in trouble."
 
Bellatrix froze in her tracks as she was spoken to. Questioning? She turned her head to address the man, normally this disguise warranted a French accent but this time it was fluent Greek that came from her lips. 
 
“φυσικά κύριε, ευχαρίστως να βοηθήσω. Οι σκοτεινοί μάγοι τρέχουν στην εποχή μας... είναι τρομακτικό”

Of course Sir, happy to help. Dark wizards running rampant in this day and age…it’s frightening.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Hold tight miss.” Says the man, taking her arm and holding tight to the offered portkey. As they disappeared another port key returned in its place.

The perks of ministry work. 
 
Harry and Ron see no reason to stay. Harrison and the rest of the Greek ministry pulling potential suspects and allowing the others to pass through. 
 
Ron looks at Harry expectantly. “Well? What’s the excuse?” 
 
“Harrison might be brilliant foreign intelligence but he clearly doesn’t know wizarding law. Even in Greece we can detain, for a time, for suspicion of harboring a fugitive. We have three hours from the time they’re brought in to when we have to press charges or let them go. We only need one. We just have to stall until then. We’ll keep on with the story of a dark wizard on the lose. If we’ve got Bellatrix I suspect she’ll grow agitated as the time passes.”
 
Ron nods his head. “Alright, split up then? An auror of ours in each room?”
 
Harry simply nods and they separate.
 
“Here you are miss, right in here.  An auror will be with you shortly.” The worker says, placing a small cup of water in front of the redhead.

He felt bad. She looked young, not childish young just like a young woman caught in the crossfire of..well he didn’t even know. Some British wizard, or was it witch? Ah well, the job is what the job was. 
 
“You just let someone know if you need anything.” He adds as he exits. 
 
As soon as the door closes it opens again and a British auror, Jameson, enters. Sitting across from the woman. 
 
“Hello, my name is Jameson and I’m with the British Ministry of Magic working in cooperation with the Greek Ministry on this investigation today. Do you speak English miss or will you need a translator?”
 
Bellatrix nodded, calmly taking a seat in the chair offered, looking around the room she was in. With a sinking feeling she realized there was no clock. The evacuation couldn't have been more than 10 minutes, that gave her 50 to answer questions and leave.
 
Looking up as the door opened, her eyes caught sight of the unmistakable insignia on his label even before he spoke. London's Ministry of Magic.
 
She had half a second to decide and not wanting to risk her usual voice slipping through her English, she simply furrowed her brow and tilted her head, feigning a difficulty to understand what was said. 
 
Jameson nodded in understanding. "Translator then. Wait here and I'll go flag one down for you."
 
From the hillside, there'd be no hint that this was an international affair, she'd believed it to be some Greek wizard on the run but if Aurors from the British Ministry were here, that was cause for concern. How she hoped it wasn't Amycus they were tracking.
 
She'd found a shop, ages back that sold foreign wizarding papers, she'd never bought one but had glanced at the front pages now and then, keeping track of the names that appeared on the front as having been caught and imprisoned, she'd never seen the Carrows' names, but there were too many others she had seen and she'd had to pull herself together seeing Rabastan's face on the front page seven years ago.
 
Jameson comes back, Greek auror in tow who recited the same spiel. The auror then introduced himself as Max who would be her translator.

“We’re here about the potential harboring of a dangerous criminal. We aren’t accusing you of anything, merely taking the necessary precautions. We’re just asking people brought in verify their identity. I know this is quite inconvenient, and you weren’t given much time to evacuate, but if you’ve your wand it’s the quickest way to verify your identity and then we’ll just ask you a couple questions If you don’t have your wand, that’s alright and we’ll get right into the question. Shouldn’t be too long. Alright?” Jameson asks, cracking open the file in his hands and waiting as Max translates.
 
Bellatrix listens, almost not paying attention to the English and refocusing her attention on the Greek, nodding in understanding and responding back to the translator who also nods.
 
"She says she lives alone, but left her wand in her home as she was outside tending to her plants when the Evacuation order came, but her name is Madeline Cirillo." He responds back to Jameson.
 
Bellatrix then adds something else. "Oh and she asks if this questioning will make her miss her ship to Santorini, she's leaving for a holiday there with a friend later today.”
 
Jameson nods, noting down her name. “No, no Ms. Cirillo. This shouldn’t take long. Please, only a couple questions. It’ll take a touch longer due to being unable to prove your identity, but I promise quick nonetheless.”

The British auror pulls a wanted poster from the file Amycus’ picture staring back up at the redhead. 
 
“Have you heard of this wizard?” He asked.
 
Harry and Ron conducted their own questions. Both the male and female were able to produce their wands to clear them, but were still asked to stay until the hour was up due to unforeseen circumstances. Both had agreed and were being brought chips to munch on for the inconvenience. 
 
“You think either of them are her?” Harry shakes his head to Ron’s question. “No, no. I know it’ll sound strange but I’ll just…know it’s her when I see her.” Ron doesn’t argue chosen one bullshit and all. 
 
“Well let’s look at them, yeah?” Ron nods towards the rows of one way glass, the pair of them beginning to walk. “She’s not going to make your scar hurt, is she?” 
 
Harry rolls his eyes, looking away before fully catching a glimpse of Madeline “Ron if my scar started hurting we would have much, much bigger problems than Bellatrix Lestrange. I’ll just know. Even someone like her can only pretend for so long.”
 
Bellatrix was starting to get concerned and opted to fidget with her long hair, unable to hide the surprise from being shown Amycus' picture right in front of her. They

were

hunting him. Her mind flashed to Alecto as well. Where was she? With him?
 
She nodded and shrunk back in the chair, using the time while Jameson spoke to craft a reason 'Madeline' would know the man. 
 
"You have? Can you tell me how you know of him?" Jameson asked and then it was translated back to her and she responded slowly to Max.
 
"She says she visited London a few years back and saw the poster up somewhere and her cousin told her about it. Says her cousin was a second year at school the year that man taught."
 
Jameson makes Max translate an apology. Saying he’s sorry her cousin went through that. Then asking if Madeline had noticed anything unusual happening around. People out of place, increase in crime or other suspicious activity. Which house she specifically lived in and how long she’d been a resident. 
 
Harry stands directly outside the room Bellatrix was being held. Staring at the redhead as she fidgets with her hair. Of all the people Harry, in his mind, had narrowed it down to two women. Though right now Madeline had his full attention. 
 
“Does she seem a bit nervous to you, Ron?” Harry asking turning to him. 
 
“A bit.” Ron agrees, watching as James and Max continue questioning. “Though I would be too if two separate ministries hauled me in by my collar.”
 
“Well we won’t have to wait long now to know for certain.” 
 
Even though there was no physical clock in the room, Bellatrix could hear the ticking in her head, perhaps a distraction would give her long enough to twitch the wand in her pocket with a glamour charm before the potion ran out?
 
She continued to listen, each time using the few seconds between the English and Greek translation to craft her answers, explaining that she hoped they caught him, he sounded like a terrifying man and that she lived in the red brick house, she'd moved there a few months ago from Mykonos, she'd visited Athens and fell in love with the city. She hadn't noticed anything odd or suspicious since she had.
 
Jameson keeps asking her to keep her hands on the table. Explaining too many people have tried too many things to get themselves out of the room and again apologizing for the inconvenience. 
 
Harry leans against the small ledge to the one way window, staring in at the woman he was increasingly suspicious of. 
 
“Why don’t we just go in then?” Ron asks confused as to why they’re just standing there. 
 
“Not yet.” Harry insists, squinting at the woman as if he can see the gears turning for each answer, and the imaginary clock ticking. Going in now would take away half the fun. It was unfair to put a handful of people through the wringer when they’d done nothing wrong but the satisfaction of potentially making the one they wanted, sweat under the mounting pressure of a wearing off polyjuice potion was too perfect. 
 
He watched for any little shift in appearance. Wanting to step in the moment anything began to shift, to catch her before she herself even realized it was over.
 
Bellatrix obliged when it was translated to her to keep her hands on the table, nodding in understanding. Wand was out then, her head spinning to the various wizarding law texts she had read, there had to be something that would give her time? If her calculations were correct she had maybe fifteen minutes left before her dark curls and tattoos started to show through and her eyes would turn from the emerald green they were currently. Maybe less. 
 
She asked if they had anything else they needed from her, before taking a sip of the water in front of her. She refused to let nineteen years of being in hiding be ruined by a time limit on a potion when she wasn't even the one being looked for. Bloody Amycus ruining everything as usual.
 
“I believe we’ve touched on a bit of everything. However I need to get the approval of one of my superiors to release you. Give me a moment.” Jameson stands up and exits and Max translates. 
 
Jameson is startled by bumping into Harry as the door closes. “Go get a coffee Jameson,we’ll be wrapping this up in just a minute.” Ron says but he objects. 
 
“Is she in the clear though? She says she has a boat to catch.” Harry shakes his head. “Everyone else has agreed to stay the hour or is still being questioned. She has to stay. She won’t know why you’re taking so long.” 
 
“But do you really think this one’s her?” He asked and solemnly Harry nods before explaining.
 
“There aren’t any boats for Santorini leaving this hour or the next.” He explains and the man’s eyes go wide, nodding a bit before exiting. Not wanting anything to do with the woman once she was properly apprehended. Handing the notes file to Harry on the way. 
 
Harrison appears at their side, reading the file over the head aurors shoulder.

“I couldn’t be positive so I brought her in, but I think maybe once a long time ago I saw her in town. Maybe a couple years back but never again since.” 
 
They continue exchanging information as the clock ticks away. Harrison also pulling Max from the room as Harry watches. Leaving the woman alone for the last five minutes to tick by.
 
And then he sees it, and Harrison sees it, and Ron sees it. A singular strand of pin straight ginger hair darkening at the root and beginning to curl. 
 
That it. That’s all they needed. Harry and Ron instantly draw their wands. Harry opens the door, the pair quickly stepping inside and shutting it behind them. 
 
A smirk appeared faintly on Harry’s features. Ron looking like he might murder the woman where she sat. 
 
“Oh, she knows how to play.” Harry chuckles, more for the absolute absurdity of the situation. “Hands up, it’s over Bellatrix.”
 
While the men outside had caught sight of the curl, Bellatrix had caught the faint beginnings of the dark mark showing through and she knew that time was up. Hardly given a moment, before the door opened and a voice that even nineteen years of maturing couldn't hide.
 
She laughed, the real absurdity was that they thought she'd just come quietly.
 
She turned in her chair and smirked. "Not so itty bitty now are you? Hands up? Well if you insist?" Her hand plunged into her pocket and pulled out a wand firing off a jinx and leaping from the chair the rest of the potion wearing off quickly, dark curls spilling over her face and back and her features morphing back into her own as she made a run for the door, blasting it open. "You coming to get me?" She squealed.
 
“Crazy old bat—“ Harry hisses, unsurprised by the attack, but still chasing after nonetheless. 
 
If Harry was fast Ron is lightning. Sprinting after the woman with a battle cry that would rival a Viking.

Harry, having learned many more spells in the nineteenth years since the battle, merely flicks his wand and sticks her boots to the tile. Nearly doubling over with laughter as she lurches forward only to find herself stuck
 
Harry’s mind flickers to the ministry battle.

‘I killed Sirius Black!’ His grip on his wand tightens as three other Aurors tackle the older witch, Ron disarming her with a flick of the wrist. 
 
“Oh Hermione’s going to just love getting to be the one to seal your fate Lestrange. You’re bloody lucky it’s illegal to kill you right here.” Ron hisses, voice dripping with venom. He would so enjoy watching her execution… though Hermione didn’t allow those any longer, he was certain she’d make an exception.
 
Bellatrix wasn't sure where she was going, flinging hexes and jinxes as she ran until she was stopped dead, trying to pull her boots loose, manically laughing as not one but

three

Aurors tackled her to the ground, cackling up at them. 
 
"Pinning me down and you haven't even bought me dinner yet?" Her eyes flick to Ron as he speaks, truthfully she hadn't recognized him, the years hadn't been kind to him at all.
 
 "Ooh what's she going to do? Make me write 'I am a very bad witch' 100 times?" She asked, grunting as her hands were forcefully bound behind her back and the wand she had used, immediately pocketed by a British Auror as she was hauled up to her feet.
 
“Silencio.” Ron mumbles, blue eyes rolling skywards. “I can’t stand when she talks.” He says at all the questionable glances he receives. 
 
Harry looks like he'll pop a blood vessel. “Ron! You’re an auror! You can’t just silence people, even former death eaters!” 
 
“Let Hermione yell at me later. If I have to listen to her nonsense I’ll do worse than a silencing spell, that’s for sure.” 
 
Harry unsticks her feet. “Walk.”  He shoves her towards the international portkeys. “Hermione’s going to faint.” He whispers, now they actually have the dark witch he’s worried for his best friend.
 
Since she can’t

talk

she pokes her tongue out instead. Stupid bloody Aurors. Who made

them

Aurors? 
 
She huffed as she was prodded forwards, walking towards the portkeys and her mind thinking about how she should have eaten the basket of peaches, now they’d rot in that house. She’d heard Harry whisper and smirked, she was quite looking forward to seeing Granger again, their last meeting had been such fun.
 
-
 
Back at the ministry Hermione is fuming. She isn’t sure what they’ve done exactly. However half the bloody auror team was nowhere to be seen. Could not possibly be a coincidence.
 
“There was an urgent letter from Harry, Minister. Said they were apprehending the Carrow woman and immediately back up was needed.” One of the aurors left behind explains. 
 
“Thank you Clara, next time I would appreciate it if the letter is brought to me for approval. Any number of things could have gone wrong.”  They better have the

best

reason she shouldn’t put them

both

on desk duty for the next six months. Anything less she wouldn’t hear of. Her heels click along the tile as she makes her way back to her office. 
 
When Harry and Ron land, each holding an arm of the Dark Witch, they look at each other. “Ron you take her back to holding,” Harry waves over a passing auror who catches a glimpse of Bellatrix and suddenly looks very pale. “Help Ron.” They nod silently, taking Harry’s place. 
 
“I’m going to talk to Hermione.” Harry states and Ron looks offended.

“No, wait. Switch with me. I want to go tell Hermione.” He insists and Harry scoffs and shakes his head.
 
“With something this important? Not a chance mate. Meet me up there once she’s in holding.”  Ron nods reluctantly and they go their separate directions. 
 
When Harry comes in, without knocking, and shuts the door behind him, Hermione knows it’s serious.
 
“Sit down.” She instructs, not even glancing up from the apology letter she’s penning to the Greek Ministry.
 
“Hermion—“ Harry tries. 
 
“Sit. down. Harry.” She snaps, looking up with a glare that makes him grimace. 
 
“No, Hermione I—“
 
“What were you thinking!” The Minister demands, slamming her hands against her desk and standing up.
 
Harry winced, an angry Hermione Granger was frankly more terrifying than the woman he'd just sent up to holding with Ron and so he takes a seat as directed. 
 
"Look, I know you're angry but we did what we were sent there to do...more or less." He added, avoiding eye contact with Hermione.
 
"No one got hurt, everything went according to plan. The witness panned out but Hermione you should know..it wasn't Carrow we found hiding in Greece." He added. 
 
Merlin, how was he meant to tell his best friend and the

Minister of Magic

that the woman who had tortured her, that everyone believed to have died nineteen years ago was not only alive, but in a holding cell this very moment?
 
“You don’t think do you! Now it’s my problem to deal with. Did you even check the Grecian law? Did you even bother? The Carrows are incredibly wealt—What did you just say?” Hermione pauses mid sentence, head tilting in confusion but it doesn’t dampen the anger in her eyes. The hurt that the two men could put her in such a tight position. 
 
“Well I mean Macnair, that’s just as good but it still doesn’t excuse y—“ She’s interrupted again by Harry shaking his head no.
 
“No Hermione.” He says voice holding an edge that Hermione does appreciate but also finds her stomach dropping to hear. 
 
“What do you mean

no

Harry?” She asks, cautious as she ever is. 
 
“Hermione sit.” Harry tries and that worries the Minister more. “No, I don’t think I will. Tell me Harry. Now.” It’s a plea, not a demand. 
 
The scar headed boy exhales deeply.“The lead we followed uncovered Bellatrix Lestrange. Living in Athens, using polyjuice to disguise herself when she went into town.”
 
The silence that filled the room was eerie. Hermione stuck, standing over her desk as she let the words settle and sink it.

“What?” She asks,voice falling from nearly screaming to a hushed whisper in an instant. 
 
“I’m so sorry, Hermione. It’s really her.” Harry’s pacing, scratching anxiously at the back of his neck. “She’s in holding.” He mumbles making sure to keep an eye on the witch he cared so dearly about. 
 
“And—“ A moment to gather her racing thoughts as the door creeks and Ron enters. The moment he enters it’s like a bomb goes off.
 
“And you didn’t

tell me

!” She screeches, gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles are white just to keep herself grounded. “You two

idiots

ran off to apprehend

Bellatrix Lestrange

and neither of you thought to tell me?! You could have been

hurt

, you could have been

killed

, you-you could have…” Roaring words tail off against her will, throat closing with emotion. She could have lost them. 
 
More than that, she could have lost them to a woman who was long dead! Is dead! She’s supposed to be

dead

. Oh gods save her.
 
Ron ever helpful pipes up. "I wanted to, but Harry didn't want to worry you in case it wasn't her or we didn't catch her or something." Harry shoots Ron a look that pretty much spells 'Gee thanks mate.'
 
Harry sighed and dug his toe into the carpet on the floor before speaking again. "But those things didn't happen did they? I requested backup, its not as if Ron and I went running after her alone. She didn't even know it was her we were after." He supplied, hoping maybe that made it even a little better. 
 
"Look I know you said just go to confirm but what were we meant to do? Confirm it was Bellatrix Lestrange and then leave her there?" Harry asked, Ron running to catch Hermione in case she fell.
 
"Hermione, it doesn't matter now, we'll take you to holding and one spell and she's dead again right?"
 
Hermione forces a grateful smile as Ron comes over although right now the last thing she needs is to be crowded. If he touches her right now, even trying to be soothing, she might genuinely scream. 
 
    “But what if it hadn’t.” Hermione insists, pleading with the two men to please understand the severity of the actions they just took. 
 
“I don’t nearly have any of the paperwork for an international arrest prepared and the Greek ministry will want to hold a meeting to understand how we let this go on for so long. Not to mention the Prophet will be hounding every single ministry worker who was present for a statement and—“ She’s cut off by Ron. “Hermione stop it. You’re spiraling.” 
 
To essentially be told to shut up, the minister. Hermione straightens in her chair and shoots Ron a dangerous glare.
 
“I can’t just go kill her, Ronald. She’s a right to due process.” Both boys get eerily quiet and Hermione

growls

.
 
No. No, surely they’re not this stupid?
 
“

What

did you two do!”
 
Ron and Harry look between themselves, but it’s Harry who opts to answer the question, staring at a portrait on the wall. 
 
“Uh well you see…we didn’t exactly..arrest her according to policy. We ambushed her in an interrogation room once the Polyjuice wore off and hauled her back here. After Ron used a silencing charm on her.” He adds, bracing for the explosive response, and opting to not add Ron’s helpful threat that they would simply kill her once she was back on British soil. 
 
“Truthfully, I thought you’d just kill her and we’d be off looking for the next lead or something. You’re gonna put Bellatrix Lestrange to trial?” Ron says with a look of confusion. Surely that wasn’t necessary given the woman’s pile of past crimes?
 
The response he receives is certainly explosive, just perhaps not in the exact way he was thinking it’d be. 
 
Hermione tilts her head down, trying to hide from the two absolutely infuriating

children

in front of her, and sobs. “Do you even understand what you two just did?” 
 
She hiccups, her voice shaking with rage. 
 
“This is ground for dismissal of the entire case!” She shrieks, looking back up at them so they could see the anger in her eyes. “You

silenced

her? She counter sue for mistreat! I—Ron!” She’ll be sick. No, she’ll really be sick. . .
 
She quickly ducks behind her desk, aiming for the waste basket but only manages dry heaves. Tears falling quicker in the tiny bit of privacy she’s afforded in this moment. 
 
“You two just made things so much more complicated than they needed to be. How is it you don’t have a

singular

braincell between the two of you?” She asks, sitting back up and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. 
 
“Get out. Get out of my sight. Go home,

not

back to holding.

Home

. Go.” It’s not a question or suggestion.
 
Harry as per usual isn’t quite understanding what was so wrong, aside from Ron’s use of the silencing charm but it’s Ron who puts the pieces together too late. 
 
“Oh Blimey, we didn’t have a warrant for her arrest did we? Her being thought to be dead and all. Harry..I think we just made an illegal international capture.” Both boys’ faces were drained of colour, they’d been so focused on catching the bitch they hadn’t stopped to think if they had the grounds to do it. 
 
They could have just handed Bellatrix Lestrange. Her freedom. 
 
Harry opens his mouth, whether to apologize or explain more he wasn’t sure but chose to close it and simply exit the office, pulling Ron along with him. 
 
Bellatrix meanwhile was in her holding cell, tapping her nails against the wall and impatiently waiting for anyone to come back to her and take

off

her silencing charm. The Weasel boy hadn’t removed it before leaving.
 
Hermione flicks her wrist and locks the door behind them. Another flick and an extra silencing spell is applied to the room.
 
Laying her head on the desk and catching a glimpse of the calendar on the way down.

That’s funny. Her bimonthly breakdown wasn’t scheduled until Friday. The woman breaks. Taking more than a few moments to cry. In anger. In distress. Her hands covering her ears to block out sounds that aren’t really there.

And when the half hour she’s allowed herself (because

everything

must fit into the schedule really ) it all turns off.
 
Like turning off a tap, the tears disappear. She sits up in her chair, straightening her robes, and blowing her nose. The minimal makeup she wore smudged to hell so another flick of her wrist and it’s removed. 
 
Taking a couple large breaths so steady and collect herself, Hermione pushes back in her chair and opens the bottom drawer of her desk. Pulling out her wand and tapping it to the bottom of the empty drawer three times and, pop, opened the compartment. 
 
She lingers a moment just staring at the two objects, then grabs the infamously crooked wand and rises from her chair. 
 
Time to make a deal with the devil.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There was a small bed in the holding cell and with a sigh, Bellatrix lay down on it, fixing the way the fabric of her dress fell. One of her sundresses, this one was a soft baby blue with bows ruching the shoulders, the colour went well with the blonde hair she’d been wearing and it had complimented the red as well, her first week in Athens had taught her that her normal clothing wouldn’t work, even the dresses not made of heavy velvet. She looked more ready for the beach than a jail cell. 
 
She replayed the day in her mind, scowling at all the wrong steps she’d made. Forgetting the leech, choosing to evacuate when she should have stayed put, wearing shoes that laced up. All leading to her being here, back in a holding cell at the Ministry.
 
-
 
Hermione walks with purpose down the hallway to the elevators. Merely nodding at the friendly greeting she receives, though they quickly stop at the expression worn on her face. 
 
“Someone’s in trouble.” Someone whispers, but it echoes. Hermione never pays the whispers any mind. Even as respected and well liked) she is, they’re inevitable. 
 
She does recognize the voice of her secretary, Florence, humming out. “It’ll be you next if you don’t keep quiet.” In response, it causes a small smile to break through the hardened expression. 
 
Up and forward on the lift and she’s arrived in holding. 
 
The wand she’s holding is pointed at the floor and a quick circular flick and her shoes fall silent on the tile. She allows herself a self satisfied grin. It still works for her. Silently, she approaches the cells. Standing as far back as she can manage and still be able to see the woman laying on the cot. 
 
At first she doesn’t believe it. (Slightly) tanned skin, colourful sundress, silky curls. No. It certainly couldn’t be, but she knows it is. Just in the way her stomach twists painful tight from her proximity alone. Still…
 
“You look different.” Hermione states flatly, taking to spinning the cursed piece of wood by her side. “Athens was good to you it seems.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix was inspecting her nails, picking dirt out from under her thumb from the garden when a voice is suddenly near her cell and she sits up, wandering up towards the bars to confirm who the voice belonged to. 
 
Older yes, but the features hadn’t changed. Hermione Granger. All grown up. 
 
She just smirks and shrugs, pointing at her mouth with her finger. If she wanted a conversation, she’d need to be able to speak. Her eyes flicker to the movement of her hand, but from this far away, she assumes it’s Hermione’s own wand. 
 
-
 
Hermione’s nostrils flare at the realization that

idiotic

overgrown

man child

hadn’t undone the silencing spell. She steps closer, lifting the ‘borrowed wand’. “Sonorus.” 
 
“You’re welcome.” Still flat and almost disinterested. Continuing to twirl the wand, a smug smile threatening to overtake her otherwise serious expression but she keeps it at bay. 
 
“Do you need anything? Water, a meal?” She asks while taking in the woman’s features. Still as sharp as ever. She’d managed to fix her teeth, which was a welcome change, but the crazy was still in the eyes. Just as it had always been. The uncomfortableness mostly came from seeing the woman in

people

clothes. Not all black, and a tightly laced corset. Hermione had always wondered how in Merlin’s name she battled like that. 
 
-
 
Bellatrix felt the spell lift and sighed, though she had no intentions of thanking her for it. “Much better.” She gave her hair a fluff from where laying on the cot had flattened her curls. 
 
“I think the only thing I need is a lawyer.” She replied back, she wasn’t as up to date on all of wizarding law but she’d read enough volumes to know that mistreatment of a suspect or inmate prior to sentencing was grounds for a lawsuit. And Weasel had used a spell on her to prevent her speaking. It was the right to remain silent, not forced silence. She just stared at Hermione, her eyes drawn to the wand twirling, squinting and recognizing the unique shape but saying nothing in response.
 
-
 
Vain. That certainly hadn’t changed over the nineteenth years. She’s frustrated Bellatrix asks for a lawyer so immediately. Frustrated but not surprised. Time for coercion. 
 
“I think this is yours, I’m not exactly sure what with it being so long ago now.” A lie. It had never left her side after the battle, and who could forget such a memorable wand shape. Certainly not the woman who had been under it for hours and hours. 
 
“Here.” She says, not stepping closer but leaning forward to extend her reach, holding it out to the older woman. Perhaps even a little fearful of what the witch could do despite knowing she was behind the bars and the wand wouldn’t work. There was no risk here considering one can’t use any form of magic within the cells. Upgrades people, upgrades. It is nineteen years later after all. 
 
“There’s only one way you’ll be able to keep it though. Just thought you might like to see it one last time. I’d say more but now you’ve asked for a lawyer. . .Well, let’s just say I’m not looking for more trouble than my two nitwits created. An Auror will come around with your lawyer and take the wand for safekeeping in just a bit. Merlin I hope they’re more careful with this wand than the last.” 
 
Incriminating? No. The ministry (under Hermione) had never broken a wand. Accidental or purposeful. Would she snap that wand like a twig if she ever got her hands on it again, and deal with the consequences later? In a heartbeat. 
 
-
 
Bellatrix was trying to hide how much that wand was

calling

to her. Nineteen years and she’d quite honestly accepted it had been lost or broken years ago, but here it was. Her hand reached out for it through the bars, fingertips brushing the smooth walnut and just that touch made her shiver. 
 
“Keep it? What use does a dead witch have for a wand? Weasel assured me, you were all too eager to kill me.” She challenged, it sounded like there was a slim chance she wasn’t going to be executed and she wanted Hermione to tell her what it was. 
 
She was trying and failing to keep a straight head, the wand hissing in her ear, and panic in her chest at the idea that this time it might be snapped if an Auror took it away.
 
-
 
“Ron is very protective of me.” She says, dismissing the idea entirely with just a few words. “He confuses his thoughts with mine.” That same smug look she’d been holding back spreads across her features. Clicking her tongue in that same maddening way the woman across from her always did. 
 
“Aht aht..” she chides having heard the unspoken question of what Hermione was getting at. “I can’t talk to you, remember? It’s the law. If you were to change your mind, of your own free will of course, well it’s not hard to get a hold of me.” 
 
-
 
The dark witch’s eyes narrowed, Merlin she wanted to wipe that smirk off her face. A mudblood in charge of the Ministry, how revolting!
 
“Oh so now you want to follow the law Hmm? Where was that when the entire hillside was evacuated under false pretenses, I was detained and questioned without cause, along with half a dozen others I might add, and shackled and brought across international borders, silenced and without a warrant?” She asked, folding her arms over her chest.
 
-
 
Hermione holds her expression for that very reason. All smiles and the woman could do nothing about it.
 
“You’ll never believe it but I had ab-sol-ute-ly nothing to do with any of that. Not that it matters if you believe me or not when everyone else will.” She shrugs, leaning against the wall across from the cell. “Besides, even though Harry and Ron did a less than stellar job in their arrest. Do you

really

think as Minister I can just let you walk unscathed due to technicalities? It would be irresponsible to let you go. You’d be torn to pieces on the outdoor steps upon release.” She’s now Twirling her own wand on her finger now. “That would be quite irresponsible of me.”
 
-
 
“Seems to me I wasn’t bothering anyone in Athens.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes, hating that she was right. She wasn’t likely to even find a lawyer willing to take on her case, who would defend her?
 
“Alright mudblood, you’ve made your point. I revoke my request for counsel.” She states her fingers curling around the wand, even though she couldn’t do magic in the holding cells, she could feel it in the wand, stronger than any replacement she’d had over the years. 
 
-
 
Hermione can only chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “You must think me

really

stupid.” She turns on her heel, readying to leave. “You can tell that to your court appointed attorney when they get here. Also, it’s

Minister Granger

best learn to use my name quickly or I might change my mind.” With that, she leaves. Not going far only to one of the nearby meeting rooms, knowing (read: hoping) her presence would be needed in a few short moments anyhow.
 
“She wants a lawyer.” Hermione says in passing to one of the guards before closing the door.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just rolled her eyes, that seemed an awful waste of time. Bringing the lawyer all the way here for her to send them back, but she could play the Ministry’s games. 
 
Whether Hermione wanted to admit to it or not, she knew the fuck up in Greece was problematic for everyone involved, even her for her minor part in it. Even her just

existing

undetected this long could start a mass panic.
 
-
 
A waste of time that would prevent it from being said that Hermione lied, or denied Bellatrix council. Hermione knows how problematic the situation is for herself, and her two (supposedly) top Aurors. That’s why she’s so incredibly panicked. Not that she’d show that face around Bellatrix. 
 
When the lawyer is essentially thrown from the room, Hermione breathes a sigh of relief. This could still work. 
 
The Minister steps out of the small conference room, which was next to the one Bellatrix was being held in (judging by how close the argument had sounded). She passes Clara, the Auror who escorted the lawyer down. 
 
“Thank you for your help Clara, might I see the wand you just took? I’ll see to it being stored properly.” Clara looks slightly skeptical but says nothing, handing over the crooked piece of wood. 
 
“Perfect, thank you.” And with that the Minister slips into the other conference room where it’s quite the scene of two guards holding Bellatrix against the table as one struggles with securing the cuffs. 
 
Hermione’s presence startling them both as they stumble over their words to greet her. “Let her go please. I want to have a little conversation with this one.” Her smile betrays the potential implications in her words. “Would you two stand guard outside the door, please?”
 
Gray, a good friend of Ron’s, tired to speak up. “Minister I don’t believe that’s the safest—“ He’s cut off by the slow raise of Hermione’s brow. “Thank you.” She adds, as the two shuffle out the door without further argument. 
 
-
 
The lawyer had tried to argue with Bellatrix, that it was in her best interests to have counsel present and Bellatrix had in more or less words told the lawyer to piss off and tried to force her out the door. The guards had grabbed her then, her cheek pressed up against the table as they struggled to hold her down. “I don’t usually let anyone beneath an Auror bend me over.” She laughed, twisting just enough to see Hermione enter the room. 
 
Oh the Minister thought she was clever parroting her own phrases back to her? As the guards left, she sat up, rubbing her wrist where in an attempt to recuff her, they’d caught her skin instead. 
 
“Oh the Minister all to myself, lucky me.” She drawled.
 
-
 
Hermione had scrunched her nose at the crude attempt at a joke, refusing to acknowledge it. 
 
Oh Hermione

knew

she was clever. Not for parroting the phrase, though it was wholly cathartic to do so with roles reversed, but for the deal she’s thought up. If Bellatrix was as smart as she thought she’d certainly accept. Hermione glances at the dark witch’s wrist, assessing quickly that she doesn’t even need to ask if the woman wants a healer. She doesn’t need one. 
 
“Don’t sound so thrilled.” She drawls, removing the wand from the pocket of her robes but not handing it over. “I want to make a deal, of sorts.” Right into business, very much like Harry in that way.
 
-
 
Her wrist would bruise but it wouldn’t be terrible, she’d obviously endured worse. Bellatrix shifted in her chair, staring at the wand she could have sworn was just taken by an Auror not five minutes ago. 
 
A deal piqued her interest. “Oh? What sort of deal,

Minister

? She asked, forcing as much venom into the word as possible. 
 
“The lawyer is gone and won’t be back, I’ve officially revoked my request and right to counsel.”
 
-
 
Hermione laughs, because she can, at the attempt at intimidation. Or perhaps it was just Bellatrix’ way of showing she was displeased with the situation. Nonetheless, more than mildly amusing to Minister. 
 
She wants to tell Bellatrix she’d been stupid for that. To trust the witch so blindly over a piece of wood. However she assumes that’s a quick way to get pinned to the floor beneath the witch’s boot. Even laughing was risky, though. 
 
“I want to make an unbreakable vow.” She declares, letting the idea hang in the air a moment before elaborating at all. 
 
“Your silence, and guilty plea, in exchange for your

limited

freedom.”
 
-
 
That ‘piece of wood’ was like a limb someone had torn off and taken for almost two decades, even having it was a taste of freedom she’d not had in awhile. 
 
Bellatrix listened, arching a brow at the terms of the Unbreakable Vow. “A guilty plea? Of

what

exactly?” She asked, seeing as she’d been ‘dead’ she wasn’t aware even which crimes had been attributed to her. But that word

freedom

is like a forbidden fruit, she was careful to catch the stipulation ‘limited’ in the statement.
 
-
 
Oh how Hermione had hoped she would ask that.

“For the kidnapping and torture of Hermione Jean Granger, at Malfoy Manor on the first of May 1998. Nineteen years ago.” She answers, rolling up her sleeve and flicking the wrist to remove the advanced glamour charm that hid her scar.
 
“It’s one war story I’ve kept mostly to myself over the years. People know what you did, though not the extent. Oh also added will be arson, destruction of property, and murder.” Throwing in the last few things as if they were just little add on petty crimes.
 
 “And as I said, this will be in exchange for your freedom. Limited freedom. No curses, no hexes unless used defensively, no traveling outside a certain radius without being accompanied, and regular check ins with an auror. Read;

Harry

or

Ron

.” She pauses momentarily. “…Actually just Harry, or myself, your choice. Any questions?”
 
-
 
“Kidnapping? No, no I believe that was the Snatchers who brought you in.” Bellatrix answered, her eyes lighting up just a little too much to see that scar. “I see you’ve still got my little memento.” She commented, of course it was still there, her blade couldn’t be healed by anyone but herself. Pity she’d lost it. 
 
“Let me see if I’ve followed, you get a guilty plea out of me for torture, arson, destruction of property and murder, I stay silent about the absolute crock up of my arrest and you let me go under conditions?” She thought it over. 
 
“And I get my wand back? And of course Unbreakable Vow means my immediate death if I break the conditions..or yours should you break yours. I want Lestrange Manor turned back over to me in

livable

conditions.” She said without blinking.
 
-
 
“Accomplice kidnapping is as low as I’ll go.” Hermione insists, tugging her sleeve down at the glint of joy in the older woman’s eye. Disgusting. 
 
“Yes. That. . .and,” inhales sharply. “You have to apologize to Luna Lovegood. If you won’t do it then the rest of it is void and you go to trial without a lawyer..” She’s making a point of it because she doesn’t even know if Bellatrix understands what the word apology means. 
 
She’ll have no problem recounting to the jury and press what she did to Hermione, in great detail the minister is sure, but Luna needed something better than that. Deserved it to be so.
 
“We’ll restore the Lestrange Manor but you’ll only be permitted to live there upon reaching a certain level of clearance.” She counters, raising a brow to question if that was adequate. “I’ve also written a clause to allow us to renegotiate the terms of this arrangement if and when we see fit. Do we have a deal?”
 
-
 
“A bit technical for a few hours time but fine, accomplice to kidnapping.” Bellatrix muttered.
 
She blinked twice. Apologize? “And just how am I meant to apologize to her? Do it on the stand? Write a letter to the Prophet?” She asked, not being snarky but genuinely wanting to know how she was meant to accomplish it. 
 
“Alright, and where do I live until I’ve reached that level then? Sending me back to Athens?” She asked, the idea sounded lovely. Her mind flashed back to those peaches and she licked her lips subconsciously.
 
-
 
“Wherever Luna is most comfortable. It will probably be in her house.” Hermione hasn't actually talked to Luna about any of this, but she can’t imagine the blonde demanding it be anywhere public. 
 
Hermione’s smile returns, at the dark witch’s second question, leaning back slightly in her chair. 
 
“With me.”
 
-
 
“What?” The dark witch blinked, certain she had to have misheard. Why in Merlin would she want her to live with her? What was wrong with a nice manor house somewhere, alone? 
 
“You want me to

live w

ith you? How is that limited freedom, living with the Minister?” Hermione had said

regular

check-ins. Not living under her eye twenty four hours a day.
 
-
 
“Because unlike handing you off to Ron or Harry, I don’t give a rat's furry arse what you do so long as the most of it is stay out of my way. Besides, I practically live in the ministry anyway. You'll have the house more to yourself than not.” Hermione is unphased by the near horror brought to Bellatrix’ face by the more-than suggestion. 
 
“These are the parameters. Take it or leave it. Unless you’d like to spend at

least

a year living with one of the boys?”
 
-
 
Bellatrix actually shuddered at the very idea of living with Weasel or Potter that long.  Over her dead body. 
 
“Right then let’s see if I’m all caught up seeing as you keep adding new items. I plead guilty to your torture, etc etc, apologize to the Lovegood girl and remain silent about the botched arrest your two sidekicks performed, via Unbreakable Vow of course. In exchange, I receive my wand, and limited freedom, living with you until such time as I’m deemed ‘safe’ and Lestrange Manor is restored and handed back over to me. No visits to Azkaban.” She listed them off matter of factly, blinking twice as she searched the deal for any hidden loophole she may have missed that made this a bad idea, or anything that could in fact land her in prison at a later date.
 
-
 
Hermione listens carefully, making sure Bellatrix doesn’t drop anything from the stipulations, nodding along in agreement. “No Azkaban. Nonnegotiable at any point.” Hermione confirms, feeling her heartbeat pick up inside her chest. I truly sounded like Bellatrix was going to take her up on it. She couldn’t believe it. A winning combination of dumb luck, brilliant planning, and the expertly used bond between wand and witch. 
 
“It should go without saying, intentional bodily harm to either Ron, Harry, or I is also off the table.” She says while clicking her fingers, causing a sheet of parchment and quill to appear. Their negotiations written in freshly dried ink. 
 
“You’ll need to sign this before we make the vow. Legal purposes. I’m nothing if not thorough.” Sliding the parchment and quill her way.
 
-
 
Bellatrix fidgets with the ring on her finger, twisting it twice, though her eyes are on the wand still on the table. Quiet for a moment as she contemplated her decision. She had more questions, only some of which Hermione could potentially answer; about her sister, about who was still alive in Azkaban and who the Dementors had taken for good but all that she'd get answers too later. This was the best offer she had, it meant living, even if it was under the guise of some Ministry bullshit.
 
"Alright Minister, you've got yourself an agreement." She nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder out of the way and picking up the quill, pausing for a moment to remember what name she was signing.
 
The tip of the quill glided over the parchment in loops and ornate swirls until her name, for the first time since the Battle, stared back at her. Bellatrix Lestrange.
 
Back from the dead.
 
-
 
Hermione might be able to answer more than Bellatrix realizes, but only if she asks. Hermione was highly intuitive, but still not a mind reader. 
 
“Brilliant.” Hermione says the first genuine smile creeping across her features because she’s just so relieved. The signature is enough to knock three things from the to do list in her brain now deemed unnecessary. 
 
She waits for the paper to be slid back to her, and signs her own name with a flourish, still the same as it has always been but now she neatly pens ‘M.o.M.’ beneath it. 
 
 Pushing away from the table the former Gryffindor stands, extending her right arm in front of her. Silently thanking the gods Bellatrix doesn’t get the ‘pleasure’ of touching her scar. She draws her wand with her left, holding it by her side until needed, and waits expectantly.
 
-
 
Bellatrix doesn't move, in fact she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, an amused grin on her face. "Oh Minister~" She sing songs. "I think you're forgetting, one itty bitty detail about the Unbreakable Vow...you need a witness to perform it. Can't bind and be part of the vow yourself. It's a one or the other type deal."
 
A safety precaution built into the Vow, to prevent abuse of the bond being used unknowingly. Bellatrix was only a little dumb for waiving council before she even knew what the offer was.
 
-
 
 She was dumb, but not stupid, and Hermione could appreciate that. 
 
“More like seeing how much I slip past you.” She informs as she lowers her hand. Flickering through an internal catalogue of people she knew, Hermione's smile suddenly returns, more devilish than sincere. If only house elves cound wield wands. Ah well. Second best is just as good. 
 
“Very well. Draco and I will be back down shortly.” She takes the paperwork, both wands, and the moment the door clicks behind her she apparates away.
 
-
 
Why was it everyone always thought Bellatrix was stupid? Had everyone missed when Albus Dumbledore of all people called her a prodigious witch?
 
Satisfied that she

hadn't

fallen for Hermione's test, she grinned until all of her thoughts came to a screeching halt when she stated just who it was she was going to fetch to be witness and she visibly choked, watching in alarm as the door shut. 
 
"Granger!" She shrieked, both fists colliding with the table under her. Draco. This.

This

was how Draco was going to learn she was alive, he was going to get roped into this nonsense as well? Her hands raked through her hair repeatedly. She hadn't even seen Draco much that day, Cissy had been so angry with her. 
 
She hadn't planned to see the Malfoys so soon.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione’s breath wavers as she walks through the large iron gate of Malfoy Manor, heels clicking lightly against the stone as she continues down the impossibly long path made longer, she’s sure, by the unpleasant memories flickering in the back of her mind. Despite how put together she was presenting, this whole situation was causing the woman to tightrope a very thin line of obligations as Minister, and trauma responses trying to fight their way out. Yes she’d need an extra long session with her mind healer after this day. 
 
There’s a quick intake of air before she knocks. Holding her breath as she waits for an answer. The heavy door eventually creaks open as a platinum blonde head, less than half the height she knows Draco to be, peeks out. 
 
“Hello Scorpius.” Hermione says, doing her best to keep her voice light and smile on. She doesn’t want to startle the young boy. “Is your father around? It’s a Ministry matter, quite urgent unfortunately.”
 
-
 
Scorpius shrunk back only a little, it wasn’t often that the Minister of Magic appeared on his doorstep (in fact he can’t recall a time this has ever happened previously), even if they were an acquaintance of his father. Nodding slowly, he opened the door a bit more.
 
"Father's in his study, I'll go fetch him." Quick as a flash, the blonde disappeared up the winding staircase, leaving the door hanging wide open.
 
A few moments later, Draco descended down the stairs, adjusting the tie around his neck. "Minister." He nods respectfully as he comes to greet her.
 
"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" He still may not like Hermione on a personal level (not a bloodstatus one), but she was Minister of Magic and he'd still be respectful of the authority she held. "Scorpius said it was urgent, has something happened?"
 
-
 
From where she stands, with the door wide open as it is, she can nearly see into the drawing room just past the foyer. Just like that she’s eighteen again, fighting for her life against the death eater on top of her hips and the hardwood beneath her back. The minister gasps, sucking in burning oxygen as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest.

Breathe, Granger.

Hermione held no warm feelings for the Malfoy man either. Some things are simply unforgivable. However being that they were now well into adulthood, not children forced into adult roles, they could act as such. She always held a sort of appreciation for that. 
 
“Draco.” She acknowledges before continuing. “Yes, it is. Ministry business. I truly don’t like asking but I believe I may require your assistance. Is there any way I could speak to you in the gardens?” She asks, brown eyes drifting over the male’s shoulder, finding Narcissa standing on the staircase while holding tightly to Scorpius’ shoulder. 
 
A sudden pang in her chest reminds Hermione how she is about to turn the family’s life on its head and she feels guilty for it despite it all. 
 
“Of course.” The blonde says, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. A small mercy. Just seeing Granger in the doorway brought Draco back to the night they both suppressed as much as possible. He didn’t want her in the house just as much as she didn’t want to be there. 
 
“Thank you.” The Gryffindor nods with a relieved sigh. She used to let these sorts of things go unmentioned , unthanked, but as she matured she has realized those are the things that deserve the most recognition. 
 
Beginning to walk with the former Slytherin by her side she puts her own feelings aside and slips on the mask of professionalism she wore as minister. “I need you to be witness to an unbreakable vow.” Straight to business, no stopping things now it was out there. 
 
-
 
Truthfully, Draco wouldn't have even chosen to live at Malfoy Manor with his son if he'd had the choice but when his father passed a few years ago, he knew he couldn't leave his mother in the house all alone so he, Scorpius and Astoria took up residence with her.
 
He slipped his hands into his pockets as they walked, waiting for Hermione to explain why she was there, instead of him asking, pausing in his tracks.
 
"An Unbreakable Vow? I wasn't aware that was common practice at the Ministry. Why do you need me specifically?" He asked, usually if something needed doing, she had more than enough people at her beck and call to carry it out, he simply worked in the accounting department, as far away from the 'action' of the Ministry as possible. His meetings were to discuss quarterly financial reports and spending, not a mention of dueling, or dark wizards for miles, unlike Potter and Weasley who had jumped with both feet into the fray. If Hermione was asking him, there had to be a reason.
 
-
 
“It isn’t common. These are highly unusual circumstances.” Her tone hardens as she thinks about the actions of two still very much in trouble trio members that lead her to this garden.
 
 “Harry and Ron arrested a former death eater. However they…didn’t do the most respectable job.” Beating around the bush will do her no good. Take a breath and bite the bullet, Granger.
 
“It’s your Aunt. Harry and Ron found her hiding in Athens, using polyjuice to exist right under our noses. I can’t let her go, no matter how illegitimate the case may be, the people won’t stand for it. However, letting it come out that Harry and Ron butchered the job so poorly, and still proceed to sentencing anyway, would be less than favorable given my position. Please Draco, I need your help. The arrangement would be mutually beneficial for everyone involved, I swear to that.”
 
-
 
"My aunt?" Draco could have sworn the ground slipped out from underneath him. Not even hearing the rest of what Hermione had said afterwards, his brain blocking out the sound and shaking his head.
 
"No, look I know I did some fucked up things to you lot, but this, this isn't funny." He began walking away from her, dragging his hands through his hair. 
 
"I only have one Aunt with the title 'former death eater'. Aunt Andromeda never was and the other Aunt died, two decades ago in that school. Weasley's mum did her in." He mutters more to himself now because there was a small part of him that knew this sort of cruel joke was unlike Hermione and that was terrifying. That she could be telling the truth.
 
-
 
Hermione turns sharply on her heel walking after him but allowing him space. “I wouldn’t

lie

about this, Draco.” Her tone slipping from proper Minister to a slightly annoyed Hermione, too easily for her liking. 
 
She moves to be in front of him, forcing cool grey eyes to meet her gaze. “It’s Bellatrix, Draco. I’ve seen her myself.” She drops her stare down her heels, head bowing slightly. As she lowers her voice to nothing above a whisper. “If I had other options I wouldn’t be here, please. I came to you because I shouldn’t be the one giving your mother this kind of news.” Among a couple other reasons, however, this was

a

truth just not the

whole

truth. This one sounded nicer than the others, is all.
 
Not that Hermione’s hatred for the woman was a well kept secret anyway. Draco would know without her having to say (which is always appreciated) why exactly she’s asking him and not Narcissa. 
 
“Will you?”
 
-
 
Draco met Hermione's eyes, for the briefest moment and just

knew

the truth staring back at him, unable to stop himself from falling to his knees with a strangled sob.
 
He was suddenly sixteen years old again, locked in the cellar with his Aunt until he could perform the charms and curses that were demanded of him. He'd hated her. Hated his Aunt with every fibre of his being and now she was back from the dead, just as she had been before. Every so often just tumbling into his life.
 
"My mother? You want me to walk in there and tell my mother she's alive?" Of course it had to be him, his father was gone and all of the responsibilities of the head of the Malfoy family had fallen to him.
 
Taking a moment to compose himself, he stood up, stone faced. "You're making an Unbreakable Vow with her, why?" He asked. "Can't you just toss her into Azkaban and be done with it? She can join my Uncle in there and everyone else. Be a real party." He practically spat.
 
-
 
Hermione can only watch as Draco crumbles, taking the time to purge the nasty emotions of such horrible news, and then rebuild in just a few moments. He reminds her of himself in that way.
 
She chooses to carry on as though the momentary breakdown hadn’t happened. No words she had could bring comfort to the situation and Merlin knows she hates when people try for her. 
 
“You don’t have to tell her this minute.” Or ever. Hermione would very much like ‘not ever’ but knows that isn’t the reality she’ll face. 
 
“Yes. I am.” Standing slightly taller, as she is very much sure in her decision of making the vow.
 
“Because the case is illegitimate. It will get tossed in the bin and she’d be free to go and do as she pleases, except she wouldn’t be in hiding any longer.” Hermione summarizes the explanation she’d given a bit earlier without comment. She knows Draco hadn’t heard it anyway. 
 
“This vow will protect people. She won’t be able to perform dark magic, she’ll be monitored closely at all times. This vow will protect Scorpius.” She pauses knowing bringing his son into the mix is a risk, lips pressing tightly together as she awaits a reaction.
 
-
 
"Illegitimate? She's an escaped convict who added more crimes to her list, what jury wouldn't convict or sentence her for it? My mother and I witnessed from upstairs what she did to you." Draco had completely missed the entire reason for the Vow being necessary.
 
At the mention of his son, Draco instinctively looked back towards the house. "She'll know about him?" Or rather he'd know about her.
 
Draco had done his damnedest not to even whisper about his deranged aunt around his son and his mother had chosen to do the same, it was hard enough being the son of Draco Malfoy, not everyone had so easily forgiven the Malfoys for their part in the war, he hadn't wanted to add Bellatrix to the mix.
 
"Unable to perform dark magic? She'd never agree to that, my aunt used Unforgivables like they were first year charms." 
 
-

‘My mother and I witnessed from upstairs what she did to you.’

Echoes deafeningly in her ears. She feels ill to know in her darkest of moments, there was no privacy. Harry and Ron, among too many others, had

heard

it, but Draco had

seen it

. Hermione suddenly feels exposed and very, very vulnerable. 
 
“Unfortunately a case can become illegitimate if any part of the process is compromised.” Or in this case many parts. “Even the most clear cut of cases can be overturned on technicality. If the case were to go to the Wizengamot, as it is and nothing else, it would be dismissed immediately.” 
 
She smiles faintly, a somber sort of thing. He might not have had a choice in the actions he took during the war, but he had chosen to be a great father. 
 
“I didn’t tell her about Scorpius, but it’s not something that won’t come out eventually. He’ll need you to protect him then.” 
 
Hermione shakes her head. “She did agree to it, it’s already done. Well nearly, we

need

a witness. Bellatrix said yes because I have something she wants.” She knows that isn’t the full extent of it though, and is smart enough to know that. Bellatrix may be attached to her wand but the real desire for her was to ensure she never spent another second in an Azkaban prison cell.
 
-
 
Hermione didn’t need to expand on what the compromise was and Draco shook his head. “Brilliant, Potter and Weasley screw up and we all suffer for it.” 
 
Then again, how else did these sorts of things go? Even at work he was chasing them down for expense claims and explaining that dinners abroad and new broomsticks couldn’t be passed off as work expenses. 
 
“She’s agreed?” That takes him by surprise and he thinks it over a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Alright, I suppose if anyone is putting her in the bonds of an Unbreakable Vow, best be me. Where is she?”
 
-
 
The Minister’s brow furrows slightly as he brings up the boys in such a negative tone, but says nothing. They don’t deserve to be defended in this case. 
 
Hermione's entire being is flooded with relief as Draco agrees. A more than grateful expression gracing her features. 
 
“We should be off then. She’s in holding. Second conference room.”
 
-
 
Draco nods. “You go on ahead, I’ll just let my mother and Scorpius know I’ve been called into the office.” 
 
Draco made it a point to never simply disappear, Lucius had always done that and he’d vowed not to do the same with his son. 
 
Bellatrix was drumming her fingers on the table in the conference room, beginning to wonder if Hermione was coming back or if she was just meant to stay in this room for eternity. They hadn’t even left her any food!
 
-

Not too long after (though not too quickly either , there’s only far less than a handful of ways into the ministry and she thought she’d be sick if she apparated) Hermione opens the door, stepping in after the now full grown Slytherin bully. 
 
Draco eyes the woman at the table, lingering towards the far wall. Blue-grey eyes watching with the kind of caution Hermione had watched fade (slowly) over the last nineteen years.
 
He’s much different now. Taller than he was even at seventeen. His shining blonde hair had slowly begun to dull, and his features wore a continuously tired and somewhat suspicious expression.
 
“Aunt Bellatrix.” He finally says, a formal acknowledgment as he takes in how different she is as well. 
 
“Draco, your wand?” Hermione asks, hoping to cut short…whatever might happen here. So long as the vow was performed she could leave and the estranged family members could have their reunion. 
 
-
 
Bellatrix was chewing at her nail when the door opened and for a brief moment she wondered when Lucius had cut his hair before the reality slammed into her chest. It was Draco. 
 
Her mouth went dry, dark eyes simply taking in how grown he was, how much taller and mature as she tried to find words to say to her nephew. “Hello dragon.” She said with a little grin. 
 
“It’s

Draco

.” He corrected cooly, pulling out his wand and nodding at Hermione. He had no interest in being here any longer than necessary. “Stand up and grab the Minister’s arm.” He instructed his Aunt, although from the tone he might as well have said ‘drop dead’.
 
Bellatrix still in shock at seeing Draco so suddenly, after so long, stood and held out her left arm towards Hermione. The action is almost done subconsciously.
 
-

Hermione would never express it, but in this moment she was unspeakably proud of Draco. No longer letting others make decisions for him. Finally having his own voice. 
 
The Minister looks from the extended arm and slowly back up at Bellatrix, raising a singular brow at the witch.
 
 “What do you take me for?” She asks through a sarcastic chuckle. “Right hand. In case you need some help, the right is your

other

hand.” She states, the second sentence coming out in a faux whisper.

The brunette takes a few steps forward extending her own right arm wanting this over with as soon as possible. 
 
A click of her fingers on the opposite hand and Draco is holding the contract to read.
 
-
 
"I use both, it doesn't matter." Bellatrix rolled her eyes but obliged and switched, offering her right hand instead, taking hold of Hermione's arm none too gently, her fingers wrapping tightly around her forearm, giving a nod to both to continue.
 
Draco exhaled as quietly as he could manage, skimming through the contract to find the important bits for the bonding. "Do you, Bellatrix Lestrange, swear to a guilty plea and silence on the Ministry's handling of your detainment and arrest in exchange for the return of your wand and limited freedom?" He asked and she nodded. 
 
"Yes, I do." 
 
He turned his attention to Hermione, trying not to look at the golden ropes swirling around both of their arms. "Do you, Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic swear to uphold the promises pertaining to the freedom of Bellatrix Lestrange up to and including the nonnegotiable terms of her serving out a sentence of any kind in Azkaban prison?" Draco just stared at the wording, his aunt could never go to prison for anything previous moving forward. Dear Merlin.
 
-
 
Didn’t matter? Did Bellatrix also shake with her left? It just doesn’t work. Whether the witch was an ambidextrous wand wielder or not, only the right would work for the vow. 
 
Hermione bites hard to the inside of her cheek. Those still dagger like nails biting into her skin in a way that ignites fear in the lioness’ stomach. 
 
No Bellatrix couldn’t be imprisoned for previous acts. However the caveat is if she attempts to commit another crime, she dies. Instantly. No prison sentence would be necessary.
 
“Yes, I do.” Unlike Draco the swirling energy is all she can focus on. Feeling unsteady from the physical contact with her assailant. Her own nails attempt to dig in, in retaliation, but her nails are short and blunt from a lifetime of worrying at them when anxious.
 
Draco waits as the magic in the air pulses, blinding bright, and eventually dissipates. 
 
Once it’s done it’s Hermione who tries to tug away first. As quickly as she can in fact, not even waiting for Bellatrix to open her fingers.
 
-
 
Bellatrix squints in the blinding light, the golden rings of fire slowly sinking into both of their arms and disappearing completely. 
 
Hermione pulls away so quickly, the dark witch’s talon-like nails leave scratches down her forearm, one nail actually breaking from the force. "I assume I'm free to go now that's done or am I to spend more time in this

lovely

guest room?" She asks, examining where her long nail had splintered off.
 
-
 
Hermione would have Ron heal her forearm later. No he wasn’t a brilliant healer but he had been a form of comfort the last nearly two decades. 
 
“You can put in your formal plea and a trial date will be set. Where you stay until then is more or less in your court. Though your ability to wander won’t start until after the trail. It’s either house arrest or a holding cell.” Hermione’s running her fingertips subconsciously along the angry red lines on her forearm, finger tip spelling out ‘mudblood’ as it’s written on her opposite arm purely from habit of stimming. 
 
“I have better food though.” She informs with an indifferent shrug as Draco slips out the door without another word.
 
-
 
Absolutely not. Trials could take weeks to set a date for and Bellatrix had no interest in spending that time in the holding cell. 
 
"I'm going to be living there anyway, might as well start now. Let me just pack my things-oh that's right I was snatched with little more than the dress I'm wearing." She rolled her eyes, once this was all settled she would be sending someone to fetch her things from Athens at the very least.
 
-
 
“Are you always this sarcastic?“ It's rhetorical. Hermione knows this is just how the woman was created. 
 
Her own eyes roll in unison with the dark witch’s. Sarcastic and dramatic it seemed. “You’ll just have to deal without for the time being. Although I do have some muggle clothes I’ve been meaning to part with.” Now there was a thought. Bellatrix lounging around the house in a pair of jeans and concert tee. It actually makes the woman laugh aloud at the absurdity. 
 
“Well let’s go then. I’ve more pressing things to attend to than talking to you all day.” She’ll bring Bellatrix to the house, hoping to Merlin Ron went back to his house instead of hers, and then the real work begins.
 
-
 
Bellatrix elects to stay quiet about the sarcastic remarks instead just shrugging with an air of indifference and scowling at the very idea of wearing Muggle clothes. 
 
“I’m quite capable of sending an owl to a clothing shop thank you.” She snaps.
 
She waits to be led from the room, wondering if the two guards would be back to cuff her again or whether the vow she’d just been locked into was enough to permit her to walk unbound.
 
-
 
Hermione ignores the remark, opening the door to find only Clara standing outside it. Just as discussed. “Thank you for coming, Clara. Please cuff her.” Hermione steps out of the way to allow the woman space. The auror stepping forward,
 
 “Arms in front of you.” She mumbles though not giving her an opportunity to do it herself, grabbing both Bella’s wrists with one hand and securing the cuffs with the other. 
 
“Walk.” Clara demands, tugging the witch forwards by her bindings. 
 
“Thank you Clara.” Hermione repeats with a satisfied hum, beginning to walk briskly down the corridor towards the lifts. 
 
The brief moments they are in the lift would be tense if not otherwise for Hermione checking in on the status of things with the auror. 
 
“Everyone is-“
 
“In their offices or designated departments, yes.” The other brunette did not even need the rest of the question to confirm. 
 
“The Wizengamot—“
 
“Will be waiting in conference room B when you return.” Hermione beams, wishing the woman had taken her up on the offer of Senior Undersecretary during the last elections. However the woman had stated that while she was grateful for the offer, she much preferred auror work. 
 
Once at entry level and the doors slide open Hermione steps out glancing, first left then right, nodding to Clara who nudges Bellatrix to move forwards. 
 
-
 
“Cuff me? It’s as if you don’t trust me.” Bellatrix mockly pouted knowing no one in the entire building trusted her as far as they could throw her. 
 
“Your Secretary has cuffed people before, you perhaps?” Bellatrix asked with a wicked smirk as she prodded forwards down the corridor, once the cuffs were again locked into place.
 
Once in the lift, the dark witch simply listened to the conversation. The Wizengamot were meeting to discuss her no doubt and she had taken note of the oddly empty lift and hallway. It couldn’t be..
 
When the lift stopped and Hermione checked both ways as if crossing a street her suspicions were confirmed. “Oh, does no one else know I’m here? Are you sneaking me out Minister?” She asked with a snicker.
 
-
 
 “Clara’s an Auror, you’ll respect her as such.” Hermione says, tone clipped. The Minister is extraordinarily grateful the other two women are behind her. No one around to see the faint blush painting its way across freckled cheeks at the insinuation.
 
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Hermione nearly snorts. If Bellatrix thought there was a singular person currently inside the Ministry that didn’t know Bellatrix Lestrange was here, or potentially here, perhaps she

was

stupid. Especially so if she thought Hermione would risk her career by sneaking the woman out.
 
“They’re in their offices because you’re

insane

.” She emphasizes the word as they walk along towards the Floo Network. “It’s merely a precaution.”
 
-

Abruptly Bellatrix stops moving, digging her boots into the tile firmly. “I’m not insane. Take it back.” She states, her fingers twitching. Two decades. Two decades without the insinuation she was gone off the deep end and the word turned her blood to ice instantly. 
 
No smart remarks. No smug looks just frozen in place, waiting for the word to be recalled. 
 
She was many things; sadistic, unforgiving, cruel, without mercy, a bitch, but she was

not

crazy. 
 
-
 
Clara tugs in the cuffs as Bellatrix stops moving. “Move.” When she doesn’t budge she tugs harder, pulling the witch forward a singular step. “I said

move

.” 
 
Hermione feels a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Taking a moment to reign it in before she turns around. Had that. . .

bothered

Bellatrix? 
 
Oh how delightful. 
 
As she faces the other two women Hermione tugs her features into a questioning expression. Head tilting slightly. “Oh? But that’s what everybody is saying. I take it you didn’t get the Prophet much in Athens?” 
 
This is good. Far too good and Hermione can feel herself wanting to push into this far too much. So she simply doesn’t, there would be plenty of time to press into the older witch’s insecurities with her living under the same roof and all.
 
“The papers are wrong though.“ She concedes only because they are, but only in part. “You’re

far

more competent than they give you credit for.” Turning on her heel, Hermione continues walking towards the Floo, expecting to be followed.
 
-
 
The gears in Bellatrix’ head churn, considering whether that concession had been enough and decided it had for now. Silently walking behind Hermione to the Floo Network. 
 
A memory flashes, staring at the familiar fireplaces. Her scream. Fearing her master had been reduced to dust, the fear as Ministry officials had closed in that she was to be sent back to Azkaban. Then just as quickly, she’d been pulled out from under the statue, pushed into a fireplace and freed.
 
“The papers have always been wrong.” She said at last.
 
-
 
“How do you want to do this?” Clara asks, both ministry workers ignoring the former death eater for the minute.
 
“Hold onto her and send a prayer to Merlin.” Hermione says simply. A very Harry course of action. “Are you sur—“
 
“It’ll be fine Clara, I promise.” The woman nods, not going to argue with the Minister if she believed it to be safe. 
 
“Get in.” She instructs, pushing Bellatrix into the fireplace she was openly staring at. Hermione watches Bellatrix from the side. She recognizes that faraway look, she’s remembering something. Good or bad the Gryffindor of course can’t tell. Not that it matters to her any. 
 
Hermione steps in after the witch. One of her hands coming up behind Bellatrix and winding tightly into the back fabric of her sundress, the other grabbing a bit of floo powder. “Granger residence.” Loud and clear as she throws down the powder. Emerald flames engulf the pair of them. 
 
When they land, Hermione immediately lets go of the woman, stepping out and smiling to herself. “Not exactly the recommended way of travel, far too risky typically, but it got the job done.” She announces to no one.

Or so she thinks.
 
“Mione?”
 
Groan. Noo.
 
-
 
“Careful, the fabric is thin and you might rip it.” Bellatrix warns feeling and shuddering at her hand gripping onto her, she could have just gone herself. 
 
When they landed and Hermione abruptly let go, Bellatrix more or less tumbled out of the fireplace with a shocked gasp. Getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “Bloody hate floo.” She muttered, brushing a bit of floo powder from her hair and inwardly groaning at the familiar voice. 
 
“Oh you’ve arranged company, how thoughtful.” She drawled as Ron came around the corner. 
 
“Mione I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting you home this early I was-WHAT’S SHE DOING HERE?!” He yelled, automatically drawing out his wand and looking at both women for an explanation.
 
-
 
“Ron, Ron, Ron

stop

. Put the wand down. I’ll explain it later.”
 
“No but—“
 
“

Later

Ronald!” Hermione snaps, reaching out and grabbing the male by his collar and tugging him to the side. 
 
“I have it under control.” She insists, while Ron is looking over his shoulder at the woman fixing her hair. 
 
“No. You clearly don’t Hermione. You—“ The deadly glare he's receiving cuts him off and he swallows thickly. “I mean I’m sure you do Mione but why is she. . .”
 
“I don’t have time for this.” Hermione’s eyes roll skyward, shoving the redhead away from her in annoyance. Her nexts words coming out in a half whine of anxiety that’s usually reserved for only him and Harry.
 
“Ron please, I have to go back. I don’t have time to explain. Go home, stay here, it doesn’t matter just do not lay a

singular

spell

OR

hand on her. Understood?” She’s stepping into the fireplace yet again, gathering a bit of Floo and readying it. “Oh, and please keep her out of the bedroom until I get home. Ministry of Magic!”  And she’s gone. 
 
Ron stands there mouth gap in front of the fireplace. After several long moments turning his head to the witch of a woman beside him. “I don’t suppose she explained it to you, now did she?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Bellatrix for her part stood and simply observed whatever it was that was going on, finding it to be quite amusing that Hermione just simply was not explaining anything at the moment. 
 
“Out of the bedroom, afraid I’ll see your knickers laying about?” She snorts and rolls her eyes, watching Ron trail after the Minister, still trying to get

anythin

g out of her as an explanation until she quite literally vanishes. 
 
With a shrug, Bellatrix replies with something in Greek, before beginning to wander the house she was to be kept in until the trial.
 
“Well I’d go but I don’t think I ought to leave you alone in Mione’s house. Can you at least tell me why you’re here and not on the way to Azkaban or at the very least long term holding?” He asks and Bella simply turns around. 
 
“Why? Because-“ She feels a tightness in her chest, a warning that finishing that sentence is technically in violation of the terms of the vow to stay silent about the botched arrest. She chooses different words. 
 
“Because this was the decision made.” She says instead, the tightness disappearing.
 
-
 
Ron didn’t

deserve

an explanation for anything. He wasn’t even supposed to

be

there. She had sent him home, and not to hers! Besides any shock or panic on his end pales in comparison to how he made her feel with his and Harry’s little stunt. 
 
Deep breath. A quick, and she does mean quick, briefing with the Wizengamot. Presenting the papers from Bellatrix’ ex-attorney waving her right to counsel, a couple well placed excuses as to why the crimes brought forward are past and not current, and a brilliantly convincing pitch on her new ‘reform program’ and she’ll be done. 
 
Ron listens as the woman falters. That’s unlike the silver tongued Bellatrix he was used to. 
 
“Stupidest decision she’s ever made, I reckon.” He scoffs, pacing the length of the living room. It just didn’t make sense in his brain. “I think she’s still mad at me.” He mumbles, suddenly a little more concerned about that then Britain’s most violent witch wandering his shared home. “Did she say

why

she made this decision?” He asks hoping on hope for a clearer answer. 
 
-
 
Oh he need not worry, the dark witch’s tongue is still very silver on all

other

matters. He’ll get lots of exposure to just how silver tongued she could be. It almost wasn’t fair, it wasn’t telling if it was to the person who already knew! Ron had been the cause of the botched arrest! She growls internally at the ridiculous parameters of the Vow.
 
At his second probing she huffed and set down the knickknack she was holding. Thinking carefully about her words. “New Ministry project to reform death eaters. Starting with me. I’ll be Granger’s housemate for a while.”
 
-
 
“Gee, you’d think your fiancée might let you in on a decision like

that

“ He gripes. This-This house wasn’t death eater proof! 
 
Hermione listens to concerns as they come from the various esteemed members of the Wizengamot. Nodding to indicate the person is heard but not agreeing.

“Minister, her living under your roof is the most concerning part of this all. Your safety would be our number one priority.” One member mentions.
 
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Big changes require big sacrifices.” She says cooly, folding her hands in front of her. “Our top aurors live in neighboring properties, and her wand is useless with a trace.”
 
    “Minister, respectfully she should be barred from owning a wand at all. It’s far more traditional to snap the user's wand and—“ Another member presses. 
 
Hermione feels her chest tighten, same as Bellatrix just had, panic flickering in her eyes for only a millisecond.
 
“That tradition ends with me. It’s cruel and unjust if our goal is to truly reform and rehabilitate.” 
 
The tightness lessens, but not by much.
 
Back at the Granger residence, the ginger man was feeling no more at ease about what was happening. A reform program? “You’re oddly calm - don’t touch that - for well. . .you as a person. Why are you so alright with all this?” Ron interrogates, following the curly haired witch around the house.
 
-
 
“Minister, we’re talking about someone with advanced magical skill. It’s well documented how many spells she can perform without her wand, are you sure providing her one is best?” Someone asks and a few others murmur in agreement. 
 
“Yes, her wand as is, is dangerous. Wouldn't a more practical solution be to snap this one, and in a few years time if she’s deemed trustworthy enough under your program, allow her to obtain a new one? Ollivander himself said that the wand is a threat.” Yet another member adds in agreement.
 
Bellatrix continued exploring, the house fell somewhere between not quite a manor, but not as close quarters as her shoebox in Athens has been. “Expecting a different reaction? Given the choice between here and Azkaban it seems obvious. Besides-“ She ran her finger along the texture of the wall. 
 
“I won’t be here long, at least here has proper furniture, food and booze.” Oh that sounded like an idea, where would the Minister keep the liquor cabinet she wondered.
 
-
 
With every word from the Wizengamot the pain in her chest grows more agonizing. Sipping for breaths by the time it’s her turn to speak again. 
 
“If we truly want to reintegrate her into our society

successfully

, because I will remind you that is ultimately the goal, we need to afford her a level of trust that shows we’re working in cooperation

with

her. Not against. The wand is the only leverage we have, other than her sister. Without it she won’t cooperate.” She has to stop to catch her breath swallowing the panic and maintaining professionalism. 
 
The Minister keeps the alcohol In the cabinets beneath the kitchen island. “Would you stop putting your grubby hands all over anything you can reach!” Ron complains, picking up and examining each item she puts down for damages and then moving on to the next.
 
-
 
More murmuring, the Minister made a good point, if they gave her nothing, there truly was no reason for her to cooperate with them and try to become reformed. 
 
“Alright Minister, we trust your judgement, following the end of the trial Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand will be returned to her fully.” Everyone nodded cautiously in most reluctant agreement. 
 
Hearing Ron’s comment, Bellatrix spun around. “Look who’s talking about having grubby hands, Weasel. I bathed this morning, did you?” She asked haughtily, following the corridor to the kitchen and beginning to open cabinets in search of anything strong. “Aha!” She exclaimed, finding the cabinet under the island and pulling out a bottle of what looked to be gin, popping the cork on it.
 
-
 
“Oi! I’ll have you know I showered two days ago.” Who did this woman think she was? Coming into his partner’s house, turning the place upside down, and calling him names and hurling insults. “No, no, no.“ He snatches the bottle, technically not touching her. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” He feels like he’s chasing around Crookshanks and chiding him for getting into things. He did not miss that cat. 
 
Hermione nods in agreement though she has no intent on putting the real wand into holding. She’d work on a replacement for it tomorrow no one currently knows it’s even ‘missing’. 
 
“Thank you all for taking the time beyond typical hours to meet with me. Everyone knows how to reach me should it be urgent enough and I will see you all at trial in three days time.” She dismisses the group, waiting patiently as they make their exit before simply apparating home. 
 
Popping into the living room she shrugs her robes off and pulls the wand from her pocket. 
 
“Ron?”
 
-
 
The bottle isn’t even to her lips before he’s swiped it and she scowls. “What I think I’m doing is having a stiff drink, did you want one too?” Bellatrix asks with a little smirk. Simply snatching a different bottle from the cabinet and walking off with it, this one appeared to be scotch, that was better than gin anyway. She wandered back down the hallway to the living room, taking a swig and wincing at the burning sensation, Ron stalking after her. 
 
“Put that back! Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners?” He asks, cursing every deity he knew that they hadn’t just left this woman well enough alone in Greece, now she was here in his home..err Mione’s home.
 
-

Hermione’s folding her robes, placing them on the back of the couch and glancing at the clock. Just less than an hour, she had promised herself it would be quick. She briefly thinks back to the tightness in her chest and breathes a heavy sigh of relief it’s no longer there as she turns the crooked wand over in her hand a couple times. 
 
Olivander had said it was a threat, and it was, however she couldn’t really look at the same after winning a war with it. 
 
She hears two pairs of footsteps. One wandering the other charging after. Hears Ron yelling and rolls her eyes turning to go find them.
 
Ron’s standing guard in the doorway of the bedroom while Bella drank. “Mione.” He says seeing her enter the space. Hermione’s eyes the bottle in Bella’s hand, saying nothing for the moment as she crosses the room. Walking over to Ron and pecking his lips before mumbling, “I’m still livid at you, we’ll talk about it later.” Her eyes never leave the dark witch’s. 
 
She’d had nightmares like this. Bellatrix in her home. Though she was never drinking her good liquor in said dreams. “Find everything you need?” She asks sarcastically.
 
-
 
“I do have ears, I’m not going near the bedroom Weasel.” Bellatrix huffed, honestly you’d think she was a toddler and not a fully grown witch! 
 
Hearing the ‘pop’ of apparition she rolled her eyes and took another mouthful from the bottle, she’d need to be drunk to put up with the two of them. 
 
When Hermione kissed him she made a sort of gagging sound, did they have to do that in front of her?
 
“As much as carrot top would let me, I wasn’t given the grand tour you know.” She quipped just as sarcastically, taking another drink, the liquid sloshing in the bottle as she did.
 
"I tried to keep her out of stuff Mione, honest but she's worse than that cat of yours was!"
 
-
 
Bellatrix wouldn’t need to get used to them being so affectionate around her. It was honestly a rare occurrence in itself to happen in front of company. Today was just far more stressful than a typical one. 
 
“Ah well I would have been a better host, except someone needed to clean things up with the Wizengamot.” Mione drawls, as Ron places a gently hand on the back of her blouse. The gesture made her want to simultaneously break down from the tenderness and yell at him until he agreed to never do anything without her explicit permission again. 
 
“Have you told him what the arrangement is?” Hoping on hope she hadn’t said anything about the vow. ..Could she say anything about the vow? That seemed it would be an interesting technicality.
 
-
 
Before Bellatrix could answer, Ron interrupted.
 
"No, she won't tell me what's happened except something about a Ministry reform program and her

living

here!"
 
As far as Bellatrix could ascertain, speaking about the vow didn't violate any of the terms of the vow. The deal was not speak of the details of the botched arrest, but she wasn't going to test it after feeling that tightness like someone was squeezing her heart again.
 
Besides, getting to witness Weasel learn his fiancée had made an Unbreakable Vow with her was too good a spectacle to pass up!
 
"She's lying right? Mione tell me she's lying and you're here to take her to Azkaban for eternity!"
 
-
 
Hermione fidgets with the ring on her left hand, as she often did when anxious or uncomfortable. A quite modest engagement ring because she’d refused to allow him anything larger. A singular stone with a tiny otter molded into the gold of the band. 
 
Her glance flickers between the witch and the wizard. Both looking at her expectantly. One clearly annoyed the other all too eager for her to continue. 
 
“She’s telling the truth, for once.” Breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. “She’s not going to Azkaban Ron, and the only ones you have to blame for that is yourself and Harry.” Reigning in the full amount of venom in her tone. She doesn’t really fancy the idea of fighting, truly fighting, in front of the cause for this mess. 
 
“The Wizengamot are on board with the idea. It’s the best I could do with the situation I was handed. With everything you and Harry did wrong, bringing her to trial would be letting her go.” If she wants a show of her telling Ron about the vow she won’t get it, and she’d like to see the witch even attempt to pull it out of her without keeling over.
 
-
 
Ron just stared openmouthed at what Hermione said, almost sputtering. "Not going to Azkaban! Not putting her to trial! So all those things; killing Tonks and Lupin, torturing Luna and you, all the destruction she gets away with it!" He just stared, his eyes all but popping out of his head. "I know what Harry and I did wasn't exactly by the book but surely it can't have caused this! How do we know she isn't just going to murder you in your sleep?!"
 
Bellatrix smirked, corking the bottle. Ron had just given her the perfect entrance for dropping the little bit of news. "Oh, she didn't tell you? Minister keeping secrets from her own fiancé." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
 
“I can't." She replied and watched Hermione's face. "The Minister here was very clever and I've

promised

not to do any of those nasty things and since I'm being such a cooperative witch, the Minister has in turn

promised

me things as well."
 
-
 
“Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what she’s done Ronald!” Hermione yells back, yanking up her left sleeve and dropping the glamour charm on her scar. “I don’t forget, I’ll

never

forget. Twenty years and it still looks nearly identical to the day I got it. Want to try again to tell me how I’m losing sight of things? I did what I did so she

can’t

get away with it! I had no choice, you and Harry took that choice!”
 
Her chest is heaving with her rage, and hurt. How could he possibly say that to her? Like she

wants this

? Ron’s merely staring at her, unsure how to even respond. Blue eyes forcing themselves to stay locked on hardened brown hues and not flicker down to her forearm.
 
The redhead frowns further as Bellatrix speaks. “Promise?” Ron’s voice drops, Hermione’s stomach following suit. His gaze has moved to Bellatrix, looking at her like she was speaking Greek again. “Promise, Hermione

what kind of promise.

” He’s spun around now, both hands gripping Hermione’s shoulders, blue eyes flickering all over his fiancées features for any tell the dark witch was lying. No, this couldn’t be.

Surely

Hermione didn’t. 
 
Despite herself, Hermione's eyes begin to smart. Opening and closing her mouth more than once in an attempt to force the explanation out. Ron’s scaring her. Not because she fears him or the offensive way he was currently holding her, but because the day has just added up to a very sensitive witch.
 
“I had no choice...” She finally chokes, brown eyes pleading with him not to blow up but that prayer goes unanswered. 
 
 “No choice, Hermione, you are the

MINISTER OF MAGIC

!” He shouts directly at her, grip only tightening on her shoulder before he lets go running his fingers through red hair in grief.

“And that’s a title I’d like to

keep

!” She shouts back. “You can’t just

kill people

Ronald! There are laws! Rules, regulations, and

procedures

that need to be followed!” She’s advancing on him now. “And if you EVER and I do mean

ever

put your hands on me like that again I will curse you out of this existence and straight into the next! Where do you store the audacity?!” Never wound a lion's pride. Especially not Hermione’s.
 
-
 
Ron backed up, angry Hermione was scarier than anything else he’d ever encountered, nodding meekly. “Sorry it’s just..she’s Bellatrix bloody Lestrange, who would care? You could behead her and people would celebrate in the streets!” 
 
Bellatrix scowled at that remark. That was uncalled for. 
 
“She deserves to suffer in prison with the rest of the lot of them, instead she’s going to be comfy here? Doesn’t make a lot of sense.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 
 
Unable to resist adding fuel to the fire Bellatrix just pipes up. “Too late for debating it Weasel, Minister can’t break this promise.” 
 
You know, just in case the meaning wasn’t crystal clear. Ron was dense after all.
 
-
 
Why? Why was he so incredibly stupid? Why did Hermione usually find that endearing? 
 
“There’s no order in that Ron.” Again with the annoyed whining. Why couldn’t he understand this? What was so difficult to understand. She’s more than aware no one would care. Many in fact would encourage it, celebrate even. “If I just kill her, then I’m not any better than she is.” Folding her arms tightly across her chest.
 
“You’re not even listening. I never said she wasn’t facing trial. I said the case you made is rubbish. She’s pleading guilty to war crimes.” Don’t make her get specific. “Debating the sense of the matter is pointless when it’s already done. She’ll never be able to

actually

reintegrate, she can’t use dark magic, can’t hurt you or Harry or I, can’t leave the country. I’d argue this is worse than Azkaban.”
 
Ron thinks this over.
 
No he didn’t like it but as Bellatrix had so kindly pointed out it was unbreakable and already done. 
 
“I s’pose for someone like her it would be.” He concedes. Hermione taking a breath to regain composure and turning to the center of their argument. “Was that just

everything

you hoped to hear?” Annoyed the witch had to be a witness to the argument.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just stared, listening to the two of them discuss but something about comparing a house arrest to Azkaban just made her cloud over, the change in her demeanor seemingly affecting even the lighting in the house.
 
"Worse than Azkaban?" She said slowly, in a terrifyingly low whisper, almost a snakelike hiss.
 
 "You think that a few limitations on my magic and movement is as bad or worse than a cell hardly two feet by two feet? Of solid stone so cold it burns to the touch?" She wanted to stop herself but anger was clouding her judgment. 
 
"Which of course you do touch, barefoot, or through the parchment thin gown. A cold that's nothing when a Dementor is breathing down your neck, emptying your head of any sound but of rats, scurrying in the dark, around your feet or the wind cutting through the stones. Day after day. No this isn't Azkaban, Azkaban is hell." She spits and walks off without a word, the chill was in her bones again.
 
-
 
Hermione shrinks back as the lights dim and flicker momentarily. If she had blinked she would have missed it. Fighting the urge to cover her ears from the hissing that even slithered its way into her dreams. Listening to Bellatrix describe the prison, as it once was, a strange sense of pride emerges. 
 
A bit from the fact that the seemingly invincible woman had skeletons in the closet she’d yet to overcome ( if she ever would ), just the same as the rest of them. Mostly thought it was due to the fact she

knew

Azkaban was different now. Different because she’d made it so over many difficult years. 
 
The wizarding world was far behind the muggle one, always. A fact that Hermione had struggled to adapt to when she won office the first time. Things were just done differently here. Though through no small feat she had made changes. Ones that mattered.
 
Freedom for house elves to have choices. Of course many were content in their work. Still working for Hogwarts, some still serving their families, but now they were always assured their freedom, their

choice.

New discrimination laws were put into place. Employers unable to discriminate against persons afflicted with lycanthropy. That one was for Remus. She’d thought of him fondly as she’d signed the law into existence.
 
So many wonderful things, so many positive changes, but currently crowning achievement, and most recent, was the Azkaban renovations. 
 
Dementors were used as strictly guards for the outside, not punishments. The cells were widened enough to provide each unit with a cot, and proper toilet and sink. It wasn’t frigged or rat infested any longer. The place truly looked anew. In Hermione’s mind one deserved the death sentence Azkaban had been. Not even Bellatrix Lestrange.
 
“Merlin, touched a nerve there did we?” Ron grumbles as Bella stalks away.
 
“She has some

big feelings

she just doesn’t know how to process quite yet.” Hermione coos, sickly sweet and false, loud enough to know she’ll be heard. 
 
“I don’t think poking the dragon is such a good idea Mione…” Ron warns, still not wholly convinced Bellatrix wouldn’t accept death it if meant getting her hands on Hermione at least one more time.
 
-
 
Bellatrix growls as she walks away having heard Hermione's comment.
 
Having been in hiding, she hadn't been kept up to date on Ministry policies and changes, which is why her stomach plummeted every time she caught a glimpse of someone she knew being reported of having been captured and sent to Azkaban. 
 
She was envisioning them back in that pit of hell, and was why she was more relieved than she'd ever admit that she could never be sent back. Her mind again jumps to wondering who was still alive and who the Dementors had done in. Was Rabastan? She follows the corridor to the back of the house, where it leads out to the backyard, perching on one of the steps and trying to fight the urge to set the potted plants beside her ablaze.
 
-
 
Rabastan Lestrange was in fact not still alive, but by no work of the ministry. He’d strung himself up in his cell days after apprehension. He hadn’t even gone to trial yet. Though Hermione doesn’t know to tell her because she still hasn’t asked. Hermione was a lot of things, a mind reader was not among them though.

With Bellatrix off taking a break somewhere Hermione drops her mask. Body trembling with too many emotions to process. “I don’t want her here.” She chokes out, turning to Ron who’s expression softens at the sight. “I don’t. I didn’t want to do it. It’s not fair.” Confidence crumbling as she’s given the space to be Hermione, not minister, not savior, only Hermione.
 
-
 
Ron nods, cautious not to get too close as his touch didn't seem to be helping. "Mione, its not too late. We can find somewhere else for her, she doesn't have to stay here with you." He tries, he could start to understand the tight spot he and Harry had put her in to make an agreement with her, but he just didn't understand why she had to stay here in Hermione's house!
 
"Ask Harry, I'm sure he'd give you Grimmauld Place for her, technically it would be her house anyway, y'know if Sirius hadn’t written in Harry instead."
 
-
 
Even years of therapy with a mind healer wasn’t enough to properly articulate why Hermione needed Bellatrix to be

here

and nowhere else.

Tears that had been patiently waiting to fall since she’d turned them off in her office flow freely down freckled cheeks. She wants him to come closer but appreciates his caution. It really was a coin toss whether she’d accept or reject his affections when she got like this. 
 
“She can’t. She just can’t, Ron, it has to be here.” Defeated, so incredibly defeated and broken down by the circumstances. By having to act unbothered the entirety of the day. 
 
She can’t verbalize how she feels. Not when she knows it makes no rational sense, and it frustrates her Ron can’t just understand it without saying. 
 
Having Bellatrix live with her was a sense of control. One desperately needed. With her living here under Hermione’s eye the former Gryffindor would feel safer. Far safer than her just being off free and wandering somewhere else.
 
“I’m scared Ron.” She hates that she says it, that she cries it, because again it’s irrational. She hates feeling things that go against facts, hates she can’t change them with logic or fact. And the fact of it was she was as safe as could be promised, the vow protecting her.
 
Ron cautiously approaches, hating seeing her like this. It brought him all the way back, helpless in the cellar. He hates that he couldn’t protect her and has now all but forced her into the deal she’d made. 
 
“S’alright Hermione, come here.” Her arms come up to wrap around his neck, the man always having been taller than her. He rubs her back as she cries, silent, into his shoulder just letting her work through it.
 
-

Ron couldn’t understand why it was Bellatrix had to stay here, it seemed like Hermione was punishing herself doing it, but then it was also something she had to do. He didn’t understand and he wasn’t going to keep trying to, instead just holding her while she cried. 
 
He was mad at Harry, countless times in Greece he’d said they ought to tell Hermione and each time Harry ignored it, said this was better. He wondered how different things would be if Harry had listened. 
 
Maybe Lestrange would be on her way to a cell in Azkaban for the rest of her life instead of moving in with his fiancée. What a cruel joke, her assailant moving in with her before he did.
 
“Have you eaten Mione?” He asked, trying to be helpful, knowing the brunette had a habit of skipping meals if paperwork or meetings got in the way.
 
-
 
Hermione shakes her head slightly. She hadn’t eaten at all. She’d had tea for breakfast, rushing into the office early because she today was supposed to be jam packed even before all of this.
 
She groans, a soft wounded sound, at the reminder of all the things she was supposed to do today but had to table for a later date. 
 
She didn’t care if Ron understood, just needed him to stop questioning it and it seems like he had. At least for the time. She’s livid at Harry. Doesn’t even want to see him. Refuses to acknowledge that his idea of keeping her out of the loop had nearly been the best option but fell extraordinarily short in execution. 
 
“Will you have dinner with me?” He asks, gently wiping at lingering tears as she turns her head to look up at him. 
 
“Yes.” She says softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and taking in the comforting scent of freshly mown grass, new parchment, spearmint toothpaste, and his hair. It had never changed.
 
Maybe this was just a way of punishing herself. Some sort of deeply rooted trauma response. To need to be in control of something, everything. Even if that something is very very dangerous. Maybe, but she can’t find it within herself to think about it or care. What was done is done. 
 
“I think there’s leftovers? We can heat them up..” She doesn’t want to be away from him right now and definitely doesn’t want the dark witch to get a fresh cooked meal.
 
-
 
Ron tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “I was actually thinking of using your telephone, having them bring something here?” Of all of the new Muggle things Ron had learned about the past two decades, food delivery was definitely one of his favourites. The muggles just brought anything you wanted right to your door! Chinese food had been a godsend when he’d discovered it. “I swear I won’t even ask for one of your spring rolls.” 
 
Now that was a true expression of his love, not asking for her food.
 
-
 
Hermione’s lips twitch upwards at the idea. Nodding again and standing on her toes to peck his lips. 
 
 “Will you order it?” It’s tiring being head of everything. Even the leader of their little trio. When she’s home, only on occasion, she lets Ron take the lead. Him, just happy to be in charge of something, even for just a moment, coming from a family of seven it was a rare luxury for him. That coupled with being able to ease things for his fiancée if only a little made a winning combination in his mind. 
 
“Of course, Mione. You go on and put the telly on.” Hermione wanders over. Sitting herself on the couch and curling up, pulling a pillow into her lap to fidget with, as she presses the power button and begins flipping through the channels for something to watch.
 
-
 
Ron finds the number on the wall and punches it into the keypad, placing their order and giving the address for delivery before hanging up the phone and going to sit with Hermione. 
 
“Said it’ll be about twenty minutes, paid with my card so it’s done.” He put an arm around her watching the channels flip. Television, another fantastic Muggle invention, he still remembers his father watching his first football game with Mr Granger on it.
 
-

“Thank you.” She mumbles, moving to lay her head on his chest, his fingers gently caressing her side. She’s not really even paying attention to the tv. Sort of stuck in just pressing the channel up button every few seconds so Ron gently takes the remote from her.  A few more clicks and he’s settled on a sitcom. 
 
“Talk to me ‘Mione.” He pleads, pressing a kiss into her hair. Hermione merely shakes her head, continuing staring ahead at the tv. 
 
“Alright, that’s s’lright.” Ron assures, glancing toward the sliding doors that lead to the deck. He’s only just barely able to see black curls. Good. He thinks. Let her rot out there. “You’re alright, I’ve got you.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix was laying almost flat on her back, staring up at the setting sun. Even nights in Athens had been too warm to spend too much time outside and a part of her had missed the cold English nights. There were even some dark clouds coming in, perhaps it would storm.
 
Away from the two of them, she thought about what her situation truly was, rereading the contract she’d signed in her head over and over, picking apart words and phrases and analyzing their meanings until she had a full picture.
 
She hadn’t overthought it earlier, but now she could go over everything meticulously to her satisfaction. 
 
Bellatrix’ musings were interrupted by a sudden bright set of lights from the front of the house and she sat up, a knock sounding at the door. 
 
“That’ll be the food. Wait here.” Ron said, getting up to retrieve it.
 
-
 
 Hermione stands, stretching her arms over her head which causes her blouse to untuck from her skirt. Merlin, she hadn’t even changed out of her work clothes. She wanders off to the bedroom to remedy that as Ron grabs the food. 
 
“Thank you.” Ron says after tipping, his eyes lingering on the delivery vehicle for a while longer. He hopes Hermione will let him have one when they live together. Though after second year it was unlikely.
 
Ron comes back inside and sets the table as Hermione wanders back out in grey sweatpants and one of Ron’s Weird Sisters concert tees, her hair unclipped from its bun brown curls flowing down her back. 
 
“She’ll need to come inside soon.” She comments.
 
“Just leave her Mione, let’s enjoy dinner.” Ron tries but Hermione smiles very faintly. 
 
“No, I mean she won’t be able to stay out there much longer. She has a curfew, her chest will start to hurt.” That’s amusing to her, though only mildly. Still coming out of her mind fog.
 
-
 
“Her chest?” Ron questions, taking containers of food out of the bags and snorting to himself about the idea that Bellatrix Lestrange has a curfew. 
 
“Alright, so uh..where is she going? House isn’t exactly death eater proof or room for guests.” He eyes the food, he wasn’t sharing his dinner with her either. He was sure there was some crust of bread she could have instead. 
 
Bellatrix watched the sun start to sink over the horizon, feeling that tightness return. What? But she wasn’t doing anything against the Vow!
 
-
 
“It’ll feel like someone’s holding her heart in their hands and squeezing with all their might.” Hermione explains, about to take her seat next to him when she realizes she should probably at least mention dinner was on the table. 
 
She opens the sliding doors to find the witch sprawled out on her deck as if she owned the place. 
 
“Dinner is on the table.” Her voice is void of any specific emotion, going to turn back. “Oh, and you should probably get inside before curfew.” She throws over her shoulder. Leaving the doors open and taking her spot next to Ron. A made plate waiting for her. He could be so thoughtful when he wanted to be.
 
-
 
Curfew? Bellatrix’ mind is spinning back through that contract. A damn curfew to just

be

outside? Her jaw set and she stubbornly didn’t move.
 
She could smell something from inside, but it didn’t smell like anything she recognized, even if her stomach was growling from only having a singular peach. The tightness increased the darker it got, leaving her gasping for breath until she more or less hauled herself in the door, leaning against the wall as the pain subsided.
 
-
 
The curfew is only temporary for Merlin’s sake. Although maybe Hermione will keep it if it annoys the woman this badly. 
 
“Well, glad you finally decided to join us.” Hermione says through a bite of noodles, not even turning around to acknowledge the woman. “I made you a plate if you’re interested. Be grateful, Ron wanted you to pick from the garbage.”
 
-
 
Ron grumbled, buying takeout for the dark witch had not been in his plans today. He kept his comments to himself, stuffing a chicken ball in his mouth instead. 
 
Bellatrix stood up and stared at the food and grimaced at the grease seeming to leak from the odd containers it was in. “What is that?” She wrinkles her nose, were they certain this wasn’t the rubbish? Was she meant to sit next to him?
 
-
 
“Chinese food.” Hermione answers still not looking her way, but knows from the disgust in her voice the woman is none too pleased with their dinner selection. That makes her feel a little better. 
 
“Well sit down then, it’s getting cold.” She flicks her wrist to close and lock the back door.
 
-
 
Bellatrix was still trying to determine exactly what food this was, being told its Chinese was less than descriptive. 
 
“I’ll just take my dinner in the parlour, thank you.” She picks up the plate, pokes a shriveled piece of beef with her finger and walks off to find elsewhere to eat, she refused to sit at the table with them like some fucked up family dinner.
 
-
 
What, was she expecting a proper explanation? Neither of them wanted to talk to her more than they had to. She snickers softly to herself. Parlor? Did she mean living room? This was her manor. 
 
Grateful to not have to endure the dark witch’s company, Hermione talks to Ron about work.

Him being a good sport and nodding along though most of it goes right over his head, and Ron tells her about Athens. Saying they need to visit not on the Ministry’s dime and explaining everything leading up to the woman’s arrest. 
 
“So I’m unsure who she was exactly. Harrison didn’t say. She was pretty young though. Name was Athena or something similar, but a big help nonetheless.” Ron said, tucking into his third helping of chicken. 
 
“I’d ask you to stay but I don’t think our guest would appreciate it much.” Hermione hums, pecking her fiancé’s lips before finally beginning to clear the table.
 
-
 
Having not been able to locate a parlour, Bellatrix opted for the library as the next best thing, finding a place away from the door and beginning to nibble and pick at the things on her plate, finding the vegetables weren’t bad, if a bit overly salty. 
 
Ron nodded, he didn’t particularly love the idea of leaving Hermione alone with the woman but at least he knew she couldn’t hurt her without consequences.
 
-
 
“I’m going to be alright.” She promises, grabbing his coat from the closet for him. If she’s honest she doesn’t ask him to stay because she needs to have the time to decompress on her own. Maybe a hot bath in the en-suite. She can’t imagine the raven haired witch seeking her out for anything after he’s gone anyway. 
 
A rather drawn out goodbye later and she’s locking the door behind him. Exhaling softly as she looks around with no sign of the witch. Ah, well she couldn’t have gone far.
 
-
 
Her plate more or less cleaned off, except for those awful white string bean things, she begins wandering the shelves, scanning spines of books and feeling a little pang for her own little library left abandoned in Athens after spending so many years building it up.
 
There were leather bound tomes on Wizarding law, policies, and books on mind healing (whatever that might be), but she kept looking for something of interest to her, coming across a new edition of a book of wandless spells. Excellent.
 
-
 
Hermione wanders back into her bedroom. Shaking out her curls, sore from the tight bun they’d been in all day, with her fingers as she goes. She lovingly pats her plush tabby cat, sat neatly on top her neatly made bed as he always was, on her way into the bathroom. The witch turns on the water, waiting for it to warm before putting the plug in and setting to undressing herself.  
 
She allows her mind to wander, not staying in one particular place too long. From papers left unfiled atop her desk, to the meeting with Clara scheduled later in the week, to reminding herself to remember where she’s set aside Bellatrix’ wand until the trail, to that damned dagger still in her desk. 
 
She freezes at the thought, only relaxing to remember she hadn’t told Bellatrix she has that and she never intends to. The contract included the wand. It says nothing about that horrible piece of silver.
 
-
 
Reading through the book, Bellatrix began practicing the spells, repeating the hand movement and whispering the incantations under her breath over and over until she successfully casts it once.
 
She wasn’t sure when she would receive her wand back and she wanted to be able to have a stronger arsenal of wandless ones, it was helpful to be able to cast without fumbling for a wand.
 
She winced when one attempt at creating a gust of air, knocked a shelf of books down instead with a loud thud.
 
-
 
 Hermione nearly startled out of her skin, having just sunk into the warm water and lavender scented bubbles when the loud crashing from upstairs made her shriek. Oh this was going to be hell. 
 
Speaking of that wand, it's currently tucked into the end table in the living room. The only thing keeping her from an instantaneous death is that she’s not keeping it from the witch forever. She’ll receive it after the trial as agreed. 
 
Hermione decidedly doesn’t investigate the noise, choosing to attempt to relax further and enjoy her bath while the water was still warm.
 
-
 
Bellatrix paused, half expecting the Minister to run in and lecture her like a child, the red haired one certainly had but no sounds followed so she simply performed a quick charm to put things back in their place and stood up, wandering over to the large window to look out. Her eyes searched for the star,

her

star even though she knew Orion wasn’t typically seen in the sky at this time of year. 
 
Her mind drifted to Draco, thinking about the way he’d looked at her earlier and hoped he hadn’t gone and told Cissy and Lucius that he’d seen her. She wasn’t ready to see Cissy yet, and she doubted her sister had any interest in seeing her alive again.

‘Bella please! You have to see this for what it is! The dark lord is punishing Lucius’ failure by using Draco!’

‘You should be honoured he’s favouring your family Cissy, Draco should be too. He’s earned his place. Perhaps Draco can succeed where Lucius failed’

‘He’s being set up to fail Bella! He’s just a boy, the dark lord cannot possibly think-‘

‘Do not question the dark lord’s decisions Cissy!’

Her mind clouded, they had been so close. If her sister had just listened, hadn’t worried so much about Draco. They’d have won.

‘The boy…is he dead?’

‘Yes he is dead!’

Her sister had lied.
 
-
 
Hermione’s dozing, basking cat-like languid in the dimmed overhead lights and warm soapy water. Though despite her best attempt at shoving

those

thoughts aside she startles. Brushing near frantic at her arms and face. Attempting to swipe away pieces of broken glass that have long since been removed. Flinching from the anticipated sting of cuts from a broken chandelier healed decades ago. 
 
With that quite rude interruption Hermione decides to stand. The few remaining bubbles cling to her matured figure and she tugs at the plug before stepping out. Towel tucked and secured she wanders back into the bedroom and redressed in a striped night set. 
 
The house is far too quiet when she knows there’s a sadistic witch lurking within. She opens her closet to pull an extra pillow and blanket, then sets off to find said sadist.
 
-
 
Said sadist was calmly perched on the window seat, gazing out at the sky and letting floods of memories wash over her. 
 
The memories felt different being in England, being

Bellatrix

and not Madeline or Elsa or any of the other names she’d gone by in the past nineteen years. To reclaim her identity was something she’d never even considered.
 
She did wish she’d worn a different dress, or thought to carry an extra on her person. Perhaps the brunette had an owl and she could send for some?
 
-
 
Hermione clears her throat from the doorway, a questioning brow raised.

Bellatrix Lestrange star gazing in the window of her library? Odd sight. The most irrational sense of jealousy she’d ever experienced popping up and disappearing just as quick. 
 
Astronomy was one her escapes, she doesn’t want to share.
 
“Am I interrupting something?” It’s not a question for the woman to answer. She doesn’t really care.
 
“Here. If you want something more comfortable to sleep in, I can find something I don’t mind burning afterwards.” Merlin, she doesn’t even like her own tone.
 
-
 
The ‘ahem’ pulled Bellatrix from her thoughts, she honestly hadn’t expected to see the woman the rest of the evening. 
 
She stands and retrieves the pillow and blanket, mumbling a ‘thanks’ and ignoring the comment completely about something she could burn after. 
 
“I’d rather sleep in just my knickers before I ‘borrow’ anything of yours.” She looked at the dress she wore, wondering if a bit of transfiguration could make it more suitable.
 
-
 
Hermione’s nose scrunches at the comment. She’d like to curse whichever god thought giving humans visualization was a good idea. 
 
“Don’t.” Doesn’t want to comment, knowing it’s nothing but a comment to express annoyance, but the idea of it is horrifying.
 
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.” Not a smooth save but it’s what she finishes with. “The couch pulls out if you’ve any intention of sleeping this evening.”
 
-
 
Rapid blinking. What in Merlin’s name did that mean? The couch pulls out? Pulls out of where the wall? The dark witch wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
 
“Well let’s see, given the two wonderful options for accommodation I think I’ll stay here, you’ve lots of books for me to read.” Sleep wasn’t likely to happen at all, the Vow might prevent her from hurting Hermione but there was nothing to prevent Hermione attacking her. She’d stay awake, she hardly slept anymore now anyway.
 
-
 
Hermione blinks back. “You..take the cushions off and pull…you know what nevermind.” She forgets just how sheltered purebloods can be sometimes. 
 
Well that makes two of them. Vow or not she didn’t trust the woman as far as she could be thrown. Which wasn’t far, by Hermione anyway.
 
“To each their own I suppose.” She doesn’t like that Bellatrix has taken up residency in her library. Those are

her

books. Her eyes flick to the side table by an armchair. The book on wandless spells staring back at her. So that’s what that loud bang has been.
 
“You’re absolutely insufferable.“ Is her only passing comment as she walks back out the door and down the stairs.
 
-
 
Now that comment just made no sense, Bellatrix wasn’t doing anything! She wasn’t even bothering the witch, content to just sit in the library and read until her trial. 
 
“Nice Pajamas Granger, very Azkaban inmate chic!” She calls back, a little ruffled about being called insufferable for no good reason and returning to the window to stare at the stars again.
 
-
 
“Up yours!” Hermione yells back up the stairs, surprised at the reaction an insignificant comment could provoke. The woman just pushed all the Minister’s buttons without even having to really try. 
 
Back into her bedroom she opens the drawer of her nightstand, grabbing the nearly empty potion bottle that had slid out of its place.

Put it back, close the drawer, and try again.

A small voice in the back of her head hisses and she has to work very hard to decidedly ignore it. Instead she uncorks the top and downs the remainder. A mild sleeping draught mixed with something to keep night terrors at bay. As well as a little something else of her own invention.
 
She no longer needed it nightly, but knew without a doubt tonight would be the exception. With a very busy few days before the trial Hermione needed as much rest as allowed.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just laughed at getting such a visceral reaction like that, such a mouth for the Minister of Magic towards the fugitive she decided to house!

Feeling herself starting to doze, she sat up and out of pure habit reached into the pocket of her dress, eyes wide.

Shit.

She had a few different potions and draughts she had been consuming, combinations to keep her awake or make her sleep, calming draughts amongst other things and only now was she realizing she had none of them. Her stores she’d carefully brewed and aged sitting in the cupboard in Athens.

Slipping off her loud boots, she wandered from the library down the hall, wondering just where Hermione might keep a cauldron and potion ingredients.
 
-
 
If she thinks the Minister of Magic has any time in her days to brew all of her own potions any longer the witch was wrong. Very wrong.

Though the potions she keeps on hand are in the medicine cabinet of the bathroom. The master bathroom.

Hermione brushes off her bed, a habit developed from owning Crookshanks and not yet gone as he’d only been passed less than a year now, and climbs onto the mattress.

Her fingers curl around a leg (the front right one, as always) of her well loved stuffed cat as she settles in. Taking some time before she’ll turn off the lights, time to count her breaths, and try to make her heart stop racing a million miles a minute.
 
-
 
Bellatrix wandered the upstairs floor, opening doors and cabinets and cursing under her breath each time neither led her to a cauldron or anything useful until she’d exhausted all the usual places for a cauldron.

“What kind of witch doesn’t have a basic potion set up?” She muttered out loud, descending down the stairs, trying not to make the steps creak. She didn’t want to have to explain what it was she was doing.

Perhaps the kitchen!
 
-
 
The muggleborn that is too busy running the wizarding world to babysit finicky potions kind of witch. She owns a cauldron. It’s under the sink, but her stash of ingredients is sparse and what is there is probably no longer any good.

Hermione hears the witch clattering around somewhere outside her door. Opening and closing cabinets for Merlin knows why.

“Go to sleep Bellatrix!” She yells out annoyedly. Merlin she sounds like her mother.
 
-
 
Ignoring the direction to go to sleep, Bellatrix wanders back into the kitchen, finding the cauldron but last she checked boomslang skin and doxy eggs weren’t meant to be powdered.
 
“For the love of-“ 
 
After opening and shutting cabinets and drawers in the living room and coming up empty still, she remembers one place that had to have something.

She sits and waits, silently for an hour, until it sounds as if Hermione’s breath has evened out and she slips into the bedroom silently, moving slowly, blending into the shadows on the wall, pausing between steps to strain her ears for any sound or change in the breathing pattern. This routine was familiar to her, she’d perfected it over the hundreds of times she had broken into various places to steal one object or another.

After what feels like hours, she finally has made her way across the room and she opens the bathroom door. She locates the cabinet above the sink, wincing as the door squeaks ever so slightly on its hinges, her eyes scanning the labels on the bottles in the dark.
 
-
 
Hermione stirs as in her sleep with whatever dream she is having, but doesn’t wake. Everyone she knew had turned into featherlight sleepers post war but Bellatrix’ footsteps fell so silently on the hardwood. They go unnoticed.

The creak of the door however? Not so much and instantly the brunette is bold upright in her bed, one hand coming up to swipe sleep from her eyes the other grabbing her wand from her nightstand.

Tired eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, her pulse quickening to see her bedroom door is open. She didn’t do that. She never does that.

Lock it three times next time so you’re actually sure!

That say hissing voice back again in her thoughts and she stands from her bed.

“Revelio.” Pointing her wand outwards but nothing happens. Her ears perk to the sound of rummaging behind her and her heart nearly stops beating entirely.
 
Only one place left to check. With only the slightest bit of hesitation, Hermione turns towards the bathroom. Nearly leaping out of her skin to see the dark witch rummaging through her cabinet.

“

Jesus Christ!”

-
 
Bellatrix had picked up a bottle, squinting at the label and dropping it to the sink at Hermione’s sudden shout with a loud clatter. Spinning on her heel and staring open mouthed, half hidden in the dark, the moonlight highlighting her silhouette behind her. 
 
“I thought you were asleep.” She states as if that somehow was a proper explanation for her being there in the first place.
 
Her hand reached for the potion bottle in the sink slowly, she was almost certain this is what she was looking for, she’d just slip it into her pocket..
 
-
 
“And you’re meant to be breaking into my bedroom to rummage around my personals when I’m asleep?!” The Gryffindor is seething through the paralyzing fear she’d just experienced. She thought Bellatrix was going to murder her!

Her eyes flicker to the potion bottle that’s not-so-stealthily being pulled from the sink. Her hardened eyes softening ever so slightly at the realization. Oh..she hadn’t even thought to offer it.

“You should have asked. I wouldn’t deny someone that.” Leaning against the doorframe separating the bathroom and her bedroom.

“Just take it.”
 
-
 
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.” Bellatrix mumbled, feeling her cheeks heat unpleasantly to have Hermione know she needed such things. Needed them to the degree she had resorted to searching the house.

At the permission, her hands closed around the bottle and shoved it into her pocket, nodding in acknowledgement.

“I would have brewed it myself but your ingredients have disintegrated.” She wanted to leave now, but Hermione was in the only exit other than the window.
 
-
 
Brown eyes look the witch over, as if examining for something or the other. She’s shorter than Hermione remembers. Though that could be due in part to growing on Hermione’s own part. She also supposed when one’s most prominent memory of another is them atop your hips, they seem much larger.

“Everyone takes potions, you’re nothing special, Lestrange.” Is her eventual response, straightening up off the door frame and turning to climb back into bed, quickly shoving the plush tabby cat under a pillow.
 
-
 
Well having left her boots in the library to try to wander around quietly, Bellatrix had lost about three inches. She could feel the cold tile floor through the stockings she was wearing.

Something about being told she was ‘nothing special’ made her bristle and she straightened her posture and her gaze hardened, her jaw set. “Well in that case, goodnight Minister.”

Without another word she swept from the room, her hand in her pocket, clutching to the bottle. She didn’t know if it was even the right one but at this point she didn’t care.
 
-
 
Hermione half snorts half scoffs as the woman strides out of the room with all the pride of a scorned Slytherin. How very third year Draco of her.

This witch had insecurities piling up by the minute. Hermione thinks it’d do her well to see a mind healer, so she adds it to her mental list of to-dos. Laying her head down on one of her pillows she grumbles. “You’re welcome.” Having the final, quite rude, passing thought of hoping the dark witch had grabbed the wrong one before passing out.
 
-
 
Bellatrix took the stairs two at a time, not pausing until she was back in the library, wandering to the window where the moon gave off enough light she could properly read the label and groaning. Sleep potion.

Perhaps rest wouldn’t be such an awful thing, the day had been exhausting and she had a feeling the days leading to her trial trapped in this house would be too.

She knew exactly one protective charm she could do wandless on the door, it wasn’t much but it was better than nothing if she was to be under the affects of a sleeping draught until morning.

With the door charmed, she grabbed the pillow and blanket, and curled up in the window seat, sipping from the potion and recorking it. Hardly counting back from 10 before it knocked her out. The brief thought in her mind of

‘I hope I see the morning.’

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next few days are grueling for Hermione. Meetings with the Education Department to ensure a smooth school year. Hogwarts could finally

actually

be called one of the safest places in the Wizarding World, now.
 
Ungodly amounts of paperwork are written up and filed to prepare for the trial.
 
Meetings are held after working hours to ensure Luna felt comfortable with what was coming.
 
Talks with Clara, and Harry, and Ron about an unusually high number of reported sightings of wanted wizards, which always happened after an arrest, take place. 
 
All while having to, at the end of the day, go back home to the most annoying creature Merlin had ever given a voice to. 
 
Today though, Hermione was up even earlier than usual. Early enough to be pounding on the library door even before the sun had even had a chance to rise.
 
“We’re going to be late. Wake up, take a shower, we leave in twenty minutes.” She’s not asking, she’s giving firm clear directions.
 
-
 
Despite the horrors she’d endured, Luna was still..well Luna. Surprised when Hermione met with her to tell her Bellatrix wished to apologize in person and Luna showing more kindness and understanding than the witch deserved.

‘It’s kind of her to apologize, Hermione. It must have been difficult for her then, Voldemort yelled at her a lot, cursed her sometimes. I could hear it from the cellar. I don’t think she had a choice sometimes’

If Hermione thought Bellatrix wasn’t already awake, she was mistaken. Bellatrix’ fingers traced over her right arm, as if she could see the lines of the Vow there, reminding herself she couldn’t be imprisoned. This trial

couldn’t

end like the last one had. Hermione would die if that was the outcome. Not being sentenced to Azkaban had been nonnegotiable.

She’d be alone on the stand today, but even so she needed to be as strong as she was when it was the four of them. Not let them see her crumble, pretend to want to be there, to accept the Ministry’s

help

.

Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t been told anything of the trial, not what was to be said or asked, just that she was to plead guilty. And not to wear black, Hermione had been clear about that. She needed to appear non-threatening. There would be people in the stands and on the Wizengamot that had seen her at the Battle and she needed to look different from that witch and earn their favour. Appear remorseful of her crimes.
 
-
 
Hermione hadn’t expected a different reaction from Luna in the slightest. Though she absolutely did not appreciate the insinuation that the death eater had no choice. Draco, he had no choice. Bellatrix was a willing participant until the very end. Those thoughts of course kept to herself around Luna, as voicing them would lead nowhere but a headache for the Minister.

She’d also been drafting and scrapping, and redrafting a statement for the press. The news, of course, had leaked to the Prophet and as Minister it was her duty to quell the panic brewing among the masses.

Hermione bangs against the door again. “Awake. Downstairs. Breakfast. Shower. Twenty minutes ready or not.” She’d gotten quite testy in just the last few days, the fact she can’t seem to remedy it on her own only makes her feel worse and therefore more irritable.

Back down the stairs she brews coffee. Unusual for the avid tea drinker but necessary for the day ahead.
 
-
 
“Keep your knickers on!” Comes the equally irritated reply from the dark haired witch, casting her hand and opening the door so hard it nearly flew off the hinges before descending down the stairs to the kitchen.

Standing inside the doorway, she gestures dramatically to herself, already clean, hair neat as her curls permitted and dressed in the outfit chosen for her; a peach coloured dress, collar high enough to cover her neck tattoos and not a leather corset in sight, though she had torn the sleeves up the middle with a knife in the kitchen and relaced them in her signature look with some bits of ribbon she’d found.

“Satisfied?” She asks, adjusting the hem of her dress.
 
-
 
Hermione glances up from behind her first cup of coffee and nearly snorts it out her nose. Merlin. That colour was atrocious on her, the peach not nearly contrasting enough against alabaster skin. She looked washed out. And overly feminine, but not in her usual way.

“Well don’t you just look darling.” Hermione coos. Yes she looked even better than Hermione had hoped. Not threatening in any form, save from the irritated look the woman was wearing but Hermione couldn’t take that away unfortunately.

“There’s sausage from yesterday in the fridge if you’re hungry. If not, I've made coffee. Those are the options.” She herself wasn’t going to be eating breakfast, something Ron could yell at her for later no doubt but she couldn’t stomach anything solid.
 
-
 
Bellatrix huffed and tugged at the collar, it was far too tight and uncomfortable! The lace edging was itchy against her skin and this colour was awful! She had half a mind to spill coffee on it so she couldn’t wear it or be seen and photographed looking so much like a bad porcelain doll.

Bella’s own stomach was doing flips and although the idea of sausage sounded good,  she didn’t trust even water to stay down at the moment.

She’d suggested purple, midnight blue, emerald green and even gold but this peach atrocity was what had been given. At least changing the sleeves made her feel a bit more like herself. It was a small victory and she’d resigned to burning the ugly thing the first chance she had.

“I warned you this colour wouldn’t work.” She grumbled and rolled her eyes.
 
-
 
“And you were very much correct.” Is chuckled into her coffee as she sips. The stinging heat on her tongue is just about the only thing keeping the Minister grounded.

“It’s too late to change it.” Not that she was going to let that happen. She was highly amused by the woman looking like an ugly doll. “We’re going to be late.” Late to being early but that’s all the same to Hermione.

“We’re using the phone booth.” Floo would ruin both of their hair. Hermione’s slicked back, as best as curls could be, and pulled into her usual tight bun.
 
-
 
“Last I checked a simple transfiguration charm didn’t take long.” Bellatrix quipped, even just darkening the shade a bit to be tangerine instead would be an improvement but as she still was without a wand, she couldn’t perform the charm herself.

“Oh the visitor’s entrance? Best avoid the press then, they’ll have been lined up there since midnight.” She’d caught glimpses of the Prophet headlines circling the past few days, her capture and trial was the most significant development in years, half of the UK wanted to witness her sentencing.
 
-
 
Hermione bristles at the reminder the world is watching. Shoulders straightening just as they do before an important meeting or conference. Mind snapping sharp as she slips into Minister Granger instead of just Mione. Or just Granger as Bellatrix had been calling her. The sound of momentarily roaring flames in the den has her abandoning her cup in favour of greeting who she knew to be coming in via floo.

“Good morning Clara.” Hermione smiles as the brunette nods her head in greeting. “Morning Minister. Is she ready?” Her hazel eyes flickering towards the kitchen.

“As she’ll ever be, I'm certain.” Hermione nods, anxiety bubbling in her gut. “She’s in the kitchen, iron cuffs please, there will be people watching.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix was fussing with her hair in the reflection of the microwave, she refused to look even half as disheveled as she had the prior times her picture had made the Prophet. Her fingers lovingly brushing against the faded mark peeking through the laces of her sleeves.

Clara nodded in understanding, pulling the cuffs from her bag. “Of course Minister, everything will be done with proper protocol.”

She knew how important it was that everything was followed to the letter today, while the Prophet knew she had a trial, the details of what was to occur had been kept confidential within the Ministry and the Auror team had been debriefed on the possibility of riots or even attempts on Bellatrix’ life following the sentencing.
 
-
 
None of the aurors had been thrilled. Whispers floating around that the Minister was trying a touch too hard with this latest course of action. No one wanted to be the one to stupefy completely innocent and rightfully outraged citizens in favour of protecting the infamous witch, but it was what came with the job.

Clara gives Hermione’s shoulder a squeeze of reassurance as she passes through to the kitchen.

“Arms in front of you.” She instructs, careful not to just grab the witch this time. Everything needed to go exactly as Hermione had it in her head, the auror knew that without having to be told. She also sure as hell wasn’t going to be the reason this second case was tossed in the rubbish bin.

Mione waits by the door peering out the window and unsurprisingly seeing reporters camped across the way.
 
-
 
Hearing Clara’s voice, Bellatrix too slipped into her usual demeanour, turning to face her with a smirk.

“Why is it everytime we meet, you’re binding me? I’m going to start to wonder if you fancy me.” She said but held her wrists out all the same, she really wasn’t surprised they were cuffing her again. She briefly wonders if she’ll be chained to the chair again or not in the trial room.

“Do hurry up, I hear the Minister doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” She adds as Clara fastens the cuffs around her wrists.
 
-
 
“Do you ever stop talking?” Clara asks rhetorically with the roll of her eyes, gently tugging on the short chain between the cuffs.

“Come on then. Don’t need the scene you’re going to cause make us late.” Leading the witch to the front door the auror looks briefly hesitant. “Are you sure you don’t want more than just me, Minister? I just feel as though-'' Stopping short as Hermione shakes her head.

“Unless you’re uncomfortable just being you Clara I’m more than alright as things are. I don’t want people believing it takes an army to control her.” With that she’s pushing open her front door, camped out press members jumping to their feet and grabbing for their cameras.
 
-
 
Bellatrix followed behind the Auror, her head held high. “I can’t help if my presence gets everyone excited now can I?” She said, standing at the door while they discussed.

If she tried she could probably take the Auror out half a dozen ways but she was giving a show of cooperation and willingly going to trial, not being dragged in.

Once out the door, the trio were nearly blinded from the flash of cameras, journalists shouting questions at Hermione and Clara. 'Minister Granger is it true the Greek Aurors knew she was there?’ ‘Can you confirm or deny that Lestrange’s wand is still in one piece?’ ‘Has the Ministry reinforced her jail cell?’

Clara took the lead. “The Ministry of Magic will have no comments pertaining to this case and trial until the Wizengamot has provided sentencing.”
 
-
 
Hermione had been planning on just ignoring the questions. She was used to the limelight being ‘The Golden Girl’ and all. Merlin, she hated that title. She intended to just keep walking silently as they made their way to the red phone booth.

But when Clara cuts them off, her sharp words leaving no room for argument or comment, Hermione feels her heart skip a beat and she smiles to herself.

Just because they won’t get answers from Hermione or Clara doesn’t mean they don’t try from Bellatrix.

’Madam Lestrange what was it like for you, hiding out for nearly two decades?’

‘How does it feel knowing the entire world thought you to be dead?’

‘Have you been in contact with your sister, yet? How does Narcissa feel about this whole situation?’

The last question startles Hermione, though she doesn’t show it. Putting her head down and walking faster towards the entrance.

“Inside.” Clara instructs Bellatrix, opening the door to the phone booth.
 
-
 
Bellatrix ignored the questions, most of them were nonsense anyway, how did she feel everyone thought her dead? That she’d succeeded at faking her death and going into hiding of course!

The fact no one knew until a few days ago she was alive was proof of how clever she’d been at hiding under everyone’s noses. She was proud of it.

The question about her sister nearly stopped her in her tracks, a sharp retort on her tongue but she bit it back. No shows of anger today, the Wizengamot could still change their minds.

Opting instead to flash grins and other proud poses for the cameras, until she stepped into the phone booth. “Cozy in here.”
 
-
 
Hermione hurriedly dials the number, though Clara had taken the spot between Bellatrix and Hermione, not wanting to be in the claustrophobic space any longer than necessary. Pressing the last ‘2’ on the keypad they were instantly transported inside.
 
-
 
The cameras continue flashing even as the box disappears beneath the ground and leads them inside the Ministry, a few other members of the press waiting inside as well, those granted a seat at the trial itself.
 
-
 
Stepping out of the all too cramped booth Hermione smooths her pantsuit briefly before nodding to Clara who again grabs the chain of the cuffs and pulls.

The way down to the courtroom felt eternal. All eyes on the trio and Hermione feels as though she can’t breathe. Sometimes she feels as though she’s tricked them all, and didn’t deserve the authority she held. Though the mounting pressure only causes her to lift her head higher and appear more in charge than she feels.

Hermione splits off from Clara and Bellatrix without a word. Clara walking the woman down to the singular chair in the middle of the room. She feeds one of the links through a small lock on one of the arms and clicks it secure. “Tug.” She instructs, a woman of very few words to the dark witch as anyone else with a brain would be. Though it isn’t out of fear. Clara never fears.
 
-
 
The minute they enter the courtroom, Bellatrix sees the chair and her pulse quickens, trying to not let any of her reaction show through on her face, if she imagined hard enough she could see Rabastan, Rodolphus and Barty in the matching chairs. Recall her last words she’d uttered here before being hauled off.

"The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"

There would be no such proclaimations today, though her heart aches for the three wizards not here with her. The knowledge that two of the three are dead only adds to the pain. With only a faint tremble to signify anything happening in her head, she sits and allows the Auror to secure her to it, pulling on the restraints when instructed and finding they held strong.

Only after the Auror walks off, does she dare lift her eyes to scan the courtroom, all eyes on her, some of terror, some looking satisfied and others looked like they were trying to make her explode through their stares alone. As she had years before,, she simply held her head higher. Commanding the chair as her throne.
 
-
 
Clara is very good at her job, and part of said job is interrogation which includes an incredible ability to read body language for signs of discomfort in a suspect.

She catches that tremor, and capitalizes on it, adjusting something insignificant to buy her a moment to lean close to the other witch’s face.

“Scared, Lestrange?” She purrs a rather unnerving grin spreading across typically unaffected features.

“You should be. I reckon if the Wizengamot goes against the Minister’s wishes and sentences you to life away, she hasn’t broken the vow they have.” Clara doesn’t know if what she’s saying is true, but it sounds convincing enough as she stands upright.

One final check to the bindings securing the woman’s wrist in front of her and she’s gone into the wings, just in case something goes wrong.

Hermione settles in her proper seat. Staring out at nothing in particular until she hears the most relieving voice grumbling ‘ ‘cuse me.’ And ‘Sorry about that.’ Ron.

With a grateful exhale she feels herself settle slightly as the Head Auror clears his throat and begins to read the case. The now silent room only filled with his voice and the clicking typewriter of a minute taker beside him capturing his every word as he lists out the charges.

“—And the torture of one Hermione Jean Granger—” The collective let out an alarmed gasp. Whispers erupt but quickly silenced.

“How does the defendant plead?” It felt like the entire world came to a standstill, the whole of the room leaning in to hear what the dark witch would say.
 
-
 
Bellatrix sat and listened to the boring proceedings, introductions, overview of the case at hand and finally listing off the charges against her; arson, murder of Auror Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin, murder of freed House Elf Dobby (she tried not to laugh at that one), torture of Garrick Ollivander, Griphook and Luna Lovegood, destruction of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Diagon Alley and Hagrid’s place of residence and of course..torture of Hermione Granger. That one seemed to surprise those in attendance the most.

Their Minister had been tortured? By

Bellatrix

?

She sat, pausing and feigning contemplation of the question before clearly replying. “Guilty on all counts.” Fighting the urge to grin as she spoke.
 
-
 
The man nods soundly, not letting the look of surprise overtake him. He hadn’t truly believed the woman would plead guilty. Then again he as most others were unaware of the vow.

“Very well. Now, in accordance with your plea you are to give an account of what happened on that night, May the first, 1998, in Malfoy Manor.”

People were still whispering and he had to call order once again.

Hermione’s torture was a secret kept under lock and key. Her scar never seen in her rise to the top nor any of her days in office. She previously hadn’t been able to cope with the thought of anyone looking at her even slightly differently due to it. So promises were made among friends, not unbreakable ones as they weren’t needed, to keep that bit of the skirmish quiet.

Now with her assailant quite literally back from the dead she needed the word to know. To have that piece of justice for herself. To also ensure Bellatrix was held accountable for it, if nothing else, in her reintegration to society.
 
-
 
Bellatrix knew she had to recount the events, Hermione had told her as much but until this moment, she had been unaware that the torture had not been public knowledge.

People were on the edge of their seats, gaze flicking rapidly between the bound witch on the floor and their Minister, whom they had just learned was tortured by said woman. The idea that Hermione had had to throw herself into the flames, to make the deal with her was just a bonus she hadn’t realized she’d received.

Straightening in her chair she took a moment to find the best starting place to recount the events. “The three of them; Potter, Weasley and Granger had been brought in by the Snatchers, Sebastian Scabior was all but certain it was them. Even though they were using aliases.” She began.

“Only, the one thought to be Potter, had a run in with a stinging jinx so no one could be sure and we hadn’t seen him face to face enough to know ourselves. We required Draco to make a positive identification once the jinx began to wane. While we waited, Sebastian began searching their belongings and pulled from Minister Granger’s bag..the sword of Godric Gryffindor which until that moment I believed to be locked in my vault at Gringotts, heavily guarded by my dragon, the waterfall and the Geminio curse.” She paused as more gasps sounded, why had the Lestranges had the sword?!

The Head Auror quieted the collective again and turned his attention back to the witch on trial.

“Madame Lestrange, the Ministry is aware of the items which were contained within your vault, you are not on trial for keeping items in your vault, nor the manner in which they were protected” The Auror stated rather impatiently and Bellatrix rolled her eyes and stared at him.

“It was

because

of that sword appearing in her bag that I chose to interrogate her in the first place.”
 
-
 
Thrown into the flames or playing a rather advanced game of poker. Hermione was certainly doing one of them.

With Bellatrix’ testimony, which she seemed to dance around actually giving (an act that surprises Hermione greatly ), Hermione anticipates the people will be

more

willing to give into the idea of rehabilitation. Considering the forgiveness would be wholly Hermione’s to give once the news, the raw reality of her encounter, was delivered.

Hermione sits next to the stand, feeling much like a caged animal being inspected and

expected

to do something of interest.  So she merely sits. Giving no other reaction beyond an action the crowd can’t see clearly, brushing her fingertips along her left forearm.

“I’ll remind you it is your duty to the court to recount what this ‘interrogation’ entailed, Madam Lestrange.” The Auror pressed when Bellatrix didn’t continue her explanation.
 
-
 
 Truthfully,  before now Bellatrix hadn’t thought about it in detail, much of that night had become a hazed blur and it required thought to piece it back together. To find the pieces of reality through the haze the torturing she’d endured, the repression of the events in her mind. Like pulling a thread, and following it to the end she began again.

“I demanded to know

how

they had broken into my vault and what else had been taken from it aside from the sword. As it’s not a secret any longer, contained in my vault was also the Hufflepuff Cup. I needed to know if they had that item as well.When

Minister Granger

refused to cooperate and answer my questions I gave her some

encouragement

with the help of the Cruciatus curse.” She paused for effect. “For several hours.”

More shocked gasps and murmurs, hours at the hands of that madwoman? The same woman who’s driven Alice and Frank Longbottom into insanity!?

“Was the use of the Unforgivable the only method used Madame Lestrange?” The Auror in charge asked again.

Bellatrix shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “In a last ditch effort to get her to answer the questions, I used my knife. The very same that later was the cause of death for the House Elf, and carved the word ‘mudblood’ into her left forearm. It should still be there, wounds from that particular knife cannot be healed. Ever.”
 
-
 
The room explodes. Quiet murmurs turned unbidden yells of outrage and distress. Hermione’s looking down now. Unable to hold her head up while the momentary chaos ensues.

‘Kill her!’ Someone shouts. ‘Azkaban! No parole!’ Another demands. Hermione feels extraordinarily overwhelmed, having anticipated the reaction but living it was entirely different.

Clara comes out, helping to quiet the crowd as well as Ron who’s stood to tell people to simmer down.

Lifting her head once again Hermione realizes it’s all eyes on her. Acting without her conscious consent Hermione rolls and cuffs the sleeve of her jacket to just below her elbow. They wanted to see it, they would. It can’t be held against her any longer. Silently she holds up her arm in front of her, even the farthest chair from the Minister could see it.

The letters still look as fresh as the day she’d received it, though it no longer actively bled, part of the curse of the dagger no doubt. The letters are angry, and red, and crooked. She’s quite sure she hears someone faints at the sight. Hermione doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t look at anyone aside from staring into the nonexistent soul of the woman cuffed to the chair.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just watches the chaos unfold, her last trial had not been half as exciting, people were shouting things at her, she caught a few that stuck out from the pandemonium. ‘Burn in Hell Lestrange!’ ‘Give her the killing curse!’ ‘Let the Dementors have her!’ And one quite creative remark after Hermione presents the scar. ‘Hold her down and cut out the mark!’ Her brows actually shoot up at that one. That was new.

Ron was struggling to stay seated, Harry having to keep yanking him back down, reminding him this was Hermione’s decision. He didn’t need to rush to her defense at the moment.He could comfort her later. In the privacy of her home, not in front of the entire Wizarding community!
 
-
 
Hermione’s chest tightens, that same warning as before, as she listens to the…’suggestions’. It’s alarming the curse can know her intent before she even truly does.

The sudden pain quickly disappears as she rises from her seat and immediately the crowd falls silent. She nods back to the head auror, sitting back down as he begins sentencing.

“Very well Madame Lestrange. As per your agreement with the Ministry you will be sentenced to rehabilitation—“ More outrage. “—as recommended by the Minister herself.” Quiet. Could hear a pin drop quiet and it made Hermione’s morning coffee want to make a reappearance. Oh Merlin.
 
-
 
Bellatrix nods and just wanting to milk the last few moments adds. “Can you please remind me what my rehabilitation sentence entails?” She asks, sickly sweet. The press would all want to know the details anyway and she wanted to hear the Auror say the words.

No one else dared speak, but there were glances towards Hermione and back to Bellatrix, everyone else too wanting to know what that meant. Sent to Azkaban with parole?
 
-
 
Hermione shoots an icy glare down at the witch. The kind of look that sent junior ministers scattering and Ron and Harry spiraling into apologies for things they didn’t even know they’d done yet. She knows what Bellatrix is playing at, and it isn’t funny.

Even still the auror reads the terms. Outlining her current residency under Hermione’s roof. The freedoms she could and couldn’t have over time and the reintroduction to her wand.

Hermione’s cheeks take on colour for the first time since the trial began. Wincing slightly in anticipation for the poor reaction the news was sure to receive. Just as expected, next to no one takes it well. Demanding executions. Removal of marks. Breakage of her wand. Dementors kiss. All of it. All of it

loudly

. So much to the point Hermione has to cover her ears, a poor decision as the flashing of every camera in near unison follows. All taking pictures of her for their story.

Eventually it’s all too much and Hermione rises once more out of her chair, points her wants to her own throat and booming. “

Enough!

” Rattles around the courtroom. No longer in need of the charm as she continues on without it. “I understand this news might be upsetting to some. However this is the decision made by myself with the entire Ministry’s backing and approval. To rehabilitate is a second chance in life. Which everyone deserves, no matter how heinous their crimes.” She doesn’t believe her own words, but it sure sounds like she does.

“This decision is, as it is written, final. The ministry and I will be meeting to ensure this arrangement is still safe and sustainable regularly.”
 
-
 
The look Hermione gives didn’t so much as ruffle a feather on Bellatrix, she’d shared a house with the woman, ate take out in her library and snuck into her bathroom. Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic or not, didn’t intimidate her.

Instead she basks in the second wave of chaos the specifics of her rehabilitation caused, people were so angry. So determined to see her dead or imprisoned and it was satisfying to know it wouldn’t happen. She actually smirks in her chair. The flashes capture it and Hermione in one shot.

When Hermione reiterates the decision, Bellatrix is almost impressed with how convincing she is. That this was the Ministry showing her human mercy, that this was their idea.

More murmuring and a hand shot up. “Minister, can you explain how the Ministry intends to keep citizens safe when you’re returning her wand to her? And why implement this rehabilitation program with her? There are wizards in Azkaban far less dangerous and with fewer crimes.”
 
-
 
Hermione falters, though to anyone else it only looks like she’s taking a breath before answering.

Her inner world is working frantically to put together an explanation that her mind healer would be proud of. She’ll undoubtedly see this statement in the papers.

“We’ve put restrictions on her magic. No dark magic can be produced from her wand.”

Let them gasp and whisper about Ministry daring to place restrictions on a grown witch’s wand. She didn’t care. It wasn’t truly the Ministry that’d done it anyway it was the vow.

“As for why we start here; it is because starting here, with Bellatrix Lestrange, the program will only be able to improve from this point forward. We need someone to fail, so others can succeed.”
 
-
 
The question piqued Bellatrix’ interest, yes Minister, why was this happening? She leaned back in her chair and listened to the explanation, gritting her teeth as Hermione stated that the Ministry expected her to fail.

“Minister, is that to say then that should Madame Lestrange fail the program, a sentence in Azkaban would be reconsidered?” Another voice asked, and still stung from the ‘failure’ comment, Bellatrix was most interested in Hermione’s answer about if the program did fail.
 
-
 
Hermione thinks the answer in her head. Over and over and over. Testing the waters with thought before words.

‘Yes’

. She thinks and that tightness comes back.

‘Yes, it will be brought back to the table for discussion.’

Less pain but not gone.

“Yes, it will be brought back to the table for discussion; however this is not a guarantee of anything.” Bingo no pain at all. She could ‘consider’ the witch going back to Azkaban but so long as she didn’t

actually

send her back it seemed she was in the clear. What a fun loophole!
 
-
 
Bellatrix waited, for the words confirming she could not go back to Azkaban to come but instead Hermione gave a different answer and the witch faltered.

“No.” Whether she was heard or not wasn’t her concern. “You bloody liar.” She growled, the rest of the room visibly relaxing as it seemed imprisonment was not completely off the table, the Minister was not as crazy as she’d first sounded.

“When will the rehabilitation of Madame Lestrange begin? That is, when should the public be aware of her existence?”
 
-
 
Someone from the papers undoubtedly heard Bellatrix’ growled comment, and of course would write it down for their article. Though it wasn’t a concern of Hermione’s. The papers paint her as a psychotic woman. Long gone off the deep end. A prodigious witch (maybe in her time), with no conscience (heavy on the no conscience).

And in fact Hermione

desperately

needs the world to keep believing that. So that no one bats an eye when Hermione comes out with her own statement saying Bellatrix simply misunderstood the terms of their agreement. That

of course

she didn’t promise a Death Eater she could never be put back into Azkaban. Hermione needs this narrative to be true so desperately in fact; that she can only think of one thing to say.

“Her rehabilitation starts as early as this evening. However I would like to go back to the previous question to ensure it’s on the record; Should Madame Lestrange fail to complete rehabilitation to the satisfaction of the ministry, I do believe permanent residency at Saint Mungo’s would be better placement than Azkaban.”

Suddenly the room is in agreement, and Hermione prays this is the nail in the coffin she thinks it will be to Bellatrix’ cool unbothered mask. She hopes the reporters have their cameras ready, because she has a feeling they are about to witness a meltdown.
 
-
 
Bellatrix had been fighting against any urge to come off as unhinged or dangerous, Clara’s threat still in her ear that the Wizengamot could still change their minds. That doing so wouldn’t be in violation of the Vow between her and the Minister. Appear non threatening. Appear

non threatening!

But each word Hermione says falls like a bomb and her chest constricts in her dress, though not from the Vow.

St. Mungos

. Permanent residency in St Mungos. Her vision swims with the white hot anger. That

bitch.

The Vow said she couldn’t be sent to Azkaban, the hospital wasn’t mentioned.

Before she can think to stop it, a screech of fury erupts from her and she pulls uselessly on her chains, screeching more with the frustration of them not budging. “You can’t lock me in the hospital forever! I’m not crazy! You-you

filthy mudblood

! You lied to me!

YOU LIED

!”
 
-
 
Suddenly there isn’t a lingering eye on the Minister and Hermione takes a moment to openly smirk at the woman rattling her chains down below. Deep brown catches hazel, stilling waiting in the wings, and she nods her head in approval at the auror who is looking oh so very pleased with the former Gryffindor.

Hermione had made the contract. The ins. The outs and most importantly; The loopholes. It simply isn’t her fault the dark witch didn’t take into account Azkaban isn’t the only place criminals go. In fact Hermione had thought it was so glaringly obvious that the dark witch wouldn’t sign until that was written out as well. Oh how nice it is to be wrong sometimes.

Clara’s wand is out and she’s telling Bellatrix to calm down. Hermione once again clearing her throat to settle the crowd who was outraged that the witch dared to call the

Minister

such a foul name. This time she speaks directly to the witch below her.

“All the more reason to prove us wrong, no Madame Lestrange?” Smugness is not something she even attempts to remove from her tone.

This was going to be wonderful to come home to…is the only lingering anxiety in the back of her mind.
 
-
 
Bellatrix sits fuming, still breathing heavily through her nose as Clara points her wand at her, her fingertips actually

sparking

inside the restraints.

She’d been tricked. She’d been blinded by the promise of her wand and limited freedom, she’d agreed without hesitation. She’d believed the Vow would ensure her freedom but now all it did was ensure she couldn’t strangle the Minister behind closed doors.

“You knew didn’t you? Of course you did, you’re the Minister’s bitch.” She spat at Clara, her body shaking with the rage she couldn’t expel. That’s fine, she could find a few loopholes herself. The Vow said she couldn’t harm Hermione’s person, it said nothing about belongings. And she seemed to recall some perfectly flammable books and plush cat in the house.

Those it seemed would be fair game and she didn’t need dark magic to do it. Just a match.
 
-
 
Hermione’s eyes narrow as Bellatrix’ rages at Clara. She hadn’t heard the majority of it over the crowd, just thinks she saw the word ‘

bitch’

being mouthed.

The crowd flinched at the visible sparks of magic jumping from fingertip to fingertip just itching for a spell to direct them.

Clara laughs highly amused that the woman is putting things together too little too late. Even more so because, in fact, Hermione hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to her. Which was a first, but the Minister had no obligation to tell her anything at all.

Brown eyes search the frantic crowd for her favorite blue ones, grinning widely at her fiancé who looks more relieved than she’s ever seen. He’s certainly this means Hermione would just toss her into St. Mungos, no?

The auror bangs his gavel to grab attention and attempt to maintain order, repeating the sentencing before dismissal.

Once finished Mione is racing down, running out from the wings to toss her arms around Clara. She feels as though she’d just won the election and with this rather brilliant move she might have just secured herself another term. Ron appears behind them, clearing his throat to separate the two friends and wrapping Hermione up in a quick kiss before she can even object due to people watching.

“Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?” He muses as the cameras continue to flash around them. Hermione quickly pulled away as her cheeks colour with embarrassment not ever loving when he does that with prying eyes around.

“What do you want me to do about--“ Clara nods backwards towards the chair.

“Leave her there to rot.” Ron say without hesitation and Hermione’s brow furrows. “..Help me get her home Clara, thank you.” Hermione corrects 
 
-
 
Bellatrix simply shuts off her anger, staring blankly ahead as everyone was dismissed, celebrating some sort of victory, recalling the magic back from her fingertips and calmly waiting.

If Hermione wanted to play games, she could certainly do that. She’d been presented a challenge, that she would fail. That she was not capable of being reintegrated into society, and it seemed the popularity of the Minister rested on that being true. Of doing her best to give the wicked witch a second chance, but being unable to change her.

No one in this room wanted to see her succeed. They wanted to see her fail, to see her locked up in the loony bin of Saint Mungo’s. It’s much more terrifying if she succeeds. So she’ll do just that.

Succeeding meant being handed back ownership of Lestrange Manor. That was the end goal. To have her home back.
 
-
 
“Cuffs or no cuffs?“ The female auror called once the room had cleared completely of lingering spectators.

“No cuffs, stand back though there’s nothing stopping her from attacking you.” Hermione says passively making a mental note to add that, should their terms ever be renegotiated.

Hermione doesn’t believe Bellatrix can’t rehabilitate. In fact she knows that Bellatrix can, only if she really wants to. And the Minister is only slightly worried that she’s now given the witch the drive to

want to

.

Clara unlocks the cuffs and slips them into her back pocket.

“Mione, what're you doing?” Ron asks, as usual confused, but Hermione is the one slow to catch on this time. What was everyone looking at her like that for? Did they think she’d meant what she said on the stand? She did of course, should it be absolutely necessary, but she wasn’t going to throw the woman in St. Mungo’s this minute. That wasn’t their deal.

“…Doing exactly what I said I was going to do?” She retorts. Moving on then. “I’ve purposefully let the remainder of my day open. I may or may not be back in the office today.” She informs the small group before touching Bellatrix’ shoulder and apparating back to her house.
 
-
 
Bellatrix says nothing as Clara unlocks the cuffs, simply rubbing at her wrists where it was red from tugging on them.

She wasn’t stupid enough to attack an

Auror

inside the Ministry. And the suggestion of it made her roll her eyes.

Harry, Ron, and Clara watched with concern as the pair vanished, hoping that everything would be alright and Hermione would come right back.

Landing in the house with a crack, Bellatrix stepped as far away from her as possible, beginning to unzip the horrid dress right there in the living room.

She was done playing dress up for the Minister.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione can hear the press, moving around outside her home, trying to snap pictures. It’s alarming how they

still

didn't realize the house was charmed against such invasions of privacy. Even if they had a very clear shot, the photograph wouldn’t develop properly.
 
Eventually she notices the undressing death eater and startles at the sight. “Merlin! There’s a

bathroom

. Three in fact, two open for your use. Or go change in the library!” She huffs, putting up a hand to shield her eyes. 
 
It was alarming how quickly Bellatrix changed emotions. This was not the explosive reaction she had anticipated upon arrival. However this perhaps was worse. The shift in mood is so unnerving in fact, Hermione briefly wonders if a temporary stint at the hospital might be beneficial.
 
It’s awkward, to say the least, to be standing only feet from the woman she had just so publicly outwitted. The Minister is tense, anticipating a reaction that never comes.
 
-
 
The reaction made Bellatrix smirk. “What? You can handle showing an entire courtroom your little souvenir but can’t handle seeing my knickers?” She snorts but wanders off to change anyway, back into the same baby blue dress she’d been wearing for three days. “I’ll require an owl and what I assume will be a chaperoned visit to Gringotts.” She states, it’s not a question. 
 
She required clothes, proper ones and she’d be sending an owl to have her things from Athens delivered here. She had a contact there who could retrieve and send her belongings.
 
-
 
“You act as though I’ve denied you an owl when in fact it’s you who’s never asked for one.” Hermione counters. The comment on her scar annoys the Gryffindor. The insinuation it was a memento of some kind that she was holding onto willingly and showing off. When the reality was  if she gives everyone a good look now, no one will be attempting lingering glances to get a peek later.
 
And of course she can’t handle seeing the woman in her underwear! She might actually faint!
 
“Alright, fine but I’m not wandering around Diagon with you all day. I’ve things to do.” Mostly ones that included being as far away from the witch as possible. She walks over to the cabinet to retrieve something, goes into the living room and opens the window, puts the treat on the windowsill, and waits until her owl, Salem, flies up to take it. There, an owl just as demanded.
 
-
 
“I wasn’t allowed outside in the yard after nightfall, forgive me for not thinking you’d grant me an owl while on house arrest.” Bellatrix rolls her eyes, coming back with a note to give to the bird.
 
“Take this to Mr. Othonos in Athens. The little blue cottage near the ocean.” She instructs, giving Salem the letter containing all of the relevant details needed. Like how to find and enter the house, along with which items she required to be sent.
 
“Well, I’m not jumping for joy at having you tag along either, but I’m taking a guess that I’m not allowed to go alone. Suppose Knockturn is out of the question?”
 
-
 
Hermione simply nods when Salem looks to her for the go ahead, the bird immediately taking off to deliver the letter in her beak.
 
“It’s either me or nobody, which of course means you wouldn’t go.” Hermione snorts at the question about Knockturn. “I’m not even certain you’d be welcome there but even if you were it wouldn’t matter. It’s a hard no.” She’s working on the buttons of her suit jacket. If they are going out she’s changing into jeans and a blouse.
 
-
 
“And is that a permanent restriction or will I be allowed in the future to shop without company?” The raven haired witch asks as the bird flies off, watching her go.  
 
“Why wouldn’t I be welcome there?” She asks in confusion, Tom would probably keel over to see her walk into the pub again.
 
-
 
“That’s entirely dependent on you, Bellatrix.” Hermione says with a shrug beginning to walk off. She isn’t anywhere official so the former death eater certainly isn’t getting ‘Madame Lestrange’. 
 
“You wouldn’t be allowed there because that’s where the holdouts gather, and you now come with baggage named ‘Hermione Jean Granger’ of course.” She giggles because it is quite amusing she thinks anyone would take kindly to the Minister trailing her around Knockturn. With that she disappears into her room to change.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just stands there, silently cursing and resisting the urge to ‘accidentally’ set something on fire. Although if the fire didn’t harm her person...was that breaking the Vow? If another wizard attacked her on Bella’s behalf? Definitely something to think about.
 
She pulls a second parchment out, her list of things she’d need. “They’ll want my wand at Gringotts to verify my identity. I believe you still have it.” She called down the hallway, tucking the list inside her pocket. 
 
Shopping with the Minister. That wouldn’t draw attention at all.
 
-
 
“With me standing right next to you there isn’t anyone else it could possibly be.” A double meaning, the Minister of Magic was surely enough verification on her own, but also there were really only three people in the Wizarding World crazy enough to attempt to break into Gringotts and she was the only one who’d use polyjuice to do so. 
 
Hermione stops suddenly, halfway through with pulling on her shirt when her chest constricts with the breath she takes in. Shit. The wand. Shit, where is that wand?! She throws open the drawer of her bedside table and panics further to find it empty. Where had she put it?!
 
-
 
“It’s still policy~” She sing songs, yes there were only three people crazy enough to try to break in, but the policy had always been the same.
 
“I’ll need it to disarm the charms anyway, and unlock the door if I’m going down to it” And she had been promised her wand and she wanted it. Whether she required it at the bank or not was irrelevant at this point. 
 
While she waited, she scanned over her list and created a mental itinerary; Madame Malkin’s for a trousseau order, a visit to the apothecary for potion ingredients, Potage’s for a cauldron, and Flourish and Blotts for quills and parchment. With everything she’s anticipating will arrive from Athens, that should more than cover it for the time being.
 
-
 
Hermione’s tearing apart her bedroom. Shirt tossed on her bed long forgotten and hardly important as she rummages through her dresser drawers in just a bra and jeans. In her frenzy she finds literally everything she’s ever lost in her bedroom. Some things she’d like to stay hidden being tucked back into their hiding spots in her sock drawer.
 
“Fuck!” She hisses, searing pain mounting right along with her panic.

Living room! End table!

Why is it that she always thinks better under intense amounts of pressure? Mione tumbles out of the room, rushing to the end table that houses her remote and whatever book she’s currently reading. Ah ha! The Minister lifts the crooked wand that she detests so much. Appreciating it for just a singular moment as the tightening slowly lessens.
 
“Here.” She swallows, holding the damned thing as far away from herself as she can manage. She never wants to touch that ugly stick again. Wait a tick. Is she still topless?
 
-
 
Bellatrix could only blink as Hermione quite literally tumbled into the living room and pulled her wand from the side table, she snatched it and cradled it lovingly in her arms before noticing something was certainly missing from the Minister’s state of dress. 
 
“Didn’t take you for a WonderWitch Bra type Minister.” She comments, her lips twitching into a smirk. 
 
“Now I get it, you didn’t want to see my underthings because you wanted to show me yours instead.”
 
-
 
Hermione’s jaw is slack, staring open mouthed at the witch as her brain scrambles to remember how to function. The sound that comes from her lips could have been a laugh but could have also been a cry. She spins on her heel and sprints into her bedroom all but slamming the door behind her. A few seconds later the lock clicks.
 
She glances into the mirror that sat atop the dresser, quickly looking away to see the ugly shade of red her entire neck, chest, and face had taken on. Mione throws on her shirt, cursing to herself for being so careless. Though Hermione has to remind herself that her heart

was

literally ceasing to beat inside her chest. Her panic was more than warranted.
 
Moments later she re-emerges, well loved leather combat boots laced up (and shirt on) and ready to go. 
 
“Say.

Nothing

.” Hermione mumbles, that damned flush creeping back over freckled cheeks.
 
-
 
Bellatrix’ laugh floats down the hallway after her, now where were the press photographers when she was running about half dressed!
 
She gently strokes the wand, whispering to it like most people would coo to an animal or baby before holstering it into the belt of her dress. When Hermione re-emerges her lips quirk up again and she shrugs. “Alright then, I was going to say nice tits but I’ll keep that to myself.”
 
-
 
Alright the floor can swallow her whole now, please. 
 
If possible Hermione’s face turns a darker shade of scarlet, her arms coming up to cover her now clothed chest almost defensively. Her nose scrunches at the crude taunt, it certainly wasn’t a true compliment coming from the dark witch. 
 
“I’m leaving with or without you.” Attempting to derail the conversation and move onto something,

anything

else. 
 
“We’re taking the Floo I’m not having my picture taken anymore than absolutely necessary after this morning.” Stepping over to the fireplace and grabbing a bit of power. 
 
“Diagon Alley!”
 
-
 
“Alright alright I’m coming, keep your shirt on.” Bellatrix snickered at her own joke and followed Hermione into the fireplace, the green flames swallowing them both and depositing them at the grate just inside the bustling alley. 
 
After climbing out and dusting herself off, for a moment Bellatrix just pauses, and takes in the familiar sight. Her eyes roving over the shops and noting the ones that were different from the last time she had been in this alley. It was the oddest feeling of home.
 
Every version of herself had walked these cobble stones; eleven to get her wand at Ollivander’s and warned of the power the crooked walnut held, visiting the Bake shop with her mother to order her wedding cake, conveniently ‘losing’ Rodolphus to meet up with Rabastan at the White Wyvern in secret, wreaking havoc on the shops in her silver mask and black cloak. She blinked to keep her eyes from getting misty and focused on the first task at hand.
 
“I’ll need to visit the bank first, I haven’t got a single sickle on me.”
 
-
 
Hermione does not find that joke so amusing. Stepping into the alley and nodding to greet the few off duty ministry officials who acknowledge her. This is what she loves about the alley, she can almost get lost in it. Can almost be just Mione again. Only almost though. 
 
“Alright, Gringotts it is then.” Wandering towards the center of the alley. 
 
People stop and stare but not at her, which is a welcomed change. Witches and wizards alike parting to allow the pair through without friction. Hermione is used to it. Golden Girl turned Minister and all, but it’s definitely a different feeling when she knows they’re moving out of fear not respect.
 
-
 
There were muffled whispers, news of the trial having already made the afternoon’s edition of the Daily Prophet, mothers pulling their children behind their skirts and shop keepers putting their counter between themselves and the door. 
 
Bellatrix ignored all of it, too busy eyeing the colourful buildings she hadn’t seen in decades, making note of shops she wanted to visit once she had her money in hand. Before, shopkeepers wouldn’t have bat an eye to put large purchases on the Black or Lestrange tabs but knew that wouldn’t be the case any longer. They’d want to see coins in hand for the smallest of purchases. 
 
-
 
Inside the bank, marble flooring clicking beneath boots, both heeled and non, Hermione allows Bellatrix up to the counter. She is merely the chaperone after all. Wondering if she’ll just withdraw or if Hermione will be dragged down to a place she’d hoped to never see again.
 
-
 
Once called up to the counter, Bellatrix, as patiently as she can, answers all the Goblin’s questions about her identity, her vault and listens to the explanations that she had to fill out paperwork to have her account re-engaged from deceased status. It wasn’t a commonly done procedure afterall. Few people came back from the dead to claim their vaults.
 
“And no one has been inside the vault since? Not my sister or her husband?” She asks, and the Goblin shakes his head before proceeding. “Your will, like many others from that time, did not give directions regarding the ownership of the vault beyond your husband and yourself. As your spouse never came forward to handle affairs of the vault, it was simply held in holding until the twenty year mark had passed and it would be given to next of kin. Which in your case Madame Lestrange would have been your sister Madame Malfoy. Are you wishing to visit the vault or simply perform a withdrawal from the account?” 
 
A breath she didn’t know she’d been holding released as the goblin explained the procedures. She had been worried the vault may have been emptied out or reclaimed. The contents removed by her sister and Lucius or worse…gifted to the Weasley family. 
 
While she wanted to visit the vault, she had no intention of visiting it with Hermione of all people on her heels. “I won’t be visiting today, just a withdrawal. 5,000 galleons, in split coins.” She answered.
 
-
 
Hermione’s eyes widen when the dark witch says ‘sister and her husband’. Merlin that was right, she still didn’t know about Lucius. 
 
As the goblin agrees and goes off to make the withdrawal, Hermione takes the opportunity to take a couple steps up. “You know it’s not terribly respectful to ask after the dead.” Hermione mumbles, staring at her shoes. This was not the news she wanted to be delivering while out and about.
 
-
 
Finishing a final signature on the transaction documents, Bellatrix turns and looks questioningly at Hermione. “Ask after the dead? I haven’t mentioned anyone dead.” Her mind immediately reeling to what she’d just said but couldn’t find what the brunette was talking about.
 
-
 
Hermione clears her throat. She feels as though a look of sympathy would not go over well with the woman. Nor would it really be needed from what she could piece together of their brother/sister in-law relationship.

‘You lost that right when you lost your wand!’

She hears Bellatrix hiss though only inside her head and it causes the Minister to flinch slightly. 
 
“Lucius Malfoy. Deceased. December 13, 2015. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head. Cause ruled: accidental.” Hermione suddenly sounds like a machine rattling off the information that had been filed away until this very moment. She’s very good with names and dates since her flub with Nicholas Flemel all those years ago. 
 
She never makes the same mistake more than once.
 
-
 
Bellatrix couldn’t decipher the odd look Hermione was giving her but as she rattled off what sounded more like a case file summary than an obituary, her body froze. 
 
Her sister had been without her husband for two years. She just blinked slowly, absorbing the news. 
 
“Oh.” Is all she says hating the way her stomach twists. Another dead family member. 
 
She wouldn’t exactly mourn him, but the sudden knowledge he was gone flickered brief grief in her eyes before she turned back to the counter, the Goblin counting out her coins and handing her the bag.
 
-
 
Hermione watches sharp features carefully. Noting the brief look of grief that fades as quick as it came. The woman had very expressive eyes, they would be pretty on anybody else. 
 
“My condolences.” Hermione says because it’s only proper, as they begin making their way back into the alley.
 
She thinks about that funeral. Attending out of respect to Draco and a nod of appreciation for Narcissa without whom, she’d have lost her best friend. Her mind recalls the image of Draco as he stared off at nothing particular on the floor, holding tightly to his mothers hand as Narcissa silently wept. Ever the quiet and poised sister even in her grief. 
 
Hermione at the time had felt sorry for the woman who had no one but her son left. Now her sister was back and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be a happy union. 
 
The alley buzzes around them and Hermione asks. “Where, next?”
 
-
 
“Seems I’m years behind that sentiment.” She responds, remembering how stricken she had been the night Rod died, and she hadn’t been as in love with him as she knew Cissy had been with Lucius. 
 
She’d disliked the man, he was awful at dueling or truly carrying out any task but he’d made her sister happy. That’s all she’d ever wanted. Cissy had deserved happiness and she’d fought tooth and nail for it. Sacrificed her own for it. 
 
Wandering, she was pulled back from her thoughts. “Madame Malkin’s, I’ve had all I can take with this sodding dress.” She answered.
 
-
 
Hermione’s mind flickers to another prominent person in Bellatrix’ life who was no longer around. Her brother-in-law. Although she can’t bring herself to mention it, having already dropped one bombshell for the afternoon. 
 
“Is this the last I see of Bellatrix Lestrange in pastel sundresses?” She almost sounds disappointed. Though whether it’s genuine or not neither would be able to tell. …Which concerns Hermione greatly. 
 
She forces her mind to wander elsewhere as they enter the dress shop. Though it doesn’t take her brain much convincing at all to be thinking about a certain auror instead.
 
-
 
“Until I go on a tropical vacation, yes.” She retorts, wandering the shop and attempting to track down a sales witch who doesn’t immediately run from her, finding a redheaded witch.
 
“Yes, I’m in need of an entire trousseau. Dresses, skirts, lingerie, everything.” Bellatrix explains and the young witch who worked on commission was suddenly all too eager to help Bellatrix select cuts and fabrics, noting down her measurements. Showing her everything in the shop and was she certain she didn’t need shoes to match? “I’m willing to pay extra to rush the order, the sooner the better. I’ll also be taking 4 dresses, and a night dress today.” The dark witch adds, touching each fabric as it's shown to her and selecting the ones she liked best.
 
-
 
“Oh, an entire trousseau? What’re we married now?” Hermione mumbles, mostly to herself as she’s the only one around. Sitting on a plush bench while she waits for the woman to build an entire wardrobe from scratch. Merlin she hates it here. Her mind flashing to all the times she was dragged here by the twins or Lavender (Merlin rest her soul). 
 
Her eyes linger on a green cocktail dress though. Imagining a certain hazel eyed auror wearing it to a ministry party. She’d be quite stunning, colour would compliment her complexion and— Hermione stops her own thoughts with the shake of her head.

That’s

enough of

that

she thinks. Clara is her friend and neither of them even fancy women!
 
“Are you quite finished?” Mione huffs as the two women wander nearer, watching as the sales associate talks colour theory with the dark witch over nightdresses.
 
-
 
Bellatrix nodded at the sales woman who was suggesting the plum might compliment her skin better than the eggplant. “And it can have the matching lace edging added to the hem and bust.” the redhead added helpfully. 
 
“I’ll take that one then, matching under things if you have them.” Bellatrix said, spotting the same green cocktail dress Hermione had been eyeing and adding it to her growing pile at the register. It reminded her of one she used to wear to dinners with clients of her Father’s.
 
Everything was totaled up, several thousand galleons, and the items she was taking with her today were wrapped and boxed up neatly.
 
“All finished.”
 
-
 Matching under things. Don’t picture it. Don’t picture it. Hermione Jean do not visualize. . .it’s far too too late.  
The Gryffindor groans slightly as her cheeks take on colour, wishing there were a spell that could scrub her brain clean of the image of the Bellatrix Lestrange in lingerie. Obliviate was always an option..
 
Hermione frowns as Bellatrix picks up the dress she’d been envisioning on the female auror. Well there went that daydream. She truly hates this bloody shop. Thank Merlin they’re finished. 
 
“Is there

even

a difference between plum and eggplant?” 
 
-
 
Adjusting the bags on her arm, Bellatrix pulls her list from her pocket, the trunk of clothing taking care of the largest portion of what she needed. The Apothecary was two doors over so they’d head there next. 
 
“Yes.” She responds without looking up. “Plum has red undertones, eggplant is more purple. Almost blue tones. Plum is warmer.”
 
-
 
Hermione nods in understanding even though she doesn’t understand at all, but isn’t sure she cares to. The difference in colours sound like semantics to her.
 
As they wander down the streets Hermione has an insignificant but nagging question about the trial. Though certainly no apology for the blindside. 
 
What she’d done was slightly underhanded, however in her mind it was absolutely necessary to secure her ability to hold up her end of the deal.
 
“So, during the trial,” She starts, trying to slip into the conversation as casually as possible. “What was it you said to Clara? She laughed, and it’s very difficult to elicit that short of reaction while she’s on the clock.” 
 
They wander by The Magical Menagerie and heart aches. Certainly not ready for another pet; one day, but not today.
 
-
 
Bellatrix pauses in the window of the Menagerie, eyeing a sleek black snake in the window and whispering almost inaudible at it. Parsletongue.

Hello there. Aren’t you pretty? What’s your name?

Hermione’s attempt at casual conversation made her snort and without moving her gaze from the snake answered. “I told her that she’s your bitch. That she knew of your little loophole. Interestingly, she didn’t deny it. Being your bitch that is.” 
 
She tapped her nail gently on the glass before continuing down the street towards the Apothecary, peering in a few other windows along the way.
 
-
 
If they didn’t speak at all it was going to be a long shopping excursion and an even longer three months until Bella’s first full revaluation. Hermione had a couple of check-ins scheduled, for small adjustments, just her and the Wizengamot. The first being in just a week's time, but Bellatrix wouldn’t even be eligible to reclaim Lestrange Manor until the three months were up and even then she might not be granted that freedom yet.
 
Hermione eyes the snake that seems to nod in acknowledgment at Bellatrix. She knows Parseltongue when she hears it, but decidedly doesn’t mention it. It really only makes her think of how Ron had been able to open the chamber merely by listening to Harry sleep talk for seven years. He was quite brilliant for that, truly. 
 
“Well the last thing Clara will feed into is insults.” Hermione says sort of wishing she hadn’t asked because Bellatrix’ comment is illogical. What was it even meant to mean? 
 
“She doesn’t feed into rubbish like that. It’s what makes her good at her job” Oh while they’re here she should probably pick up some ingredients for her own stash. Replenish what was unsalvageable in her ingredient cabinet.
 
-
 
Three months. Salazar save her. She liked the snake, but she doubted she'd be allowed to purchase a snake on day one of rehabilitation.
 
Bellatrix turned and with a sort of wickedness in her eyes said. "It wasn't an insult, it was an observation. If shagging you is taken as an insult, you have much larger problems on your hands." Swiftly she turned and walked into the shop, picking up a basket and wandering down the aisles of ingredients, scanning for the ones she knew to be in the potions she needed.
 
-
 
Salazar, save

her

? No. Godric protect the one forced to share home with a former death eater. She might even consider finally moving in with Ron if it only meant getting some space.
 
Near visible steam comes off the top of the Minister’s head. However she’s smart enough to know anything she says will just be twisted and thrown back in her face later.
 
“I’m not shagging Clara.” She says near silent with quiet contempt. Just for her own sake of knowing she’d said it. Hermione turns on her heel and starts circling the store in the opposite direction. Picking up a couple of premade bottles of sleeping, as well as calming, draught and some small vials of ingredients to brew her own concoction for night terrors.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

If not for circling the store in opposite directions, the two witches might have realized they were purchasing the exact same items, minus the addition of a few hair potions to tame Bellatrix' curls which in the three days had become a bit frizzier than usual.She contemplates a bottle of lacewing flies, wondering if she could brew polyjuice unnoticed before setting them back and picking up fennel instead.Her basket clanked with the bottles as she went up to the counter and the wizard there rang them up quickly and without making eye contact. -If Bellatrix thinks a month long brew won’t draw attention from the Minister, she’s wrong. Hermione fidgets with the items in her basket. Rearranging them by colour and then lining them up tallest to smallest. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. No no, that one’s slightly larger than the other, fix it. They’re off center now, move them all slightly to the left. . .Not satisfied with her work until the clerk clears his throat to gain her attention, Hermione’s ears burn with embarrassment, and suddenly she’s reminded she desperately needs anjelica and armadillo bile. She sets her basket onto the counter before sheepishly adding. “One moment, please.” Before dashing to grab the ingredients and coming back. She pays for and packs up her newly obtained items then goes to find Bellatrix. “Are we done?” Probably not but the Minister’s mind is filled with all the things she should or could be doing while instead she’s running around on a shopping spree.-"Impatient to leave are you?" She asks, momentarily frustrated that she now had more bags to carry and the potions were heavy until she remembered something strapped to her hips.Almost giggling, she pulls out her wand (sending fellow shoppers passing by, scattering in all directions) and points it at the much lighter bag from Madame Malkin's and murmuring an extension charm. The feeling of her magic coming from her real wand, nearly enough to make her knees buckle and a rather crude gasp leaving her lips that was far better suited to a bedroom than a crowded alley. "Merlin.." She sighed under her breath, opening her eyes and adding all of her shopping to the spelled bag. "Potage's. I need a cauldron, then Flourish and Blotts. Nearly done."-Hermione is too caught off guard to stop the mumbled, “Disgusting.” From passing her lips. That sound echoing around in her ears and causing more than a couple people to glance over with raised eyebrows. “Are you finished?” Her lips quirk only slightly at the crude meaning that takes given context. Ugh more stores. At least they’d visit Flourish and Blotts. “Come on then, before your knees give way.” She’s already heading towards Potage’s.-Bellatrix simply shoots Hermione a glare, it had been two decades let her enjoy it! Her mind briefly flickers to how much better it would feel casting the Cruciatus, it was like ecstasy when she did before. She knew she couldn’t but just thinking about it made her shiver. “I’m coming.” She huffs, putting her wand back away and wandering to the cauldron shop, a standard pewter one would suffice, although the solid gold is heavenly to look at. Not practical though.-No she won’t just let her enjoy it without comment. Bellatrix didn’t deserve nice things! Hermione’s nose scrunches as her comment is volleyed back to her. “At least you bought new knickers then.” She mumbles. The Gryffindor’s eyes fell on the gold cauldron unable to stifle laughter at the reminder the first thing Harry ever wanted after coming into money was a golden cauldron. . .and a solid gold wizard's chess set. He could be just as dense as Ron at times.-Bellatrix runs her finger over the gold one, it was pretty as a showpiece but gold reacted poorly with three quarters of potion ingredients and it was near impossible to brew anything properly with one. She shakes her head as she goes to pick out a pewter one, she didn't need anything larger, just a small school sized one would be more than suitable for her uses."I don't suppose you've already got a set of scales and a mortar and pestle?" She turns and asks the brunette trailing behind her.-“I do.” She confirms. No need to double up like they just unknowingly had on potion ingredients. Hermione’s done following the woman around at least for the moment. Having found something wrong with the nail on her right ring finger and now her brain won’t let her even shuffle forwards until it’s been righted. It’s not right. It feels wrong. Fix it. Just pull it off. No wait then it’ll be uneven. Fix it just fix it. While she doesn’t typically have time to brew her own potion, there is one she always does herself. A thing of her own invention (and Merlin it had taken years of fine tuning to make it work as intended) that she can’t buy bottled or pre-proportioned. Something to take the edge off of obsessively deafening thoughts. Not always needed, as years of mind healing has taught her the necessary skills to cope with compulsive thoughts, but she feels it getting bad again and knows for a fact she doesn’t have any left from last she brewed. She’d finished the bottle it was mixed with Bellatrix’ first night.“You’ll just need the cauldron.” It’s like the Minister had visibly buffered, finally finishing the original thought. “Normally I’d share but I’ve only one cauldron and I need it this evening.”-Bellatrix stood, watching and waiting. There seemed to be another sentence on her tongue but it was as if she’d forgotten, staring and fussing with her finger, oblivious to anything around her. She waves her hand in front of Hermione’s face and gets no reaction, furrowing her brow when she finishes her final thought. That was odd. “Alright, just the cauldron then.” She gave her another look before wandering off to pick one out and purchase it.-The tips of the brunette’s ears burned as her mind alerts her the fact woman had been trying to get her attention only after the encounter had entered. Oops..Her eyes flicker down to the ring finger she’d fussed with so much her cuticle was bleeding slightly, clenching and unclenching her fingers on the opposite hand to keep from continuing to stand in the middle of the shop and undoubtedly only make it worse.The more than judgmental look from the dark witch makes the Minister feel two feet tall. Wishing to go home or simply dissolve into the ground beneath her feet.Definitely needs that potion, sooner rather than later.-Bellatrix said nothing of the strange behaviour, tucking the knowledge away for later instead. Perhaps someone had forgotten to wind the mechanism inside the Minister that made her function this morning?Her cauldron paid for and added to her charmed bag, she pulled her list out, scanning it. She did want parchment and quills and possibly something to read. That entire library and Hermione appeared to have not a single novel, unless of course you counted the collected works of Gilderoy Lockhart. “Last stop!” She chirps, heading out the door, if Hermione followed or not, she didn’t quite care. She’d hardly entered the shop before the press, who were there covering a book signing for Neville Longbottom, turned and swarmed.“Madame Lestrange! Anita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, would you mind answering some questions about today’s trial for the evening edition!” Bellatrix just blinked as three other news sources asked the same.-No one had forgotten to wind anything within the Minister. It’s actually a part within her some cruel god had wound so tightly the screws stripped before sending her out into the world. Last stop? Oh thank Merlin this would be over soon. The moment they step through the door, the welcome bell rings and the room turns. Then it was chaos once more. Cameras flashing in her face as she flinches away from the light. Groaning not so silently as the questions came pouring in. The majority of them come from a particularly aggressive reporter who’s just named herself as ‘Anita Skeeter’. Sweet Salazar, Satan reproduced? She even looked like Rita. Curly blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Oh Merlin, here we go. Just what the world needed. Brown eyes roll before catching on the herbology professor. Who stood three feet back from the desk he had previously been sitting at, looking paler than a half there ghost as he stared at the pair. Hermione’s chest tightened with sympathy and anxiety. The awful truth of it was Neville hadn’t even come to mind the last few days. She had been so selfishly focused on cleaning up the mess Harry and Ron had made for her, while simultaneously ensuring it did no harm to her reputation as Minister, she didn’t even stop to consider how Neville would take the news and she didn't feel ready to face him. So with one last wholly apologetic look, she pulls her gaze away.Tuning back into the cacophony of sounds surrounding her she sees the young blonde a half a foot closer to Bellatrix than all the other reporters. Merlin stupidity must run in the family. “Madam Lestrange, how did you do it? The world is asking!”Godric Gryffindor this child was overeager. Other questions are being asked. Hermione just can’t make them out, fighting the urge to clamp her hands over her ears for the second time that day. Too loud. Too loud. Too loud. . .“How much power was behind the curses you used against the Minister?“ Anita asks, loud and clear, in the half a second silence as the rest of the group caught their breath. Whoa, no. Absolutely not. This ends here. Hermione steps between the line of people and Bellatrix. “Alright that’s enough already!” Firmer than she means, louder than she wants, but it does the job for the most part. Scattering all the journalists who didn’t want to risk losing their badges to Ministry events.All but one. Of course. Anita looks like she’s practically vibrating where she stands. Piercing blue eyes full of…something Hermione couldn’t quite put a finger on. An annoyingly familiar green quill and notebook floating beside her. “Is it true you tortured Alice and Frank Longbottom?” She blurts out and Hermione had a couple of realizations at once. One, this girl is crazy. Two, the torture of the Longbottoms happened so long ago now there were children growing up with doubt it had even happened at all. Merlin that makes her feel old. She’ll also need to talk to the education department about the curriculum. Immediately.-Once the initial shock of the press interrupting her shopping wore off, Bellatrix was basking in the attention, unable to answer one question before another was launched her way. Her mouth opened to answer the question regarding the power of the curses when Hermione steps in and ruins her fun, sending the journalists scattering off, the event of Neville’s book signing completely abandoned. Oh, but one was still here. Bellatrix had no earthly idea who it was but they seemed to not fear the Minister of Magic or herself so she was intrigued. Neville was a little stung that Hermione wouldn’t even acknowledge him after letting the woman who all but orphaned him go free, but turned and disappeared into the back stock room when his parents and their torture were brought up so casually. Turning her attention to the blonde, who she estimated to be perhaps twenty two, Bellatrix grinned, making her curls bounce as she nodded. “Oh, yes. That’s true. I served fourteen years in Azkaban for it.” She answered, unable to keep the pride from her voice. “It was a group effort, myself, my late husband Rodolphus, his brother Rabastan and Barty Crouch Jr. 1981.” She supplied, Anita's quill quickly jotting it down and the girl looked even more excited than before. “And is it true you escaped Azkaban and evaded the Ministry of Magic for 3 years?” Anita asked and Bella nodded. “My Master freed me and he and my sister gave me protection and sanctuary. In fact, this latest arrest is the first time the Ministry has caught me since 1981.”-As Neville leaves Hermione feels as though she’s been gut punched. Writing and rewriting a proper apology for the next time they meet in her head. Anita’s blue eyes sparkle with fascination, paying little mind to the Minister of Magic who is trying to kill her with merely a look. “Merlin..” The blonde breathes, inching closer with every passing minute. “How were you caught? Thirty seven years between arrests. Free for twenty two of them. Dead for nineteen! What happened?” Anita’s leaning in with rapt attention, quill and notebook leaning too. Hermione smirks, arms coming to cross in front of her while she watches how exactly the witch will manage to worm her way out of this question. “Well, Madame Lestrange? Go on, the world is listening.” Hermione hums amusedly which only receives a look of annoyance from the pesky reporter.-How was she caught? Her eyes flicker with panic for a moment, her mind spinning through the contract. ‘Details of the botched arrest’. Alright so hypothetically..“I was less so caught, than I was exposed. My Polyjuice potion malfunctioned and someone caught sight of me when I went out for produce. Even in Greece, I was known for my reputation. A man I met collected newspaper clippings of me, of course he didn’t know he was speaking to me.” She answered and was relieved to find no pain in her chest. She shot Hermione a look. Two could play at the game of finding loopholes to their agreement. “So if the Polyjuice hadn’t malfunctioned, you’d still be there. Unknown and for all intents and purposes dead. That’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.” Anita almost whispered in awe.-There’s a singular finger the Minister would like to raise the older woman’s way but of course doesn’t as it would be vulgar and improper. ‘You’re brilliant’ has Hermione’s brows shooting to the moon. Oh yes, this one was certainly related to Rita.“I don’t believe brilliance is the word you're looking for.” Again Hermione is ignored and she’s beginning to wonder if she isn't the bloody Minister of Magic after all.“Would you contest to an interview?” Anita asks, voice verging on pleading. To that Hermione once again stepped in. “You just got your interview. Excuse us, please.” “I just want to look at her!” Anita protests and then falters to fix her words. “A look at her. I’d like a picture. Hold on just one moment, please, it's for the paper.” The witch fumbles to make the thing appear in her hand, shaking with excitement as she more or less shoves Hermione from the frame, snapping more pictures consecutively than Hermione had ever witnessed.-Bellatrix grins and even takes out her wand to pose for Anita’s photos, laughing and grinning and tossing her curls. Once the onslaught of flashes has ceased she turns her attention back to the blonde’s previous question. “Actually Minister as I am no longer a suspect in an open case with the Wizengamot and have received my sentencing, according to Wizarding Law, section 22, subsection 78 paragraph 9, the Ministry can no longer restrict or dictate my contact with the press, I am for all intents and purposes a free citizen and am free to engage with the press at my leisure so long as no laws are broken and said meetings with the press do not discuss confidential Ministry matters.” The smug grin she flashes Hermione nearly breaks her face it’s so wide. She’s had three days, and the library was full of Wizarding Law manuals for her to read. “Miss Skeeter, I would love to give an exclusive interview to the Daily Prophet. I’ll write down my current address, Minister Granger, do you happen to have a quill?”-Hermione’s brain short circuits with the sheer amount of rage she feels as Bellatrix quoted Wizarding Law at her. Her mouth opening and closing more than once as she attempts to gather a response worthy of the disrespect she’d just received. For the first time ever Hermione Granger is truly speechless. Anita watched on in awe and whispers, “That. was. amazing.” In the silence Hermione’s malfunction creates. She’d never so much as heard someone, other than her mother, breathe a word against the Minister. Let alone knock her down enough pegs she was speechless!Before she can respond that no, she doesn’t have a bloody quill; Anita is snatching her Quick-Quotes Quill from the air and shoving it into Bellatrix’ hand. “Use mine, please!”The Minister pinches the bridge of her nose, running her thumb and forefinger along her brows as she feels a migraine forming. Godric, she needs a drink.-The dark haired witch waits for the retort, the statement that she was wrong and simply lifts her chin with a grin as she leaves the Minister of Magic absolutely gobsmacked without a word to throw in. Was it disrespectful to restate her rights when the Minister was attempting to take them away? She hadn’t many left, she intended to protect the ones she did. Laughing as the quill was shoved in her hands, she takes the notebook from the air as well, writing out the street address of Hermione’s home in neat calligraphy before handing both objects back.“There, come by whenever you’d like Miss Skeeter and I’d be happy to answer any of your questions.” Anita’s hands tremble taking the quill and notebook back gingerly. Bellatrix Lestrange had touched her quill! She might faint.-Hermione is mentally flipping through every law book she’s ever read. Bellatrix was right, annoyingly so, however there had to be something she was overlooking. That’s her address she’s just given out! It’ll be her house the annoying little blonde comes into!She’ll have a better look in her office tomorrow (and probably crucio herself for not thinking of it sooner). Anita for her crazy part is adoringly brushing her fingertip along the lettering. Barely managing to open her mouth to express her thanks before Hermione’s touched Bellatrix’ shoulder and they disapparate. The pair landing in Hermione’s living room with a thunderous crack. The Minister immediately made her way to the kitchen to get herself a drink.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Bellatrix had intended to go to the shelves, blowing the little blonde a kiss and- “What in the name of Salazar?” She blinks, the living room very quickly replacing the decor of the bookshop. “I wasn’t finished yet!” She huffs, as Hermione walks away. Fine, now she had her wand, she had some redecorating to do in the library anyways, she wasn’t spending the next year sleeping in a window seat. Gathering her bag, she walked off and up the stairs, still smirking to herself over having bested Hermione. That was a win for her. - “You want your heart to stop?” Hermione snaps rather condescendingly over her shoulder. “Be grateful I took you with me and didn’t leave you choking and sputtering in front of that little blonde creature !” Oh the Minister is absolutely livid.Pulling a wine glass from the cabinet she slammed it onto the counter as she flicked the opposite wrist, library door slamming shut in the dark witch’s face. Another flick and it locks. “And stay out of my library!” She seethes, practically screeches, uncorking a bottle of wine and taking a sip straight from the bottle. - “Last I checked I did nothing to go against the Vow!” Bellatrix called back, about to walk in the door when it slams shut in her face. Instead of matching the anger Hermione is giving off she laughs . Now who was the one screeching and unhinged?“Would you prefer me in your bedroom or office?!” She yells back down the stairs. It seemed an odd reaction, preventing the dark witch from leaving Hermione alone by holing up somewhere. - “As of right now you leave the house with me or not at all.” Pouring herself a proper glass and silently complaining she hadn’t grabbed something stronger. “Again, be grateful I took you with me.”Being laughed at as though any of this was amusing, of course only, makes things exponentially worse. Hermione opts to take a rather large sip of her drink to keep from cursing the woman out seven ways to Sunday.“Sleep in the bathroom for all I care, you’re not allowed back in there. This is my house, these are my rules, and you’ll listen or you’ll be handed off to Ronald and Molly!”Her reaction may seem odd to the woman because Bellatrix clearly doesn’t know as much about Hermione as she pretends to. How could she really? The former Gryffindor can’t stand being ignored. Absolutely loathes when people walk away when she hasn’t finished speaking, or yelling as the case might be. - Bellatrix flies back down the stairs, suddenly in the kitchen and wild eyed. “So…you’re putting me back on house arrest but I’m not even allowed to be in the house?” She just stares before continuing, the anger at being dragged home without notice and then told what she could and could not do and when bubbling inside her. “Grateful? That you dragged me home like you were my mother? In case you’ve forgotten Muddy I am not a child, and you swore to limited freedom not none at all! You chose to house me here, and you’re bloody pissed off that I am? You’re fucking mental!” She screams, stalking out the back door and slamming it so hard it was a wonder it wasn’t shattered. - “You’re not on house arrest, your freedom is limited ! So I suggest you fix yourself before I have to go back to the Wizengamot next week and tell them I’ve nothing constructive to say and I’m stuck babysitting the likes of you for another week or two!” There’s an odd sense of relief; to be yelled at when she’s already so worked up. It’s validating that the issue on the table meant as much to the other person as it did her. The way Hermione had structured this she alone would meet with the Wizengamot on a weekly or biweekly basis. Reporting small things and making edits to Bella’s conditions as they were earned. Ability to go out alone. Later curfew. Family visits. She was being reintegrated. Bellatrix was just as crazy as she claims Hermione to be if she thought that meant being able to do whatever she pleased  right out the gate.She's once again irritated that Bellatrix has a point. Why did she choose her own house as the battleground for this nonsense? Why hadn’t she housed the thing with Harry or Ron or Clara or even just discarded her to Grimmauld Place like Ron had suggested?“If you’re not a child then quit acting like one!” She screams after the witch. ‘Muddy’ bristles her enough to add. “If I’m mental then that makes two of us!” As the door slammed so hard the entire house rattled. Godric Gryffindor she hates that woman! - Bellatrix just screams into the sky until she turns red in the face and just collapses under the nearest tree, careful to mind the sparks at her fingertips that had started up again. She wasn’t stupid, she’d just stupidly assumed she wouldn’t be living another week on house arrest. Hermione could call it whatever she damn well pleases, but not permitted to leave the house or even be outside after dark was house arrest. Locked down on a house she wasn’t even allowed to be in.Certain she couldn’t be seen from the house, she hugged her knees to her chest and let the tears of anger and frustration fall. Angry and frustrated that she’d been tricked, that the Prophet had seen her anger spike in the courtroom. Frustration that the Ministry had control over her existence, her breaths and apparently even the physical location of her person. Angry that one mistake with her potion had led to all of this. With her eyes closed she can see the courtroom, see the things she didn’t dare let herself see when she was there. Or rather what wasn’t there. Her sister. Neither Cissy or Draco were in those stands, Cissy had been the last time. Had watched her sentencing. Had screamed and cried as they announced the four of them would be sentenced to life in high security at Azkaban prison. She’d been so sure her sister would come again, if only to confirm what the papers said about her having come back from the dead. To see her one last time in case she was sentenced back to Azkaban or killed on the spot. But she hadn’t and it had cut like a knife to know not a single person in the world cared if she lived or died. But perhaps now that wasn’t true, her mind drifted to a blonde haired, blue eyed witch who’d stared at her like she was a precious stone in Flourish and Blotts. Anita Skeeter. The only person to not completely hate her. Maybe for now that was enough. - Even if Hermione had been able to see, which she couldn’t, she wasn’t looking anyway. Screaming at no one but herself and the absurdity of her situation. Gripping the wine glass tightly to keep from throwing it clear across the kitchen.This was torture. Far more worse and real than the actual torture she’d endured. She was punishing herself. That much was now blindly clear. For what exactly, she still wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps for the lack of control she’d had in the manor. Yes, that sounds like something her mind healer would say.The woman was intolerable. With all her boundary testing and smart remarks, but Hermione knows she isn’t actually being fair.She had told the entire world this program was set up for the woman to fail, because of the heat she had been under due to the question. Hermione had wanted to believe that she saw things differently herself. Tried to convince herself that she was actually trying to assist the witch towards the end goal, but now she doesn’t believe it.Hermione wanted to see the woman fail just as much as anyone else, perhaps more so. And that wasn’t fair, or just. Two things she prided herself on being to all. Not just wand-carriers. Not just those with no voice at all. Everyone. Hermione polishes off the glass in her hand, setting it down on the counter while unholstering her wand. Fair started with a proper place to rest one’s head. She’d been intending to wait until the dark witch asked for a proper place to sleep. However it seemed the woman was more than willing to go without if it meant not ‘lowering’ herself to asking for help. Without meals. Without an owl. Without a place to sleep. If Hermione truly wanted to help the dark witch, she needed to begin with giving things freely instead of holding out for Bellatrix to mysteriously rid herself of her pride overnight. While working to rearrange her former study, largely unused from practically living in her office at work, and inability to bring most of her legal paperwork home, Hermione thinks about that awful blonde reporter. Both of them actually. The young woman was a spitting image of her mother. Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and unrelenting tenacity for the scoop, all a mirror of what the Minister had to deal with on top of everything else growing up. Albeit this one was perhaps a touch more ‘crazed fan’ than Rita.She thinks that’s why she reacted so poorly in Flourish and Blotts, and had continued to do so when they’d first arrived back. She doesn’t want to relive her formative years in the limelight for all the wrong reasons. A desk transfigures into a bed, pushed toward the picture window and tucked into the corner. A stack of books becomes a nightstand and one of the shelves turns into a chest of drawers while the other creates a vanity. The woman is vain after all.Hermione then summons the charmed bag Bellatrix had abandoned in favour of nearly breaking her door on the way out to the deck. Pulling the trunk of clothing out to grab the new linens and flicking her wand to make the bed. There had been something more than odd about the Skeeter girl. Something manic and nearly dangerous in a deranged sort of way. Anita, for her age, knew various dates of Bellatrix’ checkered history with the ministry without any pause. Had called her brilliant for what anyone else would have called heinous.Hermione didn’t like her, or any member of the press but especially not her. She hates the idea of Bellatrix giving any sort of interview to the overeager woman. However she can’t stop it if that’s what the woman truly wants, so she’ll make no further comment on the matter. She just hopes Bellatrix knows she’s playing with fire. - Bellatrix stays against the tree for an hour, perhaps longer, long after the tears had stopped and her cheeks had dried, plucking handfuls of grass out of the yard just to drop them again. This wasn’t new, she’d never been liked or wanted her whole life, her parents certainly hadn’t wanted her when she’d turned out to not be the boy they wanted and thought she had been. Her school mates had whispered and avoided her and her marriage had been a sham, arranged when no one else had sought her hand and necessary to allow her sister to marry Lucius.True, she’d had support then; her sisters, Rabastan and the Dark Lord, but she wouldn’t let this get to her. “Remember the courtroom Bella, they all want you to fail. Prove them wrong. You’re not crazy.” She whispered to herself, continuing to pick at the grass. If she had to sleep on the floor of the bathroom to do it she would. She would not let Granger of all people get under her skin. She’d be indifferent to anything thrown at her. Give her nothing to hold against her and no reason to say she had failed rehabilitation.Hermione’s words echoed in her head, a threat usually reserved for naughty school children, ‘change your attitude or I’ll have to tell’. ‘It’s my house, my rules’.She sat there, almost dozing off, content to sleep outside when the unpleasant tightness in her chest made breathing difficult. Nightfall, which meant she had to go back inside if she wished to see another day. - After the room is set up in a way Hermione finds suitable she sets to making dinner. Having made a point to order exclusively muggle take out over the last few days. She knows Bellatrix doesn't eat much, if anything at all, when it comes to dinner. The smell of baked chicken and roasted vegetables fill the minister’s home. Setting the table for two, Hermione decided to finally poke her head outside. Seeing the woman dozing beneath the tree and panicking slightly. She wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of the woman dying under mysterious circumstances, not even a full day after the trial. “Bellatrix? Dinner is ready.” She says stepping out on the deck and wiping her hands on her jeans. - For half a second Bellatrix considers just staying, letting the Vow kill her for the sheer consequences it would mean for the muggleborn. ‘I swear she just died ‘ The thought makes her snicker. But the offer of food and the drive to prove the Minister wrong wins out, lifting her head and dropping the last handful of grass on the ground, standing and wondering how there could be anything else she’d not already been subjected to eat that could be swimming in grease and cheese.No wonder muggles didn’t live past about 90, their food killed them slowly over time. She had meant to saunter back to the house at a slow pace but the last pain in her chest made her hurry a bit more, leaning against the wall of the kitchen to catch her breath. This had to stop becoming a daily routine. - Hermione just watches from the corner of her eye as the witch catches her breath on the wall. If she stopped staying out so late this wouldn’t be a daily occurrence. Perhaps curfew will be the first thing they let go of. She'd be apprehensive of the fuss letting the witch go unsupervised would cause. No, that certainly needed to be kept just a while longer, maybe , but she could see no harm in extending or even lifting the curfew. “I still don’t want you in the library, not camping out there at the very least,” She’s still upset that her own books were used against her. “You can stay in the office, or I can teach you how to pull out the sofa.” Is said from the table while cutting into a piece of chicken and putting half of it onto her plate. The large number of takeaway dinners had been getting to the Gryffindor woman as well. She was glad to be eating something proper. - Before dinner, just as the sun is setting is hardly staying out late. She just wants to feel moonlight on her skin. Bask in the glow of it.When Hermione spoke and the pain had disappeared again, she looked up. Being banned from a library for reading was certainly an ironic punishment, she seems to remember being told the office wasn’t suitable to sleep in prior, but she’d sort it out herself. Transfigure furniture each night and turn it back again if she had to. “The office is fine.” She replies, noticing the two plates and groaning internally. “Is Weasley coming for dinner again?” She asks, that’s all she needed after today was the ginger hanging about all night. - “No, that plate is for you.” She hadn’t told Bellatrix the office was off limits. She’d told her fiancé she wanted to remodel anyway, so having the older witch around wasn’t really a bother nor inconvenience if she thought of it that way.She’s not banned from the library, she's banned from making Hermione look like an idiot in front of the press. Also it’s been days and Hermione was having to avoid her own library because the death eater never left it. She was becoming tired of it. “You can sit or go upstairs, it doesn’t matter much to me. Or the sofa and I can turn on the television.” Merlin she does sound like a parent. She knows the ‘moving picture box’ scares Bellatrix, but the offer still stands. Sometimes Hermione sits in front of the tv with her dinner. When the day is so overwhelming and she needed something to drown it all out. “There’s also wine in the kitchen.” She hiccups behind her hand. Hermione was done drinking for the evening. Not drunk but enough to feel the pleasantly warm colour in her cheeks which was all she’d needed since their encounter with Little Miss Crazy. - Bellatrix’ first instinct is to take the plate and vanish as she’d done the previous evenings but she instead sits down in front of the second plate wordlessly. She isn’t scared of the moving picture box, she just thinks it’s cruel to trap people in it and then encourage other people to watch it for entertainment! It was an odd pastime of muggles, to spend hours staring at a box of trapped people, sometimes even laughing at them. She considers the wine, she could hear Hermione hiccuping and decides against it, nothing good would come out of being drunk around the Minister. “No, I’m fine, thank you.” She answers, stabbing her fork into a piece of chicken and chewing it, grateful that it tasted like chicken, no strange coatings or flavours or sauces, just chicken. - Hermione is surprised Bellatrix actually sits. Though she knows acknowledging it would probably be counter intuitive. For the millionth time there aren’t any actual people in there. It’s all prerecorded.“You can have that interview with the Prophet tomorrow while I’m at work.” She says picking up a forkful of vegetables. “I want nothing to do with Skeeter’s hell spawn.” The annoyance in her voice isn’t directed at the dark witch but the universe as a whole. Who in Merlin’s name looked at Rita Skeeter and said ‘that one’? “She was a bit funny.” Not funny haha, funny see a therapist. “Keep it in the living room though, please.” A genuine request, plea really. “And no pictures inside.” - “That works out well, I don’t believe she wants anything to do with you anyways.” Bellatrix quipped before scooping up a mouthful of vegetables, chewing before addressing the Minister’s other comments. “Funny? Because she’s interested in me, or because she didn’t come at me with a pitchfork like everyone else is meant to?” She asks, slowly arching a single brow. She’d stay in the living room and move to the porch for any photos, was the Minister afraid the public might see the ugly art on her walls? Not that she’d needed permission, but it was easier knowing Hermione wouldn’t actively prevent her from speaking with Anita. She’d never formally met Rita, just heard snippets and seen her picture in the Prophet a handful of times. -  ‘Because she’s interested in me’ the comment makes something click inside the brunette’s head and she laughs aloud. Oh Merlin that stupid girl. “I think she’s interested in far more than an interview.” Truly revolting. “You have a little fangirl it seems.” That’s the most mind boggling part to Hermione. Had the war really been so long ago people were beginning to fetishize the enemy?“In any case,” Never one to dwell on crude ideas for long, “I know you haven’t a need for my consent and I’m not going to lecture you on why talking to the press is never a good idea; however do be incredibly cautious with this one. If she’s anything like her mother, and from the little I’ve seen she’s exactly so, you’ll need to be exceptionally careful with your words.” She warns though doesn’t know why she’s wasting her breath. Bellatrix won’t care about what’s written in the papers, and really it only helps Hermione if the death eaters' words get twisted beyond recognition. - “You seem surprised.” Bellatrix states, cutting another bit of chicken with her knife. “It’s quite common to develop interest in other witches and wizards, even those considered to be the enemy or irredeemable criminals. Surely you’ve heard of the former Morgana fan clubs? Or even how despite all of Salazar’s crimes, Hogwarts chose to retain the Slytherin house name, and I’d venture half the gold in my vault that he would be brought up on charges today too, were he still around.” She chews her chicken a moment before adding. “Helga and Rowena would likely be locked in St. Mungos for their friendship.” She lets the implication hang. She truly hadn’t considered that angle, but it filled her stomach with flutters, to think she was receiving the same treatment she’d given Morgana in her teenage years. Remembering how she would hunt down chocolate frog cards of the infamous witch. Consuming texts and memorizing dates and events of her life. She was only half listening, lost in her daydreaming. - Hermione takes a second to think on this, using the pause to take another bite of her dinner and a sip of her water. Friendship? Oh, their relationship. Why was Bellatrix skirting around the popular opinion that the two witches had been sapphic? Locked in St. Mungo’s? In 2017 for simply being gay? Highly unlikely. No, impossible.The way Bellatrix spoke about Morgana mirrored the way Anita had been in the bookstore. Was Bellatrix…? No certainly not, the brunette must be projecting. Oh Merlin there’s a thought for the mind healer. “I suppose you’re right.” She finally concedes. “It doesn’t make it right or any less uncomfortable.” Mione’s mind flickers to putting the woman’s clothes away into the dresser. Her cheeks darkening as she’s reminded of the few matching sets of undergarments she’d handled as though they’d’ve burned her. - Oh now that was a sentence she’d replay over and over. Being told she was right by the Minister. “When you’re far removed, the dark arts seem exciting..almost tempting with how forbidden they are. Magic that exists..but is shoved away.” She speaks, most would assume it was Tom who’d led her into the shadows, seduced her with the things dark magic could do. But it had been Morgana, a witch who’d been so powerful and could turn into a bird at will. And had died centuries before Bellatrix was born. “It has a strange hold, a calling. Even the great Harry Potter has used the dark arts. Felt how powerful they are.” She simply returned to her dinner, if Anita Skeeter wanted someone to admire, she’d oblige. - Bellatrix shouldn’t get used to being told she’s right.Hermione nods along with the suggestion that everyone was a little drawn towards the dark. Though doesn’t appreciate Harry’s name being sprinkled into the topic. “His hand was forced. You can’t know what it was like for him.” Hermione has always been fiercely protective of those she held dear. Her own mind wanders to Morgana, having herself held a decently sized fascination with the powerful woman her first and second year at Hogwarts. Though she grew out of it, didn’t everyone grow out of that sort of thing?“Regardless.” Hermione dismisses with the wave of her hand. “I won’t let it be said I didn’t warn you.” That’s about all she could finish the topic with. Whether Bellatrix listened or not is beyond her control. - “Forced?” She arches her brow and smirks. “Then tell me dear Minister, who forced his hand when he used the Cruciatus on me in the Ministry? Fifteen years old and he tried an Unforgivable curse the first instant he was angry enough. When there were dozens of other spells.” She sits back. “Or you, at 12 was it? Brewing illegal Polyjuice potion and stealing from a Professor?” Her eyes glimmered. “That’s the funny thing isn’t it, we banish the dark arts as forbidden and evil…until they’re convenient.” - “You did.” Hermione almost snaps but keeps her tone level. “You forced Harry to do that with your taunts and horrible high pitched cackle.” She retorts, the echoes of ‘I killed Sirius Black!’ now playing through her mind. “You can’t think of other spells when you’re overwhelmed with unimaginable grief.” Her chest aches, thinking of Sirius. How no one had even realized what had happened until it was far too late. Tripped, and slipped, beyond the veil. Her eyes narrow at the mention of her dabbling in illegal potion brewing. What did Draco tell her about that? “I did what was necessary at the time. It’s hardly a case to allow dark magic to be practiced without license.” - “Interesting.” Bellatrix mused. “Tell me, would that defense be admissible in court? Someone’s use of dark magic and forbidden curses on the basis of being taunted, laughed at or grieving and panicked?” She asked, not waiting for an answer. “Because if so, couldn’t you apply that same reasoning to oh let’s see..my using the curse on the Longbottoms? I was grieving the loss of my Master, and was told they knew where he was. I didn’t know it had been false.” She continues, enjoying playing with the moral compass of the Minister. “Or perhaps to your own interrogation. I too was overwhelmed , panicking over what the Dark Lord would do to me when he learnt you had the Cup. Fearing my own death.” - “He should have killed you then!” Hermione snaps, hands coming down hard against the table causing it to shake and their plates to rattle. She takes a few shallow breaths to steady herself. Clearing her throat and with it regaining her composure. “You were nothing to your ‘Master’ but a willing pawn. He felt nothing for you. Harry lost a godfather, just about the only parental figure he had left at the time and his last chance at what he considered a real family.” That still tugs at the Minister's heart in an unpleasant way. That Harry counted her and Ron as family but only half way. “You have no defense. Your actions were inexplicable through to the very end and even still after. If you’d been merely acting on emotion and nothing more you’d’ve snapped out of it by now. Harry has remorse, and a conscience, you do not.” - Watching the composed Minister lose her temper for the second time that day is most satisfying, especially as Hermione's jabs about her Master not caring for her simply roll off her shoulders."And is that my fault? That Potter lost a godfather? My cousin tripped. He fell through that archway, I didn't push him through or send him there. Are stunning spells illegal?" The dark haired witch asked, her eyes flashing. Everyone had thought she'd thrown the killing curse at him, that he was dead before the Veil took him, but she knew what spell had left her wand. and it had been a red Stunning Jinx. Not a green Killing Curse."No need to get testy, it was only a question of how far the Ministry is willing to look the other way." - Hermione knew, but no one had listened. Told her she must have seen it wrong. That of course it had been the killing curse and not anything else. “You were dueling him!” She doesn’t know why she’s even entertaining this. Bellatrix knew what she did. How it had affected Harry that day in the ministry. “I wasn’t Minister then, I don’t know what you’re wanting from me!” - The witch may have gleefully run through the Ministry, proclaiming she had 'killed' Sirius Black, but knew his death was never at her hands. Not intentionally."Yes, dueling. To stun him. To respond to his taunt, I could do better. " Her plate empty, she stood up. "I don't want anything from you, just a conversation. Oh but just for clarity's sake, tell me, did your dear fiancé celebrate when he murdered my husband?" She asks. - Hermione’s stares at the woman unsure if she was being serious or was merely taunting. It’s not nearly a large leap in logic that her dueling Sirius had in fact led to his death. Whether she intended to or not. Did she really think she was without fault merely due to intention? The next question throws her for a loop. Had Ron celebrated the death of Rodolphus? Well no, not exactly. They were a little busy mourning their own losses. Alastor. Hedwig. George’s left ear. “No, in fact he didn’t.” They hadn’t even known at the time it was Bellatrix’ husband. “Next question?” - Bellatrix just stares, contemplating and then shrugs. "Ask him if he feels remorse for it, oh but I bet you already know the answer." Without another word she sweeps from the room, going up the stairs to sort out her sleeping situation in the office, she wasn't even certain what furniture would be there. And where was her bag of clothes and potions?! - Hermione’s bites roughly to the inside of her cheek to keep from spitting out something she might regret. Standing from the table herself in favour of starting the dishes, though the dark witch’s word linger like a heavy cloud over her head. She knew Ron didn’t feel anything even vaguely similar to remorse for anything he’d done in the war, not just kill people. He still to this day refuses to apologize to Harry for a horrible comment made about Harry having no family. Though the bit about darkness always having a sort of call, one that even Hermione fell victim to, is concerning. Mostly because, yet again…Bellatrix was right. Hermione shudders at the thought, counting plates as she puts them in the dishwasher. ‘One, two, three, four, fi—four’ ? She opens up the cabinet to see only one plate left. She’s short five plates and it causes a wholly unnecessary panic to bubble in the woman’s chest. Suddenly counting all of her silverware and then counting again. Short five plates, one large and one small spoon, all of her small forks aside from the one she’d eaten dinner with. Things weren’t in their place and her numbers were off. Everything is now uneven and it makes her skin crawl with the need for it to be righted. 
Fix it.
Hermione climbs the stairs, two at a time, and unlocks and opens her library door. Finding the missing plates and cutlery strewn across the room. Having to take more than one large calming breath before calling out as level as she can manage.“Bellatrix, why are all my dishes in the library!” Trying very hard to remove the panic and upset from her tone. - Bellatrix was just standing in the middle of the doorway to the 'office' she'd just opened and trying to understand what she was looking at.Two nights ago she had opened all the doors on this floor, searched drawers and cabinets and this room had very clearly contained a desk and shelves of books. Now..there was a bed, chest of drawers, and even a vanity. There were linens on the bed too.Curiously she wandered in, opening the drawers and gasping softly to see the items she'd purchased neatly folded in the drawers."Why would she-" Her thoughts are interrupted by a certain someone shouting her name and she wanders over into the library."Your dishes?" She asked, staring and blinking at the pile of them in Hermione's hand and more of them stacked up. "Did the charm not work?" She asks. - About to go off about Bellatrix being raised in a barn Hermione takes pause at the question. Her brow furrowing in confusion. “Charm, what charm? Why would you leave these in the library? I don’t have an elf.” Her mind is buzzing, angry at the interruption to her schedule.Living alone afforded the witch the ability to only have to do dishes once a week. Every Thursday the routine was the same. After dinner, load the dishwasher and count the plates up to ten. Then the silverware followed by the cups. It was always the same, it always had to be the same.Hermione was lost behind brown eyes. Coming back only when the feeling of holding the pile of dirty dishes becomes nearly suffocating. She dashed down the stairs to place them in the sink and was back up in less than a blink. “Sorry, did you say why you’d done that?” Back to herself like nothing had happened. - Bellatrix had opened her mouth, gotten half the response out when that look reappeared, the same look the witch had had in the Cauldron shop, so Bellatrix held her tongue.Hermione dashes away and back so quickly it makes her dizzy but since it appeared the Minister was present now she'd try her response again. "It would be peculiar if you did have an elf, I meant the charm." When she was met with a blank expression she rolled her eyes."The charm, that sends the dishes and cutlery to the kitchen? So that they vanish when you're finished with them? After losing Dobby, Cissy charmed the plates. They would disappear, get washed and be ready for use." - “I don’t have a charm on the dishes, Bellatrix. I do them myself. Please don’t leave them in the library or anywhere else around the house. They go in the sink until I tend to them on Thursday evenings.” She explains, shifting from foot to foot a bit anxiously at just how much of herself had been shown to the woman across from her. She braces for taunting. For torment. Some comment about not being a space cadet, or worse trying to downplay the severity of her feelings by saying ‘they’re only dishes’ or something of the sort. - "Oh, well I didn't know that." Is the response she gives, watching the other woman carefully. If Bellatrix was good at one thing, it was reading people, a necessary skill when you're a trained assassin. Hermione hadn't given the statement with a tone of annoyance or even anger that Bellatrix had left the dishes around, she sounded almost panicked...This wasn't a request or demand that she doesn't leave them about..it was a plea. "I'll make sure they're in the sink then." She answers. - The relief she feels is immediately visible on freckled features. Her shoulders relaxing and jaw unclenching as she nods her head slightly. “Thank you..” She says with only a hint of skepticism. That had been far easier than she’d imagined it in her head. Brown eyes search sharp features for a ‘why’ , an ulterior motive of any kind, and is alarmed to find nothing at all.Alarm bells sound in her head that she might’ve given too much of herself away with her actions and Bellatrix was beginning to catch on. No, Merlin, please no.She needs that potion, immediately. “I have to go start my brew.” As soon as she unloads the dishwasher to start her process over again, properly this time. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you…need anything.” It’s all she can really think to say. Turning on her heel and having to make a conscious effort to walk, not run down the stairs. - Bellatrix’ eyes narrow just slightly, that was far too much relief on her face than the situation called for. All she’d agreed to do was put dishes in the sink…but that reaction was more accurate to her agreeing not to burn the house down in her sleep. And she was gone again.Bellatrix had never met someone who moved so quickly from one place to another! What was so pressing about those plates?While her new bed was tempting, curiosity won out and she descended the stairs to the kitchen, standing there just watching the witch. Watching her unload and then reload the odd machine with dishes. Why was she taking the dirty ones out just to put them back? Was she counting the forks? “I haven’t stolen any silverware you know.” She states. - Hermione doesn’t even hear the footsteps behind her on the stairs, nor how they follow her into the kitchen. Immediately setting out to right the perceived wrong. Counting the plates as she puts them back into their slots, feeling her tensed shoulder relax a bit with each one. Putting back spoons; counting ‘one, two, three, four, five’ small, ‘one, two, three, four, five’ big.   Beginning on the forks when the voice startles her so badly she drops the utensils to the floor with a clattering bang. “Oh!” Briefly looking at Bellatrix but immediately down to the floor, staring at the forks and arguing with herself that; no , this doesn’t mean she needs to start over. Anxiety wins over compulsions as it often does. The anxiety of Bellatrix seeing her start over yet again too large to allow it to happen. She slowly bends to pick them up. “I know. I’m just checking.” The excuse falls without hesitation. She’d been ‘just checking’ her entire life. - Her eyes move slowly over the scene in front of her, not quite believing the excuse and deciding to push a little. “Just checking for what? In case I transfigured something into one to keep the real one?” Bellatrix asks, she was curious now. The store, the spacing, the dishes upstairs and now counting the silverware. While she speaks, she twitches her finger, lifting one plate out of its slot and moving it to lay on the cups. Watching. Waiting.-Well that was an anxiety she didn’t know she had. Suddenly staring at the utensils in her hands trying to determine if they are the real ones, or merely books Bellatrix transfigured. “Just ensuring they’re all there, Bellatrix. Cutlery is expensive.” A bit irritated now. It’s the same excuse Ron buys every time.  Her heart nearly leaps out of her chest as she glances at the work she’d already done and finds an error. “What—“ She quickly puts it back as if moving fast would ensure her brain didn’t catch on. 
‘Wrong! How could you have let that happen! You did it all wrong, plates don’t go with cups. Fix it!’
Of course this isn’t true, she hadn’t made that mistake, and now the urge to restart is stronger than ever. The minister stands exceptionally still as she retreats into her thoughts. Had she actually done that? Certainly she hadn’t. She would have realized sooner…
‘You always mess things up. Check everything. There’s probably another.’
The voice is unrelenting and cruel. Anxiety pipping up, most unwelcome. ‘You’re staring again. You look mental. She’s going to notice, you can’t hide it without that potion. She moved it and she's testing you. Don’t react, you'll embarrass us.’ Hermione opts to firmly shake her head, forcibly regaining control of her own thoughts. Fussing with the plate that had been moved just once more before going back to the forks. What number was she on?“Did you move that plate?” She asks in a clipped tone. - Bellatrix was watching, carefully. Hermione had already fixed it, had put it back but she was still staring at it like it might grow legs and walk away if she stopped. “I thought it looked better there, more room. Why?” She asks, blinking innocently trying to decipher just what was so important. What was the fixation on the dinnerware! Blink. Fixation. Just like at the shop and upstairs. Her fingers twitch again, this time lifting the cup out of the rack, hovering in the air over to Bella. Without a sound, she dropped the charm levitating it and the cup fell to the hard tiled floor, breaking into several pieces.  ‘Alright Granger, let’s see what you do’ She thinks to herself. - “Stop tha—No, don’t!” Practically diving after the cup as it crashes to the floor. “No, no… why would you do that!” She’s nearly screaming, unable to check her tone or reign in her reaction before it’s out in the open. Her anxiety chastises her for giving in and compulsion screaming even louder than she just had,  inside the confines of her consciousness. ‘It’s broken! It’s ruined! You can’t fix this, you need to fix this!’ The tears fall immediately and she doesn’t even try to stop or hide them. These cups came in a set of five. If she buys another she’ll have fourteen, not ten. No, no, no this is all wrong. She tries to pick up the broken pieces and not injure herself in the process; to do what with, she doesn’t even know what.“Why in Godric’s name would you do something so stupid !” She snaps, looking up with contempt disproportionate to the situation. She’s completely forgotten the break is easily remedied by the wand holstered at her hip. - Bellatrix simply stood and watched, she'd broken countless plates and glasses; some belonging to her mother, Cissy and even at restaurants but no one had screamed like that. Had begun crying over a broken cup.Calmly and without a word, Bellatrix flicked her wrist the opposite direction and the cup repaired itself, not even a hint of  hairline crack in the porcelain."You'd have thought I just murdered your dog." She stated, her mind still slowly piecing together everything."You're counting forks, screaming over broken cups, panicking about dirty dishes not being in the sink and you disappear into your head so far you can't see the world around you. Why?” - Hermione watches the cup repeats its actions in reverse. The humiliation of forgetting she could have done that herself silencing all else in her brain for a brief moment of total silence. 
‘Idiot’
She stands from the floor, practically snatching the cup back and turning it over in her hand once, twice, three times until she’s satisfied that it’s exactly as it was. Decidedly ignoring that intrusive thought to break the rest of them so it’s even and gingerly putting the cup back into its rightful spot. Hermione’s blood freezes in her veins as Bellatrix speaks.“I just like things to be orderly.” She’s defensive, picking the remaining forks up and slamming them back down because it can’t be done like this.“I don’t disappear into my head, I don’t know what you’re on about.” Anxiety rises as she attempts to find seamless ways to get herself out of this line of questioning. - Bellatrix knew there was more at play here, she just didn't know what it was! Confirmed when Hermione slammed the remaining forks down."Orderly? Well, I can help with order." She flicks her wrist, sending all of the remaining forks into the holder with the rest of the cutlery and closing the door to what looked to be a washing cabinet. "There you are, everything is ready to be cleaned."Talk your way out of that one Granger."You do, several times today you haven't heard a word I've said when you asked the question, your eyes dilate and you are completely unresponsive! You've done it at the Cauldron Shop and upstairs in the library, before you dashed off with the dishes and back again I might add!" - Hermione watches on almost absently as the dishwasher is slammed shut. Her breath hitching and catching as rage builds behind her eyes. She’s biting so hard to her lip she knows it’s bleeding, can faintly taste the blood, as she knows she’s cornered. Her mouth opens and then snaps shut again. Gryffindor pride is not something to be tampered with, and something she can’t set aside.Her eyes smart as the day is recounted to her as though she hadn’t lived it. Godric, she had really been hoping it wasn’t that bad. Hoped she was making it larger than it had been. That Bellatrix hadn’t actually noticed any of those things. She feels stupid to have lulled herself into that false sense of security. “What does it even matter to you? You’re just being nosy. There isn’t anything wrong with me, I’m not crazy!” She gasps slightly surprised by her own words and how they very nearly mirrored Bellatrix’ own from earlier. There’s a long pause, the minister continuing to worry at her lip, brow furrowed deeply. “I have obsessive compulsive disorder.” She finally mumbles quietly as a mouse. Flinching slightly as the word ‘disorder’ comes out even quieter than the rest. - Bellatrix just stands there, oddly silent as she watches Hermione stare at the door she'd just shut full of dishes, and then watched the anger rise up behind her eyes.All of that quickly forgotten when unprompted she claimed she wasn't crazy. Echoing her words in the courtroom just that morning.The admission of the disorder doesn't truly answer any of Bellatrix' questions, the word doesn't mean anything to her but just the addition of the word 'disorder' and 'obsessive' is enough to click some pieces into place. Her expression shows it."I see.." Bellatrix wants to ask what that means but that would mean admitting she didn't know herself. It did give her ammo though. "So it seems, you're as 'not crazy' as me." - Hermione takes a deep breath, seeing the briefest look of confusion flicker across dark brown eyes, and is about to start rattling off the definition and common symptoms that align with the ones she experiences when the world stops spinning on its axis.
‘You’re just as ‘not crazy’ as me.’ 
Her first clenched tightly at her side, her body shaking very briefly, before releasing. Breathing long and slow as she pulls herself back together. To have hit her would only further the point the woman thinks she has. “No actually, it’s quite the opposite. I have a reason for the things I do because of it. A disordered way of thinking. I’ve never killed or tortured someone over a cup, or an out of place vial, or disrupting the routine I have engraved inside my head.” This does not mean she’s never thought of it. Her physical out-lashes had never taken themselves out on another person, only herself on particular trying evenings. However the same could not be said about verbal expressions. She suddenly feels eight years old again. Standing on the playground as everyone stared. Pink chalk clutched tightly in her first as she screamed, and screamed, at a classmate who’d thought it’d be funny to ruin her drawing. still able to hear the whispers ‘She’s doing it again.’ ‘Absolutely mental Mione is.’ ‘It’s only a drawing’ in her head. “You’ve no excuse at all.” She finally adds. - Bellatrix folds her arms and smirks. "Really? From what I hear, it sounds like only one of us has a disorder for our behaviour. Got a little nasty voice in your head telling you to do things, Granger? I don't." She says simply.This was too perfect, all the comments about how crazy she was and the Minister has a disorder!"Did it ever occur to you that I do things because I want to ? Because I enjoy it ? You're so busy trying to prove I'm insane, but really it seems like the shoe's on the other foot now. I assume the Prophet knows they've elected a Minister to run the place who just cried in panic over a broken cup? Tell me Minister, do you brew a potion to control it?" - “That’s exactly why you are insane!” But Hermione’s words have little bite when yelled from the witch who is on the verge of tears. “Stop it.” That nasty little voice louder than ever. Screaming deafeningly loud just as it had when she was a child learning to cope.Each word is like a physical blow to the minister. “Stop it! Stop talking! ” The volume and desperation of her tone steadily increasing. She’s not crazy. It’s not her fault!“Of course I’ve thought of that, that’s what makes you crazy! You—“ Her yells are cut short by the mention of the Prophet. Her heart rate skyrocketed. No, no! That little blonde bitch cannot find out about this!“You don’t know what you're talking about! You don’t understand what it’s like—“ She tries but Bellatrix keeps going. The final blow comes with bringing up her potion like it’s something she could be ashamed of. Like any of this is something she should be ashamed of.“Shut your sodding mouth! Get out of my face, and quit acting like you know anything about this, about me, when you know nothing ! You should hear how truly stupid you sound right now! Coming at me like I’ve something to be ashamed of, when your parents were ashamed of you the moment you took your first breath!“ - “If there’s nothing to be ashamed of…how come I’m the only one who knows?” Bellatrix shot back.She holds up her hand before Hermione can get an answer in and rolls her eyes. “You can save the ‘everyone does know’ horseshit, I can see in your head that no one does. Not the Prophet, not your little fuck toy Clara..not even Weasel.” She grins. “I think it would make a fabulous story for Anita don’t you? Uncover what’s been hiding under that goody goody exterior. I’d bet Saint Mungos would find a place for you in a flash.” She smirks cruelly, laughing even at the attempt to insult her. “My parents…weren’t filthy muggles ” - Hermione’s nostrils flare, opening her mouth to insist that people know when she’s stopped before she can even begin. “I don’t know where you pull your delusions from but stop insulting Clara. She’s done nothing to you.” Of course Ron doesn’t know, has she met him!?Defeat sweeps across her in the most unwelcome way. The jab at her parents only made her eyes roll. “Tell her.” She says jaw clenching with anxiety. “See if I care. Whatever they think of me will still pale in comparison to what the world thinks of you.” - Bellatrix looks her over and shrugs. “No, you know who would be more interested than the Prophet, Weasel. Find out the person he’s marrying is keeping secrets. Hiding their crazy behind paperwork and potions.” With that final remark she disappears back up the stairs to her room, leaving the Minister to have her breakdown in peace. - Hermione stares, giving a look that reads some combination of ‘you wouldn’t dare’ and ‘please, anyone but him’ . Then the death eater turns on her heel and is gone back up the stairs. Pressing her back to the counters Hermione sinks to the floor, hands coming up to tug at her hair until the pain is so bad there’s tears in her eyes and she has to stop. Her chest hiccups and heaves but the tears stubbornly refuse to fall. This was a mess and she regrets making the study a suitable place to stay. She should have made the woman sleep in the bathroom. - Bellatrix lays down on the bed, just smirking  to herself. She wouldn’t be telling anyone yet, this was too perfect blackmail to just give it up out of spite. It could work to her advantage..She sinks into the mattress with a sigh, no window seat. She had proper night clothes and her potions. Her first proper night in days, and as a bonus she’d made the brunette cry. Perfect. - Hermione sits there for a long time, what feels like hours. Just staring off into space as the many voices of her wage an all out war inside her head. ‘ Sit down. Stand up. Brew the potion. Don’t. Do the dishes. Owl Ron. Do the dishes. Do the dishes. Do the dishes.’ Eventually she stands, and does the dishes, before slowly making her way into her bedroom. Stripping down without bothering to close the door and slipping on one of Ron’s Weird Sisters concert tees and collapsing onto the mattress. She hadn’t even had time to brew the potion. She pulls the plush tabby cat from its usual spot, grabbing hold of its front right paw, and flicks her wrist to close and lock the bedroom door. Murmuring ‘nox’ to shut the light and more or less passes out from mental exhaustion. - Bellatrix had changed into the plum nightdress she’d bought, and sipped the two necessary potions to aid sleep and banish night terrors, climbing into bed and almost immediately falling asleep, a little smile on her face. She’d won this round. And she intended to sleep in late tomorrow morning, in her bed. No trials to get up early for and Hermione would be at work all day, no one to bother her. Perhaps her things from Athens would even arrive.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione’s out of the house before the sun even comes up. Ensuring not even a chance encounter with the horrible thing masquerading around her house as a person. Her heels click along the tilted flooring when a voice by the lifts nearly trips her.

“Well good morning, Minister. You’re awful early.” Clara’s voice is welcomed after only hearing Bellatrix’ for an entire day.

“I could say the same for you, Clara.” Her voice is cool and clipped in a way the auror doesn’t recognize. Clara’s brow furrows as her hands shove their way into denim pockets. “Rough night, then?” She asks, treading lightly.

“The evening was fine. I didn’t return because she needed to purchase some things in Diagon.” Hermione’s mind is filled with Bella’s jabs at her and the woman who stood a few feet away from her.

“Alright then…I’m meeting with my field team about a lead on the illegal wand making in knockturn.” She informs. “..Did you want to come and be briefed, it’ll be around eleven if you want to clear a spo—“ Hermione interrupts by shaking her head.

“No thank you Clara, I really do need to get to my office as I’m very busy today.” Hermione insists before continuing on.

Clara is left standing there with her eyes narrowed suspiciously as the witch disappeared. Alright who was that, and what had they done with Hermione Jean?
 
-
 
It was near noon before the dark witch decided to get up, wandering to the kitchen in her night dress, and making tea, the magic way of course by heating the water with her wand.

She’d had such pleasant dreams, about a blonde in Athens. Oh it was nice to have someone to dream of again with the potions keeping any night terrors at bay. The witch was in such a good mood she wandered out to the deck with her tea.

Clara had tried to speak with the Minister half a dozen other times after the morning but each time, her secretary informed her the Minister was busy and not to be disturbed. That was odd. Since when did Hermione ignore her of all people? What had that psycho woman done to her? Of course realistically she can’t have

done

anything and still be alive.
 
-
 
Salem taps her beak against the window. Once, twice, three times and then not once more. Holding a small pouch in her beak, finally back from Athens.

Hermione keeps herself busy within her office. Pushing meetings in favour of replying to foreign dignitaries and finalizing the budgets for the quarter and ignoring everyone who tried to interrupt. She hadn’t been able to brew her potion after the events of the prior evening and the idea of being around anyone longer than a few short minutes was anxiety producing on levels she hadn’t felt in years.
 
-
 
Hearing tapping at the window, Bellatrix was confused but seeing the bird she gasped and ran to the window. “Hello there, is that for me?” She asks, taking the pouch carefully from the bird.

She looked at it, hoping it was an extension charm, otherwise that wasn’t a lot of items that could fit in the small bag and her connection would not be receiving the agreed upon amount.

Even Ron’s attempt to bring Hermione out to lunch, had her secretary Florence waving him away with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just following directions.”
 
-
 
The bag was in fact charmed, her connection in Athens very much came through for her.

Ron and Clara decided on lunch together. Speculating on what the dark witch might’ve done to their Mione to make her lock herself away in the office all day.

“I don’t think the contract covered physiological torment.” Clara says through a bite of her sub sandwich. Ron groans, placing his forehead down to the table. “Uuurgh…Hermione.”

Salem hands off the bag and lifts a taloned foot expectantly, head tilting to look upside down at the witch.
 
-
 
“Oh, one moment.” Bellatrix responds, going off to fetch another small bag, and attaching it to the bird’s foot. The payment for her connection.

“Take that to him for me will you? He’ll have to exchange it for proper currency but it’s all there.” She nodded, giving the bird a pat on the head before carefully opening the small pouch, shaking the contents out onto the living room floor. Extension charm.

Books, clothing, and other small things tumbled out but the one her eyes went to was a small black velvet bag, pulling the strings loose and gingerly pulling out the familiar pendant, fingers brushing over the silver crow skull. Two decades she hadn’t been able to wear it, it was too unique a piece, so infamously hers but now she eagerly fastened it around her neck.

Clara watched Ron in confusion. “She did the best she could, she was a little busy trying to fix the mess you lot made bringing her in!” She says in a low voice.
 
-
 
Salem stood there. Looking affronted if an owl could do such a thing. She was expecting a treat and what Hermione affectionately calls ‘fist bumps’. When she receives nothing but a head pat she ruffled her feathers, clutching the coin filled bag and flies off with a hoot.

Ron scoffs at the fellow auror. “If we hadn’t’ve done it we wouldn’t’ve ever caught her. Then what? Just live out the rest of our lives knowing Bellatrix Lestrange is roaming the globe?”

Clara picks up her soda giving Ron a sort of shrug, “You know she wasn’t exactly bothering anyone over there, now was she?“

Anita Skeeter, in her little portion of the world, was getting dressed absolutely buzzing for the interview she was about to conduct. Looking into the vanity mirror blue eyes flicker to the news clippings she keeps in frame.  ‘Mass breakout from Azkaban’ and one of Bellatrix’ mugshots staring back at her. This was going to be brilliant.
 
-
 
Ron turned several shades of pink and sputtered at Clara's comment. "Not bothering anyone? She's Bellatrix bloody Lestrange! She was supposed to have

died

! What you would have just let her alone then?"

Clara did not appreciate the tone Ron was using and stared at him "All I'm saying is that she seemed to have been causing less problems over there in two decades, than she has here in less than a week. Or-" She huffs. "You could have

followed procedure,

alerted the Minister who you'd found and she'd been locked away in Azkaban by now instead of tormenting the Minister in her own home." She almost hissed.

Bellatrix wasn't sure what time the reporter was coming but certainly had no intention of meeting her in her night dress, slipping on a dark midnight blue dress and tightening the corset backings. Turning around in the mirror at the vanity she smiled. There she was. She looked like herself again, for the first time in ages she could recognize the witch in the mirror.
 
-
 
Ron shrinks back a bit. An angry Clara was not what he needed to add to his day. “I’m jus’ saying it was Harry’s bone headed idea.” He murmurs, beginning to stand as their lunch hour ends.

Anita must have changed her outfit a dozen different times. Feeling woefully underprepared to meet the dark witch again, in a much more private setting. Salazar she hopes the Minister doesn’t linger about. Hopefully she isn’t there at all. That thought sets Cornish Pixies loose in her stomach, though she won’t hold her breath. Pulling the written on paper from where she’d stashed it, Anita is once again brushing her fingers adoringly along the neat calligraphy. Maybe she could get Bellatrix to sign her name all perfect and pretty like that.

Snapping to her senses the reporter smooths the skirt of her dress, reads the address to be able to repeat it in her head, and apparates away.

Hermione’s got her forehead pressed to her desk, forcing in depth breaths as she battles with those ‘nasty little voices’ in her head. Anxiety pressing in about people finding out via Bellatrix as well as being under productive with her day. Compulsion is angry, always so angry, her fixed routines have been altered.
 
-
 
"And it was your idea to illegally use the silencing charm on her

and

threaten her with execution." Clara adds and stands up as well to return to work, they'd followed the lead to the illegal wand making and found nothing so far.

Bellatrix had just decided to sit and read one of the books that had been sent from Athens when she heard a 'pop' of apparition and inwardly groaned. The Minister wasn't supposed to be home yet, she'd just gotten up!

Confirmation that it was not in fact Hermione, came when a knock followed at the door, the Minister wouldn't be knocking at her own door. Her heartbeat quickened, it must be Anita!

Fussing with her hair for a moment, she ran to the stairs, opting to slide down the bannister instead of walking down them and coming to the door to open it with a little grin. "Anita Skeeter, lovely to see you again. Come in, the Minister's at work so I'm afraid it will just be us." She speaks, almost baiting the blonde to tell her she was glad Hermione wasn't about.
 
-
 
If it’s bait the blonde bites without hesitation. “Oh brilliant, she won’t be able to interrupt with her prattling.” Blue eyes widen as the inside thought becomes an outside one. She shouldn’t be talking against the Minister, but then again her Mum doesn’t mind doing it so neither should she.

Clara walks into the press room right before Hermione’s office. Florence sighing to see the auror for what felt like the tenth time today.

“I’m sorry Clara, I already told you that—“

“The Minister is busy and is not to be disturbed at this time. I know Florence, but I’m not asking this time.” Clara dismisses, walking right up to the office door and opening it. Slipping inside as the Minister’s head shoots up from the desk, staring wide eyed at the brunette who shuts the door behind her.

Anita steps inside only when prompted. Exceedingly careful not to do or say anything out of turn not out of fear of the dark witch in front of her but out of the desire to impress her.

“Thank you for agreeing to an exclusive, Madame Lestrange.” She says politely while taking a seat in Hermione’s arm chair, as opposed to beside Bellatrix on the couch. She doesn’t want to appear

too

eager (despite it already being far too late for that).

“My boss couldn’t believe it when I’d told him”
 
-
 
Bellatrix has to fight very hard to keep the smirk from her lips when the blonde takes the bait hook line and sinker. And the young thing wasn't afraid to speak ill of the Minister, wonderful.

Clara folds her arms and stands directly in front of the Minister. "Alright Hermione, what's going on? Since when are you too busy to even have lunch with Ron and I? And I've never known you to turn down an opportunity to be debriefed as you did this morning. What's the wicked witch of the west end done?" She asks, her tone forceful but her eyes full of concern.

Watching the blonde take a seat opposite her, Bellatrix pauses and then decides to leave it for now. She'd let Anita play at being professional.

"Of course, I'm honoured that the Daily Prophet is interested in me at all. Given my colourful past and all." She blinked innocently, she was excellent at selecting just the right words, to elicit the reaction she wanted. Anita wanted to adore her, she'd be more than happy to oblige and let the blonde do so.
 
-
 
Talking ill about the Minister is a Skeeter’s favourite pastime. Hermione shouldn’t take it so harshly. The target really does move, it isn’t

just

her. Should Bellatrix wish to participate in Granger slander, Anita might have an interesting side story about her mother’s brief time as a beetle in the now-minister’s jar.

“Of course!” The blonde says sounding a bit alarmed Bellatrix might believe she isn’t worth the story or attention. “I believe it’s because of those things everyone is so interested.” She insists. Everyone being her and solely her. Her colleagues had looked at her as if she’d gone mental when she told them of the interview.

‘Alone? You’re going to have an interview with Bellatrix Lestrange, alone?’

‘If you need me to come with you Anita I don’t mind.’

‘Just be careful..’

Her green quick-quotes quill hovers, poised and ready to write, Anita gathering her notes so she doesn’t forget a question. “I suppose we should start with the beginning.” No she doesn’t mean the arrest in Athens, that hardly scratched the surface of the infinite many things the witch wanted to know.

“What called you to the dark arts? What were your hopes, dreams, aspirations? Was it to gain control of something, or perhaps the favour of someone?” Oh Anita knows. All about the rumours of her and young Voldemort. Being related to gossip personified she knows better to believe anything that isn’t straight from the source, though.

Hermione quickly looks back down at the desk to hide how her lips quirk upwards very slightly. Clara, as formal as she typically is, never calls Hermione by her name during working hours. Even having a hard time doing so outside of the Ministry’s time.

Her stomach twists but somehow also flutters as the auror rattles off the ways, the tells, that Hermione hasn’t been herself. She’d noticed. Hermione doesn’t know if that adds to her anxiety or takes away from it.

“She’s just a nuisance. Always right there in my ear, it’s maddening. Always a sharp comeback. Always taunting. She can’t put her hands on me but that certainly doesn’t stop her from tearing my life apart in other ways.” There’s a thin lipped silence and Hermione knows better than to think Clara won’t just ask again if she feels the answer hadn’t sufficed. “She just knows something I’d prefer she didn’t.” There, was that what the auror wanted?
 
-
 
"Well, so long as I'm interesting enough for everyone." Bellatrix says with a shrug of feigned modesty.Hearing that they'll be starting at the beginning, she pauses, already trying to work out in her head what she could and could not say about her capture and arrest but Anita's question takes her by surprise. Oh the

very

beginning!

"Well, given I was born into the Black family, I suppose you could say it was just part of me. My entire family used curses and hexes without blinking, my Aunt Walburga tortured House Elves. I suppose the first real draw to it was Morgana Le Fay. I'd never heard of dark

witch

before, wizards were heavily researched and spoken about, including the founder of my house but to learn that a witch, a

woman

, could bend and twist the boundaries of magic. A Queen at that, well I was intrigued." She doesn't want to give away too much, nothing that could be seen as overly personal, weaving bits of new information into the well known story everyone already had.

"Of course being in school, I couldn't exactly pursue them. I could read about them, write about them but it was the Dark Lord himself who taught me how to use dark magic, harness it. He trained me, taught me how to twist and manipulate spells to do what I wanted them to, how to not only how to cast the Cruciatus..but how to hold it, control the force I used." She sighs, the memories playing out in her head, his hand around her wrist, showing her the movements whispering encouragement in her ear with Gideon Prewett at her feet begging for mercy.

Anita’s second question makes her pause only a moment. "What did I want from it? I wanted to be unstoppable, I wanted power and control that I wasn't afforded simply because I was born a witch." She answers and watches the blonde and the quill scribbling furiously above her head.

Clara watches and listens, but not believing the only thing that had the Minister acting like this was someone who could be described as simply a nuisance. There it was. Clara wouldn't press for an explanation.

"And you think locking yourself away and pushing away everyone else will change what she knows?" She asks softly.

"You're the Minister of Magic, she's the unhinged criminal. You have all of the power, she has none. Especially not with a bit of nonsense blackmail."
 
-
 
Anita listened with the sort of attention that should be reserved for gods themselves. Ocean eyes shimmering as the things she’s only read about are told to her in greater detail by the very witch who’d gone through it.

“I wrote a paper on Morgana in my journalism class, a few years back.” Anita says thrilled for even an inch of common ground. Though even as a young witch the near entirety of her attention was held captive by the very witch sitting in front of her. This all felt like a dream she doesn’t wish to wake up from.

Nodding along as the death eater states what the driving force had been. To be powerful. Unstoppable.

Glancing over at her furiously scribbling quill she checks over the sheet it’s writing on. “Did you get the part about her gender insecurity?” She murmurs and the quill writes faster. There’s no malice in her tone. No intent to harm behind her words. She truly doesn’t mean to twist it in such a way, it’s merely a habit.

“What can you tell me about your little quartet?” She asks, leaning forwards slightly. “You, Bartemius, your husband, and his brother. Had you four always been close? Even before your sentencing?” A tiniest hint of envy slips into her tone. Taking a sigh to mourn the fact she’d not been born in that time period.

Hermione’s eyes sting hearing the soft concern in Clara’s voice, tears watering at her lash line but she manages to blink them back. “I think pushing people away will prevent other people from finding out.” It’s a weak excuse, at best, but it’s the truth.

‘Nonsense black mail’

has Hermione’s features twisting with a brief flicker of anger, and hurt, but she quickly regains composure.

“You say it like it’s that simple, Clara.” She says doing her best to keep her voice even. “She has more power than you’re giving her credit for. I should have written more into the contract. I feared if I put too much she wouldn’t be inclined to even negotiate.”

“Hermione Jean, what could she possibly know that would pose any sort of threat to you?” Clara says sitting in the chair across from the ministry, formalities slipping further as she continues. “What has she figured out you fancy me? Is that what this is about?” Her tone is playful, meaning none of the lighthearted taunt. She’s merely trying to lighten the minister's mood. Hermione could get so in her head at times she forgets what a joke even is, forgets how to laugh.

Mione falters very briefly. Why did Clara have to say that? Even as a joke. Before she replies. “It’s worse, Clara.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix' gaze shifts as she hears that murmured comment, staring at the quill. "There is a difference between being

insecure

and having to follow a set of rules and boundaries." She adds, almost too calmly.

The mention of her little group tugs at her heart a bit but she doesn't allow any of that to show on her face, simply nodding. "We were all part of the pureblood society, grew up together, Barty was a few years our junior." She's not about to go into detail about which Lestrange brother she preferred vs the one she married.

"I was friends with both Rabastan and Rodolphus in school, then Barty once he began. He was in a different house though, Ravenclaw. Rabastan and I were the first to earn our marks, then Barty and last was Rodolphus. Four of the Dark Lord's most trusted and faithful. Barty and I were second to him Lieutenant and Right Hand." She states, Merlin she missed having that title.

Clara just stares, a bit thrown off her attempt at humour had failed and not liking the way Hermione falters before answering. "Worse? Hermione Jean, there is

nothing

that woman could know that would ever hurt you. And I don't mean to brush off whatever it might be, I mean unless you've secretly murdered someone, there's nothing that could come out that would change anything. We

all

love and admire you."
 
-
 
Anita gasps when Bellatrix reveals the order of their marks. The blonde had always, in every source she’d ever read, known the order to be Bellatrix, Barty, Rodolphus, then Rabastan.

“My, my, how fascinating..” She breaths. Still listening but allowing her mind to playback her own formative years when Hogwarts is mentioned. Her pale cheeks take on a bit of colour as she remembers just how much trouble her little…

special interes

t had gotten her into.

More so it was the bullying. Worse than the Professors constantly owling her mother that they were concerned for her well being. The other kids had been nasty. She had always been sapphic and never once was quiet about that fact. Though this worked greatly against her when her sole focus seemed to be a very conventionally attractive, very sadistic witch.

Moving on from the friend group Anita tests the waters at something more personal to her interests in the woman. “Is it true you’ve been under no less than twenty cruciatus curses, and are still largely unaffected?” The written record of the witch was fifteen but Anita never believed it to be that low.

Hermione feels the tears she’d suppressed come back with a vengeance as Clara tells her she’s not just admired but loved. Feeling guilty for the flare of anger she’d felt but knows it wasn’t truly her fault for feeling it. “To say it out loud after making such a fuss, I’ll sound ridiculous.” She complains. No of course she hadn’t murdered anyone, of course she hadn’t.

“Try me. I’ve always been exceedingly open minded.” Clara tries, gentle still.

Hermione silently thanks the gods that Clara is a halfblood, which would give a larger opportunity for her understanding of what Hermione is about to say, as opposed to Bellatrix’ ignorance.

“I’ve obsessive compulsive disorder. We got into an argument about the dishes and she’d largely put the pieces together by then. I just couldn’t hide it, I really tried.”
 
-
 
Yes, Bellatrix too was aware of the incorrect record that had been made, no one seemed to believe that Rabastan would have earned the mark before his brother but it was the truth!

Anita's next question comes as a surprise, a welcome one as she hadn't been aware anyone had bothered to pay attention to such a record and grins, counting them up in her head, debating whether or not to include the feeble attempt Potter had made and deciding to in order to boost the number. "Yes, it is true. Twenty-three to be exact, no lasting damage from any of them."

She was proud of that, it had been a symbol of her strength, that she hadn't buckled when others had under much less. Potter could share in her knowledge of the intensity in which the Dark Lord could cast that curse, making it feel like you were being torn apart from the inside out.

Anita hardly breathed, blue eyes wide as she took in the sheer number of curses the witch sat in front of her had endured. Twenty-three.

"That's...impressive. If I recall from the reports the Longbottoms only received--"

Bellatrix can't help herself, interrupting the young witch to answer the question before it's asked aloud. "Five each, one from each of us and then a bonus before they snapped."

Clara just stares for a moment, silent and waiting for the Minister to add on something else and realizing that, that

was

the big reveal she cleared her throat. "Hermione I'm not sure how to..say this but, I

know

you have OCD. Well, I didn't know for sure until you just said but I've suspected it for several years now."
 
-
 
Hermione feels as though someone had just pressed an off button inside her. Clara already knew? For several years? The Minister blinks as she boots back up.

Clara sees that look she recognized very well at this point and rushes to add. “Though not because you haven’t got a handle on it. It’s just my job to look for it. Wouldn’t be a very good auror if I couldn’t pick up on that sort of thing.” It’s a jab at Ron that she hopes isn’t a step too far. Hermione’s nods slowly, having not even taken in the last couple of sentences.

Clara had known. She’d always known, and yet..had never said anything? The idea makes Hermione’s heart skip a beat.

“Oh.” Hermione finally manages with the clear of her throat, willing away the faint tint to her cheeks. “I suppose I hadn’t exactly considered that…at all.”

Clara smiles kindly. “Why would I even mention it? It makes no difference. You’re still as brilliant and capable as you would be without it, and you’re strong for learning to live with it.” Hermione’s heart sings, hearing the words she’d craved to hear from someone other than her parents since childhood and she thinks she might genuinely break down sobbing.

Anita is still reeling from the answer she’d received. Sparkling eyes taking in the dark witch in front of her not so subtly. Salazar, she was gorgeous. Skin even more porcelain than any picture could capture. Black hair that's curly, beautifully so, and not exceedingly frizzy or matted as often described. Defined features and a jawline that could cut stone and—

“Wait a tick..” Her inside thoughts become outside one’s again. “You weren’t wearing that last time!” She nearly sounds offended. “No, no I’m certain you didn’t have your necklace last we met, I’d’ve noticed. Is that really the original?” It was too good to be true.
 
-
 
Clara sighs and flicks her wand, refilling the noticeably empty cup on the Minister’s desk. “You’ve been here since daybreak, you should think about leaving early, get some rest.” Clara says gently, she knew going home wasn’t as relaxing for the Minister now as it used to be, but it was better than watching her drown herself in paperwork.

Bellatrix didn’t even falter under Anita’s gaze, in fact she was basking in it, pretending to absently tuck a strand of hair or tilt her head to show off her bone structure.

Her hand hovered over the pendant, adjusting its position against her throat and grinning. “You’re quite observant Miss Skeeter, I wasn’t wearing this yesterday, it just arrived with my things from Athens.” She replied and seeing the look in those pretty blue eyes, she got a wicked idea.

“Would you like to touch it?” She asks and the blonde just about goes mute, nodding slowly.

“Come. Sit.” She instructs, patting the space beside her on the sofa like she was calling an animal.

Anita moved almost in slow motion, if this was a dream please don’t let her wake up yet. Let her touch the necklace first! Sinking down beside the dark witch and her fingers trembling as she reached for the pendant, trying not to appear too eager and not wanting to upset the witch if she pulled on it, gently stroking her fingers over the shape.

“Miss Skeeter..you’re trembling. Are you afraid of me?” Bellatrix no more than whispered in her ear, her stomach flipping with how exciting the game had just gotten.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite unless you ask.”
 
-
 
Hermione watches the cup refill, her heart nearly melting inside her chest. Oh Godric these feelings are concerning.

Surprising herself, Hermione nods in agreement. Not wanting her stubbornness to ruin the moment. “I’ve already canceled everything important anyways.” She concedes. Upset with herself for doing so because her largest anxiety of the day had turned out not as world ending as she had anticipated.

“Thank you Clara, for listening.” And caring, she thinks but doesn’t add.

Anita swallows at the comment. Willing herself not to make a singular sound as a scene that had only previously played out in her dreams unfolds in front of her. She doesn’t want to ruin this. Pale cheeks take on a fiery blush.

‘I don’t bite unless you ask’

Is an enticing promise she just barely resists the temptation of.

“It’s…gorgeous.” She manages. “Excuse me for saying, but so are you.” Too bold? Too forward? Her hand reluctantly drops from the silver bird, making to pull away. She always ruins everything. “Is it genuine silver?” The reporter asks, attempting to slip back into professionalism long lost.
 
-
 
Oh Salazar, the way Anita's cheeks were flushing, she was so nervous it was adorable, her own little fangirl.

Without leaving room for pause, Bellatrix winds one of Anita's tight blonde ringlets around her finger and responds. "Hmm, yes it is. Everyone thinks it's my husband who gave it to me, but it was actually the Dark Lord. Gave it to me the same night he gave me this." Removing her hand from Anita's hair, she pushed up the sleeve of her dress, turning her forearm over to give the reporter a good look at her mark.

It was faded, not nearly as starkly contrasting against her pale skin as before, but the skull and serpent were still unmistakably there, of course the magic in it was dead. She'd felt it in Azkaban, all those years there was a glimmer there. Now there wasn't even a pulse of magic in the lines.

Clara nodded gently in response. "Happy to help, Minister. If the wicked witch gets to be too much, I'd be happy to relocate her. Maybe with that set of cuffs she seems to like so much." The Auror laughs..
 
-
 
Anita’s expressive eyes grew impossibly larger as the dark witch moved to drag up her sleeve. Only a thin ring of blue showing around dilated pupils.

Oh her Merlin this was really happening. The little blonde gasps to see the beautifully faded mark. Just as she used to draw on the corners of her parchment while in school. Well, until it apparently began to make the other children feel unsettled.

It’s larger than she could gauge from a picture. Taking up the near entirety of her inner left forearm. Without being able to stop herself or even think to ask, Anita has reached out and is adoringly brushing her fingertips along the outline of the mark. Disappointed slightly, that it was faded, indicating He was truly deceased.

“Breathtaking.” She whispers, quill scribbling away frantically beside her.

Hermione’s inner world comes to a grinding halt. Clara’s passing comment, a joke to ease the mood, causing the dark witch’s words to echo in her ears.

‘You’re the Minister’s bitch’

‘She didn’t deny it. Being your bitch that is’

‘Not the Prophet. Not your little fuck toy Clara’

Oh Godric, was there something Bellatrix knew about the Minister that she herself didn’t? Impossible. She was engaged to Ron and didn’t even think of witches in that sort of light.

Hermione thinks this all as she takes a sip of her water, manages to laugh at the joke, gathers her papers, and stands walking around her desk and hugging the auror as she stands.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Because they’re friends outside of work and it’s true. “I’ll see you in the morning, I’ll want to go over the illegal wand case with you before anything else.”

Clara nods in agreement. There’s the Hermione she knew so well. The auror then made her exit. Florence was shocked to see the woman walking away without her tail between her legs like she’d assumed interrupting the Minister would cause.

Hermione fusses with a few more things on her desk, aligning her quills, and creates three neat piles of parchment. She files some remaining paperwork, and finishes packing her bag up before she heads home for the evening.
 
-
 
Bellatrix' eye fixate on Anita, gauging the reaction she'd have to seeing the mark that sent other people scattering from a room. She expected her to gaze in admiration, but the touch of her fingers to a place that even after all these years was still sensitive without any hesitation at all makes the dark witch shiver just a little bit.

Her dark eyes look into blue ones, a wicked little smirk on red painted lips as she pulls her heavy dark curls to one side, the prison numbers on the side of her neck nearly as faded as the mark. "They're a matching set." She states, twirling another blonde curl around her finger as Anita's gaze is pulled from the mark and instead to the numbers and runes she had memorized by the time she was a teenager.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Prisoner Number 93

Her fingers fluttered over the raised markings, thinking about what they truly meant. The world had tried everything to bring the dark witch down. They'd imprisoned her, she'd escaped. She lost her wand, and obtained another, she'd faked her own death and remained undetected for two decades. It was nothing short of astonishing.

Anita treads carefully with the statement she says next. "It seems it's you, who was the immortal one. Stronger even than your Master." That was a dangerous topic to breach, to speak like that of the man she had been devoted to. Had

killed

for.

The words echo in the dark witch's head. Whether true or not, Anita was the first to even imply she was the stronger one. That she wasn't just his pawn. Not his whore. Someone worthy of the title and rank she’d held for so long. She doesn’t even think before speaking.

"Kiss me." She breathes. And it's not a question.
 
-
 
Anita shivers in turn, the feeling of the dark witch playing with blonde curls sending chills down her neck and spine. Her heart stops momentarily, Anticipating a negative reaction while her eyes stay glued to those prison numbers.

The words Bellatrix breathes next steal the breath from the reporter's lungs and sets her skin on fire. She doesn’t even have time to act consciously, leaning in immediately and kissing the death eater firmly. No one was going to believe this! Merlin she’s shaking again. One hand comes up to rest on the prison numbers with all the care and gentleness of what some might call love, others obsession.

Hermione chooses to floo home so she can give proper goodbyes to everyone she’d been hiding from that day. Stepping into the fireplace, setting her intention, and disappearing in a blaze of green flames.
 
-
 
Feeling the blonde's lips on her own, she almost

growls

lowly, her hand moving from gently playing with the blonde curls to anchoring her hand firmly in them, giving them a little tug.

This one didn't scare easy, she liked that, liked how much she adored her. She was trying to not

consume

the reporter with her mouth, kisses so rough and firm she was all but sucking the oxygen from her lungs.

Anita's certain her brain and heart have both just stopped and she'd happily welcome death if it meant the cause of her death would be; kissing Bellatrix Lestrange. Her mouth seems to move without her permission, trailing down the death eater's svelte neck and throat, over those numbers and back up to her lips again murmuring almost inaudibly. "Bellatrix."
 
-
 
Once Hermione is deposited into her fireplace she doesn’t even have the opportunity to step out before she sees it. The dark-haired witch entangled with the blonde reporter on her sofa. Not on her sofa!

“What in

Merlin’s name

is happening?!” She shrieks, the previously preoccupied blonde nearly leaping out of her skin.

“I—Oh—Well we were just…” Anita is a  stammering mess. Feeling as though she’d just be ripped from the most blissful sleep and dunked in cold water.

“Disgusting. Vile. Repulsive. Bellatrix! She’s hardly a quarter your—You know what? Nevermind. I don’t care.” Hell if Hermione’s about to lecture the woman about appropriate age gaps while the rotten beetle of a blonde got to continue sitting in her home. She wants it gone,

now.

“Get. Out.

Get out

, or I’ll call for an auror. Freedom of the press doesn’t mean freedom to shag in my living room.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix can't stop the gasp that follows the feeling of the reporter's lips on her neck, smirking when those lips are back on hers and murmuring her name, her free hand beginning to slide up towards Anita's chest when Hermione shrieks.

While Anita leaps, Bellatrix simply startles and looks up, far too amused at the situation. "Oh, hello Minister. You're home early." She comments and rolls her eyes as Hermione goes off at them like they're teenagers.

"I think you'd best go love, we'll finish our

interview

another time." She flashes the blonde a grin and Anita not wanting to anger the Minister further packs up her quill and notebook and dashes from the house. Although the promise of continuing the 'interview' made her stomach flutter. Salazar's socks she'd just snogged Bellatrix Lestrange!

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione watches as Anita leaves. Making sure she goes and doesn’t try to stick around. “There won’t be another

‘interview’

not in my house, absolutely not.”

Hermione steps out of the fireplace and puts an arm out in the direction
of the door Anita just fled out of, giving Bellatrix a look that reads

‘really?’

.

“You’re joking. You’re bloody joking, tell me you are!” Hermione exclaims. Anita was practically a child! She had to be like twenty two, no older than twenty four! What was Bellatrix now? Near ninety or some other absurd number!

“That was the most vile thing I’ve ever witnessed. What were you doing sticking your tongue down her throat like that?!” And hand up her blouse but the Gryffindor can’t even bring herself to

say

that part. She just wants to know why. Just to be able to make some sort of sense of it all.

Now she needs to go couch shopping with Ronald again. They’d already argued over this one for three days!
 
-
 
Bellatrix just sits and watches the Minister explode, waiting until she'd finished shouting at her to answer.

"What? Can't I snog a pretty girl if I like? Honestly, you're acting like you've never done anything with Weasel. She was pretty, I wanted to kiss her. So I did." This all seemed like a bit of an overreaction!

"You're going on as if I had her skirt up and my mouth between her legs! Quite rude of you to throw her out like that! What are you doing home this early anyway?"
 
-
 
Hermione’s stomach turns at the description. Hell. Hell to whatever god gave her the ability to visualize things so clearly. “You might as well’ve!” She’s stalking off to the kitchen, not even going to answer why she’s here

in her own home

so early, when she suddenly freezes. Wait a moment. She turns back around to face Bellatrix.

“Hold on just a moment, Anita is a

girl

.” Like this is some big news and to the Granger woman it is. She would have never pegged the dark witch as someone who lay with males and females.

“Since when do you do

that

?” Its 2017, being gay isn’t nearly as taboo as it once was. Even still the wizarding world is a hundred years behind the muggle one. A fact Hermione just had to accept, and said acceptance came with just a touch of sheltering on how a fully muggle person would react to such a thing.

She of course doesn’t care, she’s merely surprised at the discovery.
 
-
 
"Then next time I will." Bellatrix mutters as the Minister stalks off and blinks as she just as quickly comes back. The statement just makes the witch laugh. "Yes, well spotted. Anita

is

a girl. A pretty one at that."

She just waits for the Minister's thoughts to catch up, blinking at the question and not altogether appreciating the way it was asked. Bellatrix fidgets with her necklace in response. Of course her preferences weren’t natural. She'd been told that her whole life, you either were gay or you weren't there was no in-between, she wasn't supposed to want both.

"If you want to get specific, since 1974." She straightens, refusing to be vulnerable like this. "Is there a problem Minister?" She leans back on the sofa, arms crossed, her one sleeve still pulled up above her mark.
 
-
 
Hermione blinks not having expected the witch to actually give her a direct answer. 1974, so it’s nothing new then. This throws Hermione for a loop and she can only stare as Bellatrix fidgets with her necklace. Oh. Hermione hadn’t noticed the necklace. She had been too busy reacting to the mess she’d walked in on. The Minister swallows thickly as images of the silver crow dangling less than inch above her nose fill her mind. She hates that thing.

“Problem?” Hermione parrots, Bellatrix’ defensive question also throws her, realizing she must not have checked her tone before inquiring. Mione’s eyes flicker from the necklace, to the mark, and up to dark brown eyes. This was a lot to take in at once.

“No it’s not a

problem

, what do you take me for?” Hermione’s defensive as well. Then she remembers Bellatrix had been married. She wonders if that was genuine or if Rodolphus had been a cover. If it

had

been real… Hermione thinks to Ron and then immediately to Clara. No, no. Maybe Bellatrix fancied both, but she certainly didn’t.

“You had a husband..” her tone is softer now seeking answers despite not having asked a question. It’s Hermione who’s fidgeting now, with her engagement ring, as she finishes the thought. “Was that real? What you felt for him, I mean.”

There’s a bit of a pause and for the first time in her life Hermione feels

guilty

for asking a question. Knowing more about Bellatrix wouldn’t help her learn anything about herself. She was overstepping greatly.

“You don’t have to say, it really isn’t any of my business if you’re bisexual or not.” Her tone is genuinely apologetic. “My apologies, it just surprised me is all.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix prepares, braces even for the mockery to follow. For the Minister to laugh, to tell her that this was just another example of how crazy she is. Snogging witches!

She starts to wish she hadn't chosen the living room to snog Anita now. Perhaps her bedroom would have been a better choice but then she hadn’t intended to snog the witch at all!

Bella’s hardly listening when Hermione starts asking about Rodolphus and she simply stares, it was a personal question but something inside her

needs

to answer it. She needed to prove

something

.

“I cared for my husband, more a friend than a lover. But I felt things for..other wizards. Yes.” She answers, her mind briefly wandering to Rabastan, and she sighs, her head lifting and eyes widening at the word Hermione just used. “What did you just call me?”
 
-
 
Somehow the answer settles something in Hermione as well. The relief is short lived however as her chest constricts with anxiety.

All right Granger, you got your answer… Now what are you going to do with it?

She asks herself and is distraught to know there isn’t anything she

can

do about it. She’s engaged to be married to a wizard.

“I see.” Is the reply Hermione settles on, about to apologize again when Bellatrix asks what she’s been called with confusion so genuine it confuses Hermione in turn.

“I haven’t called you anything.” She insists, replaying what she’d said and searching for an insult amongst it. The only thing she’d said was—

“Bisexual?” Hermione repeats as her brow furrows. “That’s not an insult.” She needed to make it known she wasn’t taunting Bellatrix for her admissions. “It only means you fancy witches

and

wizards. Have you never heard that word before?” It’s a genuine question as she knows Bellatrix was raised in a very different time from herself.
 
-
 
“Yes you did, you called me a-“ Merlin she didn’t know how to say it. “A bicycle!”

That sounded close to what Hermione had said, yes close enough. She stares the Minister down, awaiting an explanation to learn just what sort of cruel definition it had. Surely they were even now, both as crazy as the other. Bellatrix knew about Hermione’s impulse disorder and now she knew the dark witch fancied both men and women.

But the explanation that comes isn’t an insult, it sounds simple. A word for fancying both. There was a word? Could that mean…other people felt this way too? That she wasn’t alone in her ‘odd tendencies’?

Bellatrix blinks and rolls her eyes. “Would I be asking what it was if I had heard it before?”
 
-
 
OCD is

not

an impulse control disorder. There are five of those; pyromania, kleptomania, trichotillomania, pathological gambling, and intermittent explosive disorder. Obsessive compulsive disorder is not among them. It would do the dark witch well to

not

let Hermione catch her conflating the two. The Minister is

compulsive

, not

impulsive

. There is a difference.

Bicycle? Really? No, it’s bisexual.

“It was only a question, no need to get testy.” Hermione parrots turning on her heel and continuing her way into the kitchen. She didn’t need or want to be having this conversation longer than it’d already gone on.

So Bellatrix fancies men and women. It didn’t matter, it’s not like the brunette was ever planning on sleeping with her.

‘More of a friend than a lover.’

Hermione hates the way Ron immediately pops to mind when she remembers Bellatrix’ words.

‘But I felt things for other wizards.’

She feels nauseous at how immediate her train of thought moves to Viktor.

“I’m talking to the Wizengamot tomorrow. Any particular reason you should be allowed out after dark?” Yes, there. A change of subject while she starts prep for dinner later that evening. Maybe she’d send an owl inviting Clara over. Oh, and maybe Ron too. Maybe.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just remains on the sofa, touching her fingers to her lips, recalling how Anita’s had felt there. Gods it’d been ages since she kissed a witch. There’d been one in Germany, almost 15 years ago now but it hadn’t ended well. The witch had been married and her husband was none too thrilled to find his wife in bed with another woman.

What she can’t stop thinking about is there is

a word

for her preferences! A word. That had to mean she wasn’t the only one to fancy both! She feels something, like a weight lifted but in her heart.

Oh Salazar, she should probably owl Anita if she wanted any chance of seeing her again.

Hermione’s voice from the kitchen interrupts the letter she’s mentally writing in her head. “Hmm if I’m allowed out after dark you’ll see me less. Could play with the blonde in the garden instead of on your sofa?” She offers with a wide grin.
 
-
 
Hermione’s never kissed a witch. Never even wanted to, that she can recall, until very recently. Or perhaps not very recent. How long had she known Clara now? Surely going on a decade now.

“Seeing you less is all the reason I need.” Hermione assures scrunching her nose at the idea of the Bellatrix rolling around her garden with that poor twenty something wrapped around her finger. That child needed Jesus

and

Merlin.

“Clara’s coming over for dinner.” Hermione informs, certain that the Auror won’t refuse the invitation. Her mind flickers to Ron but isn’t sure she wants him around Bellatrix at the minute. Bellatrix might make good on the threat of telling him about the

discovery

she’d made last night. 
 
-
 
“Wonderful, let me out after dark and you’ll see much less of me.” She’s imagining rolling around in the garden, under the stars…pale skin and blonde hair illuminated in the moonlight. The knowledge that the Auror was coming for dinner interrupted her fantasizing and she huffed. “Oh lovely, I was

so

hoping for company.”
 
-
 
Hermione’s eyes roll skyward. She doesn’t even understand why she bothers to talk to the woman. She jots down the invitation on a paper meant for grocery lists and wanders to the window, opening it for Salem who swoops in and is immediately holding up a taloned foot.

“No, silly bird.” She chides playfully. “You get fist bumps after you deliver this.” She then attempts to slip the letter in the owl's beak but Salem doesn’t take it, putting her leg down and then switching to raise the other.

“Salem, no.” This was unlike the bird who’s looking behind Mione at Bellatrix. Hermione looks behind her as well as it clicks, giggling softly. “Oh, did someone forget to fist bump you for a job well done? Here then.” She taps her knuckles to outstretched talon. Salem chirping, pulling the letter from Hermione’s hand, and flying off.
 
-
 
Bellatrix watches the odd exchange between Hermione and the bird. Why was Hermione touching the owl’s foot?

“When you come back, I’ll have one too.” She calls as the bird flies off, muttering to herself about what in Merlin a ‘fist bump’ was and why the bird wanted one. “Well if we have company, I’d best put on my best dress. Do you think Clara likes satin or lace better?” She snorts and heads for the stairs to write her note to Anita. Perhaps a kiss mark on the letter would make up for the Minister’s shouting and chasing her out. 
 
-
 
If Salem is going to keep delivering letters for Bellatrix she’d better figure these things out quickly. At the very least start giving the bird treats when she returns. She just flew to Greece and back for the woman. Twice!

Brown eyes widen at the taunt about Clara but Hermione chooses not to even respond. Watching the witch disappear up the steps and practically able to see the gears turning in Bellatrix’ head. Godric one kiss and Bellatrix was acting this way? Well crazy did attract crazy after all. Maybe they’d be good for one another. Hermione laughs at her own thoughts and goes back to making dinner.
 
-
 
Once upstairs, Bellatrix pens out a quick note to Anita, apologizing the interview had been interrupted and expressing hope they could pick it up again soon, signing her name with a flourish and leaving a kiss mark on the bottom of the page. Knowing what she did about the blonde these two things were likely to reel her back in.

Bella doesn’t actually change her dress, but does fix her lipstick where it had rubbed off on Anita before coming back down. If she knew where the owl treats were she’d give one. No idea what the purpose of touching the bird’s foot was though.

“Is the bird back yet?” She asks from the door of the kitchen.
 
-
 
Anita would surely faint in her bedroom upon receiving the letter. Probably have the letter framed by the morning.

Hermione’s cutting into some potatoes as, despite her best efforts, her mind begins to wander.

‘What has she figured out you fancy me?’

She knows why Clara said it. Bellatrix hadn’t shut up about the pair of them since she’d been apprehended. Though that was exactly the driving force behind this near debilitating anxiety. What if Bellatrix had picked up on something the Minster herself hadn’t even known was there?

But that’s a ridiculous thought! Hermione is in charge of her own thoughts and feelings and she knows for

certain

she feels nothing more than friendship for the 5’6, hazel eyed, slim-fit, driven, compassionate, and hardworking Auror. She knows for certain her eyes didn’t linger on toned abs that summer; they'd all gone to the lake and had a bit too much fire whiskey like they were in their early twenties again. Hermione didn’t feel a thing as she took in the swaths of warm brown skin that had been complimented by the deep emerald colour of her bikini. The same shade of green that dress she’d seen in the shop just the other day had been and...

and...

Oh no.

Hermione is ripped from her thoughts (thank Merlin) as Bella’s voice sounds from beside her. “Hm? Her name is Salem. She’s not just ‘the bird’.” She corrects as she hears said bird’s beak against the window once, twice, three times and then no more.

“Good girl!” Hermione coos, wiping her hands on a dish towel and grabbing a treat from the cupboard. She walks over and receives the response. A ‘be right there’ in small, neat, capital letters with a smiley face drawn beside it. Mione gives Salem her treat and second fist bump and then nods towards Bellatrix. “Just one more for tonight, please Salem.”
 
-
 
If Bellatrix had been paying any attention at all, she might have been able to nearly hear the Minister mooning over the Auror, but the dark witch truly had no interest in hearing her thoughts. Her eyes narrow when she hears the name of the bird. “Salem. Funny. Think I like ‘The Bird’ better.” She watches Hermione interact with the owl, catching that odd gesture to her foot again.

“Just this one, I promise it’s not nearly as far as Athens.” She coos at the bird, handing her the envelope with ‘Anita Skeeter’ written in calligraphy on the top. “Do you like mice? My owl Othello loved mice, I could get you some if you liked.” She asks and the bird simply tilts its head at her.
 
-
 
“You’re absurd for writing to that poor girl. You don’t romance writers. You’ll end up as material and I don’t want to hear it when she casts you in a light you don’t appreciate.” Hermione sounds like she’s trying to be the older woman’s mother. Which she isn’t, the advice she’s giving is sound. Not that Bellatrix will take it. “I’m not sure Salem would even know what to do with a mouse.”

Salem places the letter to Anita by her feet, leaning forwards enough to open her beak and place it over Bella’s finger before retreating. She grabs the letter once more and flies off.

Hermione’s about to open her mouth and explain that was the owl’s bizarre way of biting people, a warning before an actual nip that would be sure to break skin, when there’s a knock on the front door and her heart skips a beat. So caught up with her owl and Bellatrix’ nonsense Hermione hadn’t even heard the crack of apparition.

The witch disappears without excusing herself, not that she needs to when it’s her house and she doesn’t enjoy Bellatrix’ company anyway, opening the door and smiling to greet the Auror.

“You weren’t joking, that was fast.” Hermione grins and Clara laughs.

“Perhaps I was waiting for the invitation, Minister.” She muses, always far more playful when away from the Ministry. “Or maybe it’s just I didn’t want to leave you alone with the human embodiment of chaos a moment longer than necessary.” Hazel eyes drift towards the living room, catching Bella’s eye and nodding in acknowledgment. “Chaos, it’s good to see you again. …Sort of.”
 
-
 
“Now who said I was romancing anyone? You threw her out of the house, scared her half to death, it would be rude not to write and apologize.” Bellatrix hasn’t even decided if she’s going to play beyond a few rendezvous and Hermione is talking like she’s going to get engaged!

“She’s an owl, and it would be dead. Wouldn’t just hand her one still alive.” She blinks at the odd gesture the bird does before flying off with her letter. Just as odd as the Minister she supposed. The knock on the door makes her huff. Listening to Clara’s excuse she snorts. “Why don’t you just fuck her on the porch.” Honestly, could Clara be any more desperate? At the ‘nickname’ Bellatrix simply flips Clara the bird in response.
 
-
 
Hermione goes to say something, tell the woman to piss off and leave them alone, but Clara just arches a brow in the direction of the spitfire dark witch. “Why would I take her on the porch and not her own bed? What do

you

do with the witches you bring home? Poor girls.”

The response is a bit of a shock, but Hermione giggles all the same shutting the door behind them and relocking it and then checking it three times. “Hey,” Clara calls gently over to Mione who glances over, biting her lip to realize she’s done it again. “You’re alright. Aren’t you cooking dinner? Go focus on that. Do you mind if I put the telly on? I was watching the football match.”

“No, no go right ahead. Careful though, the sofa is soiled, I’ll tell you about it later, and that one is afraid of the ‘people trapped inside the box.’” She grins, nodding her head over to Bellatrix before going back to preparing dinner. She keeps one ear on the pair who were undoubtedly about to knock heads.

Clara was strong, in mind and body, and took no shit from anyone. Not even arrogant dark witches. The Auror only laughs as Bellatrix’ middle finger raises. “I’m flattered by the proposition but, no thank you.”
 
-
 
At Clara’s response Bella arches a brow. Oh, so the little Auror had a sharp tongue?

“I take my witches wherever I please, but I don’t try to fuck the ones who are engaged.” Bellatrix shot back and grit her teeth at the comment about the sofa. “If it’s soiled, it’s because you and Weasel shagged on it.” Next time she will shag on it. Just to satisfy Hermione’s comments. She can deal with the knowledge her bare arse had been on it.

She was not

afraid

of the people in the picture box! Perhaps she ought to burn it so the discussion ended.
 
-
 
Oh, so the Aurors suspicions had been correct? The annoying one does swing both ways? Clara isn’t the least bit surprised.

Hermione’s cheeks colour at Bellatrix’ comments but Clara isn’t moved in the slightest. “Merlin’s beard. Do you

know

any other tunes? So certain there’s something between the Minister and I. It almost sounds like you’re

jealous

.” Clara flashes a pearly white grin as she opts to sit in Hermione’s arm chair, uncertain what was meant by the couch being tainted but not going to risk it.

Clara’s different here. Far more laid back and unafraid to let her quick remarks and sharp tongue lose. It’s amusing to her the death eater looked so surprised by this. Even more so that Bellatrix didn’t seem to have gotten the inkling of her true personality through her taunts before trial.

Flicking the television on Clara glances at Bellatrix still standing by the window. “You can come closer, sit down even. I promise to hold your hand if things get too scary.” She falsely coos before turning her attention to the football match.
 
-
 
 Bellatrix actually snorts at that. “Jealous? Not bloody likely, you see I don’t play in the dirt with mudbloods.” She hisses, turning her attention back to the window, watching for the owl. Seeing Clara avoid the sofa makes Bella roll her eyes. Yes next time she will do much more on that sofa than just simple snogging since it bothered everyone so much.

“You so much as

touch

my hand and I’ll hex it off. I can’t touch the Minister, contract says nothing about you.” She smirks, her fingers fluttering over the wand at her side just to know it’s there still. 
 
-
 
Clara feels the anger bubbling beneath her unbothered exterior. She can’t be baited with a singular use of the vulgar slur though. Especially when she knows it’s bait. She watches Bellatrix staring out the window a few moments more before turning towards Hermione and mouthing

‘what’s she staring at?’

It was a bit unnerving, the witch gazing out into the darkness like that. Almost transfixed.

Hermione glances into the living room to catch Clara’s lips moving. She laughs at the question, leaning over the stove to set the oven timer.

“Oh it is really quite the story, Clara. I came home and found Bellatrix with her tongue shoved down a reporter's throat. A pesky little thing, I’m sure you’ve seen her, Anita Skeeter? She’s waiting for the poor dumb thing to reply to a

love

letter~” Both Clara and Hermione sharing laughter over the absurdity.
 
-
 
Bellatrix feels her anger spike, not because of what’s being said but because both of them were

laughing

at her. She balls her fists at her sides, her fingertips sparking, all she had to do was touch the curtain and it would ignite.

“Do you enjoy playing at being my mother? Pretending like I give a rats ass what you do or do not approve of? It’s pathetic.” She hisses, still staring out the window. It wasn’t a love letter. Why was Granger so insistent she was romancing Anita. Talking like she was in love with her or something! Talking about snogging like it was something to be ashamed of!

Clara can’t help but snicker as Hermione explains. “Not that busy little blonde from the Daily Prophet! She’d sell her own mother out if it would make the front page!” She laughs.
 
-
 
“I do actually, it's kind of you to notice. If you truly didn’t care you wouldn’t be clenching your fists as you are, or even arguing in the first place.” Hermione’s shrugs. In Clara’s presence Hermione’s more confident. Not that the Gryffindor typically needs the boost. Here though, with the hellish woman that was invading every corner of her life, it had been getting increasingly difficult for Hermione to act aloof.

Hermione is so insistent it’s love because that’s the only time she herself has snogged anyone in almost forty years of living. This narrows the list to exactly two people. Ron, and Viktor. And Harry

once

but he didn’t count. Her own experience is all she has to go on. Why is Bellatrix so interested in Anita? It must be love, nothing else is logical in the Minister’s head.

“Yes that’s the one. A couple screws loose I’m certain, she was practically worshiping at Bellatrix’ feet in Flourish and Blotts yesterday. They’ll make a cute couple, don’t you think?” Hermione replies to Clara, humming in approval and loving the sound of the other brunette’s laughter. Mione was definitely going to bottle this memory for the pensieve later.

“I really can’t leave you alone Hermione, who knows what the cat will drag in next.” Clara then directs her words to Bellatrix. “I can’t believe all these crude comments directed at everyone else, and

you’re

the one staring out the window with baited breath waiting for your little hook up to reply.”

Salem flies into the still open window, but still taps her beak to the glass three times as always. The Auror is up in a flash, snatching the letter before Bellatrix can. “Speak of the devil. Let’s see then, what’s it say?”

Hermione’s heart rate increases, thinking back to Bellatrix’ threat to hex the Auror, but is relived to remember the safety net she’d put in herself.

‘No hexes unless used defensively’

. That doesn’t stop the witch from using her hands though. Shit.

“Clara, don’t.” Hermione warns, stepping into the living room to intervene if necessary.
 
-
 
They were talking about her, laughing at Bellatrix like she wasn’t in the room and it made her see red. The force of bottling her anger up making her shake.

“She

happens

to find me of interest. She likes hearing about my life, asking me questions to answer.” Why was this such a strange concept?! So unbelievable that someone could want to do more than see her dead? Were they so naive to believe that belief system had truly died?

The Minister had a lot to learn about attraction and lust, love wasn’t always a requirement. Seeing the owl fly back she goes to get the letter, blinking when Clara takes it instead.

“That’s mine, give it here!” Stealing letters. Was Clara a child? Anita wouldn’t have likely written anything of importance anyway. “I’ll ask once more and then I’ll

make

you give it to me.”
 
-
 
If Bellatrix was always going to get this upset when they laugh at her, Hermione will make sure it’s done more often. Clara too.

Clara is having none of Bellatrix’ bullshit and makes it known. “She’s a reporter.

Of course

she asks you questions. So you happily prattled on about your sorry excuse for a life. Answered all your crazed little fan’s far too eager questions. Then the first

moment

the opportunity presented itself you’re proper snogging her, because she’s afforded you a sliver of the attention you so desperately crave? You sound desperate and touch starved. I bet you didn’t ask her a singular question about herself. Was Athens that lonely?” She asks, holding the letter out of reach before opening it up, undeterred by Bellatrix’ threat to

make

her do anything. As long as Bellatrix is the first to throw a punch Clara can and will claim self defense.

Three Polaroids flutter out of the newly opened letter and to the ground by the Minister’s feet. Hermione scrunches her nose as the smell of cheap perfume invades her nostrils, bending down to retrieve the pictures. Merlin, it was like the young blonde had drowned the letter in faintly floral rubbing alcohol before giving it to Salem. Poor bird, the smell is nauseating.

“Dear Bellatrix,” Clara starts with the clear of her throat, infusing her voice with faux yearning that causes Hermione to giggle. Mione stands up right and leans over the other brunette’s shoulder to read ahead, no longer apprehensive at the idea of reading the woman’s letter. “I hoped to hear from you, I would love to pick up from where we left off, just tell me when and where.” Clara continues. Hermione begins to turn the photos over in her hand, not quite looking at them yet as she’s currently distracted by the dozens of tiny hearts littered across the parchment and dotting the ‘i’s. Crazy, Anita was

definitely crazy

.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you,” Hermione jumps in and continues aloud. Both Ministry workers have to hold back a snort of laughter. “or what might have happened had we not been interrupted, as I hope you’ve been thinking of it too. You’re the only witch I’ve ever wanted, I’d do anything for you. xo Anita Skeeter.”

Hermione’s eyes roll at the line about being interrupted. Yes how rude of her to come and go from her own home as she pleased. Clara notices a post script just as Hermione is looking down to examine the photos. The Auror shrieking with laughter as she barely manages. “p.s. I hope I haven’t the wrong idea, but I have included some photographs for your viewing pleasure!”

Hermione yelps as though she’s been burned, dropping the photos from her hand and knowing she’ll never be able to scrub her brain of the images she’s just caught glimpse of.

The three pictures are clearly a set. The blonde  reporter sprawled across her bed and tangled in the sheets in various suggestive poses, progressively losing pieces of lingerie through each one. Merlin Hermione hates that Wizarding photos move right about now.

“Rowena above, the truth is stranger than fiction!” Clara exclaims. “A journalist of all people, sending her lewds by owl!”
 
-
 
Bellatrix simply clamped her jaw firmer, these two were like clucking hens! She was trying hard not to lose her temper, to not throw a punch or let loose the magic at her fingertips begging to knock down the Auror, or burn the house down to the ground.

Keep it in control Bella!

“She’s writing an exclusive for the Prophet, is it so shocking a journalist would want to confirm facts and details? Have you had many interviews, do you spend time asking the journalist questions? Would seem quite a waste of time if you did.” She says evenly, she wouldn’t give a reaction like they hoped. She couldn’t.

Hearing Clara begin to read out the letter, her eyes grow wide. Oh Merlin no! Each word Clara read in that ridiculous voice made Bellatrix’ skin burn, starting at her feet under her stockings and boots and working its way up until the post script message had her face burning an ugly red and her skin felt like someone had lit it ablaze.

She said not one word, knowing for certain the first word would be an unforgivable and she wasn’t dying over what was little more than schoolgirl taunting!

Photos. Why in Merlin’s name had the girl sent photos! Although the glimpse Bellatrix could get from where they fell to the floor, Anita looked pretty. Everything was bubbling up again, the laughing, the mocking, the invasion of her personal letters, and finally the screeching laughter over Anita’s photos broke the barrier.

“Are. You. Quite.

Finished

!” She shrieks, sending the lightbulbs in the room shattering and the curtain behind her catches fire, all without Bella even touching her wand.
 
-
 
Clara is losing herself with laughter, hazel eyes tearing at the corners as she clutches her stomach. Just how stupid was this reporter girl? If she were a different person she’d have half a mind to run those pictures straight to the Prophet. Perhaps even right to her mother.

Her laughter is joined by Hermione’s, who’s busy taking mental images of the ugly colouring that’s tainted the entirety of alabaster skin.

They’re both cut off as Bellatrix’ shrieks reverberate off the walls and suddenly the light bulbs blow, Hermione shrieks and flinches into Clara’s shoulder, the curtains ignite and Hermione yells again.

This woman was mental!

Clara immediately unholsters her wand. “Aguamenti.” She says, voice returning to the cool and level tone she holds while working, putting out the fire and staring at Bellatrix with a fire in her eyes that is foreign to even Hermione.

“If you wanted to kill us all you should have just used the killing curse and gotten it over with.” She says dryly, unmoved and unimpressed by the display. Her hand pulls away from the small of Hermione’s back having instinctively held onto the Minister as she hid. The Auror flicks the letter in the direction of the livid dark witch.

“Yeah, I think I am. Just know the only thing this floozy finds interesting about you, is your tits.” The oven beeps and Clara flicks her wand at the shattered glass. “Watch your eyes.” She says softly into Hermione’s ear, not wanting any wayward glass to cut the witch. “Reparo. Now what’s for dinner, Mione?”

Hermione stares between the two witches, heart rate still elevated from Bellatrix’ outburst, as she slowly replies. “Roasted pork and potatoes.”
 
-
 
Now that building pressure from bottling her anger has been expelled, the dark witch was ten times calmer than she had been only seconds ago, watching as Clara set about repairing things. At least her little outburst had stopped their laughing.

If Clara did send the photos to the Prophet, then Bellatrix would have her on two things. Bending to pick up the letter Clara had tossed at her, she had two very distinct thoughts.

The main being; she'd be owling Anita to let her know the letter had been opened and the photos seen. She might be very interested to know that Aurors and the Minister herself made it a habit to commit correspondence related felonies.

The colour was fading from her complexion as quick as it had come, and Clara's comment about Anita only being interested in her tits made her snort. The questions asked and the way the reporter had gazed at her earlier that day suggested otherwise.

"Well, at least someone likes some part of me. Can't imagine anyone looks twice at you." She shot back, disappearing back up the stairs to write her reply to Anita, making sure to be as fawning and dramatic as the blonde witch had been in hers.
 
"

Dear Anita,

It seems only right, I tell you that the confidence in which you sent this letter and photographs has been compromised. The Minister invited over an Auror for dinner and they took great amusement in snatching the letter from the beak of the owl and opening it to read aloud, despite my protests and insistence they return it to me untouched. It is probably wise no further details of a personal nature are shared through correspondence as I fear it may occur again and I do not wish you to be mocked and ridiculed anymore than you were tonight by the Ministry personnel.

P.S. I shall treasure the photographs and look forward to when I can see this view in person"

She signs her name with a flourish, this time opting to send the letter through a charm rather than the owl, and watches it disappear. Satisfied with her response, she descended back down the stairs, fixing the sleeve of her dress that was still hauled up.

Clara really ought not to piss off someone 'romancing' the press.
 
-
 
Hermione and Clara sit at the table for dinner, an empty spot set in the furthest seat possible.

“I do feel a bit bad for laughing, that Skeeter girl really has no idea the trouble sending owls like that can cause.” Clara says before taking a sip of water, she’s speaking from experience unbeknownst to the other brunette witch.

Hermione nods, amused but uneasy at the encounter. “Agreed.”
It isn’t the questionable legality of what they’d just done that’s nagging at the back of her brain, though. Although it definitely should be. It’s the fear she’d felt as the lights shattered and curtain was set ablaze. Hermione had been so certain the contract protected her, and while it did physically there was nothing truly preventing the dark witch from ruining her possessions or from harming Clara or the public. Curses and hexes only scratched the very surface of the dark witch’s capabilities and Bellatrix didn’t need either to still be very, very dangerous. There wasn’t a contract strong enough to ever completely keep Hermione, or those she cared about, out of danger. 
“Hey—Mione.” Clara calls and the Minister blinks. “I’m sorry, I’m just thinking.” The Auror cracks a gentle smile with her reply, “Yeah, I could tell.”

Freckled cheeks colour and Hermione’s eyes linger on beautiful hazel hues, they were leaning towards green in this light, before forcing herself to look down at her plate.

“Do you think she’ll come down?” Hermione asks, taking a bite of pork while glancing towards the stairs.

“Probably not, but maybe if she’s hungry enough.” Clara replies with an indifferent shrug. If the thought of legality isn’t on the Minister’s mind quite yet, the Auror is making up for that fact. Unnoticed to the very perceptive brains of the trio, which is only a testament to how well Clara masks, she is struggling with the thought that provoking the dragon who is rendezvousing with a pesky blonde reporter

may

have been a misstep.
 
-
 
Bellatrix gave herself one final once over in the hallway mirror before striding into the kitchen, stone faced as she took the seat which was clearly intended for her, given its proximity from the other two witches.

Truthfully, she hadn't realized that the contract didn't prevent her from outbursts like that, but then it wasn't dark magic or aimed to harm the Minister so she supposed that made it fair play.

That was an interesting thought, finding more loopholes to bend and twist within the contract so it wasn't quite so restricting. Despite Clara's cool response to it, Bellatrix had seen that flicker of fear in Hermione's eyes. The way she shrieked and

hid

in the Auror's side. Granger could pretend all she liked, but the dark witch still scared her.

Absently she plays with the pendant on her necklace, mind wandering to the two very different reactions it had received today; adoration and fear, unsure which she had enjoyed the most.

"Pass the salt. Please." Is the first words she speaks, keeping any sort of venom out of them.
 
-
 
It really had only been a flicker of fear, Hermione’s hiding more a reaction to the broken glass raining from the ceiling, but if Bellatrix had seen it she was in

serious

danger.

Hermione hadn’t realized their vow didn’t cover outbursts either, having naively assumed that anything with enough intent went against their agreement without it having to be explicitly written. She feels stupid for the mistake and suddenly far more exposed than previously.

Clara and Hermione look over in unison as Bellatrix speaks. The Auror wipes her mouth with her napkin and reaches for the salt to hand over to the woman.

The Minister feels an unrelenting tension behind her breastbone. Briefly worried about what she might be doing that went against their vow, until she realizes it’s just the tension in the air. Clara doing her best to not stare down the witch on the opposite end of the table. Hermione lost a bit in her head. All acting almost as though nothing happened just minutes ago.

She thinks of Clara’s banter. Her effortless reply to the dark witch’s taunts.

‘why would I take her on the porch and not in her own bed?’

Her heartbeat flutters but the tightness gets worse with the guilt she feels for thinking in such a way when she’s to be married to the youngest Weasley boy.

It was a joke, Granger.

Clara’s not even a little gay, Hermione’s certain. It was a joke, Hermione’s spoken for, and she’s certainly not ready to just accept the new found flutter in her chest at the Auror’s mere existence.
 
-
 
Bellatrix took the salt with a nod and shook quite a bit onto her potatoes, scooping up a forkful and chewing silently. She could feel the tension too, but it was almost enjoyable for her, the two other witches almost staring and waiting for a reaction that she wouldn't give to them. Not willingly.

Instead she would act completely unbothered by what had just occurred, make no mention of it and instead just silently irritate the both of them with her presence. She had been reminded several times just today, how much that was enough to drive people to irritation and madness.

Clara can't help but glance between the dark witch calmly eating potatoes and Hermione, raising her brows as if to say 'what's going on?' The fact the witch was at the table even to begin with was enough to confuse the Auror. She'd thought for sure that little episode in the living room would have kept Bellatrix away for the rest of the evening. Clara wasn’t exactly comfortable sharing the table with her. That worry about reading the letter niggling at the back of her mind.
 
-
 
Hermione scoffs at the amount of salt Bellatrix adds. What, did the woman not like her cooking? She glances Clara’s way but doesn’t hold eye contact. Unsure how to convey

‘Bellatrix is trying to get a reaction’

with just her eyes.

Clara understands, without a word as she often does. Deciding to dip her toe into talking about the Prophet without speaking about Anita even indirectly. Just trying to gauge where Bellatrix’ head is even if she doesn’t give the answers outright.

“You and Ron made the paper again, page four. You and him kissing after the trial.” Clara says taking a bite of her pork. Hermione groans annoyedly at the news. “Greeat.” She drawls.

“Says something about a certain

anniversary

that’s creeping up quicker than a baby acromantula~” She teases. Hermione looks down to hide her face, freckled cheeks turning pink. “Clara, stop.”

“At least they got the date right this year. September 1st instead of August 31st like they’d said last year. Full of mistakes that paper is.” Clara says not looking up from the piece of asparagus she’s stabbing her fork into.

“Having the date of my engagement wrong isn’t nearly the worst the paper has done to me.” Hermione’s gripes, sipping at her drink. “At least the reporter that gave me the most grief retired a few years ago.” She’s not privy to Clara’s plan of keeping Anita out of it, so she’s just continuing on with the conversation.

The Auror skirts around this effortlessly, turning it playful and even uses this as a chance to bond with the Minister.

“You’re joking, Rita got to you too? When? When I was still in Auror training when the wench got ahold of

my

pictures. Vengeful redhead leaked them after I said I wasn’t ready for anything serious because of my career. Shame really, I could’ve seen a future with her if she’d’ve only been willing to take things slow a couple months longer.”

Hermione blinks at the response. Clara had been with a

woman

? Clara was

bi

?

“She had it out for me since I was still in Hogwarts. Though I don’t know what her obsession with dating scandals are. My fourth year she wrote a scathing article about how I was a man eater.” Hermione supplies so she doesn’t have to think so hard about the fact Clara indeed fancied witches.

Hazel eyes glide across the table to Bellatrix. Watching carefully for a response to any kind. A twitch of the lips that alluded to a smirk, smugness, or an over interest in the topics at hand. Anything really.
 
-
 
Bellatrix rolls her eyes while shoving more potatoes in her mouth. Newsworthy that all was, the Minister snogging her fiancé and her engagement date. Wait a tick...Hermione was already engaged, what would the date be referring to? The wheels in her head turn to comprehend exactly what that could mean when they came to a screeching halt as Clara confirmed what she'd already guessed. The hazel-eyed one bedded witches.

She had been trying to not show a reaction but the comment about Rita thinking Hermione was a 'man eater' was too good to pass up and she smirked into her carrots. "Carpet-muncher more like."

She wondered if her new 'friend' at the Prophet had access to archived editions, she'd be very interested to read the article written about Clara's photos. So this bit of news she shared with Anita wouldn't be the first time Clara's name had appeared in an unfavourable light. That would be useful, perhaps Anita could pull bits from the previous article to include in the new. Truly drag her through the muck!

Dammit she couldn't keep her mouth shut about this!

"So..it seems I was not incorrect in my assumptions about you Clara. You do fancy witches. It sounds like you have experience pissing off the wrong ones."
 
-
 
In a few short days it will be ten years since Ron and Hermione were first engaged. September 1st, 2007 when Ron had popped the question, at eleven am sharp, inside the privacy of her living room. She had thought it had been very sweet of Ron to time it to the train they first met on, and of course, having been dating nine years by then, Hermione said yes.

Hermione’s just taken a sip of her water, nearly snorting it out her nose when she’s called such a vulgar thing by the dark witch. “Don’t be crude.” She snaps. “I am

not

gay.” Caught that spell right under the ribs had she? Who is she trying to convince, Bellatrix or herself?

Clara flinches slightly at the declaration, knowing Hermione was more reactive than herself but the reaction to that had been nearly visceral. Surely Hermione of all people wasn’t homophobic, she knows that of course, but the reaction (what had felt like personal rejection) didn’t sting any less because of it.

Bellatrix could have Clara’s copy of that specific Prophet if only she asks for it. The Auror doesn’t care now and had only cared slightly back then. She couldn’t be shamed for what she’d done for love. Though the idea of making the prophet for an entirely different, far more illegal, reason scares her endlessly. Clara had worked so hard to be where she currently sat. The idea of losing it over a peek at some mail was petrifying.

“Ah, very well spotted. Would you like a medal?” The Auror drawls. Ah Rowena above, she’s in trouble. This confirms it.

Hermione just sits there, still struggling to digest the news she’d just received. How had she not figured it out sooner? Was there a piece to this she’s just missing? If Clara and Bellatrix each had their suspicions of the other with only their limited interactions, where does that leave her? She feels a bit broken, but more so very anxious.
 
-
 Bellatrix just blinked, Hermione had just refuted that statement with the same sort of sharpness one might refute being called stupid or even..crazy. Clara had caught it too it seemed, judging by the way she just flinched. 
“You know it’s interesting..just how much you just

spat

that word. How red your face has turned not from embarrassment..but anger.” She leans across the table.

“Does it makes you

angry

to be called gay Minister? Does it make you feel as

disgusting

as being called mudblood or being called crazy?” She asks, the venom in her tone slipping through the taunt.

“Because you see I’ve called you many things these last few days, slurs, insults and you just ignored them. Laughed even. But being called gay? Well..you spat back a retort.”

Oh Bellatrix wouldn’t let this go. The Minister who preached inclusion and equality seemed to have hidden prejudices.

“You’ll support the house elves, the half breeds, the down trodden. You’ll preach second chances and rehabilitation for war criminals. But you’ll jump to not be labelled gay. Scoff at the very notion of preferring witches. Of something that doesn’t fit your preconceived notions and order.”

Her eyes were wide and wild, this was the last thing she expected from Goody Two Shoes ‘everyone is equal’ Granger.
 
-
 
While Hermione falters at Bellatrix’ words, Clara steps in without hesitation. “What are you

even

on about? Of course it would make her angry to be called something she isn’t. This isn’t some thinly veiled homophobia, you’re merely projecting.”

As wounded as Clara was nobody took shots at the people she cared about. Especially when Hermione was clearly struggling with…well something. She isn’t quite sure what, yet.

‘Does that make you feel angry, Minister?’

echoes deafeningly loud in Hermione’s ears. No, it doesn’t make her angry. It makes her feel…ill and panicked. Panicked by what it could mean and the reality Bellatrix seemed intent on forcing her nose into.

She thinks of the puppy love she feels for Ronald how it was warm, and she feels safe, and at least she was wanted even if it had always been as a second choice. How there was always an underlying ache in the years and years of holding her breath and hoping for a spark that was never going to ignite.

“I’m

not

homophobic. It’s not nearly akin to being called a

mudblood

or crazy, because it isn’t a bad thing to be gay or even bisexual. It’s just something I’m not.” Hermione says, finding her voice and wrapping up that loose end with her firmness.

Bellatrix’ last sentence hits hardest. Slamming into her chest and knocking the air from her lungs like a rouge bludger. She’s hit the nail on the head. Hermione can’t find it in herself to even toe the line of the neat boxes she’s drawn for herself. Not because she thinks it’s wrong when others do, but because it would be wrong if

she

were to do it.
 
-
 
Bellatrix looks back and forth between the two, really? That was the explanation they wanted to go with? Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt it seemed.

She rolls her eyes, the idea to kiss the Auror right there just to gauge a reaction flickering through her head a brief moment. The reaction wasn’t worth being hexed or jinxed. Then again…

Bellatrix stands from the table and in a flash she’s travelled the space between her and the pesky Auror, wordlessly grabbing her face and firmly planting her lips on hers.

Clara was still reeling from the absolutely ridiculous notion that Hermione was homophobic (and trying to ignore the sting that lingered) when the dark witch stood, and suddenly blood red lips are on her mouth.

She makes a little noise of surprise, but doesn’t pull away immediately, kissing the psychotic witch back for a few seconds before breaking the connection and chuckling.

“Alright Lestrange I’ll admit it, you’re pretty good. Anita’s a lucky girl.”
 
-
 
Any lingering doubt Hermione might’ve had about herself, the doubt she was clinging to like a life line to keep her head above water, was just stamped out right in front of her.

She feels her cheeks colour and burn all the way up to her ears as her heart drops and she feels herself slipping under and drowning in the emotions it causes. The little noise Clara makes shoots through her like a stinging jinx. It’s always been in the moments Hermione felt most out of control that she was by some miracle able to maintain her composure. This was no exception.

“Do it again though and I’ll hex you seven ways to Sunday, I’m serious.” Clara adds pointing her fork in the direction of the dark witch. She feels bad for not having shoved the woman away but the shock of the action was too real. The Auror can’t imagine it was easy for the Minister to watch her assailant kiss one of her best friends but that’s the only thought she puts into it. That it probably felt like betrayal on a light vs. dark level, but if Hermione was true to her words on rehabilitation maybe she needed that to recognize they aren’t in the middle of a war any longer. This is the after and sometimes it can get messy.

Mione flashes an almost smug smile despite the all consuming feeling of grief. Mourning who she thought herself to be and forced rather against her will into the person she apparently always had been. Heartbroken Clara had done nothing but sit there. Jealous. Angry, burning, ugly jealousy that it had been Bellatrix’ lips on the Auror and not her own. Though the struggle is entirely internal.  Save for blown brown hues which flicker briefly with her emotions.

“I always knew you were interested in Clara, too many little comments to not add up to something.” Hermione makes herself muse even though her lungs are on fire with rage. The Minister is entirely too intelligent to not know

why

Bellatrix had just done that. However Hermione isn’t ready to be shoved from the security of her closet over one kiss to a woman she hardly had any claim over.
 
-
 
Bellatrix pulls away from the kiss and licks her lips a little bit, Clara was wearing some sort of flavoured product on her mouth and it clashed horribly with the gravy from dinner.

At Clara’s promise to hex her if she did it again she shrugs. “Oh don’t worry, once was more than enough.” She looks towards Hermione, searching for any sort of reaction and smirking when she sees the new shade the Minister has taken on. Looking for other reactions that unbeknownst to her were hidden beneath the surface.

Bella had expected her to yell or make some angry comment but instead she got another taunt.

“Mm just had to check, she’s good with binding. I might have been missing something, but Anita was better. This one tastes strange.” She walked back to the other end of the table, letting her comment about how the Auror

tasted

sink in a moment.

“Well I hate to kiss and leave but I have potions to brew.” She turned and left, leaving her plate and utensils behind.

Now the shock has worn off and the dark witch has left, Clara turns to Hermione. “Didn’t think I’d be crossing ‘kiss a death eater’ off my bucket list today. Are you alright? I’m sorry, I should have stopped her, it was just so quick.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione keeps her eyes down, knowing if she lifts them they’ll give her away. Coughing slightly as she takes a sip of her drink. She knows

exactly

what the pureblood witch has just struggled to identify. Cherry chapstick, always kept in the back pocket of the Auror’s jeans. Offered to Hermione on more than one occasion when the Minister was caught worrying at her lower lip with whatever the anxiety of the day had been. She now regrets never taking Clara up on it before.

She waits until the footsteps disappear into the study to raise her eyes towards Clara as she speaks.

“I’m only surprised you didn’t punch her in the mouth.” Is the only response the still frazzled minister gives. Brown eyes search hazel for any sort of indication that not pulling away might’ve meant Clara enjoyed it more than she was letting on; but Hermione can’t tell, doesn’t even know the signs to look for and it’s devastating. She feels understudied on this subject and it only keeps the colouring on her cheeks burning strong. Embarrassed now.

“You’ll have to tell Ron, he might have a heart attack. Harry will never believe you.” She finally adds though it falls a little flat.
 
-
 
Clara reaches across the space between them and squeezes Hermione's hand reassuringly. "Believe me the thought crossed my mind, don't want it coming out in one of those ludicrous articles that Aurors are punching people. The Minister might fire me for that." She's teasing before letting go of Hermione's hand to rub her napkin across her mouth.

"Might need some

strong

alcohol to erase that memory." She mumbles, the kiss might have been surprising and not a

bad

kiss but certainly not a welcome surprise. And one she hoped to never repeat again. 
 
-
 
Mione’s breath hitches and her insides flutter as her hand is squeezed in the reassuring way that always makes her heart melt. Good Godric she’s in so much trouble.

Clara’s joke makes her laugh, light but genuine. “The Minister would be making the biggest mistake of her career doing something like that. Who would keep the boys in line?” Hermione grins, standing from the table to put her dishes in the sink, and then moving to grab the ones Bellatrix left and doing the same. She’s annoyed beyond reason the witch just left them there for her to deal with, but is relieved they aren’t missing again.

“You name the drink and I’ll make it.” Hermione says over her shoulder. “I could use one too.”

Drinking with the Auror sounds simultaneously like the best and worst idea the Minister has ever had. Though it wasn’t like they hadn’t had more than their share together in the past, things would be fine. They’d drink and Clara would go home and Hermione would owl Ron to come spend the night to attempt and make up for all the mental cheating she’d been doing that evening. Merlin, she feels so guilty.

Just down the street Anita is sitting on her bed, fuming as she reads the letter that had quite literally appeared in her lap just a bit ago. Oh, so the Minister thought this was a game, then? Anita would happily play. Moving over to her desk she slams down a fresh piece of parchment before beginning to write.

‘Let me start by saying what reprehensible behaviour on the ministry’s part.

Even if the letter hadn’t been of a more sensitive nature.

All the staff at the prophet will be

Very interested to know of what goes on behind the closed doors of the minister’s home.

Even though the stories for tomorrow’s morning edition have already been selected,

There isn’t a doubt in my mind my superior will allow me to release a special edition before noon.

How interesting it will be to watch the chaos that unfolds.

Everyone will be waiting with bated breath to see how the minister will respond.

What time would you like to meet next?

I have a pretty tightly packed working schedule.

Not that i shouldn’t be able to squeeze you in.

Does this Sunday suit your schedule?

Our office can get pretty slow after about one o’clock or so.

We can of course push the date to later in the month, should the minister still be following you around.

Our goal at the prophet is to get the nitty-gritty details often overlooked by other

Publishings. so having her around would be less than ideal.

Even so i look forward to hearing from you, sooner rather than later. i

Never envisioned what took place this afternoon being my reality. i have adored you since before i can even remember.

xoxo anita skeeter

p.s. How do you feel about capital letters? it always bothers me when an article reads LeStrange instead of Lestrange.

p.p.s. i am quite flattered you like what you can see. keep those safe for me, will you? don’t want to end up as the next headline, you know?’

A simple charm and the letter is off to its intended recipient.
 
-
 
Back at the Granger residence, Clara is laughing. The Auror knows better than to even offer to collect the dishes and interfere with Hermione's system. "How about whatever is strongest, I'm not picky." She responds and then pauses. "Perhaps not the Firewhiskey, unless you're going to carry me into work tomorrow, that stuff is strong enough to knock

me

out and I don't think you fancy me spending the night on the soiled sofa." She laughs and stretches her arms above her head.

Upstairs Bellatrix was busy cutting and measuring out ingredients, glancing at her book to double then triple check the portions and instructions, after that one mistake with the Polyjuice Potion costing her this much, she was being extra careful, adding in two drops of lemon when a letter fell in her lap.

"Oh, I wonder who it's from?" She snickers and opens the letter, reading through it once and then a second time, her grin growing wider. Anita had taken the bait just as planned, a special edition even. Perfect.

Bellatrix contemplates replying, but as Hermione was discussing with the Wizengamot the potential for her to leave after dark it seemed better to wait for the outcome of that meeting before responding.

It gave her a little flutter that Anita asked about the capitalization of her name though, the unnecessary capital 'S' always irritating her as well. Setting the letter aside she returns to her potions, her eyes catching something

odd

about the way the letter was structured, all of the capital letters were on the left margin of the page...

She picks up the letter and scans the postscript. '

how do you feel about capital letters?'

She takes the quill she was using before and circles each capital letter in the note, reading the words they spelt out.
'

LEAVE THE WINDOW OPEN’

A grin splits across her face, she'd been almost disappointed the reporter seemed only interested in meeting for work purposes. Hermione couldn't know though, she doubted even as dedicated as she was that Anita would still engage with her if she was rudely thrown from the house twice in the same day. She casts her hand towards the window, making it wind out and open.

She'll finish her potion while she waits for the pretty little blonde.
 
-
 
Hermione is grateful that just like before Clara’s suspicions had been confirmed the other brunette doesn’t try to interfere or even make a comment on her attentiveness to the dishes. She lines up the cutlery on one side of the sink and stacks plates on the other to be dealt with next Thursday. Her lips twitching upwards as Clara speaks.

“Anything but firewhiskey, I think I’ll be able to manage that.” Her mind is flooded with images of the Auror; that summer on the lake. Carmel completion flushed pretty pink with all the alcohol that had been consumed. Hanging onto Hermione with one arm wrapped around her shoulders, as they stood knee deep in the water, a half empty glass of firewhiskey in the other hand. Both of them laughing near uncontrollably, Clara with the most gorgeous smile Hermione had ever seen.

Godric Gryffindor,

how

had she not known it then?

Hermione glances over as she’s rinsing the final plate and catches a glimpse of the Auror’s midriff as Clara raises her arm above her head. Merlin. Mione nearly drops the plate into the sink. Grateful she managed to hang on and not ruin the work she’d already done. She dries her hands quickly and walks over to the island bar. She needed a drink

now

.

Putting together a Black Russian for Clara and adding cream to create a White Russian for herself, the Gryffindor wanders into the den. Clara standing over the couch with a question brewing, Hermione can tell.

“Will it truly upset you if I sit before you’ve a chance to clean it?” Clara asks, and Hermione’s almost offended by default but the Ravenclaw’s voice isn’t toned as condescending or annoyed. The question is as genuine as it is soft, asking if sitting will disrupt the processes within the Golden Girl’s brain. Clara was always so considerate. Hermione takes a large sip of her drink as she shakes her head, even sitting down there herself. Hermione had quite a few compulsive quirks but the cleanliness of her sofa wasn’t one of them.

“No, no. I just enjoy giving her a hard time.” Hermione assures, handing Clara her drink after she’s sat too. “Also I’m not always brilliant with handling public displays of…whatever that may have been. It makes me a bit uncomfortable. Very alarming to come home to. She does have a perfectly good room, you know.”

Anita is changing for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Slipping into the lingerie that had been pictured and putting on her skirt, shorter than the one she’d worn earlier, and plunging v neck over top.  She’ll walk, apparition will give her away. The Minister actually doesn’t live that far from her. Her stomach does tricks to think that Bellatrix Lestrange actually lived within walking distance of her home. She packs her quill and notepad into her purse, tells her mum she’s going out, and disappears out the front door.
 
-
 
Clara shakes her head while sipping her drink and looking at Hermione. "I can't imagine that was a comforting thing to return home to, she was truly just snogging the woman right here? Merlin."

She almost felt guilty, she'd been the one to tell the Minister to head home for some rest. Had she known she would never have suggested it!

While Bellatrix’ potion simmers she changes too, contemplating which of her new lingerie sets looked best and choosing to opt for the tried and true, pitch black, slipping on a dress that was neither a nightdress or a going out dress, just somewhere in between in a midnight blue. Jewel tones have always suited her best.

After bottling her potions and putting everything away (that was a detail she did not need the reporter knowing quite so soon) she sits on her bed with a book and waits, was she sure Anita was even coming tonight? Best not to appear like she's waiting up if so.
 
-
 
“It looked as though she were trying to consume her whole, Clara.” Hermione grimaces at the memory. “Were you joking when you’d said Ron and I are in the paper again?” She’d like to not be thinking about how Bellatrix snogged. Hermione hates when the press take pictures of her and Ron. Especially ones of them doing anything affectionate. It always feels like such an invasion of privacy. She’s asked Ron more than once to limit those sorts of things while they’re out and about but he hardly listens.

“It’s just an anniversary. It’s not even like we’ve even set a wedding date, yet. There’s no new news there.” Hermione continues to complain to the Auror, settling back into her corner of the couch and bringing her feet up to tuck underneath her.

As she walked Anita’s mind was buzzing with a myriad of emotions.

Excitement

, obviously.

Anger

, so much anger, who did the Minister think she was?

Embarrassment

, only slight, maybe she shouldn’t have sent those photos?

Determination

, to get the story and name of this Auror the Minister had over who was also laughing at her.
 
-
 
Clara shook her head, the booze in her drink already making her tongue looser than it should be around her boss and

Minister of Magic.

"Well...that's an image I'll need to obliviate later." She makes a face. "I've had one night stands too but...I've sort of grown out of it you know? How old is she now, must be pushing 80?" She snorts, knowing that was an exaggeration but still amused all the same before nodding.

"You two were, not a large photograph or anything, just a secondary one below the main one of Lestrange screeching like a Banshee." Clara confirms and swirls her glass a few times. "I think it's the anniversary that

was

the news, the number of the anniversary that is. I know it's not my business but have you and Ron discussed a date?" She asks, only because it was rather unusual to have a decade long engagement.

Bellatrix can't stop grinning into her book, she'd had encounters during the last two decades but this was different. She was almost nervous to see Anita again, but she so much wanted to feel that adoration again. To see how far the adoration extended.
 
-
 
“I’ll do you, if you do me.” Hermione snorts in reference to need to be obliviated, of course. Nothing else. She giggles into her drink at the jab at the woman’s age.

“No, pushing ninety now I’m certain.” Sixty eight actually. Hermione had done that math when she’d first been informed the witch was in fact

not

dead. Heat builds in her cheeks that could be attributed to the alcohol but is actually mostly due to Clara’s admission of previous experiences.

“What’s that like?” The Gryffindor blurts out, alarming herself with the question. Clearly the drink was having an affect on her as well, but she’s so curious. The Minister had never had that sort of phase. While everyone was out living their best lives at twenty something she had been climbing the ladder to the top of the ministry with an already long term partner to keep her from exploring in such ways. Not that until now had she even thought twice on that fact. Hermione hadn’t ever felt as though she were missing out on anything, but now she wasn’t so sure it wasn’t a formative experience she’d robbed herself of.

“Sorry—don’t answer that. It’s just it was nineteen years since Ron and I started dating, back in May. So of course that leaves little time for exploring.” No time actually.

Mione takes another sip at the question of a wedding date. She knows Clara would understand if she said it wasn’t something she was willing to discuss but finds herself confiding anyway.

“He tries to set a date, less now than he used to. I’m just…not ready for that sort of commitment?” She sounds unsure of herself, knowing the excuse is weak at best. Hard to not be already seriously committed to someone you’ve spent nearly two decades with. Marriage wouldn’t add or subtract from that.

Anita approaches the home. Eyes flickering to the second story and grinning to see an open window with the lights on. “Perfect.” She purrs walking around the side of the house and casting a levitation charm. The limitations of it only allow her to get both hands on the window frame.

“Bullocks…”
 
-
 
Clara wasn’t surprised the Minister didn’t have any experience with one night stands but she was a bit taken aback that if she heard right Hermione had only been with one person. For two decades. She decided to answer the question.

“What’s it like? Suppose that depends on a lot of different factors; blood alcohol content and how well you know the person for starts. They determine the..aftermath. Sometimes they lead to longer term relationships and other times..not so much.” She hoped that was a satisfactory answer but she was still stuck on Hermione’s reluctance to marry Ron.

“Not ready for commitment? Hermione you’re in love with the man and he with you, you’re practically living together. You’ve been engaged for ten years this September. You sound pretty committed to me, a piece of paper won’t make a difference. You’d just be legally married instead of common-law.” Clara can’t stop thinking about Hermione having only been with Ron and her mouth (and Black Russian) say the words before she can stop them. “Have you really only ever been with Ron? I mean intimately? Nothing before? No breaks where you tried other people?”

Bellatrix looks up from her book when a pair of well manicured hands reach over the window ledge and she laughs a bit, walking over to the window and peering down at Anita.

“My, my. A midnight caller.” She grabs her hand, helping to pull her inside before anyone passing by on the street happened to see
 
-
 
Hermione nods along as Clara explains and maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in her veins but she doesn’t understand. Though the immediately followed thought is that she’d like to and that’s concerning.

She winces slightly as Clara lays into her about the wedding date. “I know, I know. It’s just. . .well first of all we don’t live together even though we’re always around the other's home, and I’ve only just won the election for my second term, and you know Crookshanks passed recently and truly don’t think I’m done mourning. While—“ Clara’s question stops her in her tracks, her face burning with what feels like shame although it doesn’t show through the colouring already present.

She’s shocked the Auror has even asked but attributes it to the drink in her hand. “Only Ron. I spent a brief amount of time with a visiting student in my fourth year. You’ll know him, Viktor Krum? But the only time we had together was at Hogwarts. We kissed, a few times, but never anything more.” She hides behind her drink hating that she’s bringing up something from twenty three years ago as her only other relevant experience.

“I kissed Harry once.” She supplies eager to change the subject even if only slightly. “But

only

once.” Her own curiosity is getting the better of her. Something she desperately needs to know and can’t hold back. “What’s it like kissing a witch instead of a wizard?”

Anita flashes a smile up at the woman looking down on her and allows herself to be helped into the window. Not that there was much of a choice. Finally she steps into the room, brushing herself off sheepishly. “Thank you. You—“ The blonde pauses taking in the witch’s appearance properly for the first time that evening. “Merlin.” She nearly squeaks. “You’re so perfect..” Calm down Skeeter, reel it back.

“S-Sorry. Thank you for having me over again. Do you happen to have those photos?” Anita wants them back, post crazy impulse clarity kicking in and she doesn’t want them circulating even though she (foolishly) trusts Bellatrix with her life.
 
-
 
Clara listened to Hermione rattle off reasons she couldn’t get married yet and said nothing, simply nodding in support (although the bit about her cat was perhaps stretching it)

It wasn’t that Clara didn’t believe in falling in love with the first person you met, she thought it was wonderful to meet someone in your teenage years you wanted to spend your life with, but there was just something about the way Hermione spoke about it that made her wonder if the Minister was truly happy.

Hermione’s question causes her to choke on her drink a bit. “What’s it like to kiss a witch?” Merlin, how to even begin to answer? “It’s..Umm softer I suppose? Witches usually have softer lips and Umm..” The Auror was truly faltering here, trying to find some sort of comparison and coming up short.

Bellatrix helps the reporter inside and then shuts the window, smiling as Anita begins fawning over her again.

“That was quite brilliant, putting your message in the letter like that.” She grins, running her fingers through blonde curls, pausing when she’s asked about the photos. Oh Salazar! Quick lie then.

“I still have to get them back from the Minister, she put them in her pockets. Don’t worry darling, I’m very good at retrieving things.”
 
-
 
Anita leans into the affection, any worry about the compromising photographs melting away with a single stroke through blonde curls.

“I don’t doubt it, you had your wand on you in Flourish and Blotts. Your real original wand! Papers say that disappeared years ago.” She’s fawning, practically falling over herself to sing the woman’s praises.

Bellatrix called her brilliant! Anita might faint. 
“Oh, it’s nothing really. Thank you. I’m certain we can put our brains together and come up with an even more covert way of sending messages.” This reminds her of why she’d needed to write in code in the first place. Immediately digging in her purse for her quill and notebook
“This Auror you said was with the Minister, can you name her? Or perhaps just a description and I can work from there. I’m very familiar with ministry workers.”

Back downstairs, Hermione nods at the reply, feeling bad as it seems she’d made the woman uncomfortable.

“Soft..” That was a nice thought. Ron tries, she knows he does, but he’s often clunky and rough in ways she can’t quite articulate. “That sounds..” How to finish that sentence without sounding like she wanted to experience it! “..nice.” Hermione’s mind flickers to Bellatrix kissing the Auror soundly on the lips. Heart constricting at the reminder. She wonders if Clara’s lips are soft, she doesn’t care about Bella’s. 
Clara is looking back to the still on television only to see the game is over and the news is on. Hazel eyes drop to some pieces of paper on the floor. Oh wait, not papers but pictures.“Rowena above, all that show and Bellatrix didn’t even take the pictures with her.” Clara grumbles leaning over to pick them up and sliding them into her pocket. Hermione’s eyebrows shoot up in response in a look that can only read ‘what are you doing?’. 
-
 
“Disappeared into the Minister’s desk perhaps.” Bellatrix muttered, still in disbelief Hermione had her wand all this time!

Winding a little blonde curl around her finger she pretends to think, even though the Auror’s name immediately sprang to her mind. “Clarissa..Mara..oh no Clara. Yes I’m certain that’s her name. Clara. The one who liked cuffing me before the trial.” She nods as Anita scribbles down the name in her notebook and continues.

“Do you truly think your supervisor will permit this as a special edition? It’s speaking out about not just the Auror but the Minister as well. I'd hate for you to get in any trouble because of me.~” She purrs softly in the blonde’s ear.

“You should know better than anyone what trouble I can be Anita.”
 
-
 
“They’re not for

me

!” Clara insists under the look she’s being given. “I was that young dumb kid once too. I know exactly what it’s like to have your bits plastered to every front page.” She explains pocketing the last one and sitting back up.

“I’m going to get rid of them properly. I don’t trust that dark bitch as far as I can throw her. She’ll turn on that poor blonde before Anita can blink.” Oops had she just sworn? Hermione simply smiles, unable to think of a response through her pleasantly buzzed state. She loves how thoughtful Clara is, always.

Anita shivers in response to the breath in her ear nodding before she even realizes she’s doing so. “I’m quite certain. The Prophet has never once shied away from controversial topics. Besides, people want to hear your voice, your experience behind the doors the Minister usually keeps so tightly guarded.” The blonde says, implying she’ll write Bellatrix in as her source.

The reporter begins to blush as the proximity of the dark witch starts to sink in. Fidgeting with her notebook to keep from reaching out and doing something regrettable, like being over eager.

“Did you mean it?” She asks full of hope and searching for reassurance. Anita needs the scoop of course she does, but other factors are winning out at the moment. “You want to see me, like in those photographs?” Anxious and fearful of rejection from the one witch she couldn’t bear to be pushed away from. Blue eyes take in near black ones before moving downwards, catching on the breasts she’s literally dreamed about.

“I don’t think you’re trouble!” She says instantly, eyes snapping back up. “It’s my job to get the details even the ones most don’t want shared with the world. You wouldn’t be getting me in any trouble, hell I might even get promoted for it.”
 
-
 
Hearing that the blonde intended to write Bellatrix in as the source made her pause and she shook her head. “No, if you say my name your work will lose all credibility, the people won’t care, they’ll just brush it off as me being crazy.” Gods above even

saying

that word made her shudder.

“For now, until the news catches attention, you cannot use my name, can you do that for me? Keep me a secret?” The last question is whispered in her ear, pulling back at the question Anita asks her.

“Of course I meant it.” She answers without any hesitation which surprises even herself. “You’re such a pretty little thing Anita, so brilliant and you see me as more than what’s been reported.” She leans close again, her chest just barely touching the blonde’s, to whisper something that she’s sure will unravel the witch right here.

“And I’d love to hear how prettily you’ll scream for me.”

Such a pity she was barred from dark magic, she wondered if Anita would have let her play like that, put her under a weak Cruciatus. Make her scream.
 
-
 
Anita reached out one hand to hold tightly onto Bellatrix upper arm. Afraid she might otherwise fall over.

“Yes, yes..” She mumbles, maybe more moans. Being a reporter she’d never been good at keeping secrets, but she’s willing to learn to do anything for the dark witch. It really is a shame Bellatrix can’t cast a curse. The blonde would have begged for it.

“I’ll keep your name out of it. The rest of them are wrong though. You’re not crazy, you never have been. You’re so intelligent. Everything you’ve ever done has been with prodigious amounts of intent and careful planning.” Her knees weaken at the older woman’s comments, right hand squeezing impossibly tighter around the older witch’s arm.

“Thank you..” Anita manages to squeeze out, resisting all urges to press her own chest further against the curly haired witch’s. “The papers, the people, are wrong. Wrong about you and wrong for thinking they can trust whatever drabble we’ve come up with. That there isn’t at least one thing in each article twisted to our own liking. People are

stupid

.”

Back downstairs Mione has her head resting in Clara’s lap, the hazel eyed witch playing with her curls as she tries to become clear minded enough to apparate home. Brown hues slowly grow heavier, she needs to owl for Ron before she all but passes out. She’s just about to move when there’s a knock on the door. Hermione sitting upright instantly and furrowing her brow.

“Down, puppy. It’s probably just Ron.” Clara teases, clicking her tongue as she stands to answer it. She knows Hermione would sit there the next ten minutes contemplating if she should answer it or not.

“Oh. Clara, you’re not Hermione.” Ron’s voice comes from the door and the Minister’s shoulders relax slightly.

“Well spotted.” Clara says doing her best to keep the slur from her voice as she waves him inside. “See? Only Ron.” Clara calls behind her, reassuring the anxious Gryffindor. “She’s in the living room, Ron. Might need some help walking to the bedroom. I honestly should be going, work early tomorrow as always. I’ll see you two in the morning. Hermione, thank you for having me.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix loves how obedient Anita is, just agreeing to do anything she wanted. That would be useful moving forwards. The poor girl was just about having an orgasm right there at the window. “Good girl.” She responds, dragging her nose up the length of the blonde’s neck and inhaling her perfume. It was perhaps stronger than it needed to be, but was still quite pretty.

“I’m glad someone has noticed, all they see is a crazed murderer, unhinged but they rob me of just how intelligent I am. It’s not simple to control a Cruciatus, or know how to cut someone but not let them bleed out. They don’t even call me Lieutenant.” Bellatrix pouts a little.

“I’ll trust you to rectify that.” She didn’t say ‘I trust you’ but she hoped the tweak was enough to satisfy the blonde, taking her hand and bringing it up to the pendant. Giving permission to touch. And not just her necklace.

Ron looked at Clara, confused for a moment. “Need help walking..? Oh! You two have been drinking. Alright, I’ll look after her thanks Clara. See you tomorrow.” Clara nods and walks out the door, hoping the cool night air would sober her up enough to apparate home otherwise it was a long walk.

Ron wandered into the living room to see his fiancée half asleep on the sofa. “Come on Mione, off to bed. You can’t sleep on the sofa.”
 
-
 
It’s a wonder Bellatrix can smell anything through how overwhelming the floral scent was. ‘Good girl’ rings in the blonde’s ears so pleasant she’s certain her lingerie won’t make it another day.

“Only for you, I can assure.” Anita tries to tease. Good was not something the young Skeeter was used to anyone calling her. Annoying, sometimes. Pesky, always. But never good.

Anita is standing still, afraid to do or touch anything out of turn. Listening to Bellatrix tell her all the ways people underestimate her. Oh she knows, she’s heard it all while campaigning for a memorial to be put up in the dark witch’s honour during her fourth year. She unfortunately hadn’t succeeded.

Her heart stops as Bellatrix redirects her hand, pale fingers coming to wrap around the crow skull like a lifeline.

“Well we’ll just have to change the narrative then, won’t we Lieutenant?” Anita gains the confidence to purr, her fingers slipping down off the pendant and beneath the top of the older woman’s dress.

Meanwhile Hermione is groaning in protest. Shaking her head slightly and then whining at the pain of causes. She doesn’t want Clara to go, she’d been dozing in the witch’s lap and dozing meant sleep and sleep meant not having to think about all the confusing feelings clogging her mind.

Her eyes burn with the guilt of her thoughts, sitting up with surprising speed for an inebriated witch, and she wraps her arms tightly around Ron’s neck as he sits beside her.

“Oi-“ He’s surprised but also isn’t. Drinking with the dark witch merely up the stairs sounded like a bad idea to him but he keeps quiet, stroking along her back as he does when she has a night-terror. “It’s s’alright Mione. Let’s get you to bed.”

The sweet gesture does nothing to alleviate the pain in Hermione’s chest, in fact it makes it worse. Here Ron was so loving, and sweet, and all she can think about is her female best friend. “I’m sorry.” Mione whimpers before she can bite it back. Thank Merlin she didn’t say anything more revealing, she could come back from this.
 
-
 
Bellatrix can only stare wide eyed for a moment, she had meant records and papers ignored her status but hearing Anita say it like that, was like being lit under with a match.

Bellatrix had been enjoying their games but she couldn’t control herself now, pushing the blonde up against the window she’d come in, and kissing her hard like she’d been waiting to do again since that afternoon. And this time no pesky Minister was going to rob her of her fun.

Her hands begin to roam up from the blonde reporter’s hips, up over her stomach and stopping at her ribs for a moment, holding her there and wedging her leg between Anita’s knees, the strap of her own dress slipping down her shoulder.

The apology takes Ron by surprise but he continues to stroke her back gently. Assuming the apology was for drinking or being drunk, he just shook his head. “Hey, it’s alright. You had fun drinking with Clara that’s all, come on we’ll get you changed and into bed. You’ll feel much better tomorrow.” Godric knows he’d been on his fair share of benders, it just wasn’t common to see Hermione so drunk she was nearly in tears. “Want me to carry you?” He asks, not trusting the witch to make it down the hallway alone.
 
-
 
Blue eyes fly open in surprise as Anita is all but slammed against the window. The pane behind her rattling with the force.

Ron glances towards the stairs annoyed at whatever it is the dark witch is doing to make such a ruckus so late, but saying nothing. Hermione wasn’t even present enough to gripe with him about the older woman’s existence. The brunette nods her head at being carried, not trusting her voice and trying in vain to keep the tears at bay. She wraps her arms tighter around Ron’s neck as he stands off the sofa, the Minister wrapped up in his arms.

Anita is trying to keep up with the kiss, groaning out as her skirt is shoved up by Bellatrix’ knee. Her hips immediately bucking into the solid pressure there and pulling away from the death eater’s lips to moan high pitched, and needy, and not the least bit quiet. Her head tilts back against the window as she works to pull down the other strap on Bella’s dress. She wants it off,

now

.

Hermione huffs, an upset little thing, against her fiancé’s neck as he begins down the hallway. “Ron, please..” She complains, her head already beginning to pound. “..please stop groaning, I’m not that heavy.”
 
-
 
Salazar, that

sound

Anita made from such a little touch sends Bellatrix’ blood thrumming in her veins, if she’d ever questioned truly wanting to shag the reporter, that sound silenced those doubts. Gods above she wanted her.

She lets Anita tug her dress down, the material gliding effortlessly down and pooling at her feet, not even using her hands to undress the blonde, instead snapping her fingers and making her top and skirt disappear. “Get on the bed.” Bellatrix almost hisses at her. The poor thing’s knees looked ready to buckle.

Ron just silently carries Hermione down the hallway, emphasis on

silently

. When Hermione complains, he stops in his tracks. “Mione, I haven't been groaning, ‘course you’re not heavy. You’re light as a feather.”

He pauses and then he hears it too and the unmistakable sound of springs creaking on a bed. His face twists in disgust. The dark witch was going

solo

in the house? Good Godric why?!
 
-
 
Hermione’s head lifts off his shoulder as Ron adamantly denies being the source of the sounds, her brow furrowing in confusion as she listens harder.

“Sweet Helga, please!”  Is all but screamed from up the stairs.

Hermione’s eyes widen, unable to tell the voice is not Bellatrix’ from below (though her sober self would have been able to comprehend that Bellatrix

isn’t

a Hufflepuff). Tears immediately drip down freckled cheeks. She’s never drinking again, she cannot stand not being in control of her actions or responses.

“Gross, gross,

gross

! Ron! Ron, make her stop!” She begs (demands?) burying her face in the cook of his neck.

Anita makes quick work of the rest of Bella’s underthings, having been told to do so and thanks to Bellatrix’ help was already quite naked herself. The blonde tugs at the black satin that stood between her and seeing the dark witch in her entirety.

The lingerie she’d purposefully worn hardly looked at and had been discarded off the edge of the bed the minute Bellatrix had pinned her to it, accompanied by whispered taunts about how

wet

her pretty little knickers were from just a kiss.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen..” Anita breathes reverently, staring up at the nude porcelain skinned

goddess

on the bed with her. A sight Anita had only imagined alone at night or in her baths. Every touch no matter how featherlight or innocent seeming makes her whine and gasp. 
 
-
 
Ron just stares at the clearly inebriated witch, eyes wide and face still grimacing as more

sounds

echo through the halls. “And how would you like me to do that? Knock and tell her to stop? Maybe you can’t hear it in your bedroom?” He suggested. Except that the bedroom was below the office directly, and while muffled by the floor noise was still heard from above.

Bellatrix and Anita were rolling around on the bed, moaning and gasping into one another’s mouths, hands roaming freely along hips, thighs and breasts. Bella grins at the compliment as she starts to rub in between Anita’s legs with two fingers. “Mm tell me pet, have you been with many witches or am I your first?” It’s an actual question, to know how much Anita already knows.

Having known she was a sapphic from a young age, Anita had had one or two fumbling intimacies with a classmate and then a few more with coworkers, but none had been as intensely pleasurable as with Bellatrix. The witch had hardly touched her and she was already flushed, panting and squirming.

“I’ve been with witches before, but..you’re better.” Anita answers, trying not to beg for more so soon. Not clear which she’d rather; be fucked by Bellatrix or fuck her. In amazement either or both could happen tonight!
 
-
 
Hermione swats at the man as they enter the bedroom. “I don’t know, just make it stop…” She’s fully whining as Ron sets her onto bed. Ron frowns slightly, Hermione never whines.

“Shh, here.” He unholsters his wand and charms the room. The unholy sounds falling silent. Hermione exhales her relief reaching up for the Auror to join her in bed, tears slowing but not stopping, and Ron nods.

“Yeah, ‘course Mione. Give me a minute, alright? Just let me change.” His voice is gentle as he can manage hearing what he had just listened to.

Hermione hums in agreement. Trying to flick her wrist and change herself but only managing to put her sleep shorts and one of Ron’s tee’s onto the man instead of on herself. She giggles at the sight, hiding in her pillow.

In the study turned bedroom, their positions again switched, the blonde straddling the witch, Anita bites down onto prison numbers, making Bellatrix shiver before she grabbed a fistful of blonde curls and pulled, instructing the blonde to stop teasing and start

fucking.

Merlin, was this truly happening? It had to be. Anita had felt the pain of the love bites littered across her throat and collarbones. Then her confirmation came when the witch below her told her what to do in no uncertain terms, spreading her legs in case the instruction was unclear. Anita could have fainted.
 
-
 
“Blimey!” Ron exclaims, rightfully surprised to have clothes just

appear

on him without it being his doing, his face turning pink. He and Hermione were not exactly the same size.

He lets out a laugh hearing her giggle. “Now Mione, when they say I should get into your pants I don’t think this is quite what they mean. How do I look though? My arse look good in the polka dots?” He asked, doing a little turn and wiggling.

Anita was very good at following instructions and after getting over the wonderment of Bellatrix’ cunt open and presented to her, she had eagerly situated herself between those beautiful pale thighs and

tasted

the dark haired witch, the sensations causing Bellatrix to grab hold of blonde hair in a vice grip, cursing and switching wildly between praising the reporter and degrading her with filthy names. Anita seemed to enjoy both being directed at her.
 
-
 
Anita’s hips rut against the mattress while her mouth is otherwise occupied though that doesn’t stop nor contain the sounds of pleasure she makes that reverberate against the older woman. She had never known it was possible to get such pleasure herself out of pleasuring someone else.

Hermione squeals with laughter as Ron continues turning. “Yeah? I look that good, do I?” He chuckles, shaking his head and happy to have made Mione smile again. He’s relieved, he knows her mind can be a mean place especially so under any sort of influence.

“Alright, shows over. We need to sleep, you especially so. Can’t have the minister hungover, now can we?”

“ ‘spose you’re right.” Hermione sighs as Ron flicks his wand and puts the clothes currently on him onto Hermione. He then walks over to the dresser to pull a shirt to put over his boxers.

“C’mere.” The minister instructs impatiently, despite Ron already being halfway onto his side of the bed.

“Alright, alright.” He pretends to complain back. The Auror doesn’t like when Hermione was upset but adores how very koala like she gets when buzzed. He doesn’t usually get this level of physical affection from her otherwise. Well, not in many many years anyway.
 
-
 
Almost too soon, the blonde has brought the dark witch over the edge

twice

, making Bellatrix call out her name and immediately switching positions to devour the blonde until Anita is sobbing (and screaming) her name out over and over. Four times to be exact. She counted.

Dizzy and panting, Anita can only lay back on the bed, blue eyes wide and staring at the woman who lay beside her, licking her fingers slowly. The fingers that just a second ago had been pushed deep inside of her.

“Merlin I-I knew you were incredible I just..wow.” It was unusual for the reporter to be so short on words but the fourth orgasm had all but shut down her brain, her body still trembling faintly as she fought to take in gulps of air.

The small part of her brain still functioning enough, made her wonder if she’d be made to leave now the fun was over and not wanting to ask and be told to leave, she instead moves to get up and searches for her clothes.

Seeing Anita move up off the bed, Bellatrix sat up, pushing her curls back off her face. “Where’re you going darling? Get back into bed, you must be

exhausted

.” She cooed and patted the spot next to her. Oh no. Bellatrix wanted her to stay.
 
-
 
Anita doesn’t need to be told twice, she never does. Slipping back onto the mattress and resting her head on the dark witch’s chest. She was obsessed with all of Bellatrix, but especially this particular part. They were sensitive too, a fact she’d been all too amused to find out. “I thought you’d want me gone.” She says in that same searching for approval and validation tone from earlier. “I don’t want to upset you, or do something wrong. I just want you to love me.” Perhaps a bit too honest in her post orgasm haze. She peppers featherlight kisses along some of the marks she’d left, wondering if the witch will heal them after she goes or leave them.

“Won’t the Minister have something to say about this?” She doesn’t truly care but worries Bellatrix might. Her opinion was all that mattered after all.

Now in bed, Ron picks up the plush tabby cat and places it in Hermione’s arms, the woman already more than half asleep. “G’night Mione. I love you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to her lips. Something that sounds like “I like you too.” Is murmured back before the Minister is out cold.
 
-
 
Bellatrix’ fingers rake through disheveled blonde curls as she considers how to answer. “Why would I want you gone? No, no you’ll stay the night, come down and have breakfast with me before work.” She nods and sighs from the kisses, both their throats, collarbones and even chests are absolutely littered with red and purple marks. Bellatrix had liked the way Anita enjoyed being bitten.

Hearing the concern about the Minister disapproving, she laughs, gently so as not to upset the reporter. “Last I checked, the Ministry has no say on who I date or bed. Besides..I didn’t break any rules. The Ministry says I can’t go out after dark, they didn’t say anything about visitors coming to me.” She kisses her hair. “Sleep now darling.” She says, pulling the bedding up over the both of them. Morning would come quickly.
 
-
 
Yet again any anxiety Anita has on the matter melts away as slender fingers card through her curls so soothingly. The action knocking any lingering thoughts away.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” She concedes settling in as the blankets are pulled up, exhaustion from their activities settling over her just as warm as the blankets.

Her insides flutter at the use of the word ‘date’, causing a soft and tired moan as she closes her eyes for sleep.

“I do hope we’ll be together even after all this has blown over for you. We can move wherever you’d like, I’m flexible. So long as I’ll have you forever.” The rambling is truly half asleep gibberish but it comes out anyway before the blonde drifts into the most peaceful sleep she’d ever experienced.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Ron wakes first, carefully untangling himself from Hermione and making his way into the kitchen. He wants to ensure his fiancee has hangover potion before waking her up for the work day. Coming into the kitchen he sets a kettle to boil for her tea and his coffee.
 
-
 
Anita had been awake for an hour, at first confused that the sheets over top of her weren’t her own until the events of the night flooded back. She’d had sex with Bellatrix Lestrange! Sitting up slightly she hovered over the dark witch, just watching her sleep. Helga Hufflepuff, even asleep Bellatrix was stunning.

Sensing someone was watching her, Bellatrix’ eyes fluttered open, startled to see a pair of blue ones staring at her but quickly recovering. “Morning love.” She grins and pecks her lips. “Not too sore to go to work are you?” She asks and the blonde shakes her head quickly.

“Oh! No no, I’m perfectly alright, don’t worry.”  Bellatrix mock pouts at her. “Guess that means I’ll have to go for

five

next time.” She laughs and hears who she assumes to be Hermione rattling around the kitchen while she stretches.

A few moments later redressed in her nightgown, Bellatrix wanders into the kitchen, scowling to see it was Ron there instead until Anita pops up behind her, tying the purple silk robe around her waist. Bellatrix turns to give the blonde a lingering kiss. “Thought I’d lost you.” Anita says after pulling away, her eyes lingering on the redhead.
 
-
 
“Not you.” Ron grumbles, immediately thinking of those awful noises from the evening prior and scrunching his face in disgust. He’s just fixing himself some coffee when there’s a second set of footsteps down the stairs. Ron frowns, turning his head and mouth dropping open as an unknown blonde enters the kitchen and pulls the psychotic woman in for a kiss.

“Hey-Wh-Just hold on a bloody minute!” He sputters. He’s still dreaming, he

has

to be! “Who the devil is that? Has she been here all night?!” Oh those sounds make

so

much more sense now. There was no way Bellatrix could’ve been going at herself enthusiastically enough to create all of what he’d had the displeasure of hearing.

“Oh no, oh no. Hermione isn’t going to like this,

she

needs to go.” He insists as their bedroom door creaks and Hermione’s footsteps begin to pad down the hallway.

“Won’t like what Rona—“ Hermione stops short, one hand holding her head that felt as though it would split open if she removed it, the other holding the stuffed cat. Brown eyes widening as she flicks her wrist and vanishes the plush back to its spot on her bed.

“What in the four founders am I looking at right now? Ron, why is she here?” The Minister’s tone is accusatory as if the redhead had anything to do with it.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just stood, quite amused at the entire situation, snickering at the plush cat Hermione had come wandering in with.

“I’m Anita Skeeter, I write for the Daily Prophet.” The blonde supplied both Ron and Hermione.

Ron looked absolutely offended Hermione seemed to think he had anything to do with the reporter's presence. “Me? Oh right Hermione, you caught me. I went out this morning and invited her over for coffee!” He’s still reeling from the onslaught of information. “Don’t blame me, blame your new housemate who was shagging her last night! Could hear it all over the bloody house!”

Bellatrix just snickers. “Anita darling, I told you to try to be quieter.” She teases as the blonde blushes beet red and giggles.
 
-
 
Hermione’s cheeks take on colour as she’s laughed at, even if it’s brief.

“Write for the Prophet? Yeah, alright. What’s the article on, then? How tight the death eater’s snatch is?” Ron scoffs hating the entirety of this scene. The morning couldn’t get worse.

“Ronald stop being crude!” Hermione snaps. Ungrateful for the reminder of the lewd noises they’d heard the previous evening.

Yep, it just got worse. “What’re you on at me for, Hermione? I didn’t bring her into the house! Do you even know who she is, how did she get here if the psycho isn’t allowed out after dark?” The word psycho causes Anita to immediately wrap her arms around the woman in front of hers waist, whispering soft praises and assurance unheard to the bickering couple

Hermione crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at the unlikely pair. “We’re briefly acquainted. She’s Rita’s daughter. I don’t know how she got in. I already kicked her out yesterday afternoon. I guess some bugs are just harder to kill than others.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix just watched the couple bicker, flinching a little as ‘psycho’ was worse even than crazy or insane. Anita’s reassurances were helpful to simmer her anger down.

Oh Bellatrix was so hoping they’d ask where she came from. “I let her in. I wasn’t allowed out after dark to see her, so she came here instead. No rules about that.” She crosses her arms and Anita, ever ready to jump to the defence of the dark witch adds.

“And Minister, might I just add that you’re dangerously close to overstepping the bounds of the Ministry. Madame Lestrange-“ Ooh that was a thrill to call her that after last night. “Is still entitled to bodily autonomy, which includes deciding who she chooses to date.” Bella grins and plants a kiss on the blonde again with a little murmur of praise.

“Yes, I’m not sure

why

the Minister seems to think that she gets any say at all. You didn’t want us on the sofa, so I used the bed.” When Anita turned her head to smile at her, Ron got an eyeful of the marks on her neck and throat.

“Bloody hell, Lestrange you’re pushing 80 do you think perhaps you could act it?”Ron grumbled.
 
-
 
“No you may not ‘just add’.” Hermione starts as Ron chimes in and the next sentence comes out in unison. “No one asked you.”

“I may not have, nor do I want, say over who ‘Madame Lestrange’ ‘dates’ but it’s still my home and I’ve every legal right to dictate who comes and goes. It’s

my

name on the deed. Not Bellatrix’. According to the Wizarding Laws surrounding homeownership and tenancy; I am to be informed of guests

prior

to their arrival, as well as how long the duration of their stay is to be. I also have every right to decline.”

She’s smug on this fact, lifting her chin at the couple. Were they even a couple or was Anita just being crazy again?

“Those are written in Chapter 14, subjection 40 & 43, paragraph 2.A and 8.1, respectively. You know, just in case you’d like to fight with the

Minister of Magic

about legality.” Even hungover she knows her rights, and the law, like the back of her hand.

Hermione won’t object to the coupling, though doesn’t love to know they’d be shagging above her head for Merlin knows how long. She knows it’ll only do more harm than good to try to put a stop to it and clearly the young woman hadn’t a problem just letting herself in. However they don’t need to know that. Just know that she’s well within her rights should the ditzy blonde get on her nerves. Oh the Minister is proper seething right now.

“Honestly I have half a mind to revoke your press badge and march straight over to yours to tell your mother of just what you’ve been up to.” Hermione adds with a challenging raise of her brow. Anita pales slightly, holding tighter onto the witch in front of her. The blonde is not a god fearing woman, but her mother could be Satan herself.

“Animals, the both of you..” Ron murmurs eyeing the hickeys on Anita’s neck and spotting a matching set on the other woman’s. Mione never lets him mark her up like that.

“Everyone just have your coffee, or your tea, and get dressed, because when

I

leave this house, the rest of you do too.” The Minister snips.
 
-
 
Bellatrix just rolled her eyes as Hermione spouted off the law, well perhaps if she was allowed to leave her visitor wouldn’t have had to resort to climbing through windows. Not that she had any intent on revealing the specifics.

The dark witch inhales sharply as long red dig into her waist, squeezing her hand both in a show of assurance and to try to get Anita to loosen her grip.

“Anita is an adult

Minister

. As am I. Although you seem intent on harbouring the notion I’m your teenage daughter. Do you make it a habit to report everyone else’s intimate encounters to their mothers as well,  or only people you don’t like? That would sound like discrimination to me.” She’d played this game before with her own mother, telling her who she could and could not see. She would not play it with Hermione.

“Jealous are you?” Bellatrix purrs at Ron, pulling the neckline of her gown down a bit more. “Doesn’t the Minister let you mark her all up in bed?” She asks, although she could guess the answer.

Hearing Hermione instruct everyone to have coffee or tea and then

leave

makes her grin. “Oh? Does that include me too? Where am I going Minister? Is it take your Death Eater to work day?”
 
-
 
“I’m trying to protect her!” Hermione insists. This had nothing to do with not liking anyone…alright maybe in part but mostly she was trying to protect Anita from the troublesome death eater.

“She’s an adult

legally

but you know as well as I do twenty two is still a child with a lot to learn about the world.” Merlin does she feel her age saying something like that.

“Jealous of what?” Ron snaps not going to add anything else to this already mess of a conversation.

Anita’s grip loosens if only slightly, still hanging onto the witch. “I’m grown enough to look after myself Minister, I assure you I’m confident in my decisions.”

Hermione’s dark eyes roll. Fine then but it can’t be said she didn’t try. “Whatever, then. Let’s get moving, everyone. Yes, that means you too.” Speaking to Bellatrix. “Leaving you here is not a risk I’m willing to take given the events of the last twenty four hours. My meeting with the Wizengamot is first thing and then maybe you’ll be free to just go. I cannot take this a moment longer.”
 
-
 
“Oh I get to leave the house, how novel.” Bellatrix mutters under her breath, choosing to ignore the two of them and turning her attention to Anita.

“Alright you heard the Minister love, go get dressed, I don’t think you can go to work in my robe.” She smirked and kissed her again knowing it would calm the blonde after the explosive arguments and further annoy the happy couple.

Anita looks almost disappointed she’s being shooed away so Bellatrix adds. “I’ll be up in a minute, we might have time for a quick

game

.” She grins and the blonde is off and running up the stairs in a shot.

Bellatrix calmly strides around the kitchen making two cups of tea. “You’re awfully terse this morning Minister, didn’t Weasel satisfy you last night or was he too busy listening to us?”
 
-
 
Oh Bellatrix thinks she has time for a quick ‘game’ does she? Hermione will just have to see how quickly she can ready herself for the day then.

“Repulsive..” Mione breathes under her breath as the odd couple kiss. Ron putting a steadying hand on the small of her back. The Minister rests her chin on his shoulder and mumbles into his ear.

“You wouldn’t’ve happened to find hangover potion would you, honey?“ Ron shakes his head and kisses her hair.

“No, love. I’m sorry, I couldn’t check before they’d come downstairs.” Mione whines in complaint, very quietly. Not wanting the older woman to hear and have something smart to say.

Ron scoffs at Bellatrix’ words. “She‘d been drinking and you’re right upstairs! What do you take me for.” Hermione wants to strangle him for not just keeping his mouth shut. Bellatrix was clearly hungry for their reactions. So let her starve Ronald!

Well since he’d already ruined it, “Terse? Yes, well spending a prolonged period of time around you has that effect.” She can’t help that her responses are clipped, leave her alone.
 
-
 
Bellatrix nearly snorts as Ron so helpfully explains himself. “Oh? Did the Minister have too much to drink and couldn’t shag her fiance? Poor dear.” A hungover Minister. Interesting.

“As does trailing around Diagon with you, but Anita was so very good at relieving that…tension.” She grins, enjoying the faces Ron made as he was forced to once again

visualize

her words.

“Must be going on a week now Hmm? I’ve been here nearly that long. Unless you’re shagging at the office?” She arched a brow, picked up the tea and went upstairs to Anita who was already dressed and waiting for the witch on the bed. “We’ll have to be quite quick, the Minister’s in a mood.” She says, immediately pinning the blonde down and making her squeal.

“Bloody hell, that woman’s a nuisance! She’s old enough to be that Skeeter girl’s grandmother!” Ron grumbled, drinking the rest of his coffee and wishing it was much stronger.
 
-
 
Hermione
only glares as Ron hands her a cuppa. “Good Godric we get it, you two shagged!” She calls after the dark witch before spinning around and going off in search of a cure to this mind melting headache.

“It’s disgusting.” Hermione calls back from the bathroom, groaning out her annoyance to find she’s out of hangover potion. Not having picked up any at the apothecary. Merlin damn it.

“Ron would you—“ She cuts off as Ron is suddenly behind her. His hands come up to rub at her tensed shoulders until he feels them relax under his fingertips.

“Brew you some and bring it to your office for after your meeting?” He completes the question, raising a brow at his fiancée in the bathroom mirror.

“Yes, please.” The Minister nods, exhaling with relief that Ron truly did just get her sometimes. “Now out, I need to finish dressing before I hear either of them

finishing

upstairs.” She says using both hands to quite literally shove the redhead out of the bathroom. Closing the door and flicking her wrist to summon her work clothes before beginning to dress at warp speed.
 
-
 
Bellatrix had had a

feeling

the Minister might try to rob her of her fun as quickly as possible, luckily her wand was quite useful in helping to bring the blonde over the edge quite quickly while still snogging her.

“Bloody hell!” Ron complained, the noises drifting down the stairs as he clamped his hands over his ears. You’d think those two were the ones engaged to married! Then again if Anita had anything to say on the matter they would be. She would happily spend a lifetime with this woman.

“I’ve..never even heard of that spell.” The blonde pants out, quickly fixing her hair with a charm as Bellatrix dressed.

“Mm it’s not exactly taught in Charms class.” She answered, getting the zip on her dress halfway. “Darling would you-?” She asks, Anita eagerly helping to pull the zipper up, although she wished it could be tugged down instead.

Satisfied they were both dressed and ready, they both descended down the stairs, Anita bravely taking Bellatrix’ hand. “I-in case you fall.” She explains.
 
-
 
Hermione’s dressed, hair done in that same tight bun she’d been doing the last bit of time (read: a decade). What can she say? She craves consistency. The brunette secures the backing on her earring, and opts out of makeup for the day, before opening the door and heading back into the kitchen.

She scowls as the two witch’s walk down the stairs hand in hand. How does one even do that comfortably? Do you walk on the same step or alternating? She’s snapped from her thoughts as she recognizes the post climax glaze in Anita’s shining blue eyes. Wait a moment, was that gay? No, no surely just her astute mind.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, and wincing at the pain it brings, she claps her hands in front of her. “Alright, Bellatrix. Say goodbye to your granddaught—I mean girlfriend. I won’t have anyone standing in this kitchen making me late. Ron included.”

Hermione doesn’t need a time card, she’s in charge, but she has one anyway and two months of perfect 7:00am clock ins was not about to be ruined.

Anita sighs a blissfully exhausted sort of thing, bringing her arms up to wrap around Bella’s neck in a rather drawn out goodbye.

“Gods above, she’s not dying.” Ron complains, trying to lace his fingers with Hermione’s but she pulls her hand away subtly. Not right now.

“Into the floo everyone, Anita, I don't care how you get home.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the comment and let Anita fuss over the goodbye, kissing her gently. “Come on love, you’ve got an article to write haven’t you?” She whispered in her ear and the blonde nodded, more enthusiastic about writing it than she had been even before she’d slept with the witch.

“Yes, I do. Owl me later?” Anita asks, before simply choosing to walk out the door and apparate away to the office. Her copy editor Rachel was never going to believe this!

At the direction to get into the Floo she snorted. “Yes mother.” Bellatrix retorted, the fireplace just hardly big enough for all three of them. Why the ginger was with them she had no idea.
 
-
 
All Hermione can think is how amazingly tolerant was of the overbearing blonde. It was almost… suspicious.

A bit of floo powder and green flames later Ron is tumbling into the Ministry, trying to get away from the dark woman as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you for lunch then, Hermione?” He asks, hopeful.

Hermione nods in confirmation, stepping out and dusting off her suit jacket. “Yes, you and Clara both to make up for yesterday.” She confirms.

Hoards of ministry officials are appearing via floo network, all stopping to stare at the Minister and Bellatrix. “Follow. You’re scaring people. We’re going up to my office and straight into a meeting. Not you though, you’ll sit and wait for me.” Speaking to the cause of all the fuss behind her.
 
-
 
For now, the positives of Anita fawning over her, how much fun the witch was in bed and the bonus of it pissing off everyone else, outweighed the annoyances Bellatrix had.

Bellatrix truly hated travel by Floo, the powder stuck to her clothes and her hair and it was hardly ever a graceful landing.

As she stepped out and dusted herself off, she smirked at all of the attention her presence caught. Witches and wizards opting to give the dark witch a wide berth.

“I’m scaring them? I haven’t even done anything.” Bella bats her lashes, grinning wolfishly. “Oh I don’t get to come to the meeting about me? What am I meant to sit in your office and wait like your puppy?” She asks, boots clicking along behind the Minister as they walk.
 
-
 
“Good girl!” Hermione coos with false adoration as they step into the lift. “You know your place.” Thank Merlin no one else had heard that. Hermione’s still a touch too bold from last night's drinking.

“It won’t be long. I haven’t much to say.” The lift dings and she steps out but not before adding, “Nothing positive anyway.” over her shoulder.

Let the woman think she was going to keep the restrictions. Hermione is thriving on the power she has over the dark witch. If she really cared to, she could drag this on for years just to drive the snake that much closer to insanity.

Stepping into the press room right before her office she nods to her secretary. “Good morning Florence, would you please page for an auror to come sit with you while I attend my 8:30? Lestrange here will be sitting in my office until it’s over. Then please don’t forget I’m out of office until I return from lunch.”
 
-
 
Ooh Bellatrix’ hands ball into fists, biting her tongue so hard she can taste her own blood when Hermione speaks so condescendingly to her.

Florence looks up from her typing to greet the Minister as always, visibly startling to see the infamous dark witch a few feet away. “I-I’ll page for one right away Minister.” She stammers, grateful she wouldn’t be left alone with the mad woman. Good Godric we’re those

hickeys

on her neck?

“And what am I meant to do while you’re off chit chatting? Twiddle my thumbs?” Bellatrix asked, still not quite sure why she had been hauled here in the first place, if she couldn’t even attend the meeting!
 
-
 
Hermione smirks to herself, a sort of self satisfied thing. No response? Oh that’s certainly new and Hermione makes mental note of it for later. There seemed to be a sweet spot between ‘no reaction’ and ‘lights breaking’ that was blissful silence. She definitely wanted to lean into more.

Stepping into her office she groans inwardly at the sight of papers from after she’d left yesterday haphazardly thrown onto her desk. How hard was it to make a neat pile?

She sets to righting this wrong immediately. Flickering through the pile to check for anything that needed immediate attention or filing. Satisfied the stack is nothing but a bunch of rubbish to be sorted through later, she straightens the parchments into a neat pile and places it meticulously on an empty space of her desk. Stepping back the Minister scans her desk for any other signs of misalignment, frowning to see one of her quills slightly askew.

One, two, three.

She counts before adjusting the third in line so it matches the rest again.

One, two, three.

Good.

One two three.

Perfect. Now, what was she doing? Brown eyes fall on the dark witch who was watching on expectantly for an answer. Right, right.

“You can twiddle your thumbs while you think about just exactly what you’ll say to Luna when we go over for tea.” Hermione says like a fact that is not to be debated. She plucks a file from atop her desk, mini capital letters spelling out ‘Bellatrix Lestrange - Classified’ written neatly in the top left corner.

“It shouldn’t be too long, really. I’ve nothing substantial to bring to the table.” Lying again but she can’t let the dark witch know she’s leaping at the opportunity to get the Wizengamot to loosen the restrictions. Waking up to a stranger in her kitchen had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

“I can find for you some pencil crayons to colour with if you’d like.” A smirk ghosting on the Minister’s features before she turns on her heel and exits the space. This meeting will have to be quick if they’re to make it to Luna's for tea and then back in time for lunch.

8:30 to 9: Wizengamot Meeting

9:15 to 10:15: Tea with Luna

10:30 to 12:00: Catch up on Paperwork, Meet with Education Department, and Briefing on Illegal Wand Making Investigation

12:00: Lunch with Ron and Clara with the rest of the day free for review, revision, and finalization on the last bit of budget for the Azkaban restoration; A common room and courtyard.

Now she just needs to craft a reason the woman might’ve earned leniency so soon.
 
-
 
Hermione should be wary of ‘blissful silence’ when it came from a witch with wounded pride. It could lead to dangerous outcomes, far more than just the lights breaking.

Bellatrix follows into the office, pausing to realize she had never actually been in the office of the Minister of Magic before in her life, her eyes roving over the furniture and decorations as Hermione set to meticulously organizing her desk. Now that was far more interesting to observe.

Bellatrix watched as Hermione counted her quills, straightening them and ensuring each corner of the stack of parchments were aligned. Ah, so it wasn’t just the dishes she fussed over then.

Hearing she was to give her apology to the Lovegood girl today she grit her teeth. Right. She’d almost forgotten

that

part of the deal.

It gave her an odd sense of importance to see her name written in the corner of a

classified

folder. She smirked to herself, that reaction quickly dropping as Hermione mentioned pencil crayons to draw with. The woman was so intent she was a child!

Glancing at Hermione’s desk again, a wicked idea formed in Bella’s mind but let no traces of thought show on her face as she gave a little wave with her fingers as the Minister left.

As soon as the sound of her shoes couldn’t even be heard echoing she grinned. “Oh, I’ll occupy myself Minister.” She whispers to herself.

She reached out and picked up one of the neatly in a row quills, straightening the others and walking over to a nearby plant, hiding the writing instrument amongst the large leaves.

Not quite satisfied, she crooks her finger and the desk, chair and wastebasket all slide one inch to the left. Perfect. Not enough to be overly noticeable but enough to be a nuisance to the Minister.
 
-
 
Hermione steps into the already crowded meeting room and is greeted with a chorus of ‘Good Morning Minister’. The brunette flashes a smile as she greets them individually, finding it was more personal and people tended to appreciate it. She looks not even a fraction as tired as she feels, in fact she comes off energetic and ready to go. Certainly can’t give them any reason to believe Bellatrix had her losing any sleep. The Minister also won’t be letting on to the one-too-many she’d had last night.

No, Hermione easily falls into her mask that encapsulates all the professionalism expected of the Minister of Magic, while still maintaining the core pieces of herself.

“Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me so soon after trial. I’m certain no one is wanting this to go on for any longer than necessary. What I’m bringing to the table this morning is the idea to lessen some of the restrictions set forth by the Wizengamot, with my help and guidance, last week.” This causes the room to erupt in whispers. Hermione swallows softly at the anticipated reaction, this might be harder than she initially believed.

Florence and Oliver, an auror, sit outside the office. Oliver having brought the morning's Prophet to read while guarding the door and Florence typing away at a summary of the trial’s minutes. They both look up when something (many things?) shift behind the closed door.

Oliver moves to crack the door and poor Florence looks faint. “Settle down in there.” The man warns before shutting it again.
 
-
 
“You wish to lessen restrictions so soon Minister?” Questions one official followed by “It’s only been days since her trial! What sorts of restrictions?” Everyone was just a little unnerved that the Minister wanted to loosen the hold the Ministry had on the psychotic woman more than they already had!

When Oliver peers in, all he would see is the witch sitting in the chair, her feet kicked up on the desk, boredly inspecting her nails. “Apologies, I’ll try to breathe quieter.” She rolls her eyes, summoning the quill she’d hidden after the door shut again. This time slipping it into her pocket and giving it a pat. It was nicer than the one she had in her room anyway.

“Oliver! Do you think it’s wise to just open the door like that?” Florence asked, relieved nothing had come flying out the door. Having Bellatrix here made the woman uneasy.
 
-
 
“I’m certainly not proposing we cut her loose.” Hermione assures with a raise of her brow that dares them to continue questioning. She always has her reasons for everything, does she not? The Minister isn’t liking the new caution and apprehension she’s been met with recently. She’s done nothing but work to improve the Wizarding World. Years, no decades, dedicated to the betterment of their society and when it matters most they don’t trust her. It..stings.

“Two of the restrictions are just impractical, I’ve come to realize. Being her chaperone is not something I can realistically sustain with my existing workload, and it’s inhuman to keep her without access to the outdoors regularly. I suggest we move towards limited roaming. Just the alley between certain hours, perhaps even only on certain days, that will be announced in the papers. That way, should they so choose, the public can avoid her and if shopping is still absolutely necessary they have the option to travel to Hogsmeade.” She lets this proposal settle and it actually seems to be being considered. Thank Merlin.

“And the other restriction you seek to revise, Minister Granger?” Oh. Right.

“Her curfew. From sunset, extended towards midnight.” She nods and the entire room looks affronted. “It’s something she’s asked for specifically, and she’s given me every reason to grant it. She’s been inside before dark, she’s accepted my company when needing to shop, she’s even done her share of pitching in around my home, all without little if any complaint.” Hermione is incredibly relieved her relation to everyone in the room is strictly work related. It’s easier to lie to people she doesn’t need to go home to.

“The changes aren’t large, but she’s putting in the effort and we need to be receptive to that. If, before we meet next, she’s begun to abuse these privileges or starts to regress in her behaviour we simply take them away again. Bellatrix is learning to be a person again and we need to make the transition as smooth as possible if we want the results to last for any length of time.”

Oliver waves off Florence’s concern. “We can’t just let her do as she pleases in there, you know the Minister doesn’t take well to things being out of order.” Florence nods, still not any less tense than before but concedes anyway. “I suppose you’re right..”
 
-
 
There’s not so quiet murmuring. ‘Allow the dark witch out at night?’ ‘Won’t that frighten the public to know she’s out roaming?’.

One brave person raises their hand. “Excuse me for saying so, Minister but is it right the public should have their mobility and routines interrupted, dare I say

dictated

, by Madame Lestrange’s appearance? Children are beginning to visit Diagon Alley in droves to prepare for the new school year.”

There were nods of agreement, and questions of if it’s reported in the paper, who would be responsible for that report?

Tapping her fingers on the desk and twisting a curl around her finger, Bellatrix sighed loudly. “Flossie dear!” She called out addressing Florence.

“I was dragged here before I’d had a proper breakfast, fetch me a muffin will you? Or a bacon sandwich?”
 
-
 
Who would be responsible for the report? That’s the dumbest question she’s certainly ever heard. They’re the Ministry of Magic, they put a bulletin in and that’s the end of it. How else are they meant to inform people of things?

She’s irritated. These nonsense questions are eating away at the time she needs them to be signing renegotiated contracts so she can move forward with her tightly packed morning.

“She

is

a

part

of the public.” Hermione snips. “Whether the lot of you like it or not. She has every right to be there as anyone else, given the contract she’s under. The measures I've proposed are more than generous. If the concern is the children her hours are worked around those that are typical of families being out and about.”

This isn’t rocket science. She isn’t saying anything out of line. Bellatrix was going to be reintegrated into society whether people wanted it to be true or not. Keeping the restrictions as are, risks Hermione’s sanity and merely stalls the inevitable. The Minister never had been one of just sitting around while a lot of nothing was done.

“The only thing being

dictated

by anyone is you all trying to rob her of the rewards promised to her for her cooperation. With the trace on her wand, and still needing to report back to my residence on a nightly basis there’s hardly cause for concern. If

I

of all people feel confident in this fact, there isn’t reason anyone should be in doubt.” Did she just pull that card? Yes, yes she did. With her chin tilted up and tone hardened that leaves little room for much more discussion despite the fact she’s the one asking for things. Not the other way around.

“I’ve also set her an appointment with a mind healer.” Fine she’d concede only slightly. “Tomorrow afternoon. We can keep the restrictions for the next twenty four hours and I will discuss with her mind healer to assess whether they should be kept or not. Do we have an agreement?”
Florence startles as something that resembles her name is called through the door. “I-I don’t..” she starts not quite sure how to respond. She glanced quickly at the wall clock. 8:52. “The Minister will be back in just a few m-minutes. I do believe you’re going to t-tea afterwards.” 
-
 
The members of the Wizengamot murmured amongst themselves, a few lowering their heads in shame at being chided by the Minister. Many felt guilty for how reluctant they were to offer the woman basic freedoms.

She had been in the Minister's house going on a week now and nothing to their knowledge had happened that was out of line, whether they liked it or not Madame Lestrange was going to be a regular part of the public and nothing they said or did would (or should) change that.

Nods followed Hermione's alteration to the restrictions to be lifted tomorrow afternoon. If a mind healer believed the lifted restrictions to be in their best interest there was no arguing there either.

"That seems a fair agreement Minister, tomorrow afternoon Madame Lestrange's curfew will be extended from sunset to midnight and she will be permitted to wander Diagon Alley unchaperoned. We will notify the Prophet to print an announcement."

Bellatrix snorted as 'Flossie' stuttered out her response, and thought it might be rude to continue shouting through the door so she stood and opened it, leaning on the doorframe. "That's a no on the bacon sandwich then?" She asked and Florence, seeing the dark witch not more than mere feet from her startled, while Oliver hopped to his feet.

"That door is supposed to stay closed, Lestrange."
 
-
 
The relief Hermione feels from the decision is amends. Now she just had to pray to Merlin that the mind healer would also agree even slightly loosened restrictions would be beneficial.

With that settled, and confirming paperwork signed, Hermione dismisses the meeting. Slipping the amended contract into the folder she’d brought along and speed walking back to her office to make it there before the time she’d designated in her head.

When she steps into the press room she sighs at the sight. Oliver no more than a few inches from Bellatrix’ face, staring her down. Flo shuffling inch by inch towards the opposite wall in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and the deranged woman as possible.

The Minister clears her throat and both of the ministry workers glance towards the sound, looking relieved to see her. “Is everything alright?” She asks beginning to walk towards Bellatrix to get into her office.

“I just have to refile this folder and then she’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix had her arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes at the obvious overreaction to her presence, poking her tongue out at the Auror Flossie had called Oliver.
Hearing Hermione say she’d be ‘out of their hair’ soon made her huff loudly. “I haven’t done anything, I simply asked Flossie to fetch me a sandwich.” She moved to the side to allow Hermione past, discreetly patting the quill in her pocket with a little grin. 
She wondered how long it would take the Minister to notice the little ‘changes’ she’d made to the office, truly the mistake had been allowing her in there in the first place unaccompanied.

“But she informed me we were going to tea instead, which didn’t truly answer my request of fetching a muffin or sandwich and then the boy here leapt up like I was burning the place down.”
 
-
 
“It isn’t Florence’s job to be ‘fetching you’ anything. We’ll eat at Luna’s. It isn’t my fault you were too preoccupied to have a

proper

breakfast.” Hermione says over her shoulder as she enters her office space.

She immediately freezes just a couple steps in. Brown eyes narrowing at the scene in front of her. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Now what was it? Her eyes glide over the space from left to right and back again. No, all her books were in order. The papers hadn’t been touched. Her desk chair was moved slightly, much to her annoyance. Bellatrix had been sitting in it, no doubt, but there’s

something

else…

One, two, thr—Oh. Only two. Of course.

“Where’s my quill?” Hermione’s hisses, striding over to her desk and slamming into the corner on her way around. “Merlin!” She growls, hand coming to rub against her hip. She knew she wasn’t her best this morning but really? Bumping into inanimate objects? Where was Ron with that potion? Surely Florence would have mentioned it if it had been left.

“Where is it Bellatrix.” The Minister insists, opening and closing the drawers of her desk to see where the woman might’ve hid it. She knows it was Bellatrix, of course it was. “This isn’t funny, where is it! We’re going to be late to Luna’s because you’re acting like a child!”
 
-
 
“At least one of us had ‘breakfast’.” She shot back and just leaned back to watch, snickering when Hermione slams into the corner of her desk.

“Merlin, had a few too many last night, Minister?” She asks innocently, her lips twitching with amusement as Hermione begins ransacking the office for the object currently in her pocket.

“Your quill? On your desk Minister, all three of them. Do you need me to show you?” She asks, tilting her head as the commotion starts to gain the attention of Florence and Oliver who had tried not to stare at the beginning. “Because of me? I’m standing here ready to go, you’re the one going

mental

over your stationary. Isn’t three quills more than sufficient?”
 
-
 
Hermione’s grimaces as Bellatrix makes further reference to her morning activities. Repulsive. She’s crouched down now, pulling books off their shelving to look for this quill. Only less than half aware her actions are drawing attention.

She growls at Bellatrix’ comment on her slightly less than sober state. Thank you

Ron

for letting that be known to the dark witch. “I’m perfectly fine, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about.” Hermione lies, tearing her desk apart for this bloody thing. Moving to open filing cabinets and rummage through the insides.

“There’s only two on my desk and you

know it

!” She nearly shrieks, but manages to rein it in only slightly. “Yes, because of you! I know you took it, just give it back, this isn’t funny! You don’t understand.” She has to consciously keep the whine and panic from her tone. Now who was acting childish? Stealing her things to get a reaction!

“I’m not

mental

!” She snaps, brown eyes suddenly widening like a deer in headlights when Florence clears her throat from the doorway. The redhead stands behind Oliver for protection before she speaks.

“Is…everything alright Minister? Have you lost something important?” She asks, eyeing the dark witch who was looking entirely too smug.

Hermione just stares as her brain malfunctions. Like hell she’s telling anyone else she’s losing her grip over a quill when there are two perfectly good ones on the desk! “I..erhm.” She falters, which has both  Oliver and Florence raising their brows in astonishment. Hermione

never

faltered.
 
-

Bellatrix pretends to look shocked. “Oh, I could have sworn Weasley said you’d been drunk last night, perhaps that was his wishful thinking so you’d shag him.”

Bellatrix inspects her nails, “I promise I didn’t use the quill.” She answers, enjoying how progressively

frantic

the Minister was getting with each passing second. And deciding she had one more wicked trick up her sleeve, twitched her fingers, making the quill reappear on the desk.

Striding into the office she points to the line of them. “Look! Three! Just as I said. Such a fuss and you’re going to make us late, Minister.” She batted her eyes innocently, Florence looking between the two witches in confusion but remaining silent.

Bellatrix just smirked, the quill

was

there and Hermione couldn’t prove otherwise. “Mind the desk on your way out, Minister.”
 
-
 
“No! It’s

not

! Look one, two—“ Hermione startles, three. The third was right there. How..? She glares at Bellatrix, knowing she has everything to do with this. Except that knowledge doesn’t quell the angry voices berating her inside her head.

Her eyes flicker to Florence and then to Oliver, who are looking on with concern and thinned lipped silence, and the Minister’s heart sinks to her feet. Flicking her wrist to tidy her office back as it had been and unable to resist reaching out to adjust the newly appeared quill to her liking.

“Ahem..” Her gaze falls on the desk clock, and Hermione nearly has a heart attack. 9:16. Holy Order of Merlin. “We need to leave

now

.” Striding towards Bellatrix and grabbing her shoulder not so gently and apparating away.
 
-
 
Bellatrix for her part manages to look unsurprised or even smug as Hermione notices the third quill and glares at her. “I told you I didn’t use it.”

Oh she was enjoying this, seeing the looks Oliver and Florence were giving the Minister, able to see the questions on their tongues but of course each unwilling to voice such questions to the witch in charge. The desk placement was sure to bother Hermione for days to come too. Perfect.

She can’t help but snort as Hermione’s eyes nearly bulge from her head at the time. “Now? Well shouldn’t we say-“ before her question is finished they’ve disappeared. She really did loathe this new method of surprise apparition!

“Well, that was quite rude not even telling Flossie goodbye after scaring her.”
 
-
 
“Her name is

Florence

and shut up, don’t speak to me.” She spits, turning on her heel to walk up the crooked steps and knock on Luna’s door and nearly smacking into the blonde in question.

“Oh, hello Hermione.” Luna says in that airy tone that always irritated the Gryffindor as a child. “You’re a few minutes late, you know.”

Hermione has to take a sharp breath through her nose to keep from snapping at the blonde for the reminder. “Yes,” She says after a longer moment of silence. “I know Luna, thank you. Our apologies,

someone

decided it would be funny to rearrange my desk whilst I was in a meeting.” Shooting Bellatrix a pointed look to which the Ravenclaw only nods.

“Do come in, I’ve made tea as we discussed.”

Luna says stepping to the side to allow the guests in first. Her blue eyes, that had never quite regained their full sparkle after the war, finally met the dark brown ones of her former captor. “Madam Lestrange.” Luna says in acknowledgment, giving a small wave to Bellatrix and even offering a soft smile.
 
-
 
Bellatrix poked her tongue out as they walked up the steps of the strangely shaped house, like a chess piece. It was amusing that even the blonde recognized they were late, especially as the reminder seemed to irritate Hermione.

When those blue eyes meet hers, Bellatrix nearly stumbles as the onslaught of memories rush back. She’d only tortured Hermione a few hours, she’d looked into those blue eyes for

weeks

. Possibly months, the time blurs together.

“Miss Lovegood.” She replies as politely as she can manage, the blonde following behind her and gently adding.

“It’s Mrs. Scamander now actually, of course I wouldn’t expect you to know that but I thought I’d tell you all the same.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix could be so juvenile it makes Hermione’s head hurt.

“Daddy isn’t here. Rolf has taken him to the market. I didn’t think either would take too kindly to seeing Madam Lestrange. So my apologies for their absence. ” Luna adds as Hermione squeezes her shoulder before sitting. Luna had for a time lived on her own, then moved in with Rolf. However both moved back into her father’s home as Xenophilius aged.

“Thank you for having us Luna, truly.” Hermione says gently as she can. The brunette can see the thoughts turning in the younger witch’s head but, as always, hasn’t a clue what they could possibly be.

“I think it is Madame Lestrange you should be thanking. I was quite surprised to hear she was wanting to apologize after all this time.” Luna takes one look at Hermione’s features, which have fallen slightly with the blonde choice of words, and immediately adds without blinking. “That is unless this apology isn’t quite so voluntary.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix steps into the house, it was a small sort of thing, shelves lined with odd objects and news clippings, her eyes moving about the room before settling back on the blonde in front of her.

As talk of her apology begins to circulate, the witch begins to fidget with her hands, flexing her fingers repeatedly, this house felt suffocating. “It’s..rather voluntary and not. I agreed to it as part of my plea deal with the Ministry.” She says, wondering if she was meant to launch into it now or have tea first.
 
-
 
“I’m sure some tea will settle your nerves.” Luna offers, stepping into the kitchen a moment. Hermione takes the opportunity to stare at Bellatrix. Watching her fidget almost anxiously. She’s trying to enjoy it however the atmosphere that surrounds Luna as a whole makes it quite difficult.

The real question is why Bellatrix didn’t say the apology was part of a vow the moment the opportunity had so readily presented itself. Although knowing Luna as well as she does Hermione doesn’t doubt the blonde already knows.

Luna reenters with a tray, three cups of tea set around a plate of biscuits, and sets it on the coffee table. “There now.” The Ravenclaw says almost cheerfully.

Hermione knows this wouldn’t be an easy visit, not for Bellatrix but herself, though she wasn’t aware of just how hard it would be until she’s practically sucked into her memories.

‘You're my only hope.’

Hermione sucks in a breath as her past in this very sitting room blends seamlessly into the present.

‘They were angry, you see, about what I'd been writing. So they took her.’

Luna is calling to Hermione, she can hear it in the distance but can’t focus enough to sharpen the words so they make sense. The Minister manages to put a hand up to cease the blonde’s inquiry.

‘They took my Luna. My Luna. But it's really you they want.’

Merlin she feels ill.

Blinking her way back to reality Hermione sees Luna has moved on without issue. For which she’s exceptionally grateful for. Luna is chatting with, or more accurately

at

the dark witch. “—Rolf and I met at work. Both he and I are Magizoologists. How was Athens? I hear it can be quite lovely in the summers. Daddy used to go with Mummy before I was born.”

It’s..bewildering to the Minister. How Luna can just so casually hold a conversation with the death eater. With her former captor. All without even the slightest hint of contempt. All while Luna’s eyes are as present as ever, not even for a moment getting lost in the past.
 
-
 
Bellatrix hadn’t been present when the Lovegood girl had been kidnapped, she’d simply given the order to the others. They had found her and brought her to Malfoy Manor.

‘You’re sure this is the right one? Xenophilius’ daughter?’

‘Yes my Lord, it’s her’

‘Wonderful, lock her up and let him know the terms. Each article Daddy writes is a curse to his daughter.’

It had been such a change of method for the Dark Lord, to kidnap and imprison someone who knew nothing but Bellatrix had never questioned it.

‘Oh your little friend Harry is in hiding, but we know he’ll come out to save you. Hero Potter! You’re going to help us kill him!’

She blinks and nods along as the blonde spoke. Was she meant to have a conversation? “Oh, Athens was quite lovely actually, I hope to go back some day. I had a house there, in the side of the mountain.” She blinks. Hold on, had the blonde said ‘Scamander?’

“You said Scamander..as in

Newt

Scamander? The author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? I thought he was already married to an American…and old.”

Did Bellatrix truly have the right to speak about age differences?!
Luna just tilted her head and nodded at the question. “Yes, the very same. His grandson actually, he’s quite kind and he’s taught Rolf a lot, Rolf is the expert in the field on Bowtruckles, quite fascinating creatures.” 
-
 
Hermione smiles gently as Luna gushes, in her own way, about her husband. They had been so good for one another, and the wedding had been beautiful. Simple and intimate with types of flora Hermione had only ever read about in books.

“She said his name is Rolf.” Hermione snips, how could Bellatrix think Luna would marry Newt? She isn’t even sure the man is still alive!

“Oh it’s quite alright Hermione, I don’t mind repeating myself. Madam Lestrange was rather preoccupied with her thoughts. I do believe I might’ve interrupted them actually. I can see them growing smaller in her eyes.” This statement, as plain and simple as it is, has Hermione’s lips quirking upward very faintly. Luna never the one to spare feelings or hold anything back at all. Always the same, the blonde hadn’t changed and that was an odd comfort.

Hermione picks up her tea and sips it, letting the liquid burn her tongue as a tether to keep her grounded in this reality.
 
-
 
Bellatrix was forcing herself from her thoughts, they led down dangerous paths she had no interest to traverse down in the blonde’s home and in front of the Minister.

The blonde’s capture hadn’t made much sense, not in comparison to the other kidnappings, the Dark Lord had just been so angry that unlike the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler hadn’t shown allegiance to Him. He’d then become convinced the girl knew something, about the Hallows and their location, about where the boy was,

something

.

Bellatrix had been given that impossible task, to extract information that hadn’t existed.
“I’m simply wondering how long our visit here is Minister, surely you haven’t blocked out the whole day for tea?” Even still she takes a biscuit and nibbles at it. 
-
 
The Ravenclaw truly had known nothing, and she’d only said as much at every opportunity. Being stuck in that cellar as long as she had, she’d heard things meant for no one else’s ears. Like the nights Voldemort would come back, asking Bellatrix for updates. For information the woman would never have because Luna never had it either. She’d heard the screams, even more blood curdling and heart stopping than Hermione’s had been, as the dark witch was tortured within an inch of her life, time and time again. Luna had been apologetic, every time Bellatrix would claw her way back down into the cellar, the witch’s dark eyes looking slightly more unhinged with each passing day. Her apologies only earning her curses with even more strength behind them. Sometimes Bellatrix had been so frustrated she’d take to beating Luna with her bare hands instead of Magic, and Luna had endured it all. Stronger than any witch Hermione had ever known.

Hermione clears her throat as she’s indirectly addressed, nodding in agreement as flashes of running, running, running through the forest play out in the back of her mind. “Unfortunately she is right, Luna. I’ve some Ministry work to attend to before my lunch hour.” Her attention turns to Bellatrix. “You’ve something you’d like to say to Luna, Madame Lestrange?”
 
-
 
Luna had ducked out of the first physical punch once, Bellatrix’ hand had collided with the concrete wall and shattered the bones in her hand, but it had only made her angrier, throwing combination curses and hexes until she couldn’t see straight. After that, the blonde had stayed still, took every punch and kick without flinching. Months of it, day after day.

She hadn’t remembered it all so clearly until she saw her but now she was here, remembering it and knowing that the apology had been built in as a trick. She’d apologize and the blonde witch would never accept it. One final impossible task to mock her forever.

Still she lifts her chin, going through the phrasing she had thought out in the Ministry before opening her mouth and looking into those blue eyes so Hermione couldn’t say she hadn’t tried. “Yes, I wanted to..apologize for the things I did to you.” Merlin these words felt foreign on her tongue, was she still speaking English? She hadn’t switched to Greek accidentally?

“You did not deserve the..torment and misery..I..inflicted on you, at the orders of the Dark Lord. You were a child, it was your Father he was angry with, making you suffer instead was..a mistake.”
 
-
 
Hermione’s intent behind the apology had never been to trick, or to corner, not to give Bellatrix a task she wouldn’t succeed in. It had been for Luna, only Luna, because Hermione knew she deserved it more than anything and anyone. The Minister nods as Bellatrix completes her apology, hesitating far less than the brunette had imagined she would. Her attention then turns to Luna.

The corners of Luna’s mouth flicker upwards ghosting at a sad smile. Those blue eyes never pulling away from Bellatrix’, even as the woman stares at her with an intensity that would have had Hermione flinching. Luna takes the time, reading the emotions in dark brown hues, to ensure it’s as genuine as one would get with the former Lieutenant.

“That was a nasty time for the lot of us, I believe.” Luna starts, appreciation flickering in expressive blue hues. “Though I do believe it was especially trying for you, Madame Lestrange. Thank you for your apology, I can’t imagine it’s easy to go against everything so deeply ingrained in your subconscious. To admit anything you did might’ve been a step too far. I forgive you, of course.” She says before dropping the woman’s gaze in favour of looking at Hermione.

The Gryffindor isn’t the least surprised at the forgiveness so easily given by the blonde. However it makes something inside Hermione’s chest twist with overwhelming guilt. If Luna could forgive Bellatrix without batting an eye, what was stopping her?

“It will come with time, Hermione.” Luna says as if plucking the thought from the Minister’s head. Hermione didn’t particularly enjoy it when the blonde did that but she nods in acknowledgment and one more thing to talk to her mind healer about.
 
-
 
The words Bellatrix said, felt like they had been physically torn from her mouth, and she was nearly gasping for breath, staring and waiting.

She waited as Luna looked over her, staring into her eyes and then braced herself mentally when her lips twitched into a sort of smile. Here it was, she was about to be laughed at, mocked, all manner of things that would make her apology null and void. Perhaps that had been written into the contract too, if the apology wasn’t accepted all other terms were voided. Is that why her chest was constricting? She was meant to die, keel over in this odd house at the feet of not one, but two former victims.

But the words the blonde speaks next don’t have even an undertone of anything but sincerity and understanding and then those words are spoken aloud ‘I forgive you’ and the dark witch physically malfunctions. Barely able to nod in acknowledgement and mumble out a thanks, the words echoing in her head but not making any more sense.

Forgive her? The blonde woman..forgave her? For..

months

of torture and abuse?
 
-
 
Hermione smiles at Luna, proud of the blonde for never wavering in her identity. Of course Luna forgave her, Hermione had expected nothing less. When she’d come to ask Luna if she would be alright in the apology to begin with, the blonde had made her intentions clear. Even if Hermione hadn’t appreciated Luna trying to insinuate Bellatrix had no choice or say in her inexcusable actions, she’s relieved the woman sticks to her word.

Both witches watch the visible buffering of the dark witch. Hermione can see gears turning and shifting within her head as the woman scrambles to make sense of it all. It’s satisfying, but not nearly as much as she’d hoped for. She nearly feels

bad

for the older woman who had clearly never received forgiveness ever before in her life.

“Thank you, Luna.” Hermione finally says, reaching out to squeeze the blonde's hand. The Magizoologist once again staring at the malfunctioning Bellatrix. “Nothing is unforgivable, nor irredeemable.” Luna says, just as light as always. Hermione has to keep herself from scoffing at the sentiment. Luna might forgive, but the world wouldn’t forget. Those words were simply not true in Hermione’s eyes.
 
-
 
Bellatrix didn’t even hear the other words being spoken, everything sounded warbled and far away, too many other voices in her head much louder.

‘You’re not sorry Bellatrix, you’re just careless and upset you’re caught!’

‘Do you have

any

idea how this looks on us?!’

‘You’ve disappointed me again Bella, I thought I could trust you’

‘I will never forgive you for this Bella, you’re supposed to be my sister!’

All of it loud, and incessant until she stands and wordlessly walks out the door, just sitting on the steps and willing the warm summer air to bring her back, she didn’t want to listen to those voices. Make them stop! If they couldn’t forgive her, why would Luna? It made no sense! She never deserved forgiveness. She was a wicked child. She’d been a ruthless Death Eater.
 
-
 
Hermione’s shoulders lose some of their tension as the door clicks behind the older woman. Sighing out heavily as she runs her fingertips over her forehead with her anxiety.

“Oh dear. I don’t think she was quite ready to hear that.” Luna’s voice chimes in from beside her. Hermione can only laugh at that, short and sarcastic. “No Luna, I don’t believe she was.” Well this had been as interesting a visit as Hermione had expected, but it was done now. The woman had fulfilled her obligation to apologize to Luna. She honestly had expected Bellatrix to immediately retract it, or add something nasty about how much of a blissful pleasure it had been to torture the blonde. Anything other than…walking away.

“I don’t want to go back.” Hermione complains aloud, already fifteen minutes behind her schedule. The entire day seemingly cursed from the start.

Why

had

Luna forgiven the woman? Other than the fact it was quite within her character to do something so dizzying, what had been the

reason

behind it? The question nags at the back of the Minister’s mind until she just can’t stay silent on the matter any longer. “I knew you would, but Luna why? You had it worse than any of us did, myself included.

How

can you forgive her? I’m certain she didn’t even

mean

what she said.”
 
-
 
Luna tucked a wayward strand of hair back into her messy bun, still done up with her wand holding it in place like always.

“It’s not an easy thing, and it takes time but after a while you realize, staying angry, it hurts you more than it hurts anyone else and there’s enough unpleasantness in the world, without you adding to it. It was a horrible time for everyone, we all did things wrong.” Of course she knows how her father tried to trade in her friends’ lives for her. He’d felt so guilty!

“No one deserves to have those things follow them, and I know Madame Lestrange was hurting just as much as I was. It was hard for her just now, admitting she’d been wrong, I think it would be very difficult to not mean it at least a little, don't you Hermione?” Luna asked with sincerity.

It had taken time, to let go of the hurt of what had happened, to forgive even her father for what he’d done. But there was no scale of who deserved forgiveness and who did not, and in Luna’s mind, forgiving Madame Lestrange, was just the same as forgiving her classmates for cruel jokes and nicknames.
 
-
 
Hermione’s head shakes. The only real indication she thinks Luna’s answer is a bunch of bullocks, however she knows saying as much will only lead to circular conversation with the blonde that will leave her head hurting even more than it already does.

“Sure, Luna.” Hermione supplies, standing up, she needed out of this house as well. How could Luna say the world has enough unpleasantness without

her

adding it to. Last Hermione checked she’d never tortured anyone.

‘It was hard for her’

. The minister loathes how Luna keeps trying to use that to excuse the woman’s actions. Even more the fact something is screaming in the back of her mind that the Ravenclaw witch is

right

, to a certain degree.

Of course they’d all done things wrong. That is to be expected in

war

but Luna was wrong in saying there wasn’t a spectrum of immoral actions. Some things

are

more wrong than others. Stealing wands, breaking into banks, knocking someone off a broom to their death even, is leaps and bounds better pinning someone to the ground and branding them with the very slur they are fighting against. Better than trapping someone in the basement and torturing them for information they never had to begin with, much more excusable than taking away two young parents in a fate worse than death.

Even still, Hermione can’t help but wonder what Luna

did hear

exactly. Hermione had also experienced first hand the panic Bellatrix could exhibit during interrogation.

‘...Or perhaps to your own interrogation. I too was

overwhelmed

, panicking over what the Dark Lord would do to me when he learnt you had the Cup. Fearing my own death.‘

The death eater’s words from a few days prior echo in her ears. They had been intended to get a rise out of Hermione. To play with her moral compass on where the line between inexcusable and excusable was. Had…had they had some truth to them though?

The thought makes an unpleasant feeling twist in her gut and Hermione can’t think on it much longer or she’ll lose her tea on poor Luna’s table.

“Thank you again Luna, I’m…sure she appreciates your forgiveness more than she’ll allow herself to express.”
 
-
 
Luna gave Hermione another sad smile, knowing that her words hadn't convinced the Minister of her decision.

"I can see you don't believe me, your eyes are very expressive, they tell a lot people don't want to say out loud." She sighs and stands up, rummaging around in the kitchen and returning with an object, pressing it gently into Hermione's hands. The silvery strands floating in the vial, unmistakable as being the blonde's memories.
"I've heard you have a Pensieve, I've bottled them you see, my memories from being in the Malfoy home, I had hoped you would have changed your mind on your own, but it was Rolf's suggestion just in case. You never were good at believing in what you couldn't see yourself." The blonde takes a few steps back."I can see, you'd like to leave now. Madame Lestrange seems to want to as well but you can come back another day, the plums will be ready in the fall and Daddy makes a pudding with them." She pauses and sighs. "Daddy isn't quite so forgiving towards Madame Lestrange, but he'll get there in time." She adds, just so Hermione didn't feel quite so alone. 
-
 
Hermione blinks as Luna leaves the room once more, staring in alarm as the memory vial is pressed into her hand. Luna was barking mad if she thought Hermione would watch her memories from the manor.

Her brow furrows slightly at Luna’s observation. No, Hermione never had been one to blindly believe anything, especially not something of this much importance.

“Luna I—“ Hermione starts but is cut off by the younger witch. “Whether you watch them or not, is entirely up to you of course. When you’re ready Hermione, no sooner.” Luna insists which just leaves Hermione standing there nodding, almost blankly. Changed her mind about

what

, exactly? The only thing this little vial would do is add to the hate she feels for the dark witch.

She shoves the contained memories into her pocket. Even if the minister had no intent on dropping them into her Pensieve to watch, she didn’t want Bellatrix seeing them and going off the deep end trying to get them back.
“I’ll think about it, Luna.” Hermione nods. Agreeing to another visit in the months to come. She forces a smile at Luna’s attempt to acknowledge Hermione wasn’t alone in her feelings, hugs the blonde goodbye and steps out the door.
Without a word Hermione is pushing past Bellatrix and all but running down the stairs. That house is suffocating in a way that has her nearly gasping for breath upon exit. Having to consciously remind herself there isn’t a need to

run

. No snatchers were coming this time.
 
-
 
Luna hoped that one day Hermione might be ready to watch the memories stored in that vial, to accept the truths stored in them but she knew it may never come to be, and that was alright too.

Bellatrix hardly looked up when Hermione pushed past her, still staring off into the empty grass and field that surrounded the strange house, drowning in her memories that wouldn't stop, no matter how hard she dug her nails into her palms.

Had she known what the blonde witch had given Hermione, she may have snapped out of it, begun panicking that someone else had heard what had gone on, she'd assumed the blonde had been too exhausted from the torturings and physical beatings to pay any attention to voices and sounds from up the stairs, never would have imagined anyone but Rabastan and the Malfoys had heard her at her most vulnerable and weak.

But she was oblivious and would be until Hermione chose to watch the memories. If she ever did.
 
-
 
Hermione stands, less than a yard away. Taking a moment to herself before turning back towards Bellatrix. She watches as pointed nails dig into the woman’s palm in a way she finds familiar. Dark eyes far away with her thoughts. Only very briefly does Hermione contemplate leaving her in that state for a while longer, but that’s cruel to do to any person. Even a former death eater.

The Minister steps over to the stairs, cautiously seating herself next to Bellatrix and even more carefully reaching out to pry her fingers open. “Stop that. You’ll bleed.” She chides despite the gentle action. “We need to go back. I can drop you at the house if you’d prefer.” Her day is completely ruined, turned on its head by the chaotic morning and broken schedule. It’s a few hours off yet but Hermione can’t wait for her lunch hour. She needs things to move slower for the remainder of the day.
 
-
 
Feeling hands gently pry hers open and still a bit lost in her head she sighs. "I'm fine Cissy, it helps. You know it does." She lifts her eyes to look up and jumps away from Hermione like a frightened cat, leaping up onto the railing of the stairs and staring wide eyed. Oh shit. Oh

shit

that wasn't Cissy! Immediately she shoves her hands behind her back, her mouth opening and closing a few times like fish but no sound came out.

Quickly pulling herself together she climbed down from the railing and cleared her throat. "Yes, I'd prefer the house if you’re quite finished dragging me about." She tries to inject venom into her tone but knows it falls flat. She needed to go home

now

. Her head was fuzzy and she was showing far too much around Hermione, she felt the urge to break something to make up for it.
 
-
 
Hermione pauses as she’s called by Narcissa’s name. Opening her mouth to say something, she isn’t even sure what, when Bellatrix realizes her own mistake and quite literally

leaps

away from her.

“Sorry.” Is all Hermione can say, watching clarity return to near black optics but only partly. Honestly it makes the Minister slightly uncomfortable to be witness to such a display from Bellatrix. It was too real. Her eyes flicker down to Bellatrix’ now hidden hands, wondering if she’s continued the action behind her back or not. Though of course doesn’t ask, it isn’t her business. She’d stopped it once, that was already toeing the boundary.

“I don’t want you in my sight any longer than absolutely necessary.” Hermione offers back, falling flat in her own contempt. “Alright then, let’s be off.” An apprehensive touch to the older woman’s shoulder and they disappear in a cloud of white smoke. Landing in the Ministers living room.

“I won’t be back until much later. Everything’s been shifted by a half hour and I’m not going to be able to live with myself if I don’t see to everything I was supposed to.” She knows Bellatrix won’t hear half, if any, of what she’s just said. Mostly talking to herself anyway.
 
-
 
At least Hermione had somewhat warned her about disapparating this time, and as soon as they landed she began wandering to the kitchen, not hearing anything past the knowledge the Minister was going to be home late.

Almost in a trance as she pulls a cup from the cupboard, filling it with water, not realizing she’d overpoured until the water dripped on her shoe and opting to just leave the cup, wandering up the stairs to her bedroom instead.

She didn’t have a potion for this, she wasn’t even sure there was a potion or herb to shut out the numbness she was feeling.

‘I forgive you of course.’

The blonde had said it like it was just normal, unsurprisingly. It didn’t make sense!

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione watches Bellatrix wander without purpose across her home. She’s certainly done that more than her fair share of times. The Minister doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t even really want to, flicking her wrist to clean the water that’s spilled, as Bellatrix heads up the stairs.

There is a potion, many now, that helps with trauma responses and the numbness, or sometimes overwhelming emotions, that tend to follow. They’re newer, but not new entirely. Before leaving to go back to work Hermione disappears momentarily into her bathroom. Re-emerging with an unlabeled potion bottle and pouring about a tablespoon into the water, stirring it with her magic and vanishing the bottle back to its rightful place.

There. Now it couldn’t be said she’d done

nothing

for the woman. She wouldn’t tell her it was in the water though. Again that felt like crossing a boundary she certainly wasn’t ready to. No, instead if Bellatrix happened to come back to that glass of water and drink she’d feel better. The ball was in her court now.

Without anymore delay Hermione apparates back into her office. Gritting her teeth as

something

still feels off about the room, though she can’t place

what.

This would be a long hour and a half until lunch. Ron seems to have forgotten about her hangover potion and she’s now got a searing headache because of it. What else could

possibly

go wrong today?
 
-
 
Ask and ye shall receive. While the dark witch was wandering about the house like a spirit, opening drawers and cabinets, forgetting why she had done so in the first place and leaving them half open, Anita had been busily working away that morning, writing and re-writing the article, convincing her boss and editor to run a special afternoon edition and watching as copy after copy was run off on the press before owls came to collect them.

As promised, she'd not mentioned her source by name, but the article outlined the complete disregard an Auror by the name of Clara Cummings and the Minister herself had for the privacy of correspondence. Throwing in that this incident, coupled with the recent decision to rehabilitate rather than imprison Bellatrix Lestrange made the Prophet question whether Hermione Granger was fit to be Minister as she seemed to believe the laws and policies set forth did not apply to her or her employees. The headline 'Ministry Mismanagement' would be what was staring up at the table at Hermione when she went to meet Clara and Ron for lunch.

Clara was fuming. "That...that psycho got her little hook up to write an article! Anonymous source, as if we don't know it's the one she was snogging yesterday! She's that upset about a little love letter?!"

Ron was just staring at Hermione, knowing that this bit of news wouldn't be well received on a good day, and any chance of that had long been blown to bits by the witch residing in her house. "Who even believes the stories that Skeeter girl writes, bad as her mother." He said with a shrug, biting into his sandwich.
 
-
 
Right on schedule, despite everything else in her day having not been, Hermione approaches the table where Ron and Clara had already begun their lunch.

Oh Merlin,

someone

pissed Clara off she can tell just by the look on the witch’s face. Hermione’s already coming into this angry at Ron. Having to work the entire of the morning without hangover potion grating on her nerves in an unpleasant combination with all the other goings ons.

“Ronald,

really

?” Hermione asks, setting her salad down in the spot between the witch and wizard.

Ron’s blue eyes widened, he knew there was something he was forgetting this morning. “Oh, Merlin. I’m sorry ‘Mione. It was so chaotic upstairs, the moment I walked in too, I just—“ The Minister puts her hand up to silence the redhead.

“Save it.” She hisses despite trying to not sound as annoyed as she is, opening her container and then staring down at the paper right in front of her. “What’s this?” She asked confusedly, picking the thing up as she read. ‘Ministry Mismanagement’. The brunette reads the title over and over again but it still makes no sense. This wasn’t even the afternoon edition, it was far too thin.

There wasn’t any possible way. It couldn’t possibly be. Her tone hardens, seemingly catching up before the rest of her. “

What is this

!” Hermione demands, setting it down as if the parchment had burned her skin. Oh that little

rat

and her pesky beetle of a girlfriend! 
 
-
 
Ron having managed to piss off both witches opted to stay silent and take another bite of his sandwich, Clara angrily stabbing a fork into her pasta.

“What does it look like? Your little houseguest

snitched

to the Daily Prophet!” Clara shouted, she didn’t mean to shout

at

Hermione, but she was angry and

scared

! Half the city will have seen it by now, an article calling out misconduct by an Auror!

“How did that pesky bug even find out? She wasn’t in the house last night and you were with the bitch all morning!”

Ron, ever helpful, decides to pipe up. “As it turns out, the two spent the night together. Blonde was in the kitchen with her this morning, not wearing more than a robe.”
 
-
 
Hermione startles but doesn’t falter as she’s shouted at.

“You

know

Bellatrix would have included that in her next letter and—Godric, Ronald do you

ever

stop talking!” She nearly shouts as the youngest Weasley boy interrupts. Clara hadn’t needed to know that at this minute! Hermione also didn’t need a reminder of waking up to

Merlin knows who

in her kitchen. What good did it do to tell her other than piss her off further. She swears to Merlin he never even

thinks

before opening his mouth.

“It’ll be alright Clara.” Hermione tries, redirecting her attention to the female Auror again. “People don’t believe the Prophet.” Her eyes are scanning the article as she speaks. “There’s not even a source named, I can just say that it’s an egregious accusation from the daughter of the woman who always had it out for me anyway. It will all blow over within a day or two.” She reaches out to place her hand over top of the one Clara had in a tight fist atop the table, squeezing gently.

It was so out of character for Clara to be acting as she was

inside

the Ministry, and Hermione can identify the clear panic (as well as burning anger) in the way hazel eyes keep shifting across the article.

Ron looks affronted, he’s hardly said anything at all and it all seems to be wrong. Never one to ever make things any better for himself he takes an aggressive bite of his sandwich before adding as he chews. “How does something like this even happen, you know?” This catches both witches' attention, brown and hazel eyes narrowing the male auror’s way.

“How does

what

even happen?” Clara spits, the events of the evening prior are pretty self explanatory in her eyes. Especially given they’re written out in great detail right in front of them.
 
-
 
Clara closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, nodding. Hermione was right, she was always right. This was nonsense, it would blow over by the time the next story came out, who would truly care about a peek at some mail?

“You’re right, thank you Hermione.” Clara said, about to eat a mouthful of her pasta, waiting for the stupid remark sure to come from the ginger. “I’ll remind you Weasley, I’m not under a Vow to keep quiet about

anything

and I’ll happily owl Molly.”

Ron was immediately on the defensive again. “Bloody hell, I didn’t mean you, I meant Lestrange! How does

she

get someone like Skeeter? Quarter her age and pretty when she’s old and wrinkled!” He took another bite and muttered. “Wish I could do that.”
 
-
 
Hermione stares, absolutely gobsmacked by her fiancé’s words, feeling like she’d just been punched between the ribs. Her hand raises without her conscious consent and smacks the man right across the mouth. Tears of anger burning in her eyes. “What am I then?” The Minister hisses, the absolute boneheaded remark taking her all the way back to the Yule Ball in her fourth year.

Ron looks just as shocked as Hermione, holding a hand up to his stinging cheek. “Now just hang on a mom—“ Both women cutting him off with icy glares that have his blue eyes rolling. What had he said now?!

“I can’t even

begin

to wrap my head around the fact you just

actually said that

.” Clara gets out in a tone Hermione’s only heard used in interrogation. The female Auror shaking her head at the Weasley’s stupidity. “I’d knock your teeth out if you were any closer.” It’s not a threat, it’s a

warning.

“Leave Weasley.” Ron scoffs, opening his mouth to defend himself, perhaps even to try to explain him out of the grave he’d just dug, when Clara goes to stand from the table the hand Hermione had been holding came up with her.

“Alright! Alright!” Ron concedes, flinching in anticipation of the hit Clara had just promised though it doesn’t come.
 
-
 
Ron shifts his chair away a bit to finish his sandwich. “Godric, I never said you weren’t pretty Mione. Just don’t understand why anyone would look at the psycho and want her.” He mumbled and since Clara was still furious at him, she picked up her bowl and flung the contents at him, pasta sticking to his shirt and marinara dripping down his face.

“Bloody hell! Suppose I’ll go change now, bloody moody witches.” He grumbles as he walks off.

Clara, still holding Hermione’s hand, turned to look at her. “You alright? Rowena above he can be an arse!” She couldn’t believe he’d said such a thing, it was one thing to wonder what Anita saw in Bellatrix, it was another to imply she was pretty or that he would like to date her instead!

-
 
Hermione opens her mouth to argue. To tell Ronald that no technically he had said she wasn’t pretty

and

was too old for him. Wishing for a witch a quarter his age! That would be

nine,

Ronald! The Minister is ready to

really

tear into him when Clara flings her lunch across the table, leaving Hermione momentarily speechless.

The silence is broken however by the snort she just can’t stifle when Ron wipes his face and stalks off. “And don’t

even

bother coming over this evening!” Hermione yells after him.

She glances at Clara as the Auror sits back down. “My apologies, Minister, I just can’t tolerate people talking to you in such a way. Especially not people you’re to be married to.” The reminder of that fact runs through Hermione like a knife. Right…that’s her fiancé. The man she’d never be good enough for, never had been really.

Hermione’s cheeks take on colour as she realizes she and Clara are still very much holding hands. Clara squeezing the Gryffindor’s hand with the same steadying reassurance she’d given her just moments ago. “Sorry, that probably wasn’t the time for a reminder.” Clara tries to tease although it falls flat.

The longer she knew Hermione the more Clara questioned why the other brunette even said yes to Ron’s proposal to begin with. She clearly wasn’t happy.

“You don’t need to apologize. He didn’t get anything he didn’t deserve.” Hermione rushes out in one breath, carefully removing her hand from the auror’s. It felt so foreign for Hermione to have someone fight for her. It felt…nice, to have someone care enough to not allow disrespect to go unpunished. Even if throwing pasta at him might’ve been a touch dramatic, funny nonetheless though.
 
-
 
Seeing the Minister crack a smile, made Clara a lot more relieved about it and she giggled a little. “I can’t wait to hear what Harry has to say when he walks in looking like that.”

That would be quite a sight, the ginger walking up to lockers, running into Harry wearing Clara’s lunch. “Although, now he’s wearing it, I’ve nothing to eat.” She sighs dramatically, before mumbling apologies that she was still holding onto Hermione’s hand.

“So, back to the issue at hand. You want to stay at mine tonight or can you handle the snake?” She asked, genuinely worried about letting Hermione go home to be alone with the dark witch after everything that had happened in the short lunch hour, not to mention Florence’s recount of the morning in her office.

At the moment, Bellatrix wasn’t a threat to anyone, she had tried to sleep to get rid of the odd feeling but hadn’t been very successful, ending up staring at the ceiling for the better part of an hour. There was only one person she wanted to be around when she got like this. Rabastan had been so good at talking her back out of her head, quieting the reminders and memories, but he was in Azkaban so she was hugging a pillow with her eyes shut to pretend, allowing herself to feel vulnerable in the privacy of the bedroom in an empty house.
 
-
 
“Harry will hear what happened and hit him again for good measure.” Hermione giggles too, able to find the humour in this with Clara’s help. She glances up and catches hazel hues, her heart skips a few more beats, the words she’d been about to say dissolving into thin air.

Clara holds eye contact, the corners of her lips twitching upwards as she watches conflicting emotions flicker through expressive brown hues. “You deserve better than that, Hermione.” Rowena above she hopes saying as much isn’t a step too far.

Hermione is the first to break the gaze, in favour of briefly glancing at the auror’s lips before looking away all together. “I should be alright.” She finally says, rereading the article in front of them once more.

‘With morals like this, it leaves one to wonder if Minister Granger is even fit to be in the position of power in which she currently sits.’

Her nostrils flare at the insinuation, her eye then catching on something else.

‘This isn’t Auror Cummings’ first time making headlines. As long time readers may recognize the name from a 2009 article about the now Auror’s lack of professionalism with her superior Rebecca Boot’

Hermione blinks in surprise, “Superior?” She says without thinking, the sudden question causing Clara’s complexion to tint the prettiest pink Hermione had ever seen.

“You remember Rebecca. She was Head of Magical Law Enforcement a few years after Yaxley? You were still an underminister at the time. I was a part of her first, and last, batch of new recruits. She would have stayed longer if it Uh…hadn’t been for all that happened.” Clara rubs anxiously at the back of her neck, not a huge fan of the lack of response she was receiving from Hermione.
 
-
 
Clara fidgeted a moment, the silence was almost deafening so she decided to continue talking to fill it.

“I did say it was a vengeful redhead, and ask anyone, Head Auror Boot was pretty vengeful, pretty sure she made Ron cry at least twice and he was the one providing the training, not even the one doing it.” That had been something to see, a full Auror giving the training and still being snapped at like he was a rookie.

She stares down at the paper, it had taken years for everyone to forget about her and Rebecca, and now that little beetle had so kindly reminded them all. There were Aurors on her team that had still been in school when that news broke!
 
-
 
“I just never took you as the type to risk something like that.” Hermione finally manages to find her words and reply.

Clara smirks faintly against the mouth of her thermos. “Why do you think I’m so proper now,

Minister

?” Hermione nods, just barely able to suppress a shudder as her title is breathed like that from the Auror’s lips.
Brown eyes glance towards the clock. Oh, her lunch is over already. “I’m sorry about the article, Clara. I’ll be sure to give the snake a piece of my mind when I finally manage to get home this evening.” Hermione assures. Godric she was absolutely livid that the woman had this much audacity. Livid, but not surprised. She thinks back on to the state she’d left Bellatrix in earlier, really just a half there ghost aimlessly wandering about her house, but even that doesn’t garner the witch any sympathy.
“Thank you for…” Hermione falters slightly as she’s reminded herself Clara took to her defense without even the slightest bit of hesitation. “…earlier.” She finishes, grabbing her untouched lunch container.

The to-do list in her head feels never ending but also somehow quite manageable. Confirm the appointment with Bellatrix’ mind healer. Draft a statement for the press in response to the article. Read the minutes from the latest development in the illegal wand making case. Submit the finalized budgets. Go home and

talk

with Bellatrix. With the rest of her day mapped out she quickly (very quickly) hugs the Auror goodbye with the promise to come over if Bellatrix becomes too much, and she’s headed back to her office.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Only when the light outside her window began to darken did Bellatrix sit up, wandering back down the stairs to search for something to eat, all she'd had was tea and a biscuit. Years ago she had developed a tolerance for ignoring the pangs of hunger but with her cozy home in Athens and fresh produce and cheese always at her fingertips, she'd lost that tolerance, a day at most before it was unbearable.

Weakness

.

She stares at the cooktop and not knowing how to work it opts to open the icebox, she'd heard Hermione refer to it as a 'refrigerator’' a few times, finding a large block of cheese and taking the wrapping off to nibble at it as she looked for something else; cold potatoes from the night before, the strange greasy triangles from the other night and all but snatching the fruit she found in a drawer. Peaches.

She opted to take two of the ripest with her upstairs, closing the icebox door and wandering back up the stairs with her cheese and fruit, accidentally dropping bits of cheese as she went. Perhaps a bath before the Minister came home. Food and a bath. Yes, that ought to help.
 
-
 
Hours later, many hours after the rest of the Ministry had clocked out and gone home to their families, Hermione is finally beginning to wrap things up. Her work having gone even slower than she expected because she kept stopping mid letter or file because

something

was still wrong with her office.

The hangover having ebbed away shortly after lunch the Minister knew this was no longer just in her head. The fact she can’t figure out

what

it was exactly was driving her to the brink of insanity.

“Jesus Christ—“ Hermione hisses, as she slams her thigh into the corner of her desk for what felt like the tenth time that day. There would certainly be a bruise in the morning. “Alright, I can’t. I’m done.” She concedes, setting the paperwork she’d intended to file back into its designated pile. Hermione fidgets with the photographs on her desk, then the quills, and then the parchments. Pushing everything over a half an inch and shaking her head immediately. “No, no that’s not right.” More than a few more minutes are spent adjusting and readjusting until she's ready to flip the entire desk in her annoyance.

She’d be demanding to know what Bellatrix did to her office just as soon as she’s done yelling about the Prophet. Ugh she still has to go home to

that thing.

How dreadful.

No sooner than the quills are lined up in a way that

feels

right, Hermione flicks her wrist and apparates home, landing in the living room with a crack. The Gryffindor nearly faints as the smoke clears and she gets her first look at how torn apart her home is. Left standing there as the anger builds, a burning sort of thing that starts in her toes and immediately shoots all the way up to the tips of her ears. “

Bellatrix

.”
 
-
 
Having finished her peaches and half the block of cheese, Bellatrix had sat in the bath for a while. She had just toweled off and redressed when she heard the apparition crack, deciding to wander down the stairs to put the rest of the cheese back.

Still out of it, though thankfully not as much as she had been before, she glanced up at the call of her name and paused. "Hello Minister." She responded before continuing her path to the kitchen, the block of cheese, teeth marks throughout like a mouse, still in hand.

Her hair was still wet and her curls dripped water down her face and back as she walked barefoot. She intended to avoid the Minister as much as possible tonight.
 
-
 
The moment Hermione hears the stairs creak her anger flares, near unbearable. Her jaw clenching tightly as she watches the woman cross into the kitchen, her fingers balling into tight fists at her sides. She takes in the state of her kitchen. Cabinets and drawers left open, silverware on the floor, chairs in various parts of the house they certainly didn’t belong, bits of cheese scattered over the floor like some kind of trail! The Minister sips her breaths. Trying, in vain, to tame the screaming voices inside her head.

Keep it together Hermione. It can be fixed. Don’t.

Don’t

…

When Bellatrix greets her in the most casual of tones it’s already far, far, too late. Hermione flies across the living room and into the kitchen, two hands coming up against the former Slytherin’s shoulders to slam her into the refrigerator. Her hands letting up just enough to do it once more.

“You horrid, psychotic, inbred

bitch

!” Hermione shrieks, startling herself with a voice she doesn’t even recognize as her own. It’s only then does she come back to herself enough to realize what she’s just done, what she was

doing.

-
 
Bellatrix had just put the half eaten cheese back and shut the door when she's whirled around, her back slamming into the door with such force the air is knocked from her lungs, hardly able to catch it again before she's shoved a second time.

This time it's not her breath that's knocked from her. The combination of being shoved and called such names made her smirk, almost laugh coldly as the numbness she'd felt all day disappeared, replaced with her own type of anger. Burning clarity.

"Aww rough day at the office Minister?" She asks in a mocking tone, her chest still heaving to catch her breath from the two slams into the door.

She wasn't even sure what she'd done that had the Minister turning such colours and using such language, but it was amusing nonetheless.

"You know, attacking someone with their back turned while they’re completely unarmed is poor form, cowardly actually."
 
-
 
Hermione takes a moment, just staring at her hands like they alone had acted to slam the witch against her refrigerator. Her chest rising and falling as she struggles to take in breaths. The oxygen she manages to inhale burns in her lungs and throat.

She hadn’t even

wanted

to do something like that to someone since primary school, and even then she’d never

actually

acted on it. It was..horrifying, she hadn’t even known it had happened until it was over.

The taunts make her nostrils flare, eyes snapping up to meet the woman who looked

amused

of all things. “Shut your whore mouth, Lestrange.” Mione hisses with the same venom used previously. Her fists closing so tightly by her side she feels them shaking.

Being called a

coward

making the blood boil in her veins to the point she forces herself to take a slight step back because she’s afraid of surging forwards again. “Where do you get off?” She demands, her thoughts at war with themselves on if she addresses the state of the house first or the article.

Obsession,

compulsion

, wins out as it always does. “Were you raised in the forbidden forest? Your home etiquette is vile. You don’t turn my house on its head because your little flashbacks got too much for you to handle.” She knows it’s wrong to taunt or bring up such things in that way, especially since she of all people has no room to talk, but Hermione currently doesn’t have very much say of what comes out of her mouth. “I’d make you fix it but you’d only leap at the opportunity to fuck things up further. Speaking of

what did you do

to my office!”
 
-
 
Bellatrix' hand automatically came up, about to smack Hermione in the face for calling her a whore but the feeling of her chest constricting painfully makes her stop midair. Oh that wasn't fair!

As Hermione shouted, she for the first time looked around her, stunned. She had little memory of leaving it in quite such a state, about to respond when Hermione's comments about her flashbacks stops her dead in her tracks. Hermione wanted to press buttons? She could press buttons.

"Does it bother you? That nasty little voice making you shake with anger because the cupboards are open? It's funny how something so small can cause you to malfunction, just hanging on the edge about to go over, and if you're going around

shoving

people because of it, well..I'd say that makes you rather unfit for your position, wouldn't you? Did you get very much done today, or did you spend hours

obsessing

over the furniture being misaligned?" She whispers with a satisfied smirk. She truly thought Hermione would have figured out the desk had been moved hours ago but clearly it had bothered her all day.

"Hmm perhaps the Prophet would be most interested to know the Minister is a loose canon, attacking people unprovoked."
 
-
 
Hermione’s lips quirk upwards into a smirk as Bellatrix very nearly loses herself enough to hit Hermione and end it all there. She’s only a touch disappointed when the woman is able to stop herself. Her face falls though, as she’s invalidated. Speaking before she can self talk herself out of it with the knowledge Bellatrix was

trying

to get a reaction out of her.

“The cabinets are open, my chairs are everywhere, there’s

cheese

on the

floor!

Are you an animal?!” She screams while Bellatrix merely whispers. The rest of her rant is cut off as the woman just continues on. The jab at her position makes her see red but reminds her of the

other

thing she was angry about. “Take it back.” She hisses. “You-You and that pathetic little beetle! So alike I have to wonder if she isn’t

actually

your daughter!”

Her

desk

had been moved. How in Godric’s name could she be so

stupid.

Blunt nails dig into the side of her thumb mercilessly at the new found knowledge. How didn’t she know that? How hadn’t she thought of it? Her thoughts don’t relent until she knows she’s drawn blood, righting the wrong that way since she isn’t in her office to fix things, and she absolutely cannot put her hands on the older woman again.

Unprovoked? Was she s

erious

? “Go on then, tell them. They won’t believe you. Just like they won’t believe your little special edition about Clara the moment I tell them who that idiotic blonde’s source is. She’ll be painted as deranged as you are.”
 
-
 
Bellatrix just let the brunette scream, it was so enjoyable to watch the other lose all her control like that. “Oh well, you did call me a dog this morning.” She lifts her chin and smirks as Hermione demands she take back her remarks.

“Make me

Minister.

Go on, hit me again, hex and curse me, make me

bleed!

” She hisses, her eyes challenging her, wanting to see the brunette break.

Bellatrix watches her eyes move back and forth, realizing just what had been wrong all day, funny how just an inch could throw everything off.

“Oh did Anita tell the world how your little fuck doll broke the law? Interesting, I suppose she also agrees it was illegal. You wouldn’t have charged Clara, since you participated as well.”

She leans back against the fridge and smirks. “Play the game better, I did nothing but shift a desk and report illegal

harassment

. Suppose I can add assault now.” She smirked and pulled down the shoulder of her dress, red and pink marks on her shoulder where Hermione’s hands had gripped her and shoved her twice. “Should bruise nicely.”
 
-
 
Hermione shakes with the restraint it takes to not give in to the voices hissing inside her head. She’s being

mocked

and she can’t stand it. The way her title is hissed with such venom makes her skin crawl. Such a stark contrast to how Clara had all but whispered it earlier, which had lit a fire in her stomach that had taken hours to die down.

“I’d like to kill you.” Hermione spits, immediately startling at her own words. This is bad. This is no good. She can’t be around this woman much longer. The Minister wouldn’t ever admit it but she

is

losing control at this moment.

Arguably ‘just that inch’ had been the catalyst to this entire meltdown on the Minister’s part.

“The only one with a ‘fuck toy’ is you with that barely legal bimbo! There isn’t a reason to charge Clara for something no one will believe in the next forty eight hours anyway. You can’t prove she did anything, never mind me having any part in it.” It’s a lie. A big one only told as convincingly as it had been due to Gryffindor courage and wounded pride. If this went to trial, it was so he-said she-said the Wizengamot would simply subpoena the memories. It would be far too late for Hermione by then.

The realization makes her heart sink and settle like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She’d…need to discipline Clara for it. After she’d just assured the Auror it was nothing, and would blow over. Shit.

‘Play the game better’ echoes in her ears. Alright then, she will. Seems as though she’d be retrieving those photos from Clara and paying a visit to one Rita Skeeter. Oh Merlin, have mercy.

Hermione blinks, fighting the urge to close her eyes, as Bellatrix slips the dress off her shoulder. She stares at the near handprint she’d left and only imagines there’s a matching one on the other side. “Shit..” The brunette exhales, unable to filter it.
 
-
 
 Hearing Hermione actually admit to wanting to kill her makes her laugh in that mocking way again. "Ooh get the Minister off her potions and suddenly she starts throwing out death threats. Go on then, you know the spell to do it. Kill me. Murderous Minister has a nice ring to it for a headline, don't you think?" She asked, a vicious tone to her voice. 
She knew as well as Hermione, memories and veritaserum if necessary would be used to settle the trial and the entire Wizengamot would witness both Clara and the Minister stealing her letter and reading it aloud. It was such an amusing position to be in, to be the one to truly not have done anything wrong. Especially as shock flickers over those brown eyes, her handiwork staring the Minister back in the face.
"I'd bet that these pretty new marks you've given me, and the memory of you

attacking

me without reason, might be enough to get you fired. Unfit for service. A Danger. Deranged. How it was just too much for Minister Granger to have a disorder

and

live with a Death Eater and she just went...insane." She shrugged her shoulders with a grin.
 
-
 
Hermione is left staring as anger quickly bleeds into panic. Her complexion paled as she’s goaded on. Taking a couple more half steps away from the woman because she doesn’t trust herself. “Killing you makes me no better.” It’s a reminder to herself more than a response to Bellatrix.

Stupid, stupid Granger. This is it. You’ve done it now. Entirely your own fault because you’re too

crazy

to keep yourself in check. Years, decades, of hard work reduced to a singular action.

She shakes her head as Bellatrix speaks. Blunt finger nails digging into fresh cuts to feel something,

anything

but the nauseating dread that’s crashing over her like a wave and dragging her under. Unbreakable vow and she’s still going to be the one to lose in the end. The Minister really only half hears how Bellatrix infuses the words so regularly used to describe herself into her taunts. Though the Gryffindor isn’t even vaguely aware of the quips she could make on the fact because she’s only focused on leaving.

Hermione turns on her heel, very much on autopilot as she enters her room and grabs her purple beaded bag off the top of her dresser. Her ears ring with Bellatrix’ words.

‘Oooh get the Minister off her potions…”

‘Murderous Minister’

‘attacking me without reason, might be enough to get you fired.’

‘A Danger. Deranged. …she just went insane.’

She shoves a pair of sleep clothing inside the charmed bag, not even checking if she’d grabbed everything or not, throws open the nightstand drawer and adds all three bottles of potion within, snatches the plush tabby cat and goes back out into the kitchen. Bellatrix wanted to see her break and this is it. Fleeing from her own home in fear of what the woman could do to her.

Would

do to her she’s certain.

“You’ve a mandatory appointment with a mind healer tomorrow afternoon. An Auror will come to collect you then.” Hermione forces out all in one breath, her eyes glazed over and absent, she unholsters her wand and immediately apparates away.
 
-
 
Bellatrix stares and waits, waits for the accompanying hex or jinx, the onslaught of words to follow what she had just thrown at the Minister, vaguely thinking it wasn't truly fair to be in a fight and not be able to fight back, when Hermione simply...walked away. The witch just watched as she turned and left, without another word. She was confused, the battle couldn't be over, they were both still standing. She'd thought for sure the Minister would fly at her again, maybe slam her face into the counter this time but she'd just..left. When she returned again, she spoke very few words, Bellatrix wasn't sure what any of them meant and then she was...gone.

Letting out a breath, she sunk to the floor, her body tense in anticipation of the retaliation that had never come. Hesitantly, she pushed down the shoulder of her dress on the opposite side from the one she'd flaunted at Hermione, hoping there wasn't a matching mark...and letting out a little cry when there was. Quickly she pulled up both sides and brought her knees to her chest.

She'd let a

mudblood

of all people, hurt her. Bruise her. She had the handprints of a mudblood on both of her shoulders.

'Such weakness Bella! Letting filth best you!’

But it wasn't her own voice she heard shouting in her head.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione lands with a crack that isn’t half as deafening as the sobs pulled from her throat, collapsing to her knees in Clara’s kitchen.

“I can’t— They will— She’ll say—“ The Minister can’t even get out a proper sentence, taking in air faster than her lungs can process which only leads to her not getting any oxygen in at all.

Her hands come up to pull at her curls. Grabbing a fistful by the root and yanking until the sharp pain numbs the rest.

‘Fix it. Fix it. You have to fix it.’ Her mind screams. Flooded with obsessive thoughts of all the things

wrong

right now. Her desk, the cabinets, the dishes.

“I-I can’t!” She sobs, rocking in a feeble attempt at self soothing. “I can’t, I can’t!” Repeating herself over and over. These thoughts competing for space among the others.

‘You hurt her! You bruised her over a

stupid

desk! You ruined your entire career, your entire

life

over an article no one was going to care about anyway!’

Hermione’s entire body trembles violently, feeling as though she

was

going insane from the onslaught of self loathing and anxiety turned panic of losing her career, of allowing things to get so bad she’d laid her hands on another person.
 
-
 
Clara had just sat down to a late dinner, just as the Minister had been kept late, her boss had made them stay late too to go over a new case that had sprung up about jinxed broomsticks. Her fork hovering midair as the Minister simply appeared in her kitchen.

“Hermione!” She gasped and dropped her fork, rushing to the brunette, fighting with herself on whether touching her shoulders might trigger the witch further, hardly able to understand what was being said.

What had that bitch done?!

“Hey, hey you’re alright, deep breaths. What’s happened? Are you hurt? Did Bellatrix hurt you?” Would just be like the dark witch to find some sort of loophole in that contract that allowed her to injure the Minister!

Auror habit kicked in and hazel eyes were scanning every part of Hermione for any detectable injuries, bruises or blood, a bit confused to find none.

“Mione, are you hurt? You’re going to have to tell me if you are.”
 
-
 
Her hands are bleeding, but that was her own doing, not that the auror could tell with both of them so tightly wound into untamable curls as they were, still tugging for the momentary relief the stinging caused though it was dissipating now no matter how hard she yanked.

If Hermione was even a fraction more present than she currently was she’d be embarrassed to have arrived in such a state. Especially when the woman hasn't even laid a hand on her. The reverse had happened actually and the reminder only makes her cry harder.

The Minister flinches as Clara approaches, not afraid of what the Auror might do but not trusting

herself

to be safe around. That was an entirely new feeling she wishes to never repeat after this day.

“I-I hurt

her

..” She finally manages, by some miracle of the gods having been able to comprehend what Clara had said to her and even reply. The Gryffindor forces in two slow breaths, her chest heaving and head swimming at the lack of oxygen. “She’s going to tell t-the press. She’ll tell them everything. The Wizengamot t-too.” Her words stutter and hiccup as she pushes them out.

Finding her voice Hermione spirals into the explanation at a speed near unintelligible. “This morning I left her in my office to meet with the W-Wizengamot. She moved everything, stole my quill and shifted my desk. It’s so stupid, don’t tell me it isn’t because I already know, but by the end of the day I couldn’t even think-think straight.” She hardly pauses for another sipped and shallow breath. Her hiccups so aggressive they cause words to repeat and good Godric she sounds

pathetic

.

“At Luna’s today she-she I don’t know had some sort of m-mental lapse, a flashback even, I left her in the house while I went back to work but then the article w-was circulating and my office still wasn’t right and when I’d gotten home she’d just torn the place to shreds. Everything was everywhere and she-she just didn’t care. She’s incapable of caring. It just happened so fast, I didn’t even know it had happened. I-I just

snapped

Clara. I lost it. I’m going to lose it. She’s going to come after my job!” And there she is tumbling right back down that spiral, hiding her face in her hands as embarrassment does manage to sneak it’s way into her already overflowing emotions. Merlin she’s still kneeling on the floor isn’t she?
 
-
 
Clara is trying her best to follow the speed at which Hermione’s train of thought was rushing by, nodding slowly and trying very gently to pry her fingers from her hair. “Hey, hey let’s not hurt ourselves more alright?” She says softly.

Blinking, she’s sure she misheard what Hermione said but then she says it a few more times. “Mione, what do you mean you hurt her? Tell me what happened?”

The dark witch was insufferable, if she’d spent the day tormenting Hermione purposefully, it was no wonder she’d had enough. Hermione could have flat out killed her and Clara wouldn’t have faulted her for it.

“Who would believe anything she says? Mione no one would take anything that came from her mouth with more than a grain of salt, no one’s taking your job away, certainly not her.” 
She offers a hand to try and help the brunette stand up, the sofa would be much comfier than the floor, Clara flicking her hand to summon her untouched glass of water from the table. “Drink this for me, please. Nice and slow.” 
-
 
Why? Why had she apparated to Clara’s and not Ron’s? Embarrassment colours blotchy cheeks as she hesitates feeling Clara’s fingers over her own. Hermione wants to yank herself away from the auror’s gentle hands. She isn't finished yet, things don’t

feel right

yet, but is of sound enough mind to resist that urge. Clara didn’t need to see her like this, to fight her on something like that.

Hermione lets go of her curls, swiping at puffy eyes as she rejects the hand helping her up but pulls herself up on shaky legs. “I’m sorry.” She sniffs, panic not gone but anxiety of her actions outweighing it at least temporarily.

When Clara asks her what she’s done it just feels so insignificant to say. She hadn’t murdered the woman. Hadn’t even bloodied her. Hermione

pushed

her, it wasn’t that bad. Here she is, overreacting as she so often does. Reactive, compulsive and deranged. Isn’t that her?

“It doesn’t matter.” She insists once again, swiping at unrelenting tears. The Minister takes the offered glass with shaky hands, sipping slowly just as instructed. Her elevated heart rate slowly comes back down to a normal pace as her thoughts regain some clarity with the auror talking to her and asking questions.

Clara was right. No one would believe Bellatrix over herself. Nobody even actually had. The statement for the press is still sitting on top of her desk to the morning edition of the Prophet. The Gryffindor still had a fighting chance.

Hermione takes another sip of water to gather herself just a little bit more. “I’m sorry, Clara. ..Can we sit?” She’s still shaking like a leaf, genuinely unsure how much longer she’d be able to stand on her own. It was far from comforting knowing how much of herself the female auror had just been witness to and it’s more than likely it’s that fact alone that keeps her from continuing on any longer. She needed to explain things, a lot better than she had.
 
-
 
Clara didn't push the brunette to explain or answer more, she knew her well enough to know that no amount of pestering or prodding would make Hermione talk if she didn't want to and with how upset she already was, Clara didn't want to add anymore.

She felt a bit more relieved when Hermione sipped at the water and visibly seemed to have calmed even a fraction, redirection was one of her strengths as an Auror, get them to focus on something else, get the heart rate down a bit and clarity followed.

Hearing her ask to sit, she nodded. "Of course, come on into the living room." This time she kept her hands to herself, it didn't seem that Hermione wanted any help or physical touch at the moment.

Clara got up from where she was kneeling and gestured for the Minister to follow her into the living room attached to the kitchen.
 
-
 
Hermione so appreciates the auror doesn't push her. Ronald often did and it always went nowhere fast. Usually hindering the progress she'd made on coming out of the episode. No, Clara never pushed. Always knew what was too much and what wasn't. Never

made

Hermione do anything. Clara was...lovely, nearly loving. That's why the Minister came here instead, she needed gentle.

The slightly older woman follows the auror into the living room silently. Losing herself to her inner chaos. Only able to listen as all the different parts of her argue about the events that had just unfolded. Before she consciously makes the decision Hermione has climbed onto the couch, feet tucked neatly beneath her and glass of water still in her hand still shaking though the tremors are less now. Clara is right, as she often is. Distracting was helping, even if the effects were more gradual then Hermione would have preferred. She takes another sip of water before even trying to speak.

"I--" She goes to begin but isn't sure she even wants to elaborate. Another person knowing for certain that she'd assaulted the dark witch felt like one more too many. But then she'd already said too much, hadn't she? "I shoved her against the fridge. Repeatedly.”

It probably wasn't as severe as the Auror had assumed, but to Hermione it felt like she'd killed the woman, half of her still hissing that she should have. "She has bruises, near perfect hand prints. Says she'll go to that reporter with it." That sentence brings a shot of guilt right through her heart. Right, she was going to need to discipline Clara come morning, but she just can't bring herself to bring that up in any capacity tonight. It wouldn't be possible for her to cope with another argument.
 
-
 
Clara settled on the sofa, leaving a bit of space between her and Hermione so the witch didn't feel uncomfortable and just patiently waits.

When she hears the explanation for what Hermione had done she can't help but let a snort of laughter escape her. Realizing that probably wasn't helpful she immediately colours. "Sorry Hermione, I just..I think it's brilliant! You

shoved

Lestrange into the fridge and left handprints on her, it's no less than she deserves, almost wish I'd seen it." She adds, picturing the scene in her head and replaying it over and over. Her amusement fades as Hermione mentions the dark witch threatening to tell the press.

"Oh shit...well who would believe her? She can't prove anything and I know you wouldn't just shove her for no reason, she had it coming and worse for all she's done to you the last week." Her words are light but she understands the severity, she'd had the Prophet write an entire article over illegally opened and obtained mail...the Minister

assaulting

her enough to leave bruises would be a different story altogether.
 
-
 
"Ten days." The brunette corrects instantly. Hermione understands just shoving the witch is probably nowhere near the severity the Auror had in her mind. It's confirmed to be the case when Clara goes as far as to laugh. The Minister merely stares at her, a bit absent. While she can understand the humour in the fact that Bellatrix certainly deserved more than Hermione had given her, the Minister's problem isn't as much in

what

she did as

why

she did.

The ghost of a smile hints at her features as Clara wishes she'd been there to see it. Hermione wishes that as well, maybe then it wouldn't have happened at all.

She briefly thinks on whether or not to verbalize to Clara exactly

why

she was so rattled, aside from the obvious threat to her position. Then decides that a decade of friendship means she can be open about such things.

"When I was young, still in primary school, my parents brought me to a psychologist. I was honestly too young, and I am now too old, to remember the specifics of the apportionment, but it was really the after that always stuck with me." Hermione doesn't know why exactly she decided to start from the very beginning, though supposed it would give Clara a larger picture.

"I was never very well liked by my peers growing up. A straight-laced know-it-all with wild hair and a disorder they didn't understand but loved to poke at." Talking of her own memories reminds her of the ones still in her pocket from Luna. She reaches into her pocket and transfers them to her beaded bag for safe keeping as she continues.

"It was easy for them to get a rise out of me. Crumple my picture, steal my stationary, interrupt me while I was sorting. I was extraordinarily short tempered and I hated it mostly because it was all completely beyond my control. I felt mental, I was

called

mental. The thoughts that would come if something was disrupted were...horrible. Violent even." She can't bring herself to tell Clara they often still are, even if most of the violence has now turned inward.

"I still feel guilty to this day despite never acting on them. When I got home today I just...lost control. Screaming at her hadn't been enough, I wanted her to feel as angry as I was. To feel physically what I was feeling emotionally. All over a desk moved an inch and my house being torn apart. Which I don't even believe she'd done intentionally. I didn't hurt her because she deserved it, I hurt her because I couldn't stop myself, and I've

never

put my hands on someone because of that. Now she has everything she needs to get me fired for it."

Her head shakes slightly after Clara tries to say no one will buy it anyway. "If people don't believe her she'll just insist on a trial and I'll be veritaserumed, or the memories will be subpoenaed."
 
-
 
Clara just sat and listened as Hermione spoke, it wasn’t usual for her to speak so openly about things of a personal nature and she wanted to make sure she heard what was being said.

It was a bit surprising, she knew the extremes that could accompany Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, she’d researched it when she’d begun to suspect Hermione might have it but she couldn’t recall many mentions of violent outbursts.

It definitely put the incident into a different light, Hermione hadn’t just pushed her because she was irritating and Hermione lost her patience. It sounded as if it had been an uncontrollable action. It didn’t mean she hadn’t still deserved it but she understood Hermione’s panic now.

“It’s..not an uncommon reaction, Hermione disorder or no, anyone else would have attacked her a long time ago. She intentionally did things to bother you, she

knows

about your disorder and she’s playing games with it, that’s wrong. It’s

cruel

to do things like move your desk knowing what she does. It was intentional and you had every right to be angry with her.”

She wasn’t sure what else to say, it infuriated her that this dark witch sat around all day coming up with ways to torment Hermione, use her disorder against her until she snaps and then hold that as blackmail. She was vile!
 
-
 
Hermione leans forwards, setting the still held glass of water onto the coffee table and removing her bag from around her.

Clara would be surprised to know it’s a fairly common symptom among those diagnosed with the disorder. Hermione can point her in the right direction of some case studies and research papers on the topic if she ever so chose. The Minister would be very flattered, borderline flustered, the woman had taken the time to read up on the issue at all.

“But I’m not everyone, Clara.” She sounds more distressed than annoyed. “I’m the Minister of Magic. I

can’t

do things like that simply because I want to or they’re deserved.” Hermione thinks back to breaking Draco’s nose in her third year. She had

wanted

to do that and he more than

deserved

consequences for his behavior, but she isn’t in school any longer that’s long behind her. The Minister of Magic can’t go knocking people's lights out whenever they so choose.

Especially

can’t hurt people because a

nasty little voice

tells her to, that’s nearly worse.

Her lips pursed as she listens to the auror. “It’s all of those things, but it’s just like Bellatrix.” The woman’s mind wanders to all the cruel things the dark witch has said to her over the last ten days. How they’re really beginning to take a toll and it hasn't even been two full weeks.

“She could be in rehabilitation until Merlin takes her back and we’d never see progress on that front. I just have to learn to better cope. I

need

to brew my potion but it’s just been so stressful lately I haven’t found time.” She takes in a sharp breath, feeling tears stinging in her eyes before she even begins to say the words.

“What if I do it again, Clara? What if she’s right? I’m not fit for this position. I feel like I’m

lying

to everyone, but I’ve seen how the public handles mental health. It’s nothing like the muggle world and I can’t—I can’t change it. I’ve tried. I am trying.”
 
-
 
"Hermione." Clara says, placing her hand over the other witch's gently. "The Minister of Magic is still a

person

. Underneath that title is Hermione Jean Granger, a regular person dealing with shit just like everybody else, I'd argue dealing with having a war criminal in your house warrants you more understanding than anyone else." Rowena above, she'd like to knock out Bellatrix' lights the next time she saw her for doing this to Hermione, the cruel creature was probably sitting in Hermione's house, not bothered one bit.

It pains her to hear that Hermione thought she just needed to cope with the abuse and taunting better but she didn't say so, arguing with her like that led nowhere fast. But she'd be damned if she was going to let her believe anything that wench had said.

"She will

never

be right about anything, you have been a fantastic Minister for nearly two terms now, and I've never seen anyone more suited to the position than you, mental health be damned. This woman

hurt

you, multiple times in varying ways, she's infringing on your privacy and space and making zero effort to be even slightly grateful you didn't throw her arse into Azkaban to rot. You aren't a ticking time bomb, hell you've put up with Ronald for how long now without injuring him, and that man can push your buttons just as well as she can. You're not dangerous Hermione, you're human."
 
-
 
Hermione’s hand turns up to squeeze Clara’s in return. Keeping her eyes down as she lets the words sink in and settle. She nods softly in agreement, almost subconsciously leaning forwards until her head is in Clara’s lap like it had been when they were drunk. Like back when they’d sat on the dock at the lake all those years ago.

“I believe you.” The Minister barely manages to whisper, clearing her throat of lingering tears. It’s an odd feeling, because she hasn’t said it because she wants Clara to stop talking, which is why she always eventually relents to Ronald. No, it was genuine this time. Hermione believed the reassurance and validation that came from Clara’s lips more than she believed the voices inside her head. A very rare occurrence indeed.

‘hell you've put up with Ronald for how long now without injuring him, and that man can push your buttons just as well as she can.’

That reality slaps into Hermione a little more than she would have liked. Only able to bite back half of the pained sound she emits as the words replay in her head.

‘You're not dangerous Hermione, you're human.’

Those words warm her heart and stop the subtle and stubborn tremors that had lingered.

“Would it be too much trouble if I spend the night?” Hermione asks, genuine and never wanting to impose but the idea of going back home sends a new wave of panic fluttering in her gut.
 
-
 
Clara just gently stroked Hermione’s curls as she lay in her lap, soothing her further and relieved she seemed to be worlds calmer than she had been.

Hearing the question about staying the night, Clara just smiled and shook her head. “Oh? You thought I was letting you go home to your psycho house guest? Dear me Hermione, it’s like you don’t know me at all.” She laughed softly and without truly overthinking her action, leaned down and gently kissed Hermione’s forehead.

“Never too much trouble Mione.”
 
-
 
Hermione’s eyes grow heavy with Clara’s soothing fingers in her curls. No physical action brought her more comfort and peace than having her hair played with and she often struggled to even stay awake long enough to enjoy the sensation.
She hums in amusement, no she didn’t think Clara would send her home however assuming would have been quite rude. Clara’s replies cause a faint smile to grace her lips.
When she feels the light pressure on her forehead, brown hues pop open. Her body stiffens slightly as she registers it’s a kiss and not Clara’s other hand, but just a moment later Hermione melts even further into the couch and auror’s lap. Her cheeks tinted pink, a smile spread across freckled features, and Cornish Pixies loose in her stomach.
It’s just a kiss, Granger. A friendly one. Don’t go mucking things up trying to read into signs that aren’t there.
“Thank you Clara.” Mione says quietly after the silence begins to feel too long, the other woman still stroking her curls and making her body heavy with the need for sleep. She wishes she could say more but isn’t sure what else to add. Nothing she wants to say sounds appropriate for the situation.
 
-
 
Clara just nods, debating between whether to summon a blanket for the witch to sleep on the sofa or suggest she move to the spare bedroom.

The Minister looked so comfortable, so at peace it seemed almost cruel to disturb her simply just to change locations. The decision is made and she uses her wand to summon a large blanket, draping it around Hermione and herself.

She had half a mind to pop over to pay a ‘visit’ to the witch once Hermione was asleep. Introduce her to what it really feels like to be attacked by an Auror. Much as she wanted to, that article had gained her more than enough attention, she couldn’t as easily explain away beating up the Death Eater.

As Hermione drifts, Clara finds herself replaying the conversation at lunch, still in disbelief at the horrible things Ronald had said. Just like a man to wish for a girl young enough to be their daughter on his arm. Suddenly Clara remembers something Hermione had said, something important.

“Mione…we should brew your potion. If you tell me how I can do it.”
 
-
 
Hermione turns towards Clara, already dozing. She whines softly, shaking her head as Clara tries to speak. She isn’t awake enough to brew a potion, doesn’t want to move.

“I don’t want to put you out of your way.” She murmurs, but still reaches behind her for her beaded bag. “It’s in my notebook. Page thirteen.” The Minister still doesn’t make any move to sit up or get off the auror’s lap, continuing to gradually fall asleep.
 
-
 
Clara just shakes her head at the brunette who even half asleep was still trying to protest against any sort of help, taking the offered notebook.

She waits until the Minister is completely asleep before attempting to move out from under her, wandering to her cauldron to begin collecting the ingredients to brew the potion, flipping to the correct page in the notebook, Hermione’s familiar handwriting outlining the potion step by step.
 
-
 
When Clara stood Hermione stirred, only enough to reach her hand into the charmed bag, her fingers wrapping around the plush cat still inside. She hadn’t even the energy to change into night clothes.

Her dreams, or rather nightmares, are rampant. Potion bottles also untouched in her bag. Her dreams consist of memories, fused together with her anxieties on what will happen if Bellatrix goes to the press with this. It would be a long, restless, night.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Bellatrix had sat on the floor a bit longer, battling the voices and memories in her head that kept shouting at her. Telling her she was weak, not just for allowing the physical attack but for her behaviour after receiving Luna’s forgiveness.

Hermione had seen her like that, Salazar she’d called her Cissy! Long fingers raked through her curls, she needed to hurt something, make someone scream. She blinked.

That wasn’t a bad idea. And she knew one witch she

could

make scream without breaking the trace on her wand. Standing from the floor, she smoothed her dress, pulling out her wand and commanding everything back in its place, plates in the cupboards, chairs at the table, cheese crumbs vanishing until not a thing was out of place before going up to her room to pen a quick note to Anita and sending it through a charm. This was what she needed, the house was empty and she’d make the walls echo with the blonde’s screams. Let the blonde fear her in a pleasurable way..she wondered how Anita felt about ropes and knives..

-

Anita had just sat down at her vanity from a very long day in the office. It had been a trick convincing her supervisor that this story was Special Edition worthy, especially without a cited source. However she had managed with the stipulation the story had to do well for her to keep her current position.

A large risk? Certainly, but the Wizarding World was already enthralled with the scandal. There were hardly any articles that ever painted the Minister in such an unfavourable light and the people were hungry for it.

She’s just pulling the pins from her hair, blonde curls tumbling down her back, when the letter appears on her desk and a wide smile stretches across porcelain features.

“Well, well. Right on time.” She hums excitedly, hands shaking as she lifts the parchment to read. “Oh!” Her cheeks colour as bright blue eyes scan over the neat calligraphy. Bellatrix wanted her to come over

now.

Sweet Helga, she isn’t hardly ready!

Being a witch has many, many, perks however Anita’s favourite are vanity spells. They make moments like this even easier. A simple flick of her wand, as she is absolutely incapable of wandless magic despite years of trying to teach herself, and her make up is touched up. Another twist and her work skirt is swapped in favour of an emerald green minidress that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

If, as the letter stated, the Minister is out Anita can just apparate a few houses down and walk the remainder, which is exactly what she does. The blonde holds her breath to reign in her eagerness, her whole body near trembling in anticipation, and reaches up to knock on the front door.

-

Her letter sent, Bellatrix knew she didn’t have long before the blonde would arrive seeing as said blonde only lived down the street a bit. Just like Anita, Bellatrix wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination, she didn’t have the patience for games, she needed to let out this pent up energy, it was still confusing why Hermione hadn’t fought back, anyone else would have bloodied her, or broken a bone, at the very least hexed or cursed her.

Looking in the mirror, she exchanged her day dress for a dark purple slip and matching robe to cover the marks on her shoulders, certain she could easily explain them away if Anita saw but hoping she wouldn’t at all.

With her previous dagger long ago lost and unable to visit Borgin and Burke’s to get any new ones, she wandered to the kitchen and inspected the options; the ones with serrated edges were tempting but the aim was pleasurable pain, not torment so she settled on a short paring knife, rubbing her finger along the blade. It didn’t slice her finger open right away which was good.

Bellatrix is still inspecting the knife when there’s a knock at the door and not wanting to scare the blonde, slips it into her pocket before going to answer it. She takes a moment to let her eyes rake over the blonde’s attire, emerald green. “Well, don’t you look delicious.”

-

Anita’s mouth goes dry as Bellatrix answers the door, blue eyes blown wide like a deer caught in carriage lights.

Pale skin takes on colour as she can

feel

Bellatrix’ hardened expression undressing her there in the doorway. She shivers at the way Bellatrix’ compliment sounds nearly like a threat to consume her. Anita hopes she’ll follow through.

“You should see yourself.” The blonde finally manages to squeak, while she also not so shamelessly takes in Bella’s matured figure. “May I come?—Ahem.

Come in

. May I come in?” She corrects instantly.

-

The look of shock and

lust

in Anita’s blue eyes is just the reaction she wanted to receive in this outfit and she had to restrain herself from simply jumping the blonde right there and pulling the knife from her pocket. That wasn’t the game though, and she needed more than just a quick shag.

When Anita asked if she could

come

however she grinned, tugging her inside the door by her waist and planting a kiss on her lips. “Oh you will my darling, I want to reward you for such a brilliant article. The Minister is furious and

afraid

.” She didn’t know quite the extent of the impact of the article yet, but knew it was enough to enrage the Minister and was certain Anita would fill her in.

“Is this for me?” She asks, fingering the hem of the short dress the reporter was wearing. “If not, I quite approve of the new office attire, especially the colour. Emerald is my favourite.”

-

Anita squeaks as she’s pulled in, immediately kissing back and pushing her fingertips underneath the purple robe trying to shrug it off.

“T-Thank you, Lieutenant. I only wrote what you asked..well I also added some details from Auror Cummings previous headlines. She shagged her superior some years ago, my mum covered the story and gave me access to the archive.” She blushes, kissing Bellatrix again near feverishly, nearly trembling at the idea of such a tangible

reward

for her efforts. “Oh my dress? Y-Yes..I bought it years ago with you in mind actually..”

The blonde manages to half remove the robe and she lets out a gasp. “Babes! What happened? Are you alright?” She asks, running her fingers along the bruising skin. “Babylove tell me, who hurt you? Who hurt you, I’ll fix it!”

-

The first attempt Anita makes at removing the robe, Bellatrix grabs her wrist, holding it there while she spoke. She didn't know the bit about Clara and her superior. She'll have to sit and read the article herself, interesting that Granger wasn't the first superior she tried to go after.

The second kiss distracts her from her robe, reminding her of just all the things she needed to do to the blonde, the night before would seem tame compared to what she had planned.

The idea of Anita shopping with her in mind before even having met was an interesting one, just barely feeling the robe worked off before the blonde exclaimed over the sight of her shoulders and she had a quick decision to make; hide them or brush them off. She chooses the latter.

"Hmm? Oh these, they're nothing darling, I tripped at the Ministry, nothing to worry about." She tries to reassure, leaning in to kiss her again and pull her robe back up.

-

“Bells, it looks like you’ve been beat...” Anita tries to protest only to quickly be silenced by another kiss.

If Bellatrix was telling her it wasn’t a bother or worry then it would certainly do her well to listen. She knows enough, from years of studying the woman, that either it truly was nothing and she needn’t worry or her pride has been wounded and she was compensating. Either answer required the blonde to move on, and quickly.

And oh, Bellatrix makes moving on easier than breathing. The reporter quickly lost in the steady press of the dark witch’s lips. “Don’t you..” She starts pulling away only enough to murmur a couple words at a time. “think we should close the door?” She asks, trying to remove the robe entirely now. “And go upstairs? I don’t think the Minister will appreciate us on her couch again.”

-

That

name

from lips that didn't belong to Rabastan made her entire body tense. No one had ever called her

Bells

except for him, and it just sounded wrong coming from the blonde.

She couldn't let herself linger on that thought though, Rabastan was in Azkaban and Anita was here and apparently willing to not ask about the marks any further, laughing breathlessly when the blonde makes reference to the fact the door is still thrown open.

"Hmm? Oh no, I thought I'd take you here in the doorway. Let all the neighbours see." She teased, nipping at her lower lip.

With a sigh (and pulling her robe back up), she pulls away from their heated kiss and grabs her wrist, tugging her up the stairs. The couch was tempting but it would be difficult to hide blood stains and there wasn't nearly enough room.

-

Anita wants to push the matter but takes the tension as Bellatrix really

not

wanting her to do so. So she doesn’t, pale cheeks burning crimson as Bellatrix teases about taking her where she stood.

“I don’t believe my boss would particularly like that headline.” She mumbles, squeaking out as Bellatrix so suddenly tugs her inside and up the stairs.

Arousal pools in satin knickers as she’s led into the bedroom. Just the

thought

of the previous evening (and that morning) enough to make her knees weak. “W-Will you use that spell again?” She asks eagerly, her brow furrowing for half a moment to see that the robe is back on the older witch’s shoulders. “I want to see you.” It’s a request, more so a demand, whined far too needy.

She understands she isn’t in a position to be

demanding

anything (not that she even wants to), however Bellatrix had spent most of her time pleasuring the blonde and she wants to return the favour. A pink tongue drags across her upper lip, remembering the distinctive taste of the Slytherin.

-

Halfway up the stairs, Bellatrix pauses when Anita asks and demands things. This was too much talking and discussion, and the dark haired witch truly did not have any interest in this being a very chatty encounter. She needed this release of the pent up anger. But how to explain that to the blonde without hinting at anything being wrong? She turns and sighs, looking into those blue eyes, creating a little script in her head. 
 
"Darling, I've had a very trying day being toted around the Ministry and all I want is to

reward

you for such a

perfect

article~" She leans in and just barely brushes her lips against Anita's collarbone, ghosting over a mark she'd left there the night prior. "I want to fulfil all those fantasies in your head. We were in a rush this morning and last night..we can take our time. Spend all night, letting you experience

everything

. Will you let me do that Anita? Show you all the things I'm so

good at

?" She asks, whispering the words against her skin and hoping they would be enough to get the blonde to simply agree to her terms. She didn't want to be pleasured, she wanted to cause pain. Make her scream and writhe with what she could do outside the contract's terms.

-

Anita opens her mouth to continue on with her prattling pleas when an odd look in Bellatrix’ eye stops the reporter in her tracks. Her jaw snaps shut as she listens to the alluring purrs of the (much) older witch.

She finds herself nodding before Bellatrix is even finished speaking, sparkling blue eyes conveying sympathy for the apparently difficult day.

“I’m so sorry, Bells.” The blonde barely murmurs as Bella’s lips drag against her skin. Gods what an intoxicating feeling. “Whatever you need, just say the words and I’ll give it to you.” Foolish. Anita is foolish for her sentence but doesn’t even yet know it. Infinitely more so for

meaning

it.

Her heartbeat quickens at all the pretty promises being breathed against her skin, nodding quicker with each question.

“Yes, yes, yes.” A breathy chorus sung from slack lips. “Please show me,

teach

me too. You can do anything, I mean that, I promise.”

-

That. Name. Even as barely audible as it was, it still grated on her nerves. That name was reserved for one and

only

one person and it was not Anita Skeeter. She needed to put an end to that nonsense right now. "Bella darling, call me Bella." She says in a tone that manages to be gentle and also convey it was a command, not a request.

Anita, hearing that tone, nodded in response, she'd liked the nickname for her beloved witch but if Bellatrix wanted her to call her differently she would, Anita wouldn't argue. Not right now at least.

Satisfied her words got her the compliant response she was looking for Bellatrix grinned, dragging the reporter up the remaining stairs and into the bedroom, closing the door. It wasn't likely the Minister would make a return tonight, but if Weasley showed up unannounced she wasn't giving him an eyeful of her or Anita.

Red stained lips claim the blonde's, kissing her heatedly and pushing her quickly back towards the bed until they both fall back onto it, pulling away to breathe the words “Do you trust me darling?" into her ear.

Anita, breathless from the sudden kisses (she would never get used to the fact Bellatrix Lestrange enjoyed kissing her), and hearing that whispered question she nodded without hesitation. "Of course I do." Her stomach doing flips, she didn't know what the dark witch had in mind but she had heard

stories

about how the witch's penchant for unconventional methods extended beyond the battlefield.

Hearing that affirmation was all the go ahead Bellatrix needed, getting up from the bed and pulling out her wand, a quick flick and ropes, no it was

wand light

slithered which from the tip and wound itself around Anita's wrists, and then the posts of the headboard, making her blue eyes go wide. "Don't you look pretty all tied up for me." She coos before adding. "I have more spells to show you, I think you'll quite enjoy them."

-

Anita’s back arcs off the bed, tugging gently at the magic that held in hands extended above her head. There’s a slight give, but not enough to be meaningful. She swallows the keening sound brewing in her throat, pale cheeks flushing at the realization that, like this, she is completely at Bellatrix’ mercy.
Her entire body trembles slightly in anticipation, as well as at the compliment, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She breathes with all the adoration of a woman deranged. “More spells?” It’s thrilling to hear. Of course she knows Bellatrix is beyond any other in their arsenal of spells at her disposal, but the idea there were specific ones Bella would like to try on her makes her pulse quicken.
“I want to see them,

feel

them.” She whispers, opening her mouth to continue but visibly hesitates. The gears in her head turning to figure out if what she

wants

to say is a bit t

oo crazy

, even for her. Deciding the risk is worth the potential reward she inhaled sharply and asks. “Will you carve me up? Mark me proper? Make me yours?”

-

Bellatrix has to physically pause and restrain herself a moment, Anita didn't know it but all that talking could send her off the ledge and she hated to rush things and ruin her fun just because she was getting frustrated and impatient.

Instead she uses the same spell she'd used on the blonde the other night, making her clothing all but melt off, the witch licking her lips as all that pale skin is exposed to her and then almost disappointed the reporter has

asked

to be carved up, robbing her of the fun of scaring her with the question but then...if she was asking for it, giving permission surely that didn't count as breaking the bonds of the contract. That could work.

Bellatrix gets back --on the bed, straddling the blonde and sitting atop of her hips, staring down. This gave her a terribly wicked idea for a

game

.

"Do you know what would make me really

happy

?" She asks with a purr. "if you'd act at being the Minister." She continues on without waiting for an answer.

"You've read all the reports now, you know what I did to her that night and I did so enjoy it...making her scream and writhe under me..carving her up. Seeing just how

frightened

she was of me. Of course I won't hurt you too badly darling, but do you think you could act like I might?" To add to the authenticity of the situation she uses her wand to tilt the reporter's chin up, letting her feel the dull point dig into her jugular.

-

Rabastan would have known better. He was an expert in the art of when to speak and when to act. He’d’ve known without a word, he always had. Anita however doesn’t know the witch even a fraction of the amount she thinks she does. No idea of all her little tells, not a clue what

truly

makes her tick, and certainly never in the Death Eater’s thoughts like Rabastan always was.

Anita gasps as her clothes dissolve into nothingness, shivering as vast expanses of pale skin are exposed to the cold air. She begins to chew on her lip as Bellatrix climbs atop her hips, forcing herself to remain still and not lift her hips into the steady pressure.

The reporter’s mouth goes dry as sand as Bellatrix speaks, only able to give a half nod before the crooked wand is pressed against her, an anxious squeak slipping out.

Despite having asked for marks, Anita won’t have to do much acting. She

is

afraid of Bellatrix, she isn’t stupid (just crazy), just not nearly as much as she should be. Not to mention she’d been rehearsing doing

exactly this

since Bellatrix’ trial and testimony. She’d been so incredibly jealous of the Minister then.

“I-I-I-“ And though it’s just Anita trying to force out an agreement, it’s a wonderful start to being Hermione. Perfectly echoing the beginning of her first uttered; ‘I didn’t take anything.’

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anita finally finishes, fully prepared to slip into her role as struggling prisoner. Bellatrix wouldn’t

really

hurt her, she’s so certain of it.

-

For a moment, the stuttered response and widened blue eyes, make the dark witch think perhaps Anita won't agree, she looks truly frightened and the kitchen knife is still hidden in her pocket. It would be a shame if it turned out her little fangirl wouldn't want to truly experience her but then the compliance came and it made Bellatrix lick her lips.

'We're just blowing off steam, not actually tormenting the girl. No curses. Remember that.'

She has to remind herself in her head and feeling like she's properly reminded, leans down and hisses in her ear.

"Are you sure? It's not nice to lie~" She removed her wand from her throat, so she could speak, dragging the wand tip down her neck and stopping at the bit of skin between her breasts, just resting there. "If you won't tell me what I want to know, I'll just have to

make you

tell me."

Since she can't use her favourite curse without keeling over, she opts for a quick jinx that sends a little spark of pain right between Anita's legs, this was pain mixed with pleasure after all.

-

“P-Positive.” Anita breathes, attempting to make her accent shift to match the Minister’s cadence. “I don’t know anything!” Slight panic, faux of course, and desperation beginning to seep into her tone.

She inhales sharply as the tip of Bella’s wand moves down her body, what a pretty promise. Before she can think of asking for the curse that, unbeknownst to her, Bellatrix is barred from, that jinx causes her hips to jump. Just once, Anita sighs out silently at the friction the movement causes. Just barely soothing the sudden sting that had been there.

“N-No, please..” That’s what a Minister would say, no? She wouldn’t want this as Anita does, surely wouldn’t beg for more as the blonde would like to.

“Let me

go

” She hisses, injecting venom into her voice as the words slip past grit teeth, struggling against the wand light that holds her steady. “You won’t get away with this, I don’t fear you.” That nearly makes Anita snort because that does sound oh so much like Little Miss Justice Seeker.

-

Twitch. Salazar. Whimpering like that, the blonde truly did sound like how Granger had, it was making her thoughts sharpen, flickering between the present and the past and her chest heaving with the struggle to stay in control.

When Anita just

sighs

at the pain, she clenches her empty hand. Not good enough. She'd need to do better. Her head running through the spells and charms and hexes she knew, trying to settle on one that would give her the reaction she wanted, opting for now to just smack Anita's thighs sharply with her wand.

"Not until you give me what I

want

~" She hisses down at her, the words holding both the meaning for their game and Bellatrix' true feelings.

"Oh? You don't? Then why are you shaking like a leaf? No one's coming for you

darling

. You're not going anywhere." Another jinx to make her hips jump, followed by three more in quick succession as Bellatrix found her rhythm in something she hadn't done in decades.

-

Anita watches as near black optics flicker with…something. With remembering. Well that simply wouldn’t do! She’s better than that ugly brunette bitch by a mile!

Anita hisses sharply as her thigh is smacked, though she still parts them further beneath Bella’s hips. “Get

off of me

!” She snaps, voice raising and shaking with her frustration. “I didn’t take anything!” Anita hits the nail on the head without even having known the reality of what was said in that room. “Please you have to believe me!” Even louder still. That would be like the Minister. Thinking if she only says something loud enough, she’ll be believed through conviction alone.

Anita arcs her back , trying to give her shoulders a break from the uncomfortable position of her hands secured above her head. Taking a steadying exhale through her nose when the jinx comes back once,

twice

, three,

four

times and she

shrieks

high and genuine because that

hurt

!

“Get off me you sadist bitch!” Anita hisses, is that real or is that play? She isn’t even sure herself, twisting her hips harshly to try to throw Bellatrix from on top of her.

-

'Careful Bella, don't push her too far. Find the balance. Don't break her so soon.'

How many times had Rabastan whispered those words to her, reminding her to stay in control, to get what she needed and no more.

She'd need to entwine the pain with

pleasure

or Anita might stop playing the game, the thought confirmed when she's called a sadistic bitch like that.

"Oh, you're getting yourself so worked up over nothing, just do as I say? Can you do that?" She coos in a mocking tone, slowly rocking her hips against the blonde to give her some much needed friction, dragging the tip of her wand down her cheek almost lovingly.

She'd need to divert from actually repeating the event and quickly, so she sets her wand down and pushes the robe she was still wearing off her shoulders, followed by the dress just as Anita has been demanding to do when they were downstairs, just a little reminder it was all still just a 'game'.

"If you won't cooperate I have other ways to

encourage

you." She grins and produces the small little knife from the pocket of her discarded robe, letting the light glint off its blade. She knew exactly what she was going to 'brand' Anita with and it was something that would make the blonde nearly climax every time she saw it.

-

Ocean eyes grow impossibly wider as Bellatrix’ hips roll against hers, a breathy moan sneaking out, nodding nearly subconsciously as the woman speaks. She can, and would, do anything if Bellatrix only gave her the order.

Her eyes nearly roll as the fabric of Bella’s skirt catches and rubs none too gently against her swollen clit. Only very self conscious of the wet patch she knew would be left on the woman’s skirt. Hearing, as well as feeling, Bellatrix shifting on top her hips, the blonde refocuses her vision.

“Sweet Helga..” She squeaks, subtly thrown out the window as she stares open mouthed at Bella’s perfect chest. She struggled harder against the wrist restraints now, wanting more than anything to be able to touch. Oh, oh right she’s meant to be In character.

“I-I-I’ll take it to my

grave.

” She hisses but it comes out more needy, more whimpered, than she meant it to. Except when she catches that little glint of silver everything comes to a screeching halt.

Nothing to be heard in the room but her erratic breathing as she stares, pupils blown, at the kitchen knife. There’a a mixture of emotions playing out behind her eyes. Thrill. Hunger. Right along with

fear,

but Anita doesn’t back down. Her whole body trembling violently beneath the dark witch.“N-No, no please don’t..” Tumbled out in a panicked exhale. The made up struggle only made her slicker between the thighs. She might get used to this. Begging Bellatrix not to, to no stop she doesn’t want it, while the woman does as she pleases anyway. Perhaps more erotic than being praised for obedience.

-

Pleased her little show of undressing had accomplished the reaction she'd wanted, she ran her finger over the blade again, just taking a moment to watch Anita struggle in her bindings, how pretty she looked doing that, her eyes blown wide, possibly rethinking her request to be carved up?

There was so much reflected in those eyes, and of course this knife could be easily healed should Anita ask her to do it, though she suspected the blonde witch would greatly enjoy having the little reminder in her arm much more than Hermione had liked hers.

Salazar. She wished the annoying brunette would stop creeping into her thoughts!

Still...she didn't need some article coming out saying she'd attacked Anita or something, the reporter was good at crafting stories, and Bellatrix wanted to keep her name from print in unfavourable light, so she leans down and whispers, almost sweetly into her ear.

"I won't do it if you've changed your mind darling, just tell me what you want." She

needed

to make her bleed, but even if Anita said she didn't mind, the Minister might have something to say about her carving up people so she wanted to hear it verbatim before her blade pierced skin.

"Just a simple yes or no question love. Do you want to be carved up all prettily?”

-

Anita continues to squirm against her restraints. Clit pounding and cunt aching to be taken properly. This game was a lot of teasing, she isn’t quite used to it and the denial of it all is coiling white hot in her gut.

She swallows in an attempt to clear her suddenly very dry throat, about to pour into pleas for the marks she’s been promised, when Bellatrix leans in and tells her it’s a matter of just yes or no.

“

Yes

!” She croaks, mouth still dry as sand, pulling so hard against the wand light binding her wrists she’s beginning to break skin.

-

Hearing the blonde’s pleas and seeing the wand light draw blood made her eyes nearly glow with excitement. Her eyes flicked between Anita’s arm and thigh, deciding the latter was where she wanted to cut and shifted down her body a bit, letting the blade trace the letters first before she actually broke skin, carefully carving out the letters, her heart beating in her ears with each slice of the knife against Anita’s skin, the blood filling in the lines making her pant.

Finally she leaned back to admire her handiwork, the words ‘my darling’ staring back at her down the length of her upper thigh, unable to stop herself before she leaned down and

licked

the blood there with a groan, her eyes catching sight of Anita’s wet and needy cunt spread before her. Well…since she was here already..

Blood stained lips wrap around Anita’s clit, sucking mercilessly, two fingers plunging into her folds.

-

Anita shifts, trying to lessen the increasingly uncomfortable pressure at her wrists. Gasping harshly as her struggling causes the irritated skin to break and bleed.

Ocean blue eyes shine, nearly mimicking the gold flicker in Bella’s, at the realization. Anita didn’t think she could possibly be more in love with Bellatrix than she already was but that manic, nearly

feral,

expression proves her wrong. Very wrong.

The blonde watches intently as Bellatrix contemplates where to put the mark, yelping as the blade pets and then

breaks

her skin. She squirms, hissing as the blade carves the letters into her trembling thigh.

The knife is sharp but not nearly as much as needed for this kind of activity. The pressure required to break the skin causes pain that far outweighs the pleasure but Anita doesn’t care. In fact she only enjoys it more because of that fact. As hissed breath and curses morph to exclamations and tears.

She doesn’t have the opportunity to read what she’s been marked with just catching ‘my-‘ before Bellatrix does the most erotic thing she’s ever been witness to in her life.

Licking

her blood up from where it had split. She nearly comes from the sight of Bella’s blood stained lips alone. Until she’s

really

coming as Bellatrix tends to her aching centre.

“Fuck, fuck,

fuck

!” She screams, her thighs wrapping tightly around the witch’s head in an attempt to keep her mouth exactly where she needs it. Nearly howling in pain as the fresh branding stings against rough curly hair.

-

The screams. From the pain, from the pleasure. The taste of Anita's blood on her tongue. Blood she'd drawn with the knife. It all intoxicates Bellatrix, like a hit of Goblin's crack...on crack. Relentlessly fucking the blonde with her fingers and tongue.

Nearly two decades, she had been worried she'd have forgotten, worried her mind and body wouldn't

like

the hit torturing another person gave her after so long and she was so thrilled to be wrong.

Anita had quieted the voices shouting in her head, there was nothing but her screams, echoing melodically in her head and off the walls of the room.

Twisting her fingers just a bit, the slender digits still inside the blonde witch, the wand light holding Anita's wrists broke and vanished.

-

The moment her hands are freed Anita winds her fingers tightly into raven curls. Muscles taut and thighs quivering as Bellatrix doesn’t ease her ministrations.

“I-I-I—“ She whimpers pathetically, coming again with the shriek of Bella’s name as deft fingers twist. “Bella— I can’t— Mmn~ I-I’m going to—“ The reporter stammers, digging her heels into the mattress as if trying to shift away, though the grip on Bella’s hair doesn’t loosen.

Her hips raise, chasing the dark witch’s mouth as she struggles with her words, face pinched tight with burning pleasure and blinding pain, looking quite conflicted on if she’d like Bellatrix to continue on or stop completely.

The blonde is completely unaware of the absolute euphoria the older woman is experiencing from their little scene, of course rather preoccupied with her own pleasure.

Pleasure that was rapidly coming to yet another head. “If you don’t stop I’ll—“ Anita manages all in one breath, as Bella’s tongue rolls almost lazily around her swollen clit causing her entire body to shudder and her words to change course.

“Don’t stop,

don’t stop

!” She pleads, grip tightening in on Bella’s hair, her back arching high off the mattress, as her head flings back and she squirts into Bellatrix’ mouth with a sharp cut off sob.

-

It was amusing to Bellatrix how Anita seemed to be fighting herself, how her actions contradict one another. Trying to shimmy away yet holding a vice grip on her hair, her words quickly changed from 'if you don't stop' to pleading her not to. It was almost like torture.

Her victims often followed the same path, at first telling her they'd never break and then absolutely begging and pleading with her to stop before they lost the ability to speak at all.

She'd lost track of how many times she'd brought the blonde witch over the edge, she didn't care and kept going until Anita did something Bellatrix had never managed to make another witch do, and the surprise of it made her pause her actions, dark eyes lifting to look up at the writhing and panting blonde from between her legs, her lips and cheeks shining with Anita's release.

-

Anita’s breath comes in hiccuped heaves and wracking sobs, crying out in relief as Bellatrix’ ministrations pause. Beads of sweat glimmer on pale skin, illuminated by the moonlight that pours through the window, Anita’s entire body sort of trembling and jerking.

“S-Stop-Stop, I—I can’t, no more..” The blonde begs, but when she finally opens her eyes to look down at Bellatrix she nearly comes again. Dark eyes staring at her in…disbelief? Anger? She can’t tell which.

“F-Fuck~” She complains through a panting moan, trying in vain to regain some semblance of composure. Her already heated cheeks burn furiously with her embarrassment. She’d just…

“I tried to warn you..” Anita whimpers, tears welling and falling quicker, finally releasing her death grip on Bellatrix’ hair and attempting to press her thighs together, which of course doesn’t work considering the dark witch is laid between them. “I’m sorry..” She shudders, squirming slightly and wincing to find Bellatrix’ fingers still deep in her cunt. “I really can’t give you another, I think I’ll black out.”

-

Oh.

Oh

was Anita crying? The witch blinks and slowly removes her fingers, using the time to try and come up with some sort of response or reaction. They didn't usually cry in bed, tears sometimes but full blown sobbing like Anita was doing? Foreign to her and she was fumbling for the persona she had taken on around the blonde.

"No apologies love, I've just never made anyone come quite so hard before." She nodded and carefully extracted herself from between her legs, her eyes catching sight of the carving in her thigh and wetting her lips. It wasn't quite as satisfying as the slur she'd given Hermione but it gave her a thrill all the same, starting to coo and try to comfort the blonde so she'd stop crying.

"Oh you did so well my darling, I lost count of how many times you came for me, and you held so still while I gave you your pretty markings. Better than the Minister did." She whispered in her ear and kissed her temple.

-

Anita hisses through her teeth as Bellatrix’ fingers retreat, brushing against far too sensitive inner walls and causing them to flutter. She gives a soft noise of complaint, never liking the feeling of being suddenly empty.

Her drops were never..without their hiccups. Anita had only done

that

one other time in all her other fumbling encounters and the subsequent drop had been the same. Some people can get off on the pain of overstimulation but Anita never could. It felt like someone had turned her insides to magma and each jolt of arousal, from watching Bellatrix lick her lips or finally being able to read her branding, shot painfully to her clit.

‘My Darling’ she reads, eyes rolling back and pathetic whimpers sounding. “S-Six and then..so seven.” Anita sniffles, giving Bellatrix the answer to which she lost count, immediately curling her body into the older witch’s as she climbs her way back up.

“So good, it felt so good.” She breathes, more pants, as Bellatrix brings up her stinging mark. “Want more, need more, please. Cut me, curse me, make me yours.” The words aren’t as desperate as they usually are only because they’re being

whined

right into the dark witch’s ear. ‘Better than the Minister’ rings pleasantly in her fucked out-blissed out mind.

Anita’s arms come up to wrap tightly around Bella’s neck, her body curling around the other woman’s, as her cries lessen but don’t stop completely, body trembling from exhaustion and post climax bliss. “Hold me please, I feel as though I’ll spin off the earth..”

-

Bellatrix had hoped that the bit of praise and kisses to the temple would be enough to soothe the blonde, evidently she'd been wrong. Anita was now clinging to her and whimpering and whining into her ear.

The only experience with any kind of 'after care' she'd had, had been with Rabastan. She could remember the way he'd praised her, comforted her and soothed her and she supposed she could mimic that with Anita. Even if it went against her habits.

So she pulled the blonde close upon request and dropped another kiss to her head, cooing. "Shh..no more tonight, you got to seven just as I wanted you to. My pretty little-" She paused, trying to think of a suitable pet name. "song bird. You sing so prettily for me." She supposed the next thing she ought to do was look over the marks she'd given her, gently taking hold of Anita's wrists to examine where her wand light had broken skin, kissing the cuts gently. "These are easily healed, and wand light doesn't bruise like ropes do."

-

“I want to keep them!” Anita exclaims suddenly, rather defensively, sounding offended at the idea of Bellatrix healing any of the marks she’d left. The thought made her tears flow quicker again.

“I want to keep them all..” She repeats quieter, settling herself in the crook of the dark witch’s neck, murmuring against alabaster skin. “My own little souvenirs.” Bellatrix Lestrange’s pretty little songbird. She could melt;

is

melting under the woman’s touch and lulling coos.

“Yours, all yours.” She breathes reverently, wedging one of her thighs between Bella’s and rocking her hips in an attempt at comfort. “Thank you.” She whispers, shivering against the witch’s frame as the cool summer air begins to extinguish the fires on her skin.

-

The exclamation that Anita wanted to keep the markings took her by surprise but she nodded. "I know you do love, but I can always give you new ones the next time. You can't keep these ones." She says firmly, as much as she'd like Anita to walk around with the marks on her wrists it would raise too many questions. So she pulls out her wand and carefully heals them, the skin stitching back together.

"We have to heal this one too." She gestures with her wand to the still freshly bleeding carving on her thigh. The knife hadn't been sharp enough, the letters were jagged and it was too large to not be noticed beneath Anita's skirts. That would cause even more questions than the wrist marks.

Kissing her softly to silence any protests, Bellatrix heals that one too, pulling back to whisper. "You need to sleep my darling, my songbird has done a lot of singing tonight."

Anita tried to protest but now she was laying down and curled into the dark witch, her exhaustion was weighing like a rock on her chest and it was becoming harder to make any words, simply whining into the kiss and continuing to rock herself slowly, blue eyes drifting shut as she clung to the witch before all but passing out.

Bellatrix tried to extract herself from the witch but it was a futile attempt, she was stuck so she pushed the knife to the floor with a clatter, whispered 'Nox' and lay back on the pillows, replaying the scene they'd just done in her head over and over until she too drifted off to sleep, hoping the Minister would return home in time to see Anita leaving the house in the morning looking thoroughly fucked.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Hermione begins to stir in the early hours of the morning she quickly realizes many, many, things are wrong. Her clothing is too tight. The bed is too small. Where is she? Quickly sitting up, Hermione glances around the..living room? Wait a moment this isn’t even her living roo—Oh. The events of the night prior unfold behind absent brown eyes like a twisted horror story. “Oh gods..” Hermione mumbles, a trembling hand coming up to rake through dishevelled curls. She’s hit Bellatrix, well pushed really, left marks and everything, and-and came to stay…with Clara. The Minister isn’t sure which part makes her stomach twist harder. She should have gone to her fiancé’s. No time to think on that. And just as the world begins to spin, and her heart starts to stutter inside her chest, just before she can truly begin that downward spiral into her meltdown, she feels a hand on her shoulder. The Gryffindor startles slightly, glancing up to see Clara with a tired, but kind, smile on her face and cup of tea in her unoccupied hand. “Morning Minister.” Clara offers, her voice raspy with sleep and Hermione can’t help but think how attractive she sounds like that. Hermione stares at the witch for a few moments, gathering her thoughts and words, but before she can open her mouth to reply, Clara's talking again. “You’re okay Mione, c’mon. Breakfast is in the kitchen.” Hermione nods slowly, standing from the sofa, and winces slightly at a dull ache that spreads to stiff joints. “You just looked too peaceful to move.” Clara supplies with a guilty smile. “Sorry, ‘spose I could’ve moved you with a charm or s’mthin.” The Auror shrugs, turning and stepping over to the stove to make two plates. Hermione silently slips into her usual spot at Clara’s table. Not because she’s there too often but because she is a creature of habit. Her mind is absolutely buzzing with thoughts so loud and fast she can’t slow things down enough to pick one out and begin to untangle it. So she just stares, looking lost, at the placemat. -Clara turns from the stovetop, two steaming plates of eggs and bacon in hand and sets one in front of Hermione, taking a seat in the other chair. "Sorry it's so early, I'm always up at the crack of dawn, usually to go for a run but, it's a little too wet outside for me." Clara said, jerking her head towards the window where heavy rain was pattering against the glass before taking a bite of her eggs."Bathroom is just to the left, your potion is in a bottle on the sink next to the towels." She supplied, not telling Hermione to shower and dress but making the option known and available should she want it.After her second forkful of eggs, there's a tapping at the window and a small owl stood outside, feathers sodden with rainwater and a soggy edition of the Daily Prophet in its beak. "You'd think they'd find a better way to deliver the morning edition when it's pouring buckets like this." Clara shook her head and went to open the window, exchanging the coins for the very wet paper and plunking it in the sink so she didn't drip water everywhere.-With the arrival of the paper Hermione’s heart sinks. Right…there was still that bit about the paper. She’d need to rewrite her response to the media before she releases it, and even before that, she’ll need to discipline Clara.The reminder settles like a rock in the pit of her stomach. Breakfast looks delicious, but she isn’t certain it will stay down. Still she needed to be polite, Clara had done so much for her already. Hermione’s fork cuts and pokes into a bit of egg, nodding in agreement as Clara speaks.“I know, I promise finding a more practical post solution is on the agenda this term. Just has always been that way, like everything else, I know there will be push back if I suggest changing anything about it.” Hermione replies, easily masking the inner turmoil in favour of casual conversation.She picks up a piece of bacon and watches out the window, dull grey skies causing heavy raindrops to pelt against the glass almost rhythmically. Her mind wanders to Bellatrix. The meeting with Luna had seemed to teleport Bellatrix to a planet, or perhaps a time, far far from their current reality. Which she supposed, now truly thinking on it, had been a sign of…of humanity. Bellatrix wasn’t as untouched and unbothered as she portrayed.“How did I know you were the running type?” Hermione teases, her treacherous mind recalling the image of Clara in her emerald green bikini, her at stomach taunt andtoned. The Gryffindor sighs to blink away the picture once again turning her mind to Bellatrix.The Minister had taunted Bellatrix with the singular ounce of humanity she’d shown. A critical error to add to the growing pile. If she really wanted to help the older woman rehabilitate she needed to show her having emotion isn’t something other people should be using as a weapon; it isn’t weakness.However she’s actually far more preoccupied with the thought of how much trouble she’ll be in if it ever comes to light she laid even a singular finger on the dark witch. The Minister of Magic may still be a human but they certainly aren’t allowed to assault people.Her rampant thoughts cause typically warm brown eyes to dull and take on a far away expression. She should shower, Clara had made it clear she could and—Wait.“Forgive me, did you just say my potion? The ones that had been in my bag?” She asks confusedly, not understanding why Clara would have gone in her bag and removed them when she was already asleep.-Clara sat back at the table, blinking a few times. "Hermione, I'm joking. You don't need to actually rework the post and paper system." She replied, although it didn't surprise her that Hermione would immediately note it down as something that needed to be added and addressed on her never ending to do list.Grinning at the comment at being the running type, Clara flexed both biceps. "Have to stay in shape you know, can't get winded chasing down wicked witches and wizards like Ronald does." Seeing the faraway look in the Minister's eyes, Clara wasn't sure Hermione had heard anything, knew she was lost in her thoughts, and given the events of last night she was content to just sit and wait until she came back from them, allowing her time to process."The ones in your bag? No Mione, the one I brewed for you last night. There's one bottle in the bathroom and the other six are in your bag." Clara replied, not surprised that the brunette didn't remember handing her the notebook to brew the potion to help with her compulsions and anxiety.-“No, no really it was already on the agenda, just haven’t quite gotten to it yet.” Hermione insists with the wave of her hand, poking her fork into more eggs as her stomach remembers there had been no dinner the evening prior.She looks up at Clara’s gesture, a pale bush creeping its way over freckled features as she tries not to stare so openly at the other witch’s muscles. “A sloth could outperform Ron.” She snorts, taking a drink of her water to force herself to focus on that instead.Hermione appreciates the time to process. The way no prying questions are asked and there isn’t any expectation that she gives voice to her thoughts. As Clara explains she finds herself blinking her way back to reality. Clara had brewed her potions for her? She might melt into a puddle right here.“That was incredibly kind of you, Clara. You truly didn’t have to, I could have found time. You must have been up all night.” She frowns only slightly as guilt pangs in her chest for keeping Clara up. “Thank you, I really can’t say how much it means.” She adds, warm brown eyes welling with the beginnings of tears at the gesture.With the clear of her throat Hermione sets her fork down. “I should shower before work, I don’t even think I brought a different outfit I may just need to transfigure this one.”-"Oh it didn't take long, and it was easier for me to do it, rather than you trying to shove it into your schedule between meetings, quarterly reports and everything else." Clara replies with a shrug, picking up her now empty plate and standing to set it in the sink, stretching her arms above her head."Should be enough in those bottles for at least a week." She added, hoping that having her potion taken care of for the next while would help take a few things off her mind and plate even a little.Hearing the comment about not having any extra clothes Clara giggled. "Aww, I think you should just wear what you did yesterday, I like that top." She pauses. "Then again, if we walk in together the rumour mill might start spinning out that you're cheating on your fiancé with me." She's teasing, trying to lighten the mood of the morning before she reminds Hermione of something rather urgent."Oh, and I'm sure you were preoccupied yesterday to be told, likely a memo on your desk from the night shift but they think an Auror should accompany you and..the wicked one to her appointment this afternoon and yours truly won the draw so.." Normally Clara wouldn't be so fidgety about telling Hermione she would be accompanying her somewhere but given last night, she really didn't trust the dark witch alone with Hermione so a little lie was in order, hating they had to mention the thing masquerading as a human at all today.-“Again I really appreciate it Clara, you’re too good to me.” Hermione exhales, standing from the table as well, picking up her plate and scraping what she hadn’t eaten into the bin before setting the plate in the sink. Getting ready to make her way towards the bathroom when Clara’s comment makes the tips of her ears burn.“I’ve never cared much for what the rumor mill has to say about me and my decisions.” She finds herself saying without conscious effort which only has her blush glowing brighter. Why had she said that? Her decisions? To what, have a breakdown and seek comfort from her best friend? That’s all that had happened!She pauses as Clara shifts awkwardly, struggling for words, and her heart skips several beats while her mind attempts to fill in what could possibly have the Auror so rattled. “Oh.” Hermione says when Clara finally gets it out. That’s so much better than anything her brain was conjuring up. “And Ronald didn’t fight you on it?” Her voice isn’t skeptical, it's relieved.“After last night I’m in absolutely no position to refuse.” She admits quietly, running a hand through tangled curls. “I told her last night I wasn’t even bringing her. Perhaps…” It’s the Ministers turn to hesitate. “Perhaps you grab her and I—I meet you both at the mind healer?” She suggests hopefully.-"Well of course he did, but I told him after his rude behaviour at lunch he was really in no position to be making demands and you might hex him if the two of you were alone." More lies, but they're necessary, Clara is internally relieved when Hermione agrees and offers an even better solution.She couldn't physically attack the death eater for what she'd done and how she had been treating Hermione but she could certainly give her a good verbal lashing for it, so Clara nodded."Of course Mione, I'll fetch her and bring her to you and the mind healer, I'm sure she'll just be pleased as punch to see me at the door hauling her off to chat with someone about the demons in her head."Clara pauses, realizing what she just said was perhaps...a bit prejudiced and quickly corrects herself. "Her specifically, not saying everyone who sees a mind healer is as far gone round the bend as she is. Doubt the mind healers see many people who openly admit to torturing and harming people with a smile on their face as if they're proclaiming a favourite ice cream flavour."-Hermione frowns suddenly. She’d nearly forgotten the debacle at lunch what with all the other chaos. Perhaps that was the most logical reason she’d come here instead of gone to Ron’s; she was still very mad at him.Her heart drops as Clara speaks, and her features must have shown the sting the auror’s words has caused because she’s quickly scrambling to undo it. “I understood Clara, no worries.” She assures, although it is very much worries for the Minister. If even such a close friend had prejudice against those who sought the assistance of mind healers, the rest of the wizarding world surely would as well. They could never know; they would never know.“I’m going to get ready and then head over to Sylvia’s office. It’s three right, two forwards, and then one left.” She directs Clara on how to use the lift to arrive there.-Clara wasn't completely convinced that Hermione hadn't taken offence to what she said but she also wasn't going to push the matter if she said it was fine. She truly hadn't meant that anyone who sought help was crazy, just that Bellatrix in particular was. There was nothing sane about that woman at all.The brunette nods, finding a scrap of paper and pen to note down the directions Hermione is giving her, she'd never been to the mind healer before and getting lost with a death eater wasn't on her agenda today. "Two forwards and then one left, got it. Alright, you shower and get dressed and meet us there, extra key is under the plant outside to lock the door." She gives her instructions, about to apparate when she realizes that she also is not dressed and she had a feeling Bellatrix would be only too amused if she showed up in her pajamas.-In the Minister’s home, Anita is beginning to stir. Sunlight pours through the open curtain and directly into her eyes, the blonde shifting with a discontented grunt. The movement causes a shooting pain down her spine and her legs feel like jelly when she tries to move them.The reporter exhales blissfully as her mind replays their games over and over and over. If writing articles will keep getting her touched like that she’ll never stop. Anita wonders if Bellatrix will be in the mood to play a bit more before she’s to be off for work.Oh, oh but maybe she doesn’t need to wait until the older woman wakes. She could repay the favour as she sleeps there, so gorgeous even unconscious, lick the dark witch into consciousness. Making her decision the blonde silently slips down the mattress, gently pushing her way between alabaster thighs, carefully and determinedly working to remove the dark witch’s knickers. Anita is practically drooling at the sight of Bella’s cunt, flushed the prettiest pink she’s ever seen, her clit peeking out through neat curls.Anita, far too eager, immediately zeros in on the sensitive bundle of nerves. A perfect way to wake up in her opinion.- Bellatrix lay still in bed, she hadn't managed to take her potions before falling asleep so it wasn't a dreamless sleep, but nightmare free at the very least. Exhausted from the day, and her games and content to just sleep until the afternoon, oblivious that the blonde reporter was still next to her in bed.Oblivious that is until a shooting sensation of both pain and pleasure shot through her dreams and she woke with a jolt and a loud curse. "what the...mm fuck!" Her eyes shot open, panicking for a moment and glancing around the room through a curtain of curly hair, blearily spotting the blonde between her legs. Surely she wasn't seeing what she was seeing?! But she was, the blonde had been between her legs while she was asleep!"A-Anita.." She mumbled out, her head still too heavy with the remains of sleep to properly process what was going on and the pleasure all at once. "W-what are you..doing?" She panted out, pushing her hair off her face to try and see more clearly.-Said blonde bats her lashes, looking impishly up from between the dark witch’s legs. “Wanted to thank you~” Anita pulls away just enough to purr, before continuing to lick into Bella’s plush cunt. Her lips wrapping tightly around the other’s clit in a way that couldn’t possibly be pleasurable with no warm up, her fingers coming up to poke and prod at Bella’s centre readying to take the plunge.Completely oblivious to the ongoings on the second floor, Clara apparates into the minister’s kitchen. She nearly gasps, having expected to see it as out of sorts as Hermione had described, but instead seeing not a single thing out of place.“Oi! Lestrange!” Clara calls out cautiously. Since when do death eaters tidy their messes? “Get up! Get dressed, if you’re not decent by the time I get to the top of the stairs I’m hauling your arse naked to the mind healer!”-Bellatrix groaned but not in any way that was pleasurable, this was downright painful, she was dry as the desert since she had been asleep! Her mouth had opened to tell Anita to stop when she heard a loud crack of apparition, the shouting that followed startling her and she jerked, kneeing Anita in the face."Ow fuck!" The blonde cried out, sitting up abruptly and bringing a hand to her nose, whimpering in pain. "What did you do that for?" She asked and then got her answeras someone continued to shout up the stairs and it didn't sound like the Minister."Someone's in the house Bella!" She squeaked, suddenly holding tightly to the dark witch, a trickle of blood starting from her nose from the impact with Bellatrix' knee.Bellatrix hadn't meant to actually injure the blonde like that, but it had done well to interrupt her so she wasn't sorry for it."Yes, that's an Auror. Minister must have sent her to fetch me. Ministry is mandating I see a mind healer, they think I've gone 'round the bend you see. You'd best get going to work darling, if it's the Auror I think it is, she will drag me out in public naked and-" She paused for effect. "Only you get to have that privilege. Off you go, out the window so she doesn't see you."-Anita whimpers, something pathetic and soft, not liking the idea of being thrown from the room so suddenly. She hadn’t finished yet! And now her nose was bleeding and she’s still all sore from the evening prior and—Anita startles as the Auror is suddenly banging on the door.“Don’t think I don’t mean it, Lestrange! Get up!” Clara hisses as Anita gives Bellatrix a wounded expression but begins to climb off the bed all the same.“You’ll owl me right? Please, I wasn’t finished, I want to make you come..” Full on pouting, quite juvenile, and not being nearly as quiet as she should be.Clara’s hazel eyes widen. “Don’t even tell me you’ve that blonde rat in there!” She nearly shrieks, “I’ll drag you both into the streets and let the paper swallow you whole!”-Bellatrix kisses the top of Anita’s head in a show of consoling. “I know darling, but she won’t wait.” Bellatrix said, shifting to grab her robe to cover herself should Clara actually make good on her threat to come in and drag her. Hearing Anita speak, and not in the whispered tones she had been, she grinned, nearly laughing at Clara’s reaction. “Alright then, I won’t tell you. Give two witches some privacy eh?” She rolled her eyes, rummaging for a dress and narrowly avoiding stepping on the knife from last night, picking it up and setting it on the bedside table. “Course I’ll owl you later, maybe owl you at work with lovely pictures.” She winked and Clara pounded the door again. “Let’s go Lestrange! Tell your bimbo to leave! The Minister will have a field day knowing you brought her here again!”-Anita squeaks as Clara bangs on the door again, impossibly harder this time. “Okay, okay!” She calls to the Auror, scrambling to redress.The blonde’s cheeks burn with the idea of pictures of her own, of Bellatrix, to frame on her wall next her wanted posters and yearbook photo. “Owl me, I love you.” She says, opening the window to leave just as Clara kicks in the door.“Say goodbye to your little fuck toy and let’s move!” Clara hisses, careful not to lay a hand on the dark witch until Anita all but dives out the window. Once the pesky reporter is gone Clara seizes the witch by the collar of her robe and yanks her to her feet.“Get dressed, a robe won’t do. You’ll give the Minister heart palpitations showing up like that.” Clara folds her arms and waits for the woman to dress proper, hazel eyes lingering on the witch’s covered shoulders. She wants to see the marks Hermione left.-Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the dramatics, jumping back as the door was kicked in. "Oh the Minister won't be happy you've ruined the door, might send her off the edge again." She smirks nastily, turning to give Anita a little wave and is taken by surprise when Clara is hauling her to her feet. "Oh? Interesting that my state of dress would make her heart skip a beat. Starting to think little Miss Minister fancies me instead of you. You must be so jealous."The dark witch considers just showing up in her robe and slippers, really selling the whole crazy story everyone already believed, but she was trying to prove them all wrong so she tossed her hair and gave Clara a look."A little privacy then, I'm not stripping down in front of you, I don't even have on any knickers." When Clara doesn't move she huffs and turns her back wriggling into a clean pair of knickers, using the robe to keep the Auror from catching a glimpse of her arse, before slipping the robe off to fasten her bra around the back.With her robe off Clara would get to see exactly what she wanted, matching purple bruises on each of her pale shoulders. Half a second later Bellatrix is pulling on the nearest dress and they're covered again, fussing with the sleeves until they sit right and she sits on the bed to pull on stockings and heeled boots.-Clara merely raises a brow as Bellatrix tries to shoo her. Oh no, she wasn’t missing this. She’s only a little disappointed the witch manages to shimmy into knickers without flashing her. What? It’s difficult to get a good look with all the flowy dresses the woman wore.Clara’s face splits into a wide grin as she catches a glimpse of the pretty purple handprints.“Oooh wrestling your demons in your sleep, Lestrange?” Clara taunts, shifting her weight onto her opposite hip and flashing a dangerously smug smile. “Finally got what’s coming to you.” She informs, lifting her chin as she speaks. “You’re only all too lucky it was Hermione and not myself.” Clara wouldn’t say more than that. Can’t be too specific in her threats, she isn’t as stupid as Ronald.“Let’s move!” Quickly clapping her hands in front of her as if riling up an animal of some kind.-At Clara's words, Bellatrix lifted her eyes, just the ghost of smirk on her face. Oh the Minister was telling people was she? Rookie mistake, the more people who know the harder it'll be to deny without making everyone else an accomplice."Demons? Now I know the Minister is unhinged, but don't you think calling her a demon is a bit too far Clara?" She asks with a tilt of her head.Since she'd taken out all her feelings on Anita last night, she was feeling much better, and the comments were just rolling off her back now. The clapping made her roll her eyes and purposefully lace her boots slower, standing up and meticulously smoothing every wrinkle out of her dress."Alright, let's go then. Want me to walk in front of you so you can oogle my arse some more?"-With all the skill of an excellently trained Auror, read: excellently trained liar, Clara’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I was referring to the demon you just smuggled out the window! I always pegged out as the ‘like it rough’ type.” Her head tilts curiously, voice pitched in utter bewilderment at the almost smug expression threatening to split across the dark woman’s face. “Why on earth would I be referring to the Minister?”Clara’s hazel eyes roll in annoyance as the witch so purposefully takes longer. “Yeah actually, since you’re offering and all. Would’ve liked to see it bare, though. Sigh, maybe next time.” Clara pretends to fawn dramatically before scoffing and striding out of the small study-turned bedroom before Bellatrix had the chance.“Into the fireplace, cretin.”-Clara wasn't the only one trained with a sharp mind, and as she stood she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why? Well you were the one who said I was lucky it was Hermione and not you, if not the lovely bruising on my shoulders what were you meaning?" She blinked, if Clara thought she was afraid to tell people what Hermione had done to her, she was mistaken. All that fear and upset had vanished with her knife slices.She makes a face when Clara mentions wanting to see her arse bare. Disgusting.She very casually meandered out of the room and down to the fireplace. "Hmm, do all Aurors call people names or just you?" She rolled her eyes and stepped inside. "Well? I don't know where I'm going, you're my chaperone."-Clara’s head tilts again as she stares at the woman standing in the fireplace. “Those were two completely separate thoughts, Lestrange.” The Auror says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.“Asked if you were battling demons then was on you about moving the Minister’s desk. It was all she’d talk about last night. Hermione’s level headed but had it been me..well things just would have been different.” The brunette shrugs, stepping into the floo after grabbing a bit of powder. “And it’s not just me, you’ve met Ronald now haven’t you?”“Ministry of Magic.” Clara commands, tossing down the bit of floo and the pair disappears in a roar of green flames.-"Oh yes, quite familiar with Weasel breath." Bellatrix answered, shifting inside the fireplace and 'accidentally' stepping on Clara's foot with her boot as she did. Oops.She waits until the tossing and turning of the Floo fades and they land in the Ministry of Magic, eager to get away from Clara and get this ridiculous meeting over with. She didn't even know what a mind healer was nor why she was being made to visit one."I can take myself, which way do I go?" She asks, though she had a feeling Clara was to accompany her the entire way there.A few people paused to stare at her as they went past and she just rolled her eyes. At least she looked decent this time."Mm and since you're so interested in what I do in my bed, you should know bruising is child's play compared to what I could do to your lovely skin."-Clara ignores the purposeful step, dusts herself off as they land, and strides into the bustling Ministry. “You, go somewhere alone?” The Auror snorts. “Not bloody likely.”The witch nods respectfully to passing coworkers, standing closer to Bellatrix than either of them would have preferred.“Move towards the lifts, Lestrange.” Clara instructs, voice slipping into her typical hardened formal expression. A smirk ghosts at the corners of her lips as they begin to make their way to the lifts, leaning so close that her breath is on the back of the Slytherin’s neck.“Aw I hadn’t realized you were capable of compliments, you’re too kind to me.”-Rolling her eyes Bellatrix walks in the direction of the lifts, resisting the powerful urge to turn around and either smack Clara across the face or pitch her down the nearest corridor. “I’m excellent at compliments. Especially when they involve picturing your olive complexion covered in blood and knife slashes.” She purred back in response, stepping into the lift and gripping the nearest handrail as it shot forwards. A mind healer. What absolute rubbish, and a waste of time. What were they assessing now? Everyone already thought she was gone off the deep end, did they really need an official declaration like this? She’d just smile and nod, craft a bunch of bollocks about wanting to redeem herself and then she could go back to bed. She needed a decent bath too.-“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Lestrange.” Clara purrs back darkly, hazel eyes flashing with something unidentifiable. Did Bellatrix think she scared Clara? She certainly didn’t.Clara follows Hermione’s directions, glancing down at her pocket to read the note she’d written them on. “Don’t know what you’ll need with a mind healer.” The Auror informs, superiority evident in her tone. “Can’t fix what’s already so badly broken.” When the lift comes to a jerking halt she pokes the death eater in the back, urging her forwards.“Out, door at the end of the hall. You’re not scared, are you?”-"Then I suppose this will be a quick visit then." Bellatrix retorts back with a roll of her eyes, nearly stumbling forwards when the lift stopped so suddenly, but grateful to be allowed to exit on her own."Aww you're not going to hold my hand and walk me in Clara?" She mockingly pouted and batted her lashes at her. "Scared? Why on earth would I be scared of a pointless Ministry mandated meeting? You're the one who should be scared, your career in jeopardy after breaking the law and all." She flashed a grin and then started down the corridor, her heels clicking on the floor as she went in silence. Something about this place was oddly...familiar. Though she was certain she'd never been here before, never even heard of a Mind Healer before. That was it, they've probably repurposed the space, perhaps her father had taken her here once to visit business associates. Yes, that was it.-Clara shrugs casually, reaching out and grabbing the death eater’s hand. “Since you insist, I’ll walk to you to the door.” She says, in a forced cheerful tone, stepping out of the lift and following Bellatrix down the hall.Hazel eyes narrow at the jab to her career but she elects to stay silent on the matter. She is on the clock and needs to maintain her professionalism. Besides, Hermione had already assured her there was no threat to her job from Lestrange and Skeeter’s silly little article. “Ah, I’ve forgotten, the big bad death eater isn’t afraid of anything at all. You’re right, it would be silly to fear anything in Sylvia’s office.”Clara frowns at the almost creeping pace the older witch is setting. “For the love of Merlin the mind healer won’t bite you!” Clara scoffs, dropping the hand she was holding (more so gripping uncomfortably tight) and striding in front of Bellatrix to shove the door open. “After you.” She says with exaggerated faux courtesy, gesturing with her arm to get in the waiting room.Hermione startles as the door opens, immediately standing from the chair she had been sitting in and setting the book on trauma processing down on the end table. “Ah, Clara. Thank you.” She nods, skillfully keeping her gaze from Bellatrix’. “Sylvia should be done any moment, I think we can manage from here.”-Bellatrix scowls when Clara grabs her hand, leading her along the hallway like she was a toddler. "Oh? You my Mummy now? Walking me to preschool?" She rolled her eyes, but something in Clara's tone made her pause, halting in the corridor. Now why did that sound as if there was something in that office to fear? Slowly she resumed walking, creeping along towards their destination, eyes flickering about her, suddenly on her guard, reassured by the pressure of her wand against her hip.Once they reach the door, Bellatrix pauses again to read the nameplate on the door before Clara is impatiently gesturing her in and she walks inside, scowling to see Hermione there. "You can go now Mummy, Bella made it safe and sound." She said in a mocking voice, pitching her voice a little as she did and making a show of wiping her hand on her dress, eyes drifting down towards the book Hermione had been reading. Trauma? Minister life too much? Was she considering a career change to medicine?-“Now, now darling I’ve told you more than once you’re to call me Daddy.” Clara volleyed back, though hazel eyes were rolling with the utmost annoyance, her hand also dragging against her pants as if trying to wipe the feeling of Bellatrix’  hand away.Hermione barely manages to stifle a derisive snort. Clara flashes her a pearly white grin before nodding in acknowledgment. She’d like to ask Hermione if she’s certain she wouldn’t feel better if the Auror stayed a while longer but that would be too telling to the irritating woman beside her, besides the Minister is her boss after all. “Very well Minister, I’ll be off then.”Giving Hermione a last look of encouragement, Clara turns and exits the space. The Minister clears her throat, fidgeting hands finding occupation in straightening her suit jacket, and opens her mouth to speak, luckily though she wouldn’t have to. At that moment the door beside her swings open, a tall woman with a jet black pixie cut stepping into view.“I’m ready for her Minister.” The woman says, stepping forwards and extending her hand to Bellatrix. “You must be Bellatrix.” She says, something of a put on smile painting her expression, speaking as though the dark witch’s identity was one she’d never heard before. “I am Dr. Dumont, but I’d prefer it if you called me Sylvia.”-Bellatrix pretends to gag when Clara calls herself 'Daddy', beginning to wander around the room, examining artwork and the furniture, hands behind her back so no one could accuse her of touching or stealing anything.She turns her attention towards the sound of the opening door furrowing her brow at the witch whose hand was extended towards her. This doctor couldn't have been more than mid-twenties and that hair cut was strange. "Oh, so you have heard of me? I was worried you wouldn't be up to speed doctor. Forgive me for not shaking your hand but I don't know where yours has been." She flashed a fake smile and waited to be ushered into the room, hoping the Minister wouldn't be getting up to follow.-Sylvia retracts her hand not looking the slightest bit offended. It was common for Ministry mandated patients to be resistant to her presence.The mind healer merely laughs lightly at Bellatrix’ sarcasm. “Well of course I’ve heard of you, but I don’t take what I hear of others with more than a grain of salt. Wouldn’t be very good at my job if I took everything the rumour mill spits out to heart, now would I?”Her attention turns momentarily to Hermione. “Will you come in for the introductions or shall we just jump right into it?” The Minister shakes her head. “No, no. Nothing the three of us need to discuss today. Just please keep in mind the things I mentioned earlier.” Hermione declines, casting a cautious eye in Bellatrix’ direction.“Alright then understood, Minister. Bella, do you mind if I call you Bella? Follow me.”-Bellatrix' eyes narrowed, she already didn't like this woman, she never liked people who tried to act like they were friends the second they met."Too bad, quite a lot of it is true." She shrugged, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when it was confirmed that the Minister would in fact not be following them into the room. She had an idea what those things she mentioned earlier were. She was half expecting to be cuffed when she walked through the door."If you must call me anything, use my full name. Addressing me by a nickname seems rather unprofessional don't you think?" She asked, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress and muttering. "Let's get this over with.” Under her breath,-“If you see it as unprofessional then my sincerest apologies, Bellatrix. I merely want you to feel comfortable with me, which will only come with time I know, but anything I can do to smooth the transition you just let me know.” Sylvia replies silkily, leading the infamous witch down a short hallway to her office door which she pulls open and gestures the woman inside.The mind healer shivers slightly as she enters the small room. A plush sofa sat parallel to a cushy armchair in the centre of the room, a small coffee table between them. Toys like exploding snap, wizard chess pieces, chocolate frog cards, and dolls are strewn across the table and line the surrounding bookshelves. Sylvia unholsters her wand and flicks it to pick up and put away the objects.“So sorry, my previous client is a touch  younger than you.” She laughs, buttoning up her cardigan and crosses the room to take her seat. Her eyes linger disapprovingly in the corner of the room where fear personified was floating. “I apologize for the chill but protocol is not to be neglected. Should today go well, he won’t be here next week.” Sylvia supplies, her eyes refocusing from behind Bellatrix’ shoulder to her dark eyes.-"As I'm only here on a mandate from the Minister, I do not think there's anything which would make me comfortable." Bellatrix rolled her eyes, shivering a little as they approached the office."Merlin, can't the Minister afford heat for this place?" She muttered under her breath before following Sylvia into the small office, her eyes travelling over the various toys and following her gaze, interested to know what she was staring at so disapprovingly and finding herself staring at the faceless omen of death she knew too well.She hadn't heard the rest of the woman's explanation. Staring off a moment with her mouth opening and closing a few times before she let loose an ear splitting shriek and fell to her knees where she stood, covering her head with her hands and clenching her eyes shut.Her blood felt like it had turned to ice. The breaths between her screams were nothing but laboured pants. Just enough to get more oxygen into her lungs to keep screaming."NO! NO THIS ISN'T FAIR YOU TRICKED ME!"-Hermione watches the pair disappear into the hallway of offices she herself knows very well. Just beginning to decide if she’ll sit and wait to speak with Sylvia or come back once the hour is up when she hears it. Her heart sinks though the floor, tearing the door open and sprinting down the hallway. “Sylvia!” She yells, trying in vain to keep the panic from her voice, fumbling hard with the door handle.Inside the office Sylvia has leapt up from the chair, alarm evident in her expression and tone. “No, no Bellatrix! Bellatrix, hon it’s alright. It’s alright he won’t hurt you.” The mind healer tries to soothe over the ear splitting shrieks, taking cautious steps towards the former death eater.The door flies open and Hermione stands there, wand in hand, taking only half a moment to process the scene in front of her. Oh. It wasn’t Sylvia who had screamed. Oh. Bellatrix is…well she’s one the ground and—Oh. “Don’t touch her!” Hermione barks suddenly, wand trained on the mind healer unintentionally. The minister startles herself with own words, reholstering her wand and slowly crouching down beside the shrieking woman.“Bellatrix, take a breath and listen to me.” Against her better judgement her hands extend to grasp at the other’s wrists, holding each firmly and slowly pulling them away from her head. “I need you to listen. No one’s tricked you. It’s procedure. Been that way for years now, I forgot. Honestly, I’m so stupid I forgot, you’re only here to talk to Sylvia. I swear to it.” She shivers almost violently, she hadn’t been so close to a dementor since her third year and the memory of it is nearly all consuming. The Gryffindor can’t even begin to imagine the panic the older witch was experiencing due to it.-Bellatrix was shivering so violently she was near convulsing on the floor, her lips and fingertips blue. Just seeing that Dementor and she'd been hurled back into Azkaban, nearly choking on the salty air she swore she could taste around her.No, no she wanted to go home, she couldn't die like this, not a Dementor's kiss like Barty!As loud as the room had become with her screaming, Sylvia's coaxing and Hermione yelling, it was like she was underwater, all the sounds muffled and ringing in her ears like she was half deaf.The witch jumped when there was sudden pressure on her hands, prying her nails out of her hair and scalp and it's enough to almost bring her back to reality and she opens her eyes, startled to be looking into familiar brown ones when she does and the sound in the room comes rushing back.'No one's tricked you' and 'Only here to talk to Sylvia' come through and she stares, taking another glance at the cloaked creature floating in the corner."It...It won't h-hurt me? K-kiss me?" Her teeth are still chattering and she's forcing the words out, in too much shock to realize or care how vulnerable she was being in this moment.-Sympathetic brown hues flicker down to shaking blue lips for a fraction of a moment, Hermione’s grip tightening slightly on the other's hands.“No dementors kiss. I promise. I know my word might not mean much to you, but I do everything in my power to keep my word good.” She reassured with a purposeful opening for a sarcastic jab. Knowing the panic of being far too open in front of the wrong people. She didn’t want to handle this as she did yesterday. The Minister needed to prove to Bellatrix emotion isn’t a weakness.Staring at the woman as silent realization creeps over the pair of them, brown eyes again flicker downwards breaking the gaze with Bellatrix’ onyx hues, and her hands slowly retreat.“Do-Don’t hurt yourself…just don’t hurt yourself.” Hermione says as she straightens up, throat clearing as if trying to clear away the sudden awkwardness of the situation.“Sylvia, if it’s quite alright with you I’ll—“ The minister starts but Sylvia interrupts.“Of course, forgive me for saying so Minister but I never found it appropriate to have them here. Mind healing is difficult enough as it is.”Hermione stares, realization creeping into her brain that this procedure has probably only ever caused more harm than good. She nods slowly. “Right…thank you, my apologies Sylvia.”With that the Minister makes a swift exit, the dementor floating out behind her.Sylvia exhales, striding over to a cabinet and produces a bag of chocolate kisses. She’s back by Bellatrix’ side in an instant, sitting herself on the floor and sliding the chocolate over.“Here honey, it’ll help.”-Bellatrix just sat a moment, Hermione holding her wrists and staring almost desperately into Hermione's eyes, nodding at the response that the Dementor wasn't here to deliver a kiss of death to her.She feels the same realization and looks at her hands, fidgeting with her skirt as the Minister stands. She shivers once more as the Dementor floats past and only looks up once she hears the door click shut and warmth starts to flood slowly back into her body.'Stand. You need to stand, you're still on the floor.' She told herself, but knew without even trying that she didn't have that strength quite yet.She stares at the odd silver cone she's been handed. "What's that?" She asks, trying to inject some sort of venom into her tone.-"It's chocolate. Helps with the shaky hollowness those things like to leave behind. It makes me upset to know you wouldn't have been given proper looking after during your time in Azkaban." The last sentence is added most sympathetically.Sylvia reaches out to pick up a chocolate that had slipped out of the bag as she slid it over, unwrapping the foil and popping the confection into her mouth."I never much appreciated having them sit in on sessions, no matter who the client is. It starts the relationship off on a feeling of mistrust and that is always the wrong approach to mind healing in my opinion." Sylvia says with the shake of her head. "Go on hon, eat." She coaxes. "You're shaking like a leaf, would you like a glass of water?"-Hearing Sylvia use the words 'proper looking after' and 'Azkaban' in the same sentence makes her snort with derision, at the same time she cautiously nibbles at the strange shaped chocolate."Oh no, got loads of looking after. Lovely sheets to wear, filthy water to drink. The Ministry was even kind enough to supply us with company, you couldn't move for rats and Dementors. If ever you were lonely, one would just float up to your cell unannounced. Never had to worry what you looked like, too dark to see your hand in front of your face." her hand lifts to brush fingertips against the tattoo she knew was beneath the heavy curls, shoving the rest of the chocolate into her mouth and forcing herself to her feet.She didn't want Sylvia's sympathy or pity or care, she was just fine. She didn't need coddling just because she'd seen one of those things.Ignoring the offer of water, she marched over to the sofa and sat in it, arms crossed over her chest. "Well go on then, examine me."-“It was so different then.” Sylvia says, raising to her feet as Bellatrix does. “I’ve many clients who are coping with time served before the current Minister’s first term. I’ve one client swears up, down and sideways they were only bathed upon arrival and never again.”Crossing the room she sits in her arm chair across from Bellatrix. “I of course believe him. I believe all of my clients.” She laughs a bit when Bellatrix encourages her to begin her ‘examination’.“Is that how you think mind healing works? A bit like an annual exam?” Sylvia shakes her head, leaning forwards and resting her elbows on her knees. “Merlin, the Minister really didn’t prepare you much for this, did she? In any case, why don’t you tell me more about Azkaban. It will help me better understand my other clients. I’m certain none of them had to endure a significant fragment of what you were put through but I digress.”-It was...strange to hear someone else talk about Azkaban, someone who hadn't actually been there. There had been two sides to the coin, Cissy had wanted to know, wanted to know exactly the horrors her sister had been through so she could try to help. Rabastan and her hadn't talked about it. They didn't need to, they'd both lived it. Suffered what a burden 'freedom' suddenly felt like. That same war was waging in her head, she didn't want to tell Sylvia things, but when she kept making comments like that she itched to haul open Pandora's box and show her, make her understand. "Oh, are we re-terming waterboarding as a bath now? I'll have to edit my diary entries." She retorted, weighing the significance of answering more but as Sylvia supposedly had others already speaking of it to her,  it seemed less of a risk."Ever felt 14 years worth of dirt on your skin? There's not enough baths to wash away that feeling. It made for good Prophet photographs though, surely you've seen mine?" She asked, knowing (and hating) that half the magical world had seen that picture of her in chains yelling at the Prophet photographer half mad. "If we were unclean, ragged, half our teeth rotted out, we looked feral. Unhuman. It was easier to leave us like that. Animals in a cage. Just counting down the days until our clocks ran out."When she spoke it was calm, no hint of fear or anger or sadness. Just like explaining to someone how to best grow fennel in the gardens, but her tongue was carefully tracing the shapes of her cosmetically repaired teeth, counting them.-Sylvia keeps her expression neutral. Correctly deducing Bellatrix didn’t want or need her sympathetic looks. Though she shivers slightly to even imagine the conditions Bellatrix was so calmly describing.“No, I can’t say that I have.” She replies simply, sitting back in her chair before nodding shortly. “Yes, I have seen the Prophet. A bit hard not to as I’d just begun studying mind healing then.”Sylvia listens, it’s what she’s best at, giving no outward signs of distress or upset at the way Bellatrix talked of such inhumane keeping. “It’s always easier to justify abuse if you frame the victim as deserving of it.” The witch says just as nonchalant as Bellatrix.“That was the problem with the system prior. Used the Prophet to sway public opinion to justify anything they pleased. It’s not like that anymore. Minister Granger would never.”-Bellatrix narrows her eyes with suspicion, Sylvia almost sounded /against/ the way the Ministry had treated them all. She’d never heard anyone disagree before. Imply she’d deserved better.‘She’s just lying, trying to get you to be vulnerable so she can finally tell you how batshit she thinks you are. The final proof to lock you away.’ She tells herself mentally. Unable to stop herself from mimicking. “Minister Granger would never.” And rolling her eyes. “Oh I’ve heard this spiel before, they’d never, it’s different. Azkaban is still standing.There are still people in that stinking hell pit. Put there by Minister Granger and her sidekicks. If it weren’t for the Minister’s little rehab project I’d be there too. She has no problem handing others the same fate. The difference is she’s tolerated.” Bellatrix sat back teeming with fury. How dare this woman try and lie to her! Try to feed her some ‘Good Granger’ propaganda when Rabastan was locked up there at this very moment!-Sylvia laughs, genuinely, at Bellatrix’ mocking.“Oh, you have a sense of humour. I understand things may not seem very different from where you’re sitting, with all the things you’ve seen in your life, but I promise you things are different. Things are better, if only marginally.” The mind healer informs.Her brow furrows only slightly at the thoughts in the dark witch’s head because, yes, she can hear them. A gift that led her into mind healing to begin with. Though she makes no comment and offers no reassurance.“The Minister really  hasn’t told you anything, has she?” Is what she offers instead. “Yes, Azkaban still stands but it’s nothing like you knew it to be. With all the renovations you wouldn’t recognize it, I’m certain. Proper size cells, beds that aren’t just the freezing concrete, washing and toilet facilities in each cell, Auror guards instead of only dementors. I wouldn’t mindlessly support the Minister if there wasn’t anything worth backing.”-Bellatrix grit her teeth, she hated being laughed at and she hadn’t been trying to be funny! “Shocking isn’t it? That little Miss Minister hasn’t sat and chatted with me.” She rolled her eyes, of course no one would tell her anything, why would they? They didn’t trust her! Her brow furrows a moment, she felt almost an awareness that her thoughts weren’t private. Like the curtains were open. Blinking she forces the walls back up, reinforcing them. It wasn’t possible. All questions about why she’d felt that when neither Rabastan or The Dark Lord were around came to a screeching halt as Sylvia began explaining the changes to Azkaban. A bed. Sinks and toilets. Human guards.Her eyes smart without her permission, just staring through the pricking tears at the woman. Was she lying? Did…did Rab have a bed? Were the inmates truly not being tormented by Dementors every waking hour?‘The Aurors could be just as bad, remember how the Weasel boy threatened you.’ She reminds herself. Still..if it was true; that changed things.-Sylvia’s brows raise subtly as the walls of the other’s mind rebuild with almost alarming force. Still she skirts around this by pretending to be surprised at the display of emotion.“I’m certain if you wanted to, and only if you wanted to, Minister Granger would be more than pleased to give you a tour. She’s very…proud of the work she’s done.” The mind healer says leaving her tone open to interpretation.“I do hate to derail this conversation however the Minister brought a few things to my attention and I do need to discuss them with you before I give her my thoughts.” Sylvia picks up her notebook from the side table, flickering through it until she lands on her notes from the Minister.“Now, first and foremost Bellatrix, whatever you say in this room shall remain as such. Unless you happen to express thoughts or desires to harm yourself or others. Then I would need to get some others involved to further access. Just my usual disclaimer before we get much further.”She checks for signs of acknowledgment before flipping the page. “Now, the Minister mentioned you may have earned some privileges. Hm, already. That’s rather impressive.” She offers a genuine smile. “An extended curfew and unchaperoned visits to the alley are what have been proposed so far. Can you tell me why the Minister might have brought these forwards so soon?”-A tour? Would they just show her the halls or would she get to see Rab? Would they let her? Her mouth goes dry, envisioning it in her head, seeing him, feeling his hands through the bars and just getting to know he’s alive. Telling him she is too. Maybe she can get him out.Her thoughts are interrupted when Sylvia’s voice comes back into focus and she’s missed some of what has been said and just nods, hoping that was the appropriate response. It seemed to be. The woman flicked through some pages and Bella just stared at what Sylvia said next.. Lowered restrictions? When had those been decided? “What have I done? I’ve done nothing, just simply proved I won’t commit murder and arson at the break of Dawn.” If the Minister wanted to spend less time babysitting her and that was more than alright with the dark witch.-“So you don’t believe yourself deserving at little more freedom?” Sylvia asks in a voice that hints at playfulness.“Not committing arson so early in the morning is hardly what the Minister must be referring to, I’m certain. In any case, tell me. Tell me what benefit looser restrictions would have on your mental health.” The mind healer inquires, shifting to tuck one of her feet beneath her as she sat, looking expectantly at the older witch.-Bellatrix stares at the woman, an almost burning gaze. "I don't believe I was deserving of the restrictions in the first place." She replied, feeling her chest constrict with just the idea of saying anything further."My mental what?" She snorts and rolls her eyes, did this woman know how to speak normally?"Ignoring that, the benefit is that I'm treated like a person instead of the Minister's pet. I did nothing wrong except apparently NOT DIE!" She shouted.-Sylvia sniffs and gives a cursory cough to conceal to snort she’d like to give. Hearing in Bellatrix’ thoughts a moment from a few days prior which was playing in her head. The Minister cooing ‘good girl!’ at the renowned death eater in the lift.“Mental health. The health of your consciousness. Very important, often neglected.” She explains, noting the hardened expression the other’s face had taken on. “Now Bellatrix, you’re smarter than that. This isn’t about you not dying, this is about the threat you pose to society without proper checks and balances. I know Voldemort is dead but what’s to stop you from continuing on where he left off? Of becoming say a ‘she-who-must-not-be-named’?” She raises a brow at Bellatrix allowing her to think on it a moment.“Yes, exactly. You’ve done many things in your life to cause the ministry to be doubtful of your intentions. You’ll need to take accountability and rebuild the trust you broke.”-Ah there we go, little miss doctor, only here to help still thought her a nasty little witch.Bellatrix just stares at Sylvia, and then she just smirks. "Oh Doctor, don't you think if I wanted to try, I would have in the last 2 decades? You think I'd wait to be found before going about raising an army? Do it while residing in the Minister's home? You lot really must think me stupid? Oh, no my mistake, the word you'd want is crazy." She spat and stood up."I've had my trial, I admitted to everything I'd done, I've served 14 years in Azkaban. I've lost my family, my husband, my identity and my freedom. And I'll be damned if I let you or anyone else take any more from me because I haven't satisfied your requirements for accountability and penance!" She shouts, her chest heaving.-Sylvia waits with a look of patience and sympathy though, as Bellatrix continues on her brows slowly knit together and the faintest of frowns appears on her lips.“Have you finished? Gotten all that nasty emotion untangled and out now?” Sylvia asks in a soft tone that dances the line of patronizing and genuinely kind. “No one called you stupid Bellatrix, or crazy, and those who do aren’t worth your thought.” Her voice is firmer now but not stern, just emphasizing her point.“No, in fact we know you to be very intelligent. We know you wouldn’t wait to raise an army and we don’t have any evidence to say you haven’t started already. Nothing but your own word. Which, forgive me, doesn’t mean much at the minute. You served those 14 years for a crime you committed before the second war and I will not shy away from reminding you that your first sentence had been life. Your second trial however, withthe Minister’s reform plan, let you retain many freedoms you were previously denied. Your losses in this last war are as immeasurable as our own. No one is denying you of that Bellatrix, and no one is trying to take anymore than we have. The goal here is more freedom, not less.”-Bellatrix just stared at Sylvia, unable to read whether the tone was mocking or not, suddenly angry at herself for displaying any ‘nasty emotions’ in front of her. Wordlessly she takes her seat again, her features rearranging themselves. Unbothered. Calm. “If you all know of my intelligence, you’d also know that I’ve already determined raising an army to be fruitless, a waste of time and energy to continue waging a war that cannot be won. If my capture is any indication, the power of the Ministry has extended beyond Britain, alliances have been forged and I am not fool enough to think I can overthrow the UK and the rest of Europe all at once. That is a level of hubris that would be detrimental and one I do not possess.” She answers cooly. Of course she’d considered it the few years after the Battle, picking up where the Dark Lord had left off, before their focus had shifted to hunting teenagers. Doing so required numbers she didn’t and could not attain and the attempt had never been made. At the mention of her sentencing being life she smirked. “Well, is it my fault it wasn’t as secure a fortress as they thought? Two escaped before me and then ten at once, and then what was that another six the following August? I do hope these new walls are stronger if the Minister intends people to stay.” And if they weren’t..Bellatrix had her way to Rab, he’d have already discovered any weak points in the rock by now, she could use those. She kicks her feet up on the table in front of her and rolls her eyes. More freedoms, might as well promise to make her hair fall straight. “Fine, what else does the Ministry want? A written apology to those Aurors? A paid donation for a house elf statue?” She asked, genuinely curious what it would take to ‘repair the trust and take accountability’-“Emotion is good Bellatrix. It’ll do you good to not suppress it.” Sylvia says in a manner that makes it nothing more than a passing comment, something to be grazed over.Her eyes narrow faintly as that cocksure smirk slips into place, immediately scribbling something down in her notebook before flickering her eyes over to the clock.“Well, it seems as though our hour for this week is almost up.” She continues, taking the time as she speaks to decide what exactly to respond to and what to leave.“Now I know you’re not going to believe me, but know I do not lie to my clients, and I would sincerely appreciate it if you extended me the same courtesy. The Minister was very adamant. She only had one ask of you, she wants you to heal.”-Oh right, these meetings were meant to be on a weekly basis, she'd have to come back again and again."Lie? Have I lied to you doctor? I don't believe I have, I've answered every question you've asked truthfully." She blinked a few times. "Heal?" Her fingertips brush her shoulders where the bruises still were. "I don't recall having any lasting injuries that require healing, and any I might get I'm more than capable of healing myself."-Therapy has no end because life continues on. One trauma heals while another forms. Mind healing is always necessary.“I didn’t say you did Bellatrix but I’d also like you to extend our agreement towards yourself. Even if you lie to me Bellatrix, never lie to yourself.” Some parting words of wisdom.Sylvia has to chuckle lightly at the comment. It’s said so bluntly it can’t be mocking, Bellatrix truly thought her talking about physical wounds.“I’m a mind healer, not a mediwitch.” Sylvia corrects gently. “We’ll be working on healing your traumas but I digress. A conversation for a later time. You did rather brilliantly for your first session, all things considered.” She says, standing and extending a hand before quickly retracting it.“Right, don’t know where I’ve been now do you?” She smiles.-Bellatrix would like to roll her eyes at being told not to lie to herself but she manages to restrain herself from doing so, instead just staring blankly at the words 'heal your traumas' what  in Salazar did that mean?Subconsciously she straightens up, flushing a little at the praise she had done well. Muscle memory makes her head lower and her eyes close, opening them when Sylvia parrots her words from earlier back to her and she feels her face heat, standing quickly."Suppose I'll get the pleasure of your company again next week then." She strides towards the door and opens it, wondering if she's permitted to leave on her own or if another 'chaperone' was waiting in the reception area.-With Bellatrix’ eyes closed, for those few moments, Sylvia allows her eyebrows to shoot up. Ah, still subservient to Voldemort she sees and quietly wonders what exactly was the trigger for the near bow.With the thought to add this to her notes once Bellatrix left, Sylvia pretends not to notice the colour the Slytherin’s cheeks take on. Simply saying. “I’ll be recommending unsupervised Diagon Alley visits. However I believe your curfew should stay relatively the same for now. It was a pleasure meeting you Bellatrix, and I’ll see you next week.The mind healer nods before stepping over to open the door.“I believe someone, an Auror, should be in the waiting room for you.”Though it isn’t an Auror at all waiting for Bellatrix. It’s the Minister and oh does she look livid. Her brows knitted into a tight scowl, one foot tapping anxiously on the floor in front of where she sat, as she worries at the fingernails on her left hand. Until that is she hears the door click open, and then shut again, and her features immediately right themselves. Her hand pulling away from her mouth with such force she draws blood but doesn’t pay it any mind as she quickly stands from her chair, eyeing Bellatrix cautiously.-With her face turned away from Sylvia, Bellatrix' eyes widened just a little to hear the recommendation. No more traipsing around the alley with the Minister in tow?Speaking of the Minister, what had her looking so furious? Bellatrix walks to the chair she’s sat in and blinks at her. "She's still alive, don't worry." Wondering for the moment if the cautious look was because she might have attacked the mind healer and then she meets those brown eyes and remembers.She'd been on the floor, screaming and rocking back and forth. The Minister had grabbed her hand, comforted her. Removed the Dementor from the room."I'm sure she'll give you a full report." She answers a bit flatly.-Hermione stares back into hardened black hues, also remembering just over an hour ago when these same eyes were brimming with tears. Thinking of how Bellatrix had trembled, her body and voice, with a kind of fear that was all encompassing. She winces slightly to even recall the panicked screams. It had been so raw, so real, so human. “Good, then you passed your first day of therapy.” Hermione counters her own tone falling just as flat. Her eyes following her thoughts down to Bellatrix’ lips for a fraction of a second before shooting over to the chairs “She won’t tell me anything unless you’re intending to hurt yourself. That’s not just a lie to get you to tell her more, it’s the law.” Hermione informs, shifting slightly on her feet as her brain refocuses on the tasks at hand. “In any case..” She says, sounding miles away. “back to the house, I suppose.”-"Actually, Sylvia said I did brilliantly for my first time." It's hard to hide the genuine pride in her voice as she says it."She's recommending I be allowed to shop alone." She adds in, just a bit smug she'd gotten something.In all honesty Bellatrix was exhausted, she had spun through so many emotions in the last hour, her head hurt and she wanted to go back to the house and sleep. "Yes back to the house, unless you've got any other friends for me to meet."-“Good, good.” Hermione nods, not absorbing any of what the other woman was saying. Eyes focused in Bellatrix’ direction but looking past her. “Yes I recommended that.” She supplies, managing to catch the proud lilt to the dark witch’s voice. “No, no friends.” The Minister assures, turning to exit the waiting area hoping Bellatrix will just follow suit. “No..friends.” She repeats much quieter, more to herself than to Bellatrix as the words settle uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Clara had been typing away at a report when a memo floated into her office on the Minister's personal stationary, requesting her presence in her office.

Odd.

Perhaps Hermione wanted to chat about how Bellatrix’ mind healing had gone. She hadn't heard about any reported fires or injuries to the Mind Healer but that didn't mean Lestrange hadn't tried.

Smoothing her jacket, she knocked on the already open door and strode inside. "You wanted to see me, Minister?" She asked, a confused smile on her face as she entered.

Hazel eyes roved around the room and over Hermione. Nothing seemed out of place, not that it usually was, but she caught sight of the Minster anxiously wringing her hands. Oh in the name of Rowena what had happened?

-

The Minister startles slightly as the door to her office begins to creek open, immediately pulling her hand away from her mouth where she'd been worrying at the nail of her ring finger in favour of wringing her hands together in front of her.

"Come in Clara, close the door." She says forcing her voice to stay level and putting on a straining smile. "Sit, please." She nods to the chair in front of her desk but Clara doesn't sit. The Auror felt the tension in the room.

"I think I'm most comfortable standing, Minister." The other brunette says most formally, her shoulders straightening slightly as she speaks.

Hermione inhales sharply, allowing her stance to mirror Clara's. She wasn't a friend right now, she was the Minister of Magic. She could not let her emotions get the better of her in this meeting, so she simply lets them slip away with her exhale. "Very well then. We need to have a discussion about the Prophet's special edition."

-

Clara blinks once, then a second time as Hermione brings up the Prophet article from yesterday, a soft exhale as the explanation comes.

“Minister, there’s no need. It’s yesterday's news, quite literally. No one’s fussed about it now and most thought it was rubbish to begin with. Hardly anyone takes the Skeeter girl seriously, lots of dislike for her, just like her mother. No one truly believes you’re doing anything but a wonderful job as Minister.” Clara steps forwards, hoping her words have soothed the anxieties she’s sure have been eating away at the brunette since yesterday and reaches for the hand Hermione had previously been wringing.

-

Oh. Oh Godric, Clara thought she was just anxious. Hermione’s lips purse, trying to subtly move her hand away from Clara’s grip.

“No, I mean, yes…thank you Clara.” She nods, turning towards the window for a moment to gather her thoughts. Just rip the bandaid off Granger. Can’t start rebuilding until it breaks.

“I know people have moved on, and it’s really quite a relief they don’t take Anita anymore serious than they did Rita.” She looks back at the Auror, sympathy etched into her features. “However, in the event Bellatrix decides to go to the Wizengamont with this issue, I need to be able to prove that proper action was taken.”

Her chin lifts slightly as if trying to convince herself of confidence she didn’t actually possess. “I need to put you on the desk Clara, just for a little while, nothing permanent.”

-

Clara tried not to be too stung that Hermione had moved

away

from her comforting touch instead of into it as she’d done the night previously. Something was definitely wrong and when Hermione again speaks, the Auror is left dumbfounded.

“Sorry, I think I misunderstood you, Minister. Desk probation seems a bit extreme for some rubbish Lestrange asked her fling to write to try and make you look incapable.”

Surely this was a joke. Any minute now Hermione would crack a smile and laugh. But practical jokes weren’t commonly done by the Minister.

-

No, it wasn’t a joke although Hermione very much wished it was. Honey brown hues meet confused hazel optics but quickly tear away.

“It’s just a precaution, Clara. Sixty days, and not a moment longer. We can never be too careful.” She hopes that this will suffice, that Clara will

understand.

“My hands are tied.. “ She says rather apologetically.

-

Clara was reaching out to grab Hermione’s hand again, clearly she was more anxious about this article then she had even thought, pulling her hand back as the details of her probation were spoken.

“Sixty days? For taunting Lestrange? You’re going to pull me off active Auror duty for nearly two

months

because of some ruddy love letters?!” Her tone has raised more than she’d meant but this was mental!

A wave of her hand and the still open door shuts. “Harry and Ron illegally arrested her in a

foreign

country and they got a slap on the wrist!” Clara’s hazel eyes had hardened with her outrage, this wasn’t fair!

“What do you mean your hands are tied! Who would believe or care if she did go to Wizengamot! You read that letter too!” Her chest was heaving, staring at the woman she’d thought was her friend. Who’d assured her not even twenty-four hours ago this was nothing of consequence.

“Hermione, you’re supposed to be my friend!”

-

Hermione’s eyes flicker briefly to Clara’s hand as it advances and then quickly retreats. Her heart pangs with the desire to reach out and take it. To soothe Clara’s anxieties as she’d done for Hermione.

“It’s just procedure, Clara. Sixty days is standard.” She starts but as Clara’s voice raises her expression darkens. The office door slams shut and Hermione feels her fingers flex as Clara starts tearing into her. “

Enough

Clara!” Hermione snaps back, her volume low and finite.

“As an Auror you should know the logistics of a case being brought forwards. It’s not about belief, it's about giving a fair trial. Innocent until

proven

guilty. Not the other way around, and if she throws enough of a fuss she absolutely can

prove

your guilt. I’m doing this to

protect

you Clara, it isn’t a punishment!”

Hermione is taken aback by Clara’s final declaration for a multitude of different reasons. Of

course

she was Hermione’s friend, insinuating otherwise cut deeper than anything. However Hermione was

also

the Minister of Magic, and friendship had no bearing on workplace dynamics. Clara should know that and thinking Hermione would get her off just for being her friend was insulting to the title she’d worked so hard to achieve.

“I am your friend Clara, but that doesn’t change anything at this moment. You should know that.” Hermione says, a little colder than she’d’ve liked, but it was the counterpart to Clara’s near screaming.

-

“And where was

procedure

when Weasley and Potter fucked up? What

procedure

exists to let war criminals go and live with you?” She’s staring, uncomprehendingly at the situation, throwing her hands in the air.  “Guilty of what? You think the Wizengamot will charge me for reading a letter sent to the crazy Death Eater they want to see imprisoned?”

Hermione’s tone had shifted and it indicated to the Auror that this discussion was over. The decision was final.

With trembling hands, Clara unpins her Auror badge and drops it unceremoniously onto the desk, her chest still heaving with her anger and

hurt

.

“Fine then, there’s my badge. I’ll pick it up in 60 days time, I’ll be in records if you need me

Minister

.” She turns on her heel and pauses to add over her shoulder.  “If Lestrange pulls anything else, go to Ron.”

-

“They might, Clara and if they do you’re too valuable an Auror to lose! I need to be able to prove I did take action! Harry and Ron are extenuating circumstances, I dealt with them personally and I—“

She cuts off as Clara removes her badge. Staring as it lands on her desk with a cattering bang. “Wh-No, Clara—“ Hermione visibly startles as the auror speaks, feeling as though she’d just been struck in the face. Her heart sinks low in her chest, constricting painfully as her eyes smart.

“Fine then I will!” Is all she can think to hiss after the Ravenclaw, watching her exit and all but slam the door on her way out.

Hermione stands dumbstruck, frozen in the moment for a while longer before lifting the badge and hurling it at the closed door with a shriek of frustration, tears welling and falling down freckled cheeks.

Well a breakdown certainly hadn’t been on the schedule.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Nothing kept Bellatrix occupied as much as a project and for the next two weeks, she was consumed with searching out any information possible about Azkaban. Asking Anita to bring her clippings from the Prophet archives and of course her little blonde beetle obliged, thrilled to be of help to her dear girlfriend.

Once or twice on her now unaccompanied visits to Diagon Alley, she had stood just at the foot of stairs which led to Knockturn Alley, an almost homesick feeling in the pit of her stomach to know she couldn't descend the stairs and live to tell the tale. Certain that if anyone knew what Azkaban was like on the inside, it would be someone in that alley.

The dark witch wasn't yet ready to voice any of this to the Minister, and since she had someone she was obligated to see and talk to once a week that couldn't tell the Minister anything, Sylvia had heard for the last two sessions, only anything related to Azkaban.

-

Hermione and Clara had not spoken to each other directly in approaching two weeks, and the tension when they needed to occupy the same room was palpable, causing any others that happened to be in the vicinity deep discomfort.

The Minister coped as she always did, by throwing herself into her work. Staying longer and later holed up in her office working tirelessly on a comprehensive outline of her reform plan.

Of course Bellatrix was the first, albeit unwilling, participant but hopefully with time, and positive progress being made, it could be expanded and used for others. Though of course Bellatrix would be the first, and last, to reside in her home.

She had been avoiding Bellatrix as much as possible when residing in the same home. Mostly staying closed in the library or moving to her bedroom whenever the pesky blonde reporter turned up.

Hermione had stayed with Ron the first few nights in an attempt to soothe the sting of Clara’s harsh words but eventually they fell back into their more normal routine of Ronald spending a few nights here and there.

The day dawned bright and early and the Minister rose with the sun, padding quietly into her kitchen and beginning to make her morning cuppa. Groaning silently to herself as she hears two sets of footsteps on the floor above.

-

Bellatrix had implemented a rule. Anita wasn’t to stay the night on days when she’d seen Sylvia. In her attempts to get any scrap of information, she’s deluged in detail her time there to the mind healer, almost numb as she’d described the rats, the cold and eventually the Dementor torment.

‘Never knew when they’d come, they didn’t follow a pattern or schedule. Sometimes you’d swear they never left your cell…other times you’d never see them. Couldn’t tell time in that place. No clocks, couldn’t even see the sun or moon rise.’

She’d always felt exhausted afterwards, and it took hours to recover. Anita was

never

to see her like that.

Now, the witch had reached a dead end with her searching. What she needed now was in the Records department things that weren’t public knowledge; blueprints, memos.

She’d decided today, with another mind healing appointment set for later, was the day she’d finally ask. Or she would if she hadn’t forgotten the naked blonde witch in her bed as she’d dressed to go down the stairs.

“Come back to bed Bella, we've got hours yet.” The blonde pouted and Bella wandered back to the bed to kiss pouting lips.

“Only one of us has

hours

and it’s not my darling reporter. Prophet’ll fall apart without you.” She purred.

“I’ll quit my job.” The blonde answered breathlessly. “Don’t need it, my job can just be pleasing you.”

Bellatrix laughed against her ear. “You say that every day, think the Minister would object to you moving in permanently and you know I can’t leave.”

Anita pulled on a robe, a shocking acid green one that now lived in Bellatrix’ bedroom, and followed the witch down the stairs for coffee.

“Morning Minister.” The blonde chimes with a smile, before stealing another kiss from the dark witch.

-

Hermione makes no acknowledgment of the reporter’s greeting. It’s far too early to be giving a press statement. Instead, she rubs her eyes with the back of one hand as the other adds an egregious amount of sugar to the cup she’s just poured.

Without a word the Minister walks across the kitchen, ignoring the purposeful display of affection from the blonde, and presses the mug into Bellatrix’ hands.

“Don’t forget you’ve Sylvia at three.” She reminds before turning on her heel and disappearing back into her bedroom.

Anita blinks at the hallway Hermione had just been in before blinking at Bellatrix and eyeing the cup of tea suspiciously.

“Don’t drink that. It might be poisoned.”

-

The reaction the Minister had to Bellatrix and Anita being in the kitchen wasn't anything new, Hermione had spent the last two weeks all but pretending Bellatrix didn't exist.

Still she took the cup and stared into it. "The Minister wouldn't poison me, then she'd be on probation herself." Bellatrix comments before taking a sip.

Anita had written that article expressing that the Auror had been disciplined by the Minister for her behaviour, much to the great satisfaction of Bellatrix.

Being reminded of her appointment she rolled her eyes, she wasn't ever likely to forget when she was escorted there and back every week! Setting down her cup, she traces a mark on Anita's collar bone, one her own teeth had left there the night before. "You're getting bold with where you keep them darling.."

-

“They’re souvenirs I like to show off.” Anita pouts, stealing another kiss as Bellatrix leans in. “I want people to ask~”

Anita was deranged if she thought her colleagues didn’t already

know

. They were all purposefully

not

asking any details because they didn’t

want

details.

Hermione emerges from the bedroom dressed in casual muggle clothes instead of her work robes. Fitted blue jeans and a black Guns N’ Roses concert tee, her tried and true leather boots on her feet, and long curls out of their usual tight bun and tumbling over her shoulders.

“Sausage or bacon?” She asks, turning on the stove, her voice having lost its clipped coolness gradually over the last couple weeks. “Bellatrix, sausage or bacon?”

-

"You just want to brag about how many times I can make you come." Bellatrix grinned, licking her teeth.

The dark witch blinks when Hermione comes back out not in work attire and arches a brow. "Bacon, has the Ministry dress code changed since last week?" She asks. Her nose crinkles as she tries to make sense of what Hermione's shirt said. Those jeans looked suffocating.

-

Hermione puts on enough bacon for two, and then begrudgingly adds enough for three, cracking a couple eggs and beginning to clean while everything is cooked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what’s happened.” Her eyes roll as she pours herself a cup of lukewarm tea. “I’m meeting my parents for brunch. It’s the first day they’ve no appointments in nearly six months.” Not that it was any of Bellatrix’ business but being silent in her own house was no longer working.

She catches Bellatrix eyeing her shirt and realizes maybe Nirvana or AC/DC would have been a better choice. The last thing on this earth she needs is Bellatrix Lestrange finding out what a gun is.

“What’s a gun?” Anita asks dumbly, sitting down at the table in what had irritatingly become her usual seat.

“A kind of flower.” Hermione replies without hesitation and sounding disinterested as she makes two plates. Sliding Bellatrix’ across the table to her spot and sitting with her own. “You can get your own.”

-

"Oh, so you're going to play act at being a muggle." Bellatrix sits too and then chews her lower lip.

"I was quite good at pretending to be a muggle." She almost giggles to herself and goes to answer Anita over top of Hermione's answer.

"It's not a flower, it's a medical condition muggles get. That's why you pair it with roses." She answers, quite confident in her answer and  when Hermione sits without serving Anita, she twitches her fingers, the pan of bacon and eggs hovering over in front of the blonde witch.

"Will it be Oliver or Weasel fetching me for my appointment this time?" She asks, perhaps it would be Potter, she hadn't seen him in awhile.

-

Hermione smirks into her mug of tea. Bellatrix, no matter how inadvertently, just called her a Witch. She nearly snorts tea out of her nose however when Bellatrix gives her own explanation of what a gun was.

“A medical condition!” The Minister laughs in earnest. “No, no.” She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t talk on muggle things.” Hermione says, regaining some composure. “You sound stupid.”

Ignoring the plate in front of her, Hermione simply focuses on finishing her cuppa. She probably shouldn’t eat a full breakfast when going to brunch anyway, but this was her routine and interrupting it was always a struggle.

“Me.” She replies simply to Bellatrix’ inquiry, “ I’ll be back in time to do so. I’ll need to stop by my office for some paperwork anyway.”

-

At being laughed at, Bellatrix’ cheeks took on an angry red hue. She was certain she’d read about them being a medical condition!

“Don’t call her stupid Minister! I’m sure her head is full of much more useful knowledge than Muggle nonsense!” Anita jumped to her defense almost before the words had fully left the Minister’s mouth.

Well that made it worse!

Hearing she’d be escorted to her appointment by the brunette made her ears perk up. She’d been crafting explanations in her head for why a different Auror would need to take her to the Minister after her appointment but that wasn’t necessary if Granger was there already.

“Fitting little me into your schedule? I’m flattered.” She replied through a mouthful of fried egg.

-

There’s a look of triumph dancing across the Minister’s features at the look of angry embarrassment on the former death eater. Though it is short lived as Anita begins speaking.

Hermione’s head slowly turns to properly look at the annoying reporter, fixing her with an icy stare.

“Firstly, you won’t yell in my home.” Hermione hisses, low and venomous. “And you

certainly

won’t tell me what to say or how to act, do I make myself clear? I impose enough behavioural restrictions on myself, I don’t need your assistance, thank you very much”

Standing abruptly from the table her eyes flicker back over to Bellatrix.

“As you should be.” But her voice is less authoritative than her tone with Anita. “I could have Harry pick you up if you’d prefer though, it makes no difference to me.” Bellatrix should recognize the choice being given. A small but silent peace offering.

-

Anita rolls her eyes. “So touchy about not berating a house guest..” she mumbled under her breath but Bellatrix kicked her under the table. ‘

Leave it darling

’ she whispers in her head, knowing what a thrill the blonde would get from it.

Hearing she was being given the option of which she’d rather be her chaperone she exhaled softly but shook her head. “No, no I’d rather it wasn’t Potter.” Is the closest Hermione would get to any answer indicating she

wanted

it to be the Minister.

“You’ll be my escort after too then? As per usual?” She needed it to be Hermione, else she’d be making her ask

before

mind healing and that wasn’t as likely to go as well as after.

-

Anita does little to conceal her shiver at Bellatrix’ thoughts slinking into her own. She never tired of it and was trying to learn to do the same.

Hermione nods as she starts to clean up the breakfast dishes, taking Anita’s from in front of her without a word.

“I mean it can. I wasn’t intending on it, figured you’d want to take immediate advantage of your few hours in Diagon following the session.”

Something in the dark witch’s tone has Hermione on guard. Ever the perceptive lioness, she knew when people were building up to ask something of her. However she doesn’t allow this to show outwardly. Instead simply adding,

“If you’re not wanting that, yes I’ll pick you up at four.”

-

Anita had her fork halfway to her mouth when the plate was taken and she squeaked a little in protest. Bellatrix was tiptoeing the line, if she was too eager to be alone with the Minister it would be suspicious.

“Oh no, I’ve no interest in wandering Diagon today, my parcels from the other day haven’t even arrived yet. You can fetch me at four to come back here.”

Anita was pouting, she knew session days meant a night that she didn’t get to spend in the dark witch’s bed.

-

“So be it.” Hermione says while drying her hands on a dish towel. “Anita,” She turns to the blonde. “Say goodbye to your little girlfriend and get out of my house.”

Catching sight of the time Hermione accio’s her wallet and waits for the happy couple to get on with their drawn out goodbyes.

Anita pouts further, batting her lashes at Bellatrix and expecting the older woman to put up a fight on her behalf. Surely Bellatrix wouldn’t tolerate her

girlfriend

being treated so poorly?

“Hurry along, I’ll be late if you don’t get a move on.” Hermione snaps impatiently.

“Baby~” Anita whines in a voice so petulant it makes Hermione wince.

-

Bellatrix opts to ignore Hermione, addressing the pouting blonde.

“Now now darling you know the rules, be a

good girl

and go to work and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She leans closer to whisper “Some of your marks will have healed by then and I can give you new ones.”

Seemingly placated by Bellatrix’ promise, Anita pecks her lips, once, twice, a third much longer kiss before disappearing upstairs to redress. Another full snog trying to sneak her tongue in the older woman’s mouth this time, before she reluctantly disappeared out the door and down the walkway.

Bellatrix, still seated at her place, decides to make one more comment to hopefully earn her brownie points for later.

“Thanks by the way, for letting Anita spend the nights here. I know you don’t like her but, glad you don’t throw her out.” Before Hermione can answer Bellatrix is up and out of her seat, heading up the stairs.

That gratefulness had tasted like bile but it had been more than necessary.

-

Hermione is suddenly finding great interest in her fridge magnets. Adjusting them slightly and then again while the couple puts on their sickening display.

She hardly realizes the blonde is finally gone until Bellatrix speaks and leaves Hermione in stunned silence, staring at the seat the woman had just been occupying. If she hadn’t been suspicious before, alarm bells were blaring now. What was Bellatrix playing at?

Unable to take proper time to think on it, but knowing it would be gnawing away at her subconscious all through brunch, Hermione sets out the door apparating away once on the front stoop.

-

Hearing the crack of apparition signalling the Minister was gone, Bellatrix crept back downstairs, arms full of parchment, a journal and old Prophet clippings, spreading everything out over the floor of the living room.

For the fifteenth time she read and re-read every article she had, updating the notes on her parchment and journal, quill scratching as she caught small mistakes where she’d written ‘June’ instead of ‘July’ or her 6’s had become 8’s.

She takes out the folded up poster from between the cover and pages of her journal and drags her fingertips over the scowling face of Rabastan’s Wanted poster before hugging the paper to her chest and whispering.

“I’m coming Rab, I promise.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Before Hermione even knows it, she’s hugging her parents goodbye. Promising to write more frequently and to take more time for herself. Though she doubts the sincerity of her last promise.

Her heart pangs slightly as she pulls away from her mum, her father patting her shoulder affectionately.

“You stay safe, Hermione Jean and remember you’re always welcome home.”

“Thank you, mum. I love you both.”

And they go their separate ways. It’s not long after that the Minister appears on her own doorstep, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

“Bellatrix?” She calls, hanging up her house keys. “Bellatrix, it’s nearly time for you to see the mind healer.”

-

Bellatrix is startled out of her skin as she hears the apparition, cursing under her breath as she looks at the clock and realizes how long it's been already, hurriedly trying to pick up her papers as the Minister calls from the door.

Carefully folding up the poster first before standing with everything else, groaning as a stack of her notes slip out of her arms.

"Stay there, I'll be there in a minute!"

-

Hermione had taken an initial step towards the kitchen, freezing at the instruction to ‘stay there’. Fear floods her veins and she’s caught between the urge to listen and hunt Bellatrix down and make her explain.

Though when she tries to move, her legs seem to be rooted to the spot. “A-Alright..” She calls back, trying in vain to keep the anxiety from seeping into her tone. “Is..everything alright? Do you need help?”

-

“No, no. I’m fine.” She calls back, quickly walking towards the stairs with her bundle, trying not to look too long at the Minister.

“Just put this away and grab my cloak.” She nods, hurrying up the stairs, not noticing a single Prophet article had fluttered to the floor. The headline read,

Azkaban welcomes its newest inmate: Antonin Dolohov.

Dropping everything on her bed, and decidedly ignoring her ink stained fingers, Bellatrix returns downstairs.

-

Hermione blinks as Bellatrix shuffles by with her mountain of office supplies and disappears up the stairs as quick as a baby acromantula.

She watches as the parchment wriggles free and floats down to settle by the bottom of the stairs. The Minister tilts her head to read the headline and her brow furrows.

Dolohov? What did Bellatrix want with him?

-

Fixing an errant curl from her face, Bellatrix fastens her cloak.

“Alright, we can go now.” She licks at her fingers trying to rub the ink off of them. Her eyes catch sight of the article but she decides to pay no attention to it.

“How..was..your parents?” She asks, forcing what she hoped was a convincing smile. Why did the Minister look so..concerned?

-

“Since when do you care to ask after filthy muggles?” Hermione deadpans, not entirely sure

what

she suspects Bellatrix is up to but just knowing she’s

very suspicious

of…whatever it is.

Hermione strides past the woman with the unconvincing smile and into the living room. She steps into the fireplace and gestures expectantly.

“Well let’s be off then, I’m sure Sylvia and you have

lots

to talk about.” She’s currently cursing the laws preventing her from asking the mind healer what exactly Bellatrix was up to.

-

“Oh, just thought it’d be nice to ask. They’re still your parents.” She shrugs, stepping into the fireplace, checking her journal was in her cloak pocket as usual.

“We don’t talk about anything useful I assure you.” She rolls her eyes, silently grateful for the one action that at least felt semi normal.

Bellatrix wanted to reach the Mind Healer’s

quickly

, all but running to the lift once they’d landed in the atrium.

She flexes ink stained fingers anxiously. Just a few floors and she’d get to ask. One more for good measure.

“You should wear your hair down more often, it looks pretty.”

Another forced smile, swallowing the bile in her throat but reminding her it would hopefully all be worth it.

-

Hermione takes a shuffled side step away from the woman. Maybe she was breaking…gone around the bend or something. This was

weird

behaviour and the Minister did not like it.

She nearly falls over when Bellatrix

compliments

her, though it hardly sounds genuine. What in the name of Merlin was going on!

“Stop that.” She says firmly, hurrying out of the lift when it dings for the Mind Healing Department.

“It’s..weird. You don’t compliment me, I don’t compliment you, it’s sort of an unspoken arrangement we’ve got going on that I’ve no desire to change.”

-

Bellatrix is hardly listening, counting doors and feeling her heart rate pick up with each one. Before..or after? After is ideal, after is what she had planned but maybe it would be best to ask before or she’ll be too distracted during the appointment.

Abruptly she stops walking and turns around. Stares at Hermione a moment, eyes wide and takes a breath. “Iwanttoaskforsomething.” Comes out in a hurried gasp, the letters blending together as she speaks.

-

Hermione startles as Bellatrix stops walking and

stares

at her like that. Just about to open her mouth and ask what is

wrong

with her today when the rushed sentence comes out.

Her brows knit together in total confusion. “You to..what? What is

wrong

with you today, you’re acting mental!”

-

Bellatrix stares for a moment longer, almost confused that her words hadn’t made perfect sense, bristling at being called mental.

She takes another breath, fidgeting with her hands. “I want to ask you for something.” She repeats herself, much slower and hating she had to ask for things at all from someone else like she was a child.

“I want to be let into the Records Department to look at something.” She adds before Hermione can interject.

-

Bellatrix should learn there’s a difference between calling someone something and saying they’re

acting

a certain way.

Hermione just stares, taking particular interest in the way Bellatrix fidgets with her fingers in a way that is very familiar to the always anxious Minister.

“The records department?”

Her stomach sinks a little thinking of how Clara was still working there, despite Hermione’s best efforts to get her back into the Auror office.

“What do you want in there for? I can’t just let you wander around, there’s classified information in there. It’d be a security concern.” Whatever Bellatrix wanted in there, it couldn’t be good. She couldn’t just allow a former death eater unrestricted access to such sensitive information.

-

Bellatrix exhales, not quite a huff but this was testing her patience, the curls nearest her face swaying with her breath.

Of course she’d ask what for. She had been foolish to hope otherwise.

“I promise you I don’t want anything classified, I want to see the blueprints for the renovation of Azkaban and anything else associated with the project. Specifically the final blueprints signed off by you in-“ Her eyes flicked back and forth thinking.

“June of 2014 I think, when it officially opened and the inmates were transferred there from France.”

-

The Minister blinks as she allows the answer to settle and process. Bellatrix was asking about Azkaban..maybe she

had

lost it.

Her response dies on her tongue as Bellatrix recites specific dates and locations and before she can think better, before she can think of a kinder more mindful response, she spits.

“What? So you can find a weakness to exploit and break out your dear Dolohov?”

-

Bellatrix is prepared to continue her recitation of facts. “I believe it was 2014, the original plan was 2013 but there was a delay with the-“

Hermione’s response startles her and she stares, blinking a few times in confusion. “Break out Dolohov? Why would I want Dolohov? Have you met him? A sexist arsehole if I’ve ever met one, can’t follow orders because he thinks he knows better.”

Why did the Minister think..oh.

oh

. That Prophet article. The Minister had seen it and thought..

-

Hermione’s eyes narrow considerably at Bellatrix’ answer but, irritatingly, she finds no signs of dishonesty.

“Alright..” The Minister says skeptically. “Then if not for him, what could you possibly want with the renovation plans?”

-

Bellatrix’ mouth opens a fraction and then closes again. She wasn’t ready to ask for that yet, not sure she could until she saw the plans.

“Sylvia told me it’s not the same Azkaban I was in. I know people in there, I want to know that they’re..safe. I want to see the changes in writing that doesn’t belong to the Daily Prophet and isn’t just words from Sylvia.” She answers slowly, hesitantly pulling her journal from her cloak.

“I can only research so far in the Prophet archives.”

-

If there had been an answer that would’ve made Hermione regret her sharp accusations, Bellatrix had just given it.

“O-Oh..” She says a bit taken aback by the admission. The sincerity of it causes guilt to coil uncontrollably in her stomach and tangle the words in her throat.

Of course Bellatrix would want to know, she probably knew more people within those walls than the Minister herself.

Bellatrix was still human after all, despite Hermione forgetting that fact quite frequently.

She eyes the journal as Bellatrix pulls it out. “I—“ She doesn’t want to see it. It feels invasive. “Just, let me think about it.” She finishes, glancing behind Bellatrix at the mind healers office just beyond, suddenly wishing for this conversation to be finished.

-

Bellatrix waits, anxiously flexing her fingers and near able to see the gears turning in the Minister’s head with this new information. Waiting and ready to open the journal when she’s stopped.

She waits again, certain now she’s given the Minister no cause to reject her asking, and then feels herself deflate.

Her eyes lower a moment, finding her boots and she slips the journal back into its place. When she lifts her head again, her face is devoid of emotion once more.

“Right, of course. Apologies for keeping you then Minister.” She turns and begins  to continue the walk down the corridor towards the Mind Healer’s, suddenly needing to be out of the Minister’s presence quickly.

She needed to see those blueprints. She wouldn’t be able to move forwards with anything else until she did.

-

The disappointment in the air is almost palpable and Hermione has to bite her tongue to keep from rushing to fix it. People pleaser tendencies die hard.

“I just need to ensure there’s nothing classified you might stumble across.” Is her compromise, hastening to add. “Even unintentionally.”

In order to do that she had to get past Clara. How annoying.

“I’ll give you a straight answer as soon as I’ve one.” She calls, albeit a bit halfheartedly, as Bellatrix hurries down the hall.

-

Bellatrix just nods. “Of course, can’t have me finding anything I can use to break out

Dolohov

right?” She responds, not even an ounce of venom in her tone.

“I assumed the records would operate like a library, only get access to the folders I’m permitted. Let me know once you’ve sorted it then.”

She wasn’t sure why she was so disappointed, it wasn’t a surprise really.

-

Hermione swallows the aching lump in her throat that causes her eyes to burn unpleasantly. Right, she could have handled that much better.

She watches until Bellatrix disappears into the Mind Healer offices before taking a steadying breath. Alright then, to records.

Once she re-enters the lift her mind begins turning. How much harm could possibly come from letting Bellatrix see the renovation plans?

Her brain works in what feels like overdrive trying to extract what secret motive might be hidden amongst the request. The only thing she can possibly come up with is perhaps this was suggested by Sylvia as some sort of closure and who was she to deny Bellatrix of that?

The Minister’s mind is firmly made up by the time the lift dings and the voice declares, “Records Department.”

Straightening her jacket and lifting her chin, the Gryffindor strides out of the lift and into the offices. Right over to an occupied desk in the back corner.

She clears her throat as she approaches. Clara looking up from the file she was absorbed in and frowning to see Hermione standing at the edge of her desk.

“How may I be of assistance,

Minister.

” Clara asks in the same cool clipped tone she’d been using for weeks.

“I need you to pull any records pertaining to the Azkaban renovations. I’ll need them in my office within the hour.”

-

The content of the records request takes the Auror by such surprise she forgets her chilly tone and asks. "The Azkaban Renovations? They've been finished nearly ten years."

What could the Minister want with those? Had they missed something? Had the guards alerted them of a possible weakness in the walls? No,

if

there were any obvious weaknesses the inmates would have discovered them ages ago, they wouldn't wait a decade and Hermione had gone over every inch of the plans with a fine toothed comb, it had been unnerving how very like a prisoner she could think. Easily pointing out miniscule flaws.

Still...if little Miss Pyscho is around, perhaps the Minister was taking extra precautions?

How she wished they were on speaking terms and could ask as she usually would, be caught up to speed on what was happening in the rest of the Ministry.

After a moment she nods. "Yes Minister, I'll go and collect them and bring them to you."

-

“Yes they have.” Hermione says coolly. “However I need to revisit them as we move forward with plans for the courtyard.”

It isn’t true, she’s already checked, and rechecked, the new plans don’t interfere with the old. However her and Clara weren’t exactly on the best terms and she isn’t in the mood for what would undoubtedly be an onslaught of questions she didn’t have the answers to.

“Thank you.“ She sounds relieved having almost expected more of a fight from the brunette. “You can…leave them with Florence if that will be easier.”

-

Clara can detect the lie in her tone but says nothing, there was a reason the Minister wanted the records and that was only a bit concerning. Even Moreso that their iciness meant Hermione wouldn’t share her anxieties anymore.

“No, no that’s alright, I’ll bring them up to you Minister, it’s quite a large box, no sense moving it twice.” She offers with a soft smile, standing to look in the filing cabinet behind her for the location of said box.

-

Hermione hesitates, confusion flickering across freckled features for one fleeting moment, before she nods again.

“Oh, well, thank you Clara. I—will see you in a bit then.” The Minister’s heart stutters inside her chest as Clara smiles for the first time since their meeting. She goes to return the gesture but Clara’s already turned to begin searching for the documents. This leaves Hermione smiling at the Auror’s back for what feels like a few moments too long.

Clearing her throat to right her thoughts Hermione turns on her heel walking briskly to the lifts and back up to her office.

-

It takes about twenty minutes for Clara to locate the box amongst the vast shelves of records and archives. It was easy to tell that record keeping had been improved since Hermione took over as Minister. Much more was now recorded and kept and the boxes were newer looking.

Once in the lift, box balanced in her arms, Clara catches her reflection in the glass and sighs. She needed to let this grudge go. Hermione needed someone in her corner more than ever if Azkaban was suddenly a new concern. And she missed her…

When the lift dings at the floor for The Minister’s office, she quickly exits, and nods politely at Florence.

“Hey Flo, records the Minister requested, is she in her office?”

Florence looks a bit startled to see Clara in the doorway for the first time in weeks and just slowly nods in response.

“Thanks.” The Auror nods and makes her way to the larger ornate door, knocking three times.

-

Hermione looks up from her newest notes on the jinxed broomsticks case. Unsurprisingly ever since Clara moved to records very little headway was being made. This sixty days couldn’t come to an end soon enough.

The Minister’s head tilts curiously as three knocks in quick succession sound against the door. Odd. Only people who do that were Harry, Ron, and—

“Clara!” The Gryffindor stands immediately to help with the door. “Merlin, I wasn’t expecting you so quickly.” She admits, watching as the brunette sets the box on her desk, shifting a bit awkwardly on her feet.

Say something. Say

anything

!

“I—erm—Thank you, again, Clara. These will be very helpful.” There’s so much more she’d like to say. An apology she’d like to give but rather uncharacteristically the Minister finds herself tongue tied.

-

Clara lets out a sigh as she sets the large box down, wiping her hands on her trousers. “Oh, well since you updated the record keeping system and procedures three years ago, it’s much easier to locate things.” She offers with a smile and then laughs to herself.

“Merlin, do you remember the wedding license debacle? Two dozen wedding certificates just gone missing and tracked down in…what was it, a file in Umbridge’s old desk in storage?”

Clara shifts on her feet too, meeting the Minister’s eyes. “I..I wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting. I was out of line and you’re just doing your job putting me back in it. I’ve been an arse about it.”

-

Hermione feels her cheeks take on colour at Clara’s acknowledgement. She quickly finds herself looking down, needlessly fussing with her line of quills as Clara continues on.

Her heart stutters in her chest as Clara apologizes and the malfunction is mimicked in her fidgeting. For the fact her stomach now feels full of angry Cornish pixies and coherent thought is no longer, her words are surprisingly eloquent.

“No, Clara. It’s me who should be apologizing. There were several other ways I could have handled the article. I let Lestrange get to me that night and it was unfairly taken out on you. I wasn’t only thinking of your safety and protection, I was thinking of mine.” She sounds as ashamed as she’s felt these last few weeks and refuses to meet Clara’s eyes.

“I failed you as a superior and—“ Her voice cracks slightly. “And as a friend. Can you forgive me?”

-

Clara spots the anxious fidgeting and steps forwards, closing her hand over Hermione’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, you were blindsided by that article. There wasn’t time to think and you did your best. Lestrange is getting to all of us I think. Must be getting close to when you can lock her back up right?” That would do everyone a favour, get things back to normal and give everyone space to breathe when there’s not a Death Eater roaming the streets.

“Course I forgive you Mione, can you forgive me?” Clara says, looking up at her, close enough their noses nearly brush against one another with the action.

-

Honey brown hues flicker up to meet hazels, her heart hammering so heavy in her chest it’s a wonder she’s still standing. Her thoughts so busy she misses the comment on Bellatrix.

A sort of invisible pull takes ahold of the Minister, leaning in ever so slightly as her chin tilts up and the mental image of what comes next is so alarmingly clear. She falters. Immediately turning her head away and blinking herself back to reality.

No. She could

not

kiss Clara.

“Of course I forgive you Clara, you’re my best friend.”

-

Clara catches just barest of movements, about to tilt her head down in response when Hermione stops and turns away.

Perhaps she’d imagined it, surely the Minister wouldn’t.

“Thanks Hermione.” She answers back, suddenly letting go of the hand she was still squeezing in hers.

“Uh..anyway, this is everything on the renovation, revised blueprints, original permits, all of it.” She says, just to try and cut through the sudden tension in the air.

“Courtyard’ll be nice when it’s finished. Give the inmates some outdoor space, Lestrange can look at the stars.”

-

Hermione keeps her head tilted away as she wills the flush from her cheeks. Startling slightly as Clara pulls her hand away and having to restrain herself from reaching out and taking it again.

She’s infinitely grateful when Clara brings the conversation back to work. Readying her reply when the Auror’s words strike her dumb.

“I’m not sending her back to Azkaban, Clara.” She says, voice icing over in a way that denotes no room for conversation. That’s what Ron wanted too. For Hermione to wriggle her way around the contract and lock Bellatrix away the moment she was able.

Except she can’t. Except she

doesn’t want to

. That isn’t right, or fair. It felt like when they’d spend months lying to Griphook about the sword. Hermione certainly wasn’t the goblin’s biggest fan but cheating him out of what was promised had been too far in her opinion. The same applied to Bellatrix.

“It’s only humane to give them access to the outdoors. They’re criminals but they’re still people.”

-

Clara blinked for a moment, and coloured hearing the ice return to the Minister's tone.

"Oh, no I didn't mean you would send her there, I just don't have a lot of faith in her following laws that's all." She's doing a bit of backpedaling, clearly something had happened over the last few weeks that made Hermione not want to get rid of the Death Eater anymore.

"Course it is, it's horrible they hadn't been given it before." Clara pauses, wanting to approach things delicately.

"Is everything alright with her and the project? I was a bit concerned you needed all the previous records, she's...not plotting to break anyone out is she? If you're worried we can station more Aurors temporarily."

-

Hermione exhales heavily through her nose trying to rein in some of her frustration. It was maddening to have people think she didn’t want to rid herself of Bellatrix as soon as possible simply because she didn’t want to twist the rules to do it.

Though her frustration isn’t with Clara. Not wholly. She’s just projecting the confusion she’s been feeling since that morning. Still unable to wrap her brain around why

exactly

Bellatrix wanted these files.

“She’s been going to therapy without a fuss. I don’t know what that means for the long term but for now she’s behaving.” She says her voice gradually losing some of its bite. “In fact, she’s been…more tolerable than ever it’s…” Good? Progress? “Unnerving.”

The Minister exhales as Clara asks about the files, looking at the box in question as if it might contain the answers.

“I’m not worried, per se. I don’t believe she’s trying to break anyone out.” Anymore. “There’s no one in there I can see her truly caring for. Rodolphus has been dead two decades, but she…well she asked for the files. I’m just having trouble thinking of a proper reason to say no.”

-

Clara listens to the explanation, and nods in understanding. "Well, I'm glad to hear she hasn't been giving you more trouble Minister, I can see how a Death Eater just calmly wandering about would be unnerving though."

Her eyebrows raise a little as she's told it was

Bellatrix

who asked for the files.

"She didn't say what she wanted with them? You think Sylvia suggested it?" She asks, now a bit more concerned the files were for the Death Eater specifically. She can see the conflict written on her face, her freckles might as well have spelled out the thoughts in the Minister’s head.

“A reason to say no? Mione, you’re the Minister of Magic and she’s a criminal. You don’t need to rationalize not obeying her every command.

Especially

if you’re worried she might be plotting something with the files.” Clara tries to get Hermione to see reason, the Minister of Magic didn’t need to explain themselves to anyone, certainly not a Death Eater who was lucky to not be locked up.

-

“In fact I know her mind healer suggested it. She told me so.” Hermione exhales, beginning to flicker through the large box of files.

“That’s why I’m inclined to say yes. I just need to ensure there isn’t anything highly sensitive in here that I’d rather her not get her hands on. Although I already know there isn’t so I suppose I’m just stalling for time.” The Minister admits briefly pulling out one of the original drafts of the floor plan and giving a soft but tired smile.

“I haven’t any reason to deny her this. —And before you start again I know I needn’t any more reason than not wanting to but I think I should let her have this. It can’t do any harm and honestly it might be good for her, which is in turn good for us.” She reasoned.

“It will just be odd handing over something I worked so hard on for her to scrutinize. This was my first large scale project as Minister.”

-

Clara just listens, not altogether thrilled the Minister was just giving the dark witch things but nods. “If it’ll help, that will be good right? Should I—“ She pauses and clears her throat.

“Should Harry assign a few more guards at the prison just in case?” She asks, her face colouring as she remembered she couldn’t yet assign anyone anywhere.

“You did wonderfully with the project, everyone likes the new Azkaban much better, and the Auror department certainly feels a bit better about sending people there now.”

-

Hermione hesitates a moment before nodding her head. She’s a bit reluctant to assign her Auror’s to something that might only be a waste of time. However the risk if Bellatrix was actually planning something was too high to ignore.

“Yes, I’ll have.. Harry assign a few of the newer recruits. Just as a precaution, again I don’t believe her up to anything in particular. Yet, anyway.”

She feels guilt coil uncomfortably in her stomach as Clara takes on colour. What was done was done and she couldn’t go undoing it now. Clara would just need to see the sixty days to the end. Her own face takes on colour as Clara speaks of Azkaban hoping the flush comes across as ‘beaming with pride’ rather than flustered.

“I was…thinking, if you wanted to, you could perhaps come over for dinner tonight?”

-

“Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to Lestrange.” Clara shrugs, a grin tugging at her lips when Hermione gives her invitation, her face nearly lighting up.

“I’d love to Mione thanks.” A pause and then- “Is that little blonde still warming her bed? Should I be prepared for any jokes I make to be on the front page tomorrow?” She grins, she’s teasing and trying to make light of the situation they’d both been miserable over for weeks.

-

Hermione’s face lights up just as much as Clara accepts the invitation, feeling a heavy weight lift from her shoulders.

Her smile falters a bit as Clara asks about Anita. She knows the Auror is joking however she briefly worries the pesky blonde will also be in the house tonight. Until she remembers.

“Oh, yes she is.” She says casually before rushing to add. “—but you needn’t worry. Bellatrix has a..a rule of sorts. Anita never comes over after the Mind Healer. I think Bellatrix is afraid of Anita seeing her like I did.”

-

Clara's head cocks to the side, her brows furrowed in confusion and surprise. "I'm not sure which I'm more surprised by, the fact Lestrange hasn't strangled the blonde or that she's set her girlfriend visiting hours." That was odd but the Auror shrugs.

"I suppose we had our falling out before I told you, Anita was in her room that first morning I went to bring her to Sylvia and you. Guess she hadn't set those rules with her yet. She told her to go out the window." She straightens up.

"In any case, happy to not have to give a press statement over dessert." Her eyes catch sight of something floating through the still open doorway, a purple airplane memo.

"Looks like you've got mail Minister." Hazel eyes follow the path of the note until it lands neatly on the Minister's desk before unfolding itself, neat calligraphy written on the page.

Dear Minister Granger,

I'm sure you're quite busy tending to other matters and it's quite easy for small errands to slip your mind, however given my restrictions, I am unable to leave the Mind Healer's office and I think the staff here are anxious for me to leave. It is apparently unnerving to have a patient linger an additional half an hour. Kindly fetch me at your earliest convenience so I may go home.

Sincerely,

Bellatrix

-

“She’s there in the mornings but it’s after appointments Bellatrix doesn’t have her over.” Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose at the news.

“You know two weeks ago that might have actually thrown me off the deep end.” She grumbles, waving a dismissive hand as the paper plane comes floating in.

Her eyes flicker over the note as it unfolds, her cheeks turning an embarrassed pink as she realizes she’s forgotten Bellatrix.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Clara, I really have to run.”

-

Clara nods at the explanation and then pauses. “Any idea whether these sessions are working or if she’s just..putting it on to humour Sylvia?” She asks, genuinely curious if any headway was being made in what seemed a lost cause given the subject.

The plane makes her curious but it’s of course not her business what mail the Minister receives.

“Oh of course I-“ She glances at the clock behind her and gasps. “Rowena above I need to go too. I’m meant to have those files reorganized by end of day. I’ll come by yours around six.” And Clara rushes from the office as well. Auror on probation or not, her temporary boss would not be pleased if the work she’d been assigned wasn’t done.

Bellatrix meanwhile had watched her purple memo float off, and took up residence in the nearest chair, flicking through a magazine and trying not to stare at the door. This session had not gone particularly well, all her fixation on talking about Azkaban had been snuffed out by the Minister earlier and she’d refuted any of Sylvia’s inquiries as to what had dampened her mood.

She wanted to go home, but the bloody Vow wouldn’t let her leave!

-

Hermione hurries to the lifts and to the mind healing office. Thinking about how she’d let the time slip away from her and how to tell Bellatrix she’d made her decision the entire time.

When she steps into the waiting room she finds Bellatrix sat in a chair all but twiddling her thumbs and the Minister feels her cheeks burn.

“My apologies, Clara and I had some important matters to discuss.” She offers, glancing around the otherwise empty waiting area before speaking again. “I’ve decided to pull those records for you.”

She tries to deliver this news as clam and level as her voice would allow.

-

Bellatrix tries not to look too eager when she hears the door creak on its hinges, barely looking up from her magazine until the Minister speaks.

Oh the Minister

apologizing

to

her

was a thrilling new feeling. She liked it.

But all snarky remarks die on her tongue as the second sentence is spoken, unable to mask the surprise on her face and in her eyes.

“You..have?” She inhales sharply, her heart stuttering in her chest.

She wasn’t used to being given things freely. Taking? Yes. Manipulating? Sure. But this was different. The dark witch stands so as to be as close to eye level as possible, her eyes searching the Minister’s for any hints of dishonesty or trickery- finding none.

“I—thank you.” Unlike earlier, this wasn’t forced gratitude, it was genuine.

-

The minister nods as Bellatrix questions the sincerity of her words but determinedly avoids eye contact. Her cheeks heat slightly as she’s thanked, and it’s more genuine than she’s ever heard Bellatrix be.

“Not a problem. They’re archival though.. Which means they’re not meant to leave the ministry.” She takes a slight pause in which a small smile quirks at the corners of her lips. “So, I suppose you’re lucky I’m Minister for Magic. Just, please, keep them in the library and know the box will be checked before it’s returned.”

-

Bellatrix just nods again, her mind spinning to try and keep up with her thoughts, that she was going to see the blueprints, the information. All of it. Tonight.

"Yes, of course. I swear I've no interest in keeping any of them, depending on the amount of files, I should be finished with them by morning." She'd stay awake all night reading and re-reading, memorizing the facts. Since she'd seen Sylvia, Anita wouldn't be visiting, she could hide away in the library.

She's only just barely realized the implication of what Hermione has said, she was bending the rules, the policy that stated that archival records must remain in the Ministry...for her.

-

“You haven’t a need to rush through them. They’re not due back at any particular time.” Hermione assured, but then figures Bellatrix wouldn’t have much else to do with her days anyhow.

“You can hold onto them as long as you need just..” She takes a sharp breath. “Don’t make me regret this, yeah?” Did she…

trust

Bellatrix? No, certainly not. She just owed this to her. For the success of the program, she had to.

“Let’s be off then. I was meant to be taking the day but I’m already here so I’m going to take the opportunity to clear some things off my to-do list. I’ll be home later.”

-

Bellatrix hasn’t broken her gaze with Hermione. She’s tempted to ask why she was doing this, what had changed her mind, but she’s holding her tongue, not wanting to question too much in case the decision was reversed.

“Yes, I’d like to leave. I’ve spent quite enough time in this department for the week.” She answers, trying to inject some normalcy into this unnatural conversation between them.

She felt like she needed to tiptoe, gifts didn’t come without strings. Without conditions, but Hermione hadn’t revealed them to her yet.

-

Hermione, also eager to regain their usual animosity, simply nods exiting the office with Bellatrix in tow.

When they finally make it to the floo grates she gestures within. “Go on then. I’ll send the files over when I get back up to my office.” She explains, itching to put some distance between herself and Bellatrix. Until she remembers something else worth mentioning.

“Oh, and by the way Clara will be over for dinner tonight. So either be civil or stay away entirely.”

-

Bellatrix steps into the fireplace and blinks. “I’m permitted to Floo on my own?”

Her hand instinctively goes to rest against her wand at her hip. Just a precaution should there be an ambush forthcoming. Her eyes roll at the mention of Clara.

“I thought you two weren’t speaking? Least that’s what you told Weasel on the talking box a few nights ago.”

She’d be civil, a sort of return gesture for the Minister for the files. And it was sure to bother Clara that she wasn’t going to make herself scarce.

-

“Yes, well things change and I’m not keen on always updating you when then do.” Hermione rolls her eyes in turn watching as Bellatrix palms her wand.

“So long as you land in my fireplace and not any other you shouldn’t have any problems at all. So, erm, try not to sneeze.” Hermione says while flashing a pearly white smile.

-

"I won't sneeze, I've been taking the Floo a lot longer than you have. Suppose I'll see you and Clara at dinner then. Ta ta."

She grabs a handful of powder in her hands. "Granger Residence!" The green flames jump up and swallow her whole, twisting and turning past grates until she lands in the living room of the Minister's home.

Dusting herself off before all but collapsing onto the sofa, her head was absolutely reeling.

-

Hermione makes her way back up to her office. Still in her muggle clothes from brunch but going and changing now would only waste more time.

Once inside she sits and flickers through the renovation box once more. Smiling fondly at the plans that in her opinion won her second term.

The goal had been systemic reform. No one deserved the inhumane conditions that were once normal in Azkaban. When people are treated like animals they act accordingly and the positive effects of the renovations were already tangible.

There had been a 5% decrease in reoffenders in just the first year post renovation and another sharp 20% in the past 3 years.

One last check for anything particularly private or sensitive, for a total of three look-overs, and Hermione hands off the box to Florence with directions to have it sent to her house.

With the files attended to and her dinner invitation accepted, Hermione continues about her day with a smile tucked into the corner of her lips.

-

Bellatrix is still laying on the sofa, running back through the day, analyzing it, searching for hidden loopholes she might have missed, actions that might have ulterior meaning.

So lost in her thoughts, she startles when three owls tap on the window, a large file box in their claws.

Oh. She thought the Minister would be bringing it home later.

Jumping to her feet, she retrieves the box, much to the relief of the owls, rummaging the drawers for the owl treats. "There you are. Have a rest on the sill awhile, you must be exhausted. Poor birds."

–

Salem, distinctive amongst the other two, lifts a clawed foot and waits. Head tilting curiously as Bellatrix rifles through the drawers for treats.

-

“Ah! Here they are!" She pulls out a handful, giving them to the other birds, looking at Salem inquisitively before she remembers.

"Oh right, you like people to touch your foot." Bellatrix attempts an awkward, open palmed high five of sorts to the bird, who is sure it wasn't the correct action but seemed to accept it for now, settling on the sill to munch the treats.

With the owls looked after, Bellatrix runs her fingers over the box, fingers trembling as she lifts the lid.

"You're being ridiculous, it's not as if one of those

things

are going to jump out of the box at you." She chides herself, taking out the first folder and sitting to lean against the wall at the other end of the room, exhaling before opening it.

This must have been the first set of records, it gave an overview of the current state of the building and an old blueprint.

Her eyes scan the schematic, how strange it was to see the entire prison laid out like this, it was larger than she'd ever known it to be. Set in tiers with 'Maximum Security' at the very top.

There were twenty cells outlined there, and she counted silently from the left until she reached number 5. That had been hers. Best she could figure anyway based on how the voices carried. Mulciber had shared her right side wall, Rodolphus the left.

Not that they could chat to one another, getting too close to the door tempted the Dementors to visit. She quickly shakes her head. She knows more or less what it was before, she needed to know what it was now!

A second blueprint flutters out, but this one has notes in a familiar handwriting.

She brought the parchment near to her nose, her glasses were in her room and she was too caught up in what she was doing to think to summon them.

Toilet and washing facilities?

was written over one area.

Expand cell size

was scratched somewhere else.

Insulation and lighting?

had been squeezed into the top margin.

Warmth and light. Two things that had definitely not been an amenity of her cell. It had taken several weeks for her eyesight to return, she'd been so bitter when Cissy had insisted on reading glasses.

She flicks through the box and pulls out another folder, 'Phase 1' this one was titled, it was full of contracts, permits, invoices and a copy of a mandate.

Bellatrix pulls that one closer, reading it and her eyes widen with each word. It was a mandate,

prohibiting

the use of Dementors as guards of any sort where people were involved. They could guard

items

but not

people

. Not just at Azkaban, but anywhere. They wouldn't be used to track down those on the run or include them in court proceedings. Anything where Dementors could misinterpret aggressive behaviour and attack was...prohibited.

That's why it had been allowed in the mind healing office, it wasn't guarding anything. And Sylvia was there to keep it in line, vocalize whether something was a threat or not.

She keeps reading, her heart pounding. The next page was an addendum to the mandate, dated several months after the first.

The Dementor's Kiss was no longer a method of punishment by the Ministry of Magic. Use of the Kiss was to be implemented at St Mungo's instead for patients who didn't wish to suffer any longer. It was to be used for mercy and humanity…not a criminal death sentence.

-

The file labeled ‘Phase Two’ contained a rubber-banded stack of photographs.

This first of which depicted Azkaban exactly as Bellatrix would remember it. However every other showcased a major change to the structure; the removal of jagged rocks at its base, the addition of windows on every level, the resurrection of several guard towers.

Also contained within this folder were an abundance of paint swatches. All with notes scrawled in that same familiar handwriting.

Too gray - something lighter for the cells

good for a common room, not the halls

Too purple, going for a bluer hue

Two fabric scraps which indicated the final selections for Ministry mandated prison clothes and cell linens sat at the bottom of the file as well. Laid next to sketches of jumpsuits to replace the previous gowns.

-

Bellatrix had to look from one photograph to the other several times, without the rocks and with windows and towers it didn't even look like the same building.

She runs the tips of her fingers over the fabric swatches, tearing up despite herself. They weren't

soft

but they weren't the scratchy potato sack material she'd worn all that time. Rabastan and several others had been allergic to that material, their skin had been rubbed raw and bloody by the time they escaped.

The words ‘common room’ catches her interest and she flicks through the file until she finds a drawing, with chairs and tables. If they served the same purpose as the ones at school, did that mean the inmates could see one another? Talk to each other?

She'd told Sylvia about that the other week, how isolating it had been, to know there were people on all sides, but unable to see them or speak to them. For a time she'd shouted through the door, desperately trying to reach Rabastan or Barty but eventually her voice had gone hoarse and none of them could anymore.

That was how you knew they’d gone mad, when the screaming stopped.

She's becoming lost in all the paperwork, pulling out her journal to note things down or copy sketches and brushing away stray tears.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s hours after parting at the floo grates that the Minister is tumbling into her living room fireplace. Hermione stretches as she steps out of the grate, shaking out auburn curls to rid them of residual floo powder.

“I’m home.” She says, a new habit that isn’t necessary but comforts her nonetheless. Perhaps hoping the warning will prevent any other incidents like the interview.

Salem chirps from the window sill. “Oh, hello you.” Hermione hums, petting her break affectionately. “Did you deliver the documents like I asked, Hm?”

-

Almost in response, the bird cocks her head towards the dark witch, bent over the papers at the other end of the room, having not even noticed the Minister had arrived home, muttering under her breath and sketching out things frantically and rubbing at her face.

"It's not near the same place, doubt that cell even exists..." She whispers to herself, wondering if there was an inmate currently who knew her name was scratched into the wall beneath the new paint job, it had taken ages, and broke all her nails doing it.

-

Hermione follows Salem’s gaze, almost startling to see Bellatrix pouring over the files and by the looks of it she’d been there a while.

“Bellatrix?” Hermione cautions, stepping closer and glancing over the witch’s shoulder. “What cell doesn’t exist? We only did away with a few. I’m certain I could tell you.”

-

Bellatrix nearly jumps out of her skin when the Minister's voice is suddenly in her ear, quickly closing her journal and looking up wide eyed, like a deer in headlights.

"I...didn't hear you arrive, I was just looking through the files. I.." She swipes at a tear she can feel on her cheek. "My cell, I'm sure it's been redecorated like the others if it exists at all."

-

Hermione freezes as Bellatrix swipes at stray tears, an unreadable expression painted across freckled features before she blinks and straightens up.

“Oh,” She says, shifting her weight onto the opposite foot. Why did this feel like an awkward question to answer? “Well, redecorated, yes but-but it still exists. Right where it was. All the cells on that floor are still there and yes, it’s still high security. Although that doesn’t mean what it did when you were there.”

Her hand comes up, subconsciously gnawing at her thumb nail as she tries to analyze Bellatrix’ expression. Trying to get ahead of any reaction the woman might have at the news. That the room she suffered so greatly in still stood.

-

Bellatrix' mind flashes back to the drawings, and then trying to envision the room she’d spent over a decade in, with all the new changes she'd read about.

Painted and insulated walls.

Plumbing.

A cot.

It was as ridiculous a notion in her head as if she were trying to imagine a unicorn prancing through the space or a sweets counter being installed.

She'd have to see it to truly understand.

"Oh, well I'm sure the current inhabitant is having a much more enjoyable time. High security, no Dementors but I'm guessing it's full of all of my other friends yes?" She stands from the floor, gathering her things.

"I'll be down for dinner, but I won’t stand and greet Clara.”

-

Hermione watches Bellatrix process her reply. Taking in the subtle furrow of the others brow and how near black hues flickered from side to side as if rereading the documents in her head.

“It’s in the same space but..” Hermione again shifts her weight “I’d hardly call it the same room, you know?” She offers, understanding that while it might still be there it was no longer the place Bellatrix had done so much suffering.

“There’s no one in there at the minute actually. It’s been empty for about a decade now.” Her eyes roll as Bellatrix stands and declares she won’t stand and greet Clara.

“Didn’t think you would. Just don’t go expecting her to be thrilled by your presence either.” Hermione had honestly been counting on Bellatrix holing up in her room after therapy.

-

Bellatrix seemed a bit surprised that no one had been in it for a decade. It didn’t seem likely that whoever had been in that cell had been let go, which meant, they’d died.

She wonders who it had been, but doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want to know. She’s not ready to be given a body count of who was still alive and not. Lucius had been enough of a shock. One day she would be ready to know, but that day wasn’t today. Instead she puts on an unbothered expression to respond to the Minister’s comment.

“Oh, if she was, I’d think she hit her head.” She gathers her papers and the box and heads up the stairs.

-

Hermione exchanges a glance with Salem as Bellatrix stomps up the stairs. Shaking her head at the bird and exhaling as she tries to decide what to put together for dinner.

“Maybe we’ll just have pizza.” She decides aloud, stepping over the telephone and dialing the number posted beside it.

It isn’t too long later that there’s a knock on the Minister’s front door. Hermione glances to the door, pausing the television as she does, waiting to see if any other knocks would come or if it was just the singular. Which would indicate it was the pizza and not Clara or Ron.

Two more quick knocks and Clara’s voice heard clear through the hardwood. “Pizza’s here too ‘Mione.” Has the Minister’s shoulders relaxing.

A remnant of war made her weary to open doors to just anyone. Unlocking, relocking, and unlocking three times before actually opening the door Hermione catches the tail end of the interaction between Clara and the pizza guy.

“Keep the change.” Clara nods, taking the two boxes from the man. Hermione sucks her teeth as he nods and takes off back toward his car. “Clara, you weren’t meant to pay for that. You’re the guest!”

-

Clara just shakes her head with a laugh. “Just consider it a gift Mione, Lestrange can thank me later since I’ve paid hers as well.”

That would be amusing, watching the dark witch eat pizza.

Bellatrix was upstairs, glancing out her window when a pair of headlights pulled in, making her groan inwardly. That meant either spicy vegetables, cold greasy triangles or some other strange highly salted food for dinner.

She’d been hoping for lamb and potatoes.

She can hear voices from downstairs, giving the box of files one more glance before heading down again, pausing to sniff the overwhelming scent of cheese wafting from the kitchen.

-

Hermione sets the plates as Clara grabs the silverware. Both absorbed in their catching up neither noticed the other descended the stairs.

“No, that’s funny because I was telling Ron yesterday that just because I’m moving past the comment in the lunchroom, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.”

“Which is probably why he nearly chewed my head off when I said you probably never will. Told me to keep my nose out of his marriage and get back to records.” Clara shrugs, setting down the third set of silverware. “So I just countered with ‘what marriage, I didn’t remember getting a wedding invite’. I’ve never seen him more steamed.”

Hermione feels her cheeks burning as soon as the words are out of Clara’s mouth. Stuttering slightly in her actions as she brings the final plate to the table, ending up slamming it more than placing. Still she finds herself laughing.

“Well thank you for taking my side even when we weren’t talking.” The Minister says a bit quieter than her previous chatter. Brown eyes locking on hazel for a prolonged moment before they finally notice the dark witch over Clara’s shoulder.

“Merlin!”

-

Bellatrix had silently entered the kitchen, eyeing the boxes on the table, rolling her eyes at the conversation and snorting when Hermione nearly jumps.

"It's Bellatrix actually, but don't let me interrupt anything." Lifting her chin higher, she takes a seat at the table not wishing to make eye contact with either witch and contemplating taking her plate upstairs with her to sort through the files some more.

"Long time no see Lestrange." Clara greets half heartedly, before reaching across and opening the box on top, steam rising up from the pepperoni and bacon.

Bellatrix looks perplexed a moment, steam meant heat...but she'd only seen this food be served cold. "Its hot?"

-

“It’s pizza?” Clara responds with the same inflection, though her bewilderment is mock, before taking a bite of her piece.

Hermione hides her snort with a convenient cough. Taking her seat and reaching for a slice. “I take it you’ve never been to Italy?” The Minister asks, using her knife and fork to cut off a bit and bring it to her mouth.

-

"Pizza?" Bellatrix blinks at the food in front of her, she supposed if she squinted it almost resembled pizza. Bit more orange.

"Of course I've been to Italy, we had a summer home in Florence, but this does not look like pizza I've had in Napoli." Oops. Italian accent slipped through a bit. She picks up a slice, wincing at the grease dripping from it and coating her fingers, promptly picking up a napkin and using it to try and absorb some of it before taking a bite and chewing.

-

Hermione’s brows raise subtly, though her heart skips a beat, as Bellatrix’ accent slips through. Interesting.

“Oh, quindi parli anche italiano Lestrange?” The Minister asks as she chews. “Sono impressionato ma non dovrei essere sorpreso. Per quasi due decenni sfuggendo al rilevamento eri sicuro di imparare qualche trucchetto.” She finishes after swallowing, bringing her napkin up to wipe her mouth and looking at Bellatrix expectantly.

Clara can’t help but grin, she loved when Hermione spoke Italian. Sitting quietly and watching the interaction unfold before adding.

“Of

course

it doesn’t. Look around! We’re in London, and you’re mopping up the best part. Just eat it, if I can eat and enjoy it, so can you.”

-

Bellatrix pauses, arching a brow, though the Minister being fluent in other languages wasn’t surprising, before shrugging and answering. “Sono lusingato Ministro, il greco era una nuova lingua aggiunta ma ho imparato il francese, l'italiano e il tedesco prima di compiere sedici anni. Uno stratagemma di mia madre senza dubbio per interessare potenziali corteggiatori, ma la conoscenza è utile."

She takes another bite before addressing Clara. “If you’d like to eat yourself to death you’re more than welcome, this much oil will clog my pores. What do you mean if

you

can eat it, so can I?”

-

Hermione gives a look of mild amusement. Opening her mouth to answer for Clara when the Auror starts up on her own.

“Sono per metà italiano da parte di madre. Sono nato in Italia e ho trascorso i primi dieci anni della mia vita vivendo a Brescia.” Clara responds, shoulders straightening as she speaks flawless Italian, chin lifting slightly with pride Hermione is only used to seeing from Bellatrix.

“Ci siamo trasferiti nel Surrey quando mio padre voleva essere di nuovo più vicino alla Londra dei maghi. Quindi, ancora una volta, se posso mangiare la pizza londinese, puoi farlo anche tu.”

Hermione stares with palpable admiration. Merlin she loved when Clara spoke Italian, certain it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard despite the words themselves not being a heartfelt ballad.

-

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, making a show of taking her third bite and chewing before responding.

"Grazie per aver condiviso la storia della tua vita, anche se non ricordo di averla chiesta. Nel caso non l'aveste notato, sto mangiando ma non cambia il fatto che così tanto grasso vi rovinerà la pelle. Anche se, guardando la tua carnagione, potrebbe essere troppo tardi per salvarla." She grins sickly sweet, finishing off her piece and wiping her fingers on a new napkin.

Eyeing the box and contemplating in her head whether to take another or not.

-

Hermione’s face contracts as Bellatrix speaks, immediately coming to Clara’s defense.

“Ora aspetta solo un minuto—Wait, wait—!” English. “You very much did ask. You asked why if Clara could eat it, you could as well and stop having a go at her. I told you to be polite!”

-

After a lengthy debate in her head, Bellatrix decides to reach forwards and take another piece, mopping up the grease like she had the first and taking a bite.

She finishes chewing before answering Hermione. "I

am

being polite, is it rude to simply state facts? Not everyone cares about their complexion after all, and Clara has every right not to and continue how she pleases, just as I'll continue to not consume enough oil to light a lamp."

-

“It’s impolite to insinuate her complexion is suffering.” Hermione retorts but Clara just laughs.

“S‘alright Mione. I’m tough enough to take Lestrange’s cheap insults. They don’t bother me.” The Auror insists, standing from the table to grab a bottle of ranch from the fridge to dip her crust in.

“S’pose you’ll have something to say about this as well?”

-

Bellatrix looks up from the piece she's still working on and furrows her brow at the bottle in Clara's hand.

"What do I care if you're having a salad?" She asks, watching in mild horror as Clara doesn't add the dressing to a salad but instead onto her plate and then eats it

with

her pizza.

"That's...that's salad dressing!"

-

Clara grins as she takes another bite. Shrugging her shoulders in a show in indifference. “So what? It’s good.” She mumbles around her bite of pizza before swallowing.

“Sorry, Mione that was rude of me.” She blushes, finishing up her pizza crust and looking at Bellatrix. “What did you want with those renovation records anyway? I was meaning to ask earlier.”

-

"Vile. Ought to strip you of the identity 'Italian' for that." She mutters, sipping her water and then pausing as the question was asked.

She hadn't realized Clara knew about her request and she straightens a little in her chair. "I'd heard it was different now than when I stayed there, I know people in there now so I was curious what had changed." She glances warily at Hermione, wondering if the Minister would say anything about the state she'd found the witch in, hunched over the records.

-

Clara’s eyes roll, waving her hand dismissively at Bellatrix and muttering something in Italian under her breath.

Hermione sips awkwardly at her drink, not having expected Clara to be so forward. She had been trying to support Bellatrix by giving her access to those files. Prodding and belittling her for seeking answers felt wrong.

“Not getting sentimental on us are you, Lestrange?” Clara jeers looking over to Hermione for a shared laugh but faltering to see the serious expression the Minister suddenly wore. The Auror clears her throat, her cheeks once again taking on colour. So much had seemed to change since she and Hermione were last speaking. It’s hard to wrap her head around.

“Well, uh if you’re wanting to see it for yourself I could give you a tour. If—If the Minister is alright with it, of course.”

Hermione’s gaze passes from Clara to Bellatrix. Watching and waiting to see what sort of response the extended offer would elicit. “One thing at a time, Clara. She’s only just gotten the files.”

-

Bellatrix' expression hardens at Clara's taunt, but the Minister had already seen her vulnerability; she'd be damned if Clara did too.

She mutters into her cup. "Let's put you in the hellhole for 14 years and see how

sentimental

you are."

Clara's offer makes her heart stutter in her chest. It was what she wanted. To see the place and it was being given to her on a silver platter but it feels too easy.

"Let's see how I get on with the files first. Sylvia might not recommend it so soon." Is the answer she gives before returning her attention back to finishing her slice, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

-

Hermione feels the tension in the air.  Uncertain on how exactly to remedy it she too keeps her focus on her dinner.

Bellatrix mentioning Sylvia so openly was progress and her comments on Clara’s offer suggested honesty. The mind healer really had recommended this as a form of coping. This puts some of the Minister’s lingering doubts to rest.

“Take your time.” Clara finally says, standing to clear her plate. “Just know the offer is genuine.” Hermione also stands, placing her plate in the sink on a neat stack of others from the week.

-

Bellatrix was still carefully choosing her words but Clara had taken her to her first appointment so the fact she was seeing Sylvia, on a Ministry mandate no less, was no secret.

She had offered to show the Minister her journal that afternoon, a journal which Sylvia knew the contents of quite well. It had been her suggestion to learn about the Azkaban reformation and renovation in order to process her trauma from her imprisonment but Bellatrix was pursuing a side project on her own.  She wasn’t ready to reveal that quite yet.

And when she did return to that island, in the middle of the North Sea. She didn’t exactly want Clara of all people there with her.

Except to maybe shove her in the frigid water. The mental image of it made her grin to herself.

“So Clara, have you tracked down any more of my friends lately? I expect when I do visit, it’ll be quite the reunion of us all.”

-

“You know I’m in records, Lestrange. That’s why I’m privy to your little secret obsession.” Clara remarks without emotion, placing a hand on the small of Hermione’s back as she leans over to set her plate onto the designated pile.

“

Civil,

Bellatrix.” Hermione hisses, nearly leaping out of her skin as she feels Clara’s hand on her.

Honey brown catches hazel as a smile forms on Clara’s lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” She says quietly and Hermione nods slowly, unable to break the prolonged eye contact.

“No, no sorry I just wasn’t expecting it is all.” The Minister breathes back as her heart stutters inside her chest. The room around them melting away for the briefest moment before she clears her throat and glances at the still held dish in Clara’s hand.

“Oh,” just as startled as the touch. “I’m in the way, sorry.”

-

"I'm sure it will come as a shock, but I don't keep tabs on you and where you're working." She rolls her eyes and then scoffs at Hermione.

"I

am

being civil and it's not an

obsession

. Can't I be merely curious about something without it being labelled so extremely?" She asks moving to stand when she catches the exchange happening at the sink, just watching a moment with her head cocked to the side.

Interesting.

She of course has left her plate at the table, slipping from the kitchen without another word to leave the two

colleagues

in peace.

Clara's hand is still hovering midair with her plate and she laughs, playfully nudging Hermione out of the way with her hip so she can set it down properly.

"I have manners to clear my spot, unlike some witches I know." Clara looks pointedly at the plate, napkins and cup in the place where Bellatrix had been a moment ago. Hold on...where had she gone? The woman came and went like a phantom.

-

Hermione finds herself giggling, a sound hardly heard from the Minister,  as Clara nudges her. Moving out of the way as Bellatrix’ protests are hardly heard.

Blinking the room back into focus she turns her head to tell Bellatrix to repeat herself when she too realizes the witch is gone.

“Worse than Crookshanks, she is.” Hermione mutters before returning her attention to Clara. “I’m going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?” She asks and the Auror grins.

“Only if I can put the game on the telly while we catch up.” Clara agrees, reaching into the cabinet to retrieve two wine glasses. Hermione agrees through another laugh, retrieving a new bottle from the liquor cabinet.

-

Clara’s halfway to the living room when she calls back. “What? Manchester is playing Liverpool and their goalkeeper is back from medical leave, they might have a shot at the cup now!”

She makes herself comfortable on the sofa, giggling to see Salem curled up on the arm. “Don’t suppose you like football then?” She asks the bird who hardly opens an eye in response as she clicks on the television, flipping channels until she finds the match.

“Ah bloody hell, we’re down three goals already!”

-

Topping off their glasses Hermione finds herself settling on the opposite end of the couch, a smile tucked into the corners of her lips. She chuckles as Clara expresses her displeasure.

“Guess he came back a bit too soon then, yeah? They’re not like us, can’t mend overnight.”

She shakes her head at the television. “No, I’m not much for sports. Magical or Muggle but of course Ron and Harry are so I’m used to watching matches.”

She takes a sip of her wine thinking about how unexpectedly the day had unfolded. Though she’d do it all again if it meant reconciling with Clara.

-

Clara takes the wine but grins. “I know you aren’t Mione, I was asking Salem since she’s all curled up on the sofa here.” She glances at the television.

“Oh bloody hell someone stop him! Is the defence asleep?” She groans as the opposing team gets another goal in.

“Well, I’ll be needing more wine later if this is how we’re playing.”

She sinks back into the cushions. “Right then, catch me up on what’s going on with Lestrange and everything. She was almost human at dinner, far less snide remarks than I remember.”

-

“Oh! Salem.” Hermione laughs at the misunderstanding, the bird opening one eye again and ruffling her feathers.

Another sip of wine and she too settles back against the cushions. “Maybe things will turn around.” She tries to console despite the fact she isn’t even sure which team is which. Her head turns as Clara asks about Bellatrix, her nose scrunching slightly at the question.

“There isn’t much to say. We weren’t exactly talking very much until this morning. Odd how it all happened really, but she’s been attending therapy without a fuss like I said.” Hermione shrugs. “I think she’d been working herself up to ask for the records so was trying to keep a low profile. We’ll see how she is now she’s got them.”

-

Clara blows air out from her lips, shaking her head at the television. "Luckily it's only the first half but not exactly instilling hope." She picks up the remote and mutes the game, the commentary always drove her crazy.

"Think she'll find anything useful in all those old files if I remember it's mostly blueprints and furniture orders, I meant what I said too, I'll take her one day if she wants. Give her a tour and everything." She pauses. "Hmm, now that I think about it, I haven't been to Azkaban myself in years, I started in the inmate transfer sector but don't think I've been back since, the Minister has always had much more important work for me than chaperoning criminals." She grins teasingly and takes a sip of the wine in her hand.

-

“I think seeing them was all the use she wanted. I can’t say I blame her, I’d probably want to do the same thing.” Hermione says as Salem stands and hops over to Hermione.

“It’s hardly the place she was held in, I think it’s just wanting to wrap her head around that.” Something of a smirk tucks into the corner of the Minister’s lips. “Also think she might have some regrets about choosing the vow over going back.” She laughs, full and genuine, at Clara’s teasing.

“You were wasted being a chaperone. Those positions aren’t filled by fully trained Aurors any longer. It’s such a waste.“

-

At the unexpected response from the brunette, Clara snorts. "Yeah, all the changes and updates its a regular holiday house, she could arrange conjugal visits with the blonde reporter." She giggles, the wine already making her face a bit more flushed than usual.

"Oh Merlin, do you remember the one and

only

time they sent Ron to be chaperone? Thought he'd wet himself sitting on the boats next to who was it then...Avery after he'd been found, the man nearly nicked his wand; he was so busy hurling into the sea!"

-

Hermione can’t help herself from giving in and giggling too. “No, see, if she hadn’t agreed to my terms she would have never met the pesky blonde. Anita would still be worshipping her closet shrine, poor dear.” Alright now that’s a funny thought.

An ill timed sip of wine has the Minister choking on her drink at the memory. “He was sick the rest of the evening! Told me he’d never board a boat again.” Hermione’s breathless with her laughter. “Suppose that means the honeymoon won’t be a cruise then.”

-

"Mione careful!" Clara chides in a giggle, watching her choke and laughing at the memory before arching a brow with a teasing grin.

"Honeymoon? Ooh, do I sense a spring wedding?" She flexes her muscles. "Course I'd be the muscle, keeping riffraff like Lestrange out of the venue. They'd be surprised how well I can duel in a fancy dress and heels."

Clara was surprised, Hermione didn't often talk about weddings or honeymoons in conversation unless someone else brought it up first. Perhaps she was finally ready to go through with it?

-

“I’m trying, I’m trying—!” She assures, taking a few moments to compose herself and waiting until her breaths evened out before rolling her eyes at Clara’s display.

“Whoa there, don’t strain yourself.” She teases, with another eye roll, never having been impressed by displays of power like flexing. Her cheeks tinge pink as Clara oh’s and ah’s about the wedding though. It was her own fault for bringing it up.

“No, no. If I were to get married it would be in the fall.” Another sip of wine she nearly spits out as she realizes her words. “That-That sounded worse than I meant it. Of course I’ll get married. I’m engaged after all.”

-

Clara just shrugged and put her arms down, she'd much rather be in the pews but if being 'guard' ticked off Ronald that was just a bonus.  Clara also had lifted her glass to her lips when she caught what Hermione had just said. A very clear

if

.  She shrugs it off, asking about it would just panic the brunette further.

"I think Fall is such an underappreciated time for a wedding, everyone wants spring or summer but you'd miss out on the colours." She pauses and snorts. "And the rain."

-

Hermione gives a strained smile against the rim of her glass. Appreciating fully that Clara doesn’t take pause at her freudian slip.

She tries to listen to the brunette, nodding her head in agreement, that she hopes is appropriate to the situation, while her mind reels. Both from the wine in hand and her own stupidity. Why had she said ‘if’ and not ‘when’? Her left ring finger suddenly feels heavier than usual. As if the silver otter band around it was cutting off her circulation.

Though that simply couldn’t be the case as it was charmed to always fit perfectly.

“The weather, the anniversaries..” She confirms, thinking of how she couldn’t possibly stomach a spring wedding with all the death and carnage that surrounded April and May. “Fall is beautiful and fall was, usually, safe.”

-

"Your birthday." Clara adds with a grin. "I'll have no objections this year, I'm throwing you a party, I'll block off the whole day in your calendar if I must." She teases, conveniently everytime she had tried to do something for her birthday, Ministry work cropped up that couldn't wait. Every year, Ron got the date wrong and showed up to the office with flowers a week late or early.

Clara glances at the match on the telly and groans. They were down another two goals!

-

“My birthday.” She remarks, albeit a bit absently. Her mind whirring away with thoughts of the wedding. A wedding she’d put no thought into. A wedding Ron kept trying to plan but she couldn’t bring herself to be definitive on any part of.

Perhaps emboldened by the desire to reconnect with Clara, their two weeks apart had shown Hermione just how close they had become, or maybe loose tongued from the alcohol in her had; Hermione shifts her gaze to Clara.

“I don’t know if I actually want to marry Ron.” The words are out in a singular rush of air and it feels as though a two decade old weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Still, as the words hit her ears her lips clamp shut, her honey brown eyes widening in horror.

-

It was a rather inopportune time for Clara to take a large swig of the wine, trying to conceal her surprise in her glass at the very bold statement Hermione had just made. That was no if.

She sets her glass down and turned to look at a very horrified looking Hermione. "Well that's.." She's tiptoeing this carefully, it was a sensitive subject.

"Not truly a surprise, to me anyway. I always… wondered."

-

Hermione sets her glass down on the end table, glaring at it as though it alone was responsible for her admission and not years and years of pent up emotion.

“I don’t know what to do..” Hermione eventually whispers as though very ashamed because she is. This of all the things she’s ever been ashamed of was by far the worst. “He loves me and I—“ There’s a large hesitation in which her heart pangs inside her chest.

Of course she loved him, there was no doubt, but perhaps it had never been in the way she thought. “I love him, I’m just..confused.” She finally finishes.

Confused. The word whirls around in her head conjuring up all the feelings she’d been suppressing as of late. Or perhaps always had? She isn’t sure and trying to sort it makes her head hurt.

-

Clara takes both her hands in her own. "Listen, I can't give you an answer but I will tell you, you don't have to do anything, just because others think you should."

Of course the celebrity status of the couple played a part in everything, the Prophet would report the second the years long engagement was broken, especially since Lestrange was dating one of the reporters.

"Maybe, some time away from him would help? A break of sorts? It's hard to sort out thoughts and feelings with him around." She suggests gently, hoping she wasn't overstepping any lines in the sand.

"He'd understand, and if he doesn't you have a best friend in the Auror department with a strong left hook and is quite talented at jinxes."

-

Of course the press was a huge pressure but wasn’t her happiness more important? She hadn’t ever really thought that until now.

“Ron isn’t always the best at understanding when feelings are complicated.” She recalls his emotional range being a teaspoon in school, and unfortunately it hadn’t grown much since then.

She smiles at Clara’s gentle joke, nodding her head but being apprehensive to commit to anything.

“Definitely something to think about, maybe I just need to talk to him.” Her attention turns back to the game, it seemed Manchester was in the middle of turning the game around.

“It’s just hard to gauge when he’s all I’ve really known.” Aside from Viktor but that's a completely different story she’d rather not delve into just now.

-

Of course her happiness was most important, but everyone knew the importance of the image of the Minister for Magic. A broken engagement would have rumours spinning.

"I think talking to him is a good place to start." Clara nods, deciding not to push the subject further and seeing Manchester was catching up did a silent fist pump into the air.

-

Hermione nods again, and before she knows it, just as she had two weeks prior, her head ends up in Clara’s lap.

Silently watching the match she doesn’t particularly care much about from her new position. While her mind wrestles with this new idea. A break. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed.

-

Clara doesn't comment when Hermione's head is in her lap, happy to just be spending time with the brunette, and trying to shrug off the awkward tension at the sink.

"So.." she begins. "I've heard a rumour floating around and I'm wondering if it's confidential Minister only information or just a rumour. Is it true Kingsley is retiring from Head of the Auror office? I can’t imagine the Ministry without Kingsley somewhere.” Clara states.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been such a constant figure in the Ministry for decades, having been Minister for Magic before returning to the Auror office, and being head of the office for the last ten years.

-

Hermione glances up as Clara begins talking, a small smile spreading across freckled features.

“Well, Clara, if it were ‘confidential Minister only information’ I wouldn’t be able to tell you, now would I?” She laughs, adjusting her position so she’s on her back, able to look at the Auror.

“It may be more than a rumour. He’s still deciding on an official date, but he’s been ‘deciding’ three years now. So more than a rumour, less than the truth.”

-

Clara rolls her eyes and playfully swats at Hermione's hair. "Well of course you wouldn't, you'd just have to tell me to sod off or something, but I have a suspicion its just a rumour." She grins, listening to the explanation.

"Hmm, I heard he'd decided. It was floating through the Owl Office of all places, actually I think it was Harry who mentioned it to me." Her fingers gently card through brunette curls.

-

“He certainly hasn’t. Once again, he’s been thinking about it.”

She hums softly as her curls are brushed through. “Harry should know better than spreading rumours. I think he’s just excited about the prospect of a promotion.” Her eyes roll with her words.

-

A promotion?" Clara asks. "Is he the next in line for Head of the Department if Kingsley does leave?" She asks, trying to imagine the man she knew and was friends with as a new formidable boss of hers.

She shrugs. "He can fantasize I suppose, but can't do much more than that until its all confirmed. And as you said, Kingsley has been saying he's leaving for years, all it takes is a really interesting case to reel him back in." She laughs.

-

Hermione laughs. “He certainly thinks so.” Is the only response she really gives, not liking discussing what would be a long internal process should Kingsley be serious this time around.

The Minister is nothing if not always at her most professional and sharing her own thoughts on official matters with a subordinate was nearly never appropriate. Especially now, in her own home, miles away from the office.

Her attention returns to the telly, just watching as Clara continues scritching through her curls.

Her mind turns with the possibility of Kingsley’s retirement. Harry would certainly think he was owed his title. Golden boy saviour and all. However the rather unpleasant memory of the boys’ return from Greece leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

He’d always been impulsive and hotheaded to boot. It had certainly leveled out of the years but all the rage of a teenage boy, who deserved much more than the world gave, still burned inside.

Is that who she wants running the department? She loves Harry with every piece of her but that shouldn’t factor into her decision.

Thinking of this hurts her head and the lingering echoes of Clara’s earlier advice to take a break from Ron isn’t helping matters.

-

Clara, unbeknownst to the mental toil in Hermione's head has her attention returned to the game, mumbling to herself how trading away the right field defender they'd had last year had been the worst decision they could have made.

She really couldn't see Harry as Head, especially how distracted he became in meetings and what with him and Ginny trying for kids again but it wasn't her place to voice opinions and trusted Hermione would replace Kingsley with whoever she thought would do the job best.

-

It’s long after the match is won and their drinks are fully drained that Clara ends up leaving the Minister’s house.

Hermione, after locking and relocking the door three times, forces herself to stand, or perhaps more accurately sway, through a shower and brushing her teeth before collapsing onto her mattress.

Her right hand quickly finds the familiar paw of her stuffed cat. Her mind buzzing with Clara’s proposed ‘space’ idea. The engagement ring on her finger suddenly feeling heavier with the burden of wearing it.

Space is what she needs. Distance is required. Is what she decides as her eyelids finally close.

Space to grow. Away from Ron and into Bellatrix. No, wait, Clara. Right. Clara.