Chapter 11: Winding DownChapter Text
On the last day of their well-deserved autumn holiday, the three Black sisters decided to do something fun and nostalgic. They would be adventurous, outdoorsy and rugged! They would rough it in the wilds and, like the old days, would pitch their family tent and sleep under the stars in the great outdoors!
On their lawn.
Ten feet from the front door of their manor.
With Sebastian the butler in earshot in case they wanted tea.
After their tent had been set up, Bellatrix had laid out the sleeping bag. There was one sleeping bag for all three of them to fit in, just like they had when they were little girls. Unfortunately, they weren't little girls anymore, a fact which become painfully obvious as the three of them were struggling to all fit inside the single sleeping bag.
"Ow!" Bellatrix swore. "Whose elbow was that?!"
"Sorry!" said Cissy and Andie at the same time.
"Well, whoever is the owner of the elbow, get it out of my side!" Bellatrix muttered as she stretched and moved further to the side, only to find herself being kneed in the back. "OW!"
"Sorry, that was me," said Andie. "Was trying to turn."
"Aaaah, we need a bigger sleeping bag!" Cissy muttered. "My hair's going to look a mess tomorrow."
"Try not to break my spine on your next turn, Andie," Bellatrix said, rolling her eyes.
"Okay, I'll just break your leg instead," Andie giggled.
Bellatrix struggled to get comfortable and lay on her back. Together, the three sisters looked up through the transparent canvas and the clear sky above. Though it was autumn, the tent was enchanted to radiate a room-temperature heat and would keep the sisters comfortable during the night.
"This was easier when we were smaller girls," said Bellatrix. "The tent seemed so much bigger then. The world seemed bigger too."
"We're women now," said Andie. "Well, you and I are, Bella. Cissy's still a baby."
"Hey!" Cissy protested, elbowing Andie for good measure. Unfortunately, this move rippled through the sleeping bag, causing Bellatrix to grimace slightly at the sudden move.
"Okay, stop moving or I'll hex you both into oblivion!" Bellatrix hissed. At least her sisters stopped doing whatever it was they'd been doing for now. The three of them watched the sky for a moment, getting comfortable for the night. The stars were out and bright with nary a cloud overhead.
"This is nice," said Cissy.
"It is," said Andie.
"I might be one of if not the last time we'll get to do this," said Bellatrix with a bit of a melancholic tone.
"Don't say that, Bella," replied Andie. "Whatever happens, we'll always be sisters. The three of us have an unbreakable bond."
Bellatrix bit her lip and kept her eyes pointed skyward. "I hope so," she said. "I doubt my 'future husband' will approve of me sleeping on the lawn with my sisters."
"I wonder who father will pick for me and Cissy," Andie muttered. "I can't say I like the idea of an arranged marriage."
"As long as it's Lucius, I'm fine!" Cissy raved, causing Bellatrix to roll her eyes.
"Playing kissy-face with Lucius behind the dragon statue again, hm?" Bellatrix chuckled. Another ripple was being sent through the sleeping bag as a result.
"Dad should have matched you and Evelyn," said Andie. "You two were great together."
"As girlfriends, sure," replied Bellatrix. "As wives? I don't know. Besides, dad wouldn't have gone for a Greengrass if a Lestrange is available. 'Better pedigree' or rot like that. You know what's worse, though? Black pedigree is considered best pedigree. That's why Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga were matched as cousins! Maybe I should be happy Sirius is only nine years old or I might have been matched with him!"
"Eeeww!" Cissy made a face.
"Quite," said Bellatrix, letting out a sigh.
"How about we just enjoy ourselves tonight and not think about the future too much," said Andie, apparently not wanting to think about whatever arranged marriage was in store for her. Bellatrix definitely couldn't blame her for that. So they lay there in silence, watching the stars while the crickets in the underbrush sang their song.
Funny how her thoughts kept drifting back towards Hermione: the girl whom had become such a good friend in such short a time. Bellatrix wondered how her friend was doing, if she was enjoying herself back home. Of course, she'd hear all about it tomorrow evening.
Thoughts about Hermione drove her to another point, though. The plucky young Bellatrix knew that Hermione had a tendency to put a brave face on, but couldn't hide the sadness within her: something had happened to Hermione recently. Something bad. Something she had yet to deal with, if even she could.
Perhaps Bellatrix could help her somehow. Perhaps this one last adventure she was having was something of a way to help Hermione too. An adventure they could share together, just the two of them.
As her sisters were drifting off to sleep, Bellatrix was lost in thought once more. It almost frightened her just how forward she looked to talking to Hermione again, to share everything she had found and to see her face again.
Slowly but surely, Bellatrix drifted off to a dreamless sleep, all worries disappearing into a blissful night.
The Burrow was just as Hermione had always experienced it: cozy, homely and with that persistent feeling of magic in the air. Not to mention that there were loads of people around, Weasleys or otherwise, and they were all mulling around the living room chatting rather animatedly.
Perhaps she shouldn't have come. Perhaps she should have stayed a few more hours with her parents. Her father had particularly been against letting her go back to school. But she had to. For Bellatrix if not anything else. She'd fed her parents the same cock and bull story about wanting to finish what she'd started.
Typical. She had promised herself to do better, yet kept feeding her parents the same lies she had always had.
It didn't do much to improve her mood, though through no lack of trying from the Weasley family. The first thing which happened was that Mrs. Weasley showed her no sign of resentment for breaking up with Ron. She expressed this with a fierce hug and subsequently trying to stuff her full of food.
Still, as the party continued on, Hermione felt herself drifting into background. The sounds of the song and cheer became dull and lifeless as she became ever more withdrawn: these days she didn't really care much for being surrounded by happy people. Nursing a drink, she found herself changing position ever so often, gradually moving towards the door almost against her own will… just waiting for a moment to slip away unnoticed.
Unfortunately, her fiendishly clever plan was aptly foiled by the Boy-Who-Lived, who plopped down right next to her and patted her shoulder. Sighing inwardly, she realized this must have been how Voldemort must have felt during his time of defeat, with Harry Potter always turning up when least expected.
"Hey Hermione," greeted Harry.
"Hey."
The dull tone of her of voice surprised even herself. Still Harry kept smiling. "Not enjoying yourself, are you?"
Hermione shook her head. "I've not been enjoying myself for much longer than I'd like," Hermione replied honestly.
"Is it because of a… certain someone?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Hermione snorted, knowing exactly whom he meant. Sat on the opposite side of the room, being the absolute life of the party, was Pansy Parkinson. Pansy fucking Parkinson.
Ron's new girlfriend.
Seriously, it boggled the mind.
"Yeah," Hermione narrowed her eyes, glaring daggers in Pansy's general direction. Something the other girl undoubtedly noticed, but was putting great effort to ignore. "How did that even happen?"
It had surprised her to learn that Pansy had actually fought in the battle… on their side, no less. Hard to imagine, really. Personally, she hadn't seen her do much of anything, but the battle had been so chaotic and hectic that she could have easily missed it and others confirmed that she, indeed, had been there. This is why Pansy, like many others, had not returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year which was a fact which had given Hermione no end of relief at the time.
"Pansy's been working as a junior analyst for the auror office to help us find some of the Death Eaters who are still at large," said Harry. "Ron and Pansy talked for a bit at first. Then longer. And they started having lunch together. One thing just… led to another."
Hermione glanced over to the girl, now chatting with Ron. She couldn't help but narrow her eyes: not because she was jealous, of course, since that ship had sailed long before. Still, she worried that Pansy, being the manipulative Slytherin that she was, had her hooks in one of her best friends. Harry, however, didn't seem to be in the least concerned. "She's really changed, Hermione. She's not the same person we knew at school. I don't know what it is which changed it. Perhaps the reality of the war, being out of school, not having Slytherins around her all the time."
"She's the girl who wanted to hand you over to Voldemort!"
Harry simply shrugged. "She was just scared, Hermione. A lot of people were. Life's too short to hold grudges."
Life's too short to hold grudges. Now that was something Hermione had become very familiar with. By all rights, she should hate Bellatrix for what she had done to her, for the pain she had put her through and turning her into the emotional wreck she had become. Still, whenever she looked at the younger Bellatrix, talked to her, listened to her hopes and dreams, she couldn't bring herself to hate her. Far from it, in fact. Should… she show Pansy that same courtesy? Perhaps, but she didn't think she was ready for that yet.
Thankfully, she and Pansy had avoided each other like the plague for the entire duration of the party. Pansy had been her gleeful tormentor for the past seven years and things like that weren't easily forgiven, despite her apparent change of heart. It seemed both girls were reluctant to have that conversation right now. A small mercy, that.
"I've been thinking about Bellatrix a lot, Harry," said Hermione. "She's been on my mind ever since I've had time to stop and think."
"I'm not surprised," Harry patted her shoulder for a bit.
"I've been wondering," said Hermione. "How things could have been different. What if she had someone should could rely on during her difficult moments? What if there had been someone she could trust? What if... I mean, how things could have been different if..."
"You'll drive yourself bonkers thinking like that," said Harry. "You can't change the past, Hermione. And you don't know if anything would have been different in the first place."
"Wouldn't it?" Hermione half-smiled. "I've been looking into her past, Harry. When she was my age. And I see nothing bad, nothing evil in the person she used to be. Something happened to her to make her that way, I just know it. What if that could have been prevented? Ah, perhaps it's just idle fantasy and I'm just driving myself crazy."
"I don't think you're crazy, Hermione," said Harry. "I just think you're trying to make sense of what happened to you. I do the same every day."
Hermione and Harry chatted for a while longer, but when she looked at Ron and Pansy looking very much like a couple in the early stages of a developing love affair, Hermione wondered just what the hell she was still doing here. Having to return to London to catch the Hogwarts express was a compelling excuse to leave. Hermione promised herself she'd apologize to Ron for leaving without saying goodbye later, for she simply could not muster the will to deal with Pansy right now.
The young witch fled into a kitchen to fetch herself a drink of water and planned to slip out the back door. After filling a glass by the faucet and taking a long sip, she enjoyed the quiet of the kitchen with the sounds of the party in the other room being more muffled: at least she didn't feel like the walls were moving in on her anymore.
"Are you alright, dear?" asked Mrs Weasley as she entered the kitchen behind her, just a tad fast enough to make Hermione think she had come in to see how she was doing. Hermione looked up and gave the Weasley matriarch a quick smile. "You... don't seem like yourself, dear."
Hermione shook her head. "I'm not," replied Hermione. "I'm glad to be here, don't get me wrong. It's just that... sometimes I feel as if I'm living past other people. As if I'm not in the same universe they live in them. Does that make sense at all?"
"I think it does," replied Mrs. Weasley.
"I... I am not well," replied Hermione, a clear statement. "I haven't been for months. I'm just glad you're not angry with me."
"Whatever made you think that?" Mrs. Weasley smiled.
"You know. Me and... Ron..."
"You and Ron wouldn't have lasted a month and you know it," Mrs. Weasley winked. "Be glad you're still friends, dear."
Hermione laughed in spite of herself. Mrs. Weasley was right, at least there was still the friendship. "Ron and Pansy. That'll take some getting used to. She's actually polite here."
"It's a surprisingly good match," replied Mrs. Weasley. "Pansy will know how to run a household like a tight ship."
"Perhaps," said Hermione. "Mrs Weasley, may I ask you something?"
"Of course, dear."
"What do you think about Bellatrix?" said Hermione.
"Because of your nightmares? Ron told me. She can't hurt you anymore, dear," Nrs. Weasley replied. "Nor anyone else."
"No, I mean..." Hermione paused a moment. "You went to Hogwarts with her, right? You must have met her. What was she like?"
Mrs. Weasley thought a moment. "I honestly don't know. I went to school with her, yes, and I must have been two of three years above her. She was uppity, arrogant and generally not very nice, but she wasn't a bad apple. I remember that she didn't have many friends, if any. That was not to say that she wasn't outgoing. I don't think it was easy for her to trust anyone."
Hermione nodded. Her own assessment of Bellatrix almost completely aligned with that of Mrs. Weasley.
"It's the tragedy of Slytherin, I suppose," Mrs Weasley continued. "Too many people who want to use you for their own gain and stab you in the back at a moment's notice. You bunch up quite a lot of those kind of people into a relatively small space for seven years and it can do quite a bit of damage to someone. You can somewhat see it with Pansy: she's skittish and guarded still, but it used to be a lot worse. But even since she and Ron have been seeing each other, she's been slowly opening up and has become more approachable."
"Are you saying that if Bellatrix would have had a friend. Someone she could trust... things might have been different?" Hermione asked.
"Ah, it's moot," Mrs. Weasley replied. "The past is the past."
"Ron seems to think she must have always been bad," said Hermione.
"Nonsense. That's a young person talking. Someone who doesn't know any better," scoffed Mrs. Weasley. "I don't think so. Sometimes even small things could make a difference. There was no one to help her when she struggled with her inner darkness. She was easy prey for the likes the You-Know-Who."
"Do you regret killing her?" Hermione asked.
For a moment, Mrs Weasley seemed deflated, pursing her lips and seeming miles away. "At the time, no. And I would do it again if I have to, in a heart-beat. But, ending someone's life... for any reason. Let's just say I have plenty of nightmares of my own, dearrie, and leave it at that."
The Weasley matriarch demanded a hug and Hermione had to admit that a motherly hug was just what she needed right now.
She rather hated keeping her chats with Bellatrix a secret from her closest and dearest friends, but for now it was necessary. If she was to save Bellatrix from herself, she would have to do so without interference. Hermione would go back to Hogwarts and see her friend again in secret.
And she very much looked forward to seeing Trix again.
Tomorrow, Bellatrix would see Hermione again. She couldn't wait: in a few hours, she and her sisters would floo to Leeds and catch the Hogwarts Express on the way back. Though she wasn't particularly happy about going back to school, the thought of seeing Hermione again made her more than a little excited: they'd have so much to tell each other.
With her luggage packed and stood at the foot-end of her bed while her sisters still packing theirs in their own rooms, she had some time to kill. On her bed, with pillows in her back, she spent some time working on her latest story.
She was just thinking how best to phrase the act of someone's ribcage being crushed by massive jaws when there was a knock on her door. Bellatrix groaned and tossed down her quill, her flow now ruined. "Go pack your own luggage! It's not my fault you're both slackers!" she shouted from the bed.
"It's not your sisters, Bella," sounded the muffled voice of her father from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"
"Father?" Bellatrix called out. She quickly blew the ink dry and stuffed her notebook underneath her pillow. "Come in."
Bellatrix frowned, still sat on the bed when her father simply sat down on a chair next to it and let out a rather awkward sigh. "Bella, I..." he sighed again. "I wanted to apologize before you left for Hogwarts. Clear the air, as it were."
"Apologize?" asked Bellatrix. "For what?"
Her father gave her a brief stare. "Your uncle Achille and I... have our differences, we've always have. But it's not right that you got caught in the crossfire. Of course there's nothing wrong with you writing your stories. Nothing at all. I was wrong to take your notebook from you."
Bellatrix frowned briefly. "Did maman put you up to this?"
"Hah!" her father chuckled. "No. Though she has plenty to do with it. I would very much like to sleep in my own bed again."
"It's fine, father," replied Bellatrix. "All is forgiven."
"All?" he said, eyes wandering. "I doubt that. But at least one small thing is."
An enigmatic response for sure. "Father?" Bellatrix asked. "Why do you hate oncle Achille so much?"
Her father snorted again. "Because he's a free-spirited bounder who doesn't care about anything important and gets away with everything."
Bellatrix looked at her father intently, studying his distant expression. Then it hit her like a flash of lightning in the darkness. "You..." Bellatrix started, her voice cautious. "You wish you could be more like him."
Her father didn't look her in the eye. Not at first. Instead, he looked towards the far end of the room for a moment, into the embers of a dying fire. Then, he turned his head and smiled. "Perceptive as always, my little witchling. That's going to serve you well in life. As for the answer, well, yes and no. No because if I hadn't done my duties to my family, I wouldn't have met your mother. I wouldn't have had you or your sisters, and my life would have been less of it. Yes, because, well, no duties, no wars to have lived through, not being faced with the tough decisions and…"
Her father shifted uncomfortably, and from his expression Bellatrix could see he was torn. "Bellatrix," she spoke. "Make me a promise. Promise me that what I am about to tell you will never leave this room."
Bellatrix nodded. Judging from her father's tone, this was something quite serious. "I promise."
"Good," said her father. "I know you are a young woman of your word. You know of your uncle Alphard? My older brother?"
"He was exiled from House Black by uncle Orion," said Bellatrix.
"Yes, he was," said her father, taking a moment to pat her on the knee. "Alphard has... a kind soul. He taught me my first spell, you know? We ran around Catterborough Woodhouse always looking for mischief. Oh, the pranks we pulled on your aunt Walburga were epic! One time we replaced her make-up with wartweed powder and it turned her cheeks into a lunar landscape for a week. Heh, if you think she has lung-capacity now, you haven't heard her then!"
Having met aunt Walburga and having been at the receiving end of her lung capacity, Bellatrix mused that her father painted a rather vivid image. Still, he had a wistful, forlorn look about him as he started ahead, glancing away from her. There was a pain in his eyes, that much was clear.
"At Hogwarts, Alphard was always looking out for me and I for him. We had each other's back. We went to war together. WAR! Where were faced life and death together! We were brothers. We are brothers. You don't shut that off, not even when your bastard of a cousin orders him to be cast out of the family and the rest of us to cut off contact with him!"
Bellatrix realized just what her father was trying to tell her. "You... you never cut ties with uncle Alphard."
"Not even your mother knows," chuckled her father. "You have cousins, you know? Their names are Morag and Malcolm. Twins. Nine years old. Morag is thin and athletic, unlike her father. Loves to draw. She's going to be a killer Quidditch player one day. Malcolm is clever and quick of wit."
Her father gave her an intense look. "You will never meet them. And they will never meet any of us."
Her father gave her a harsh look for a moment. "I know you've been thinking about running away. I know you don't want to be married. But I urge you not to run. Because Orion will cast you out if you turn your back on your obligations. I doubt your sisters will give up on you, and neither will I or your mother. But we'd only be able to meet in the deepest of secret. And your children will never be able to see their own family or claim their birthright. Alphard is fine with this, but that is not the life I want for you, my little witchling."
Bellatrix cast her eyes downward, weighing her father's words. Yes, she supposed she saw the wisdom in them, but one question remained. "Why did it have to be him though?" Bellatrix pouted. "Why Lestrange?"
Her father sighed. "If it had been up to Orion, you would have been promised to Cantankerous Nott."
That made Bellatrix' eyes spread wide, knowing full well that wedding contract negotiations had started right after her tenth birthday. "WHAT?!" she exclaimed. "But he's almost seventy years old!"
"Your reaction mirrored mine," said her father. "Orion told me if I could find a marriage candidate of equal or higher status, he would allow contract negotiations. Precious few fit the bill."
"Is there really nobody else?" Bellatrix asked with a small voice. "Anyone?"
"The negotiations with the Lestrange family took over seven years alone," said her father. "Only the head of House Black could break open the contract."
Bellatrix sighed. Orion...
"I might as well try to persuade a cat to bark," sighed her father. "I'm sorry, Bella. But take heart... any husband taking a wife from House Black always learns that the Black women are not easily controlled or suppressed. You least of all. It won't be the end of your life, my little witchling. You will thrive. Of this I have no doubt."
Bellatrix simply closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She had held out some hope that, perhaps, her impending marriage could still be avoided. Perhaps she should focus on beyond, what she would do once married, what tactics she should use to circumvent Rodolphus' undoubtedly harsh demands of her. She supposed it could have been worse: walking down the aisle next to a seventy year old man, for example.
"Bellatrix?" asked her father. "I must admit I am curious. Would you read me one of your stories?"
"You want to hear one?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"I'll have you know the ashtray you made for me when you were five is still on my desk."
"That was a flowerpot," Bellatrix chuckled. "I... just didn't have enough clay."
The curly-haired witch pulled the notebook from under her pillow and flipped through it while her father sat back and settled against the chair.
"Okay," said Bellatrix. "I call this one 'Obsession'."
She told her tale. And her father listened. They shared an embrace.
Bellatrix was quiet and restless the entire trip back to Hogwarts.
Chapter 12: Examining the WindowChapter Text
The first day after autumn break was just like every other day at Hogwarts and students quickly fell back into their usual routines of classes, dinner, homework and whatever evening enjoyment they would choose. Still, Bellatrix had trouble keeping focus through it all. She went through the motions of her classes, undoubtedly giving the correct answers to questions she barely remembered being even asked while running all the things she had found about the magic pool through her head.
Truth be told, she was counting the minutes until today's witching hour. Not only because it had been a tumultuous holiday and she needed to vent a bit of steam to someone she trusted, but also because she desperately wanted to share what she had found. No doubt Hermione would approve of her diligence. She had been ordering her notes and her books for what seemed like twenty times today and had to do it twice because she had all the materials, including her oncle's painting, duplicated by Sebastian before she'd left.
By the start of the day, she was counting the hours. Right before dinner time she was counting the minutes. She walked through the hallways, still ordering her thoughts when she barely noticed being approached by someone. Still rifling through her notes, she bumped into someone, gave out an irritated shout to tell whoever it was to bugger off and kept going, only to be rudely pulled from her trance when someone grabbed her by the arm.
Bellatrix let out a hiss, drew her wand and pressed it against the offender's throat while protecting her notes by holding them behind her back. Only then did she realize that she had come face to face with Lestrange, him giving her a stricken look while he held up his hands.
Lestrange, the last person she had wanted to see.
"Whoa, whoa! Bloody hell, Black," he muttered. "What's gotten into you?!"
"Go.. away," Bellatrix hissed.
"I'm not allowed to speak to my fiancee now?" he raised an eyebrow.
"It's a business arrangement!" Bellatrix hissed. "Nothing more, nothing less. I've got nothing to say to you until the wedding. And quite possibly nothing after!"
"Look," Lestrange gave that annoying smirk of his. "I realize you prefer to make things difficult for yourself, Bellatrix, but get used to the idea... you will be my wife."
The curly-haired witch felt every muscle in her body tense up, clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "It must be so wonderful for you. To get access to my family's wealthy, connections, our... pedigree. You don't deserve any of it, Lestrange!"
Lestrange smirked again. "Bellatrix, Bellatrix, Bellatrix," he chuckled, but his voice took on a more sinister tone as he grew quieter, glancing around to see if there weren't any eager ears nearby. "I do have plenty to offer you and you'll change your tune when you see my connections. Times are changing, Bellatrix. Soon, very soon, I will introduce you to someone. Someone extraordinary beyond measure! Someone who will change the world... for the better. Someone who can make blood purity mean something again. Once you see his magic, once you see his power, Bellatrix, you will beg to be my wife."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes at him. No doubt he was posturing like he always was. "Whatever," she muttered and brushed past him. She had no time and no mood for his pathetic antics.
Still, the encounter with him had soured her mood considerably, to a point where she elected to stick close to her sisters the rest of the day, starting at dinner at the Great Hall, doing homework together after dinner and then hanging around the common room between the three of them.
At her dorm, Bellatrix didn't get a wink of sleep and decided to slip out of the castle a bit earlier than usual. After a visit to the Hog's Head for another lovely pint of ale… which she had to vacate rather quickly when that stupid oaf Hagrid entered the common room… she made her way into the Forbidden Forest. At the pool, she sat on the largest root and leaned against the pillow she had brought. It was definitely getting colder now, so the magically warmed blanket she had brought and wrapped over her legs was very much a necessity. Wearing a woolly hat, Bellatrix unfurled her scroll and started writing a bit. Inspiration came quickly and a whole new tale started to form in her head.
After an hour or two of writing, Bellatrix gasped in joy when the pool sprang to life and once again bathed the clearing in a magical blue hue. She put away her quill and quickly leaned towards the water. "Hermione!" she exclaimed.
No answer.
"Hermione?" she asked again.
Again, no answer.
She tried to peek into water to try to get a better look at the clearing on the other side of the reflection. Usually, Hermione was perched on the same large root she was currently sat on, but there was no sign of her.
Perhaps, she was just a little late?
So Bellatrix waited.
And she waited.
Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Still no Hermione.
Bellatrix swallowed hard. Had something happened to her? Was she alright?
Fifteen minutes. The curly-haired witch was really getting nervous now, pacing back and forth while she tried to control her breathing.
Twenty minutes.
'She isn't coming. Something happened. Is she hurt? Is she alright? Does... does she still want to be friends? Was it something I said? Is she still angry with me for calling her a mudblood? Have I ruined our friendship somehow? What did I do? What did I do wrong?!' she repeated over and over in her mind, torturing herself with endless possibilities why Hermione would no longer want to be associated with her.
Twenty-five.
When the time passed the half hour mark, Bellatrix was fighting back tears. 'Where is she? Why isn't Hermione coming?' The curly-haired witch hopped off the root and started pacing back and forth, running hundreds of scenarios through her mind.
Had something happened? Had she been delayed? Was she ill? Could… could something had happened on the way here? The Forbidden Forest could be dangerous, after all. What if Hermione was hurt and needed help? Perhaps… perhaps she could warn someone in the future. How would she do it? Yes, she could perhaps formulate a note for McGonagall to be delivered at this date in 1998 so they could go look for her if something was wrong. She already had the paper, but she had yet to write it.
She ripped a page from her book and started. 'Hello, this is Bellatrix from 1968. I assure you this is not a jest or a prank. Hermione might very well be in danger…' Bellatrix grit her teeth and wondered how the hell she would even explain the Fae Mirror to someone in the future. "Relax, Bella, relax," she forced herself to calm down. "Even in Hermie is in mortal peril, she's still thirty years in the future. You have all the time in the world to get your note right."
When the clock was about to hit 3:35, Bellatrix heard some rustling from the other side of the mirror. The curly-haired witch tossed her note to the side, dashed to the pool and parked herself on the root and tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but was unable to keep the sheer joy from her voice when Hermione came into view, panting as she did so.
"Hermione! You came!" Bellatrix exclaimed before she caught herself. "I mean, uhm, of course you did."
Hermione, for her part, was panting heavily and needed a moment to catch her breath. "Sorry, I'm late. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," she offered. "I ran all the way here. I didn't get much sleep last night so I overslept today. I didn't mean to worry you."
Wearing a somewhat warmer muggle denim jacket rather than her robe, Hermione made a somewhat different impression. Honestly, she didn't look well: pale, with bags under eyes and the exhaustion clearly etched in her face, having all the markers of a woman for whom the wiser course had been to simply stay in bed that evening. Still, Bellatrix was beyond grateful that Hermione had shown up regardless and she saw past it all: to her, Hermione was an angel in denim.
"I wasn't worried at all!" Bellatrix lied. "I figured something must have kept you. Anyway, you won't believe what I found out!"
In the pool, Hermione offered a warm smile. "You certainly sound excited."
"Right," said Bellatrix as she held up a small wooden box. "In about half an hour, I'll bury this box underneath that root over there. You should be able to find it now."
In the pool, Hermione moved to the root Bellatrix had pointed out. "Here?" she asked. Bellatrix confirmed it and, after digging a little, Hermione fished up the wooden box and, after retrieving it and using a spell to unlock the box, had exactly the same books and notes in her hands as she had. For her part, Hermione seemed very much intrigued, especially when she took a look at her uncle's painting. Removed from the frame, Bellatrix had rolled it up to fit it inside the box along with copies of the rest of the books and notes.
"What we're looking at, what we're talking through," said Bellatrix. "Is called a Fae Mirror and they're really bloody rare. This had actually been the first sighting in the UK! Isn't that exciting, Hermie?!"
"A Fae Mirror," Hermione let the term roll over her tongue a few times. "Doesn't ring a bell."
Bellatrix was elated. Now was her time to shine. Now was her time to impress and excite her friend. "Grand-père did research on ancient legends from both the magical and the muggle world, right?" said Bellatrix. "Trying to determine how much was truth and how much was myth. He had labelled Fae Mirrors as myth until he found references in Russian Ministry accounts of magic forests, in particular the taiga woods in the Verkhoyansk river valley. There have been more sightings in Jiuzhaigou forest in China and the Sagano bamboo forest in Japan. The oldest known sighting in the Black Forest in Germany and the description is always the same: located in a clearing and among the roots of a long dead petrified tree. It always glows blue when it's active and, get this, all descriptions my grand-père found refer to the surface of the pool 'reflecting not the surroundings, but showing a reflection of a different time. Sometimes looking forwards, sometimes looking back'. Just like it is in my oncle's painting."
"Good work, Trix," said Hermione, causing Bellatrix to allow herself a satisfied smile. "Wait. A. Rosier. You are related to Achille Rosier? The artist?"
"Yes," said Bellatrix. "He is my oncle. Mother's side. Apparently grand-père told him the myth of the Fae Mirror and he was intrigued enough to make a painting about it. He was my lead to find out more about the legend."
Apparently Hermione was making a rather intense study of the painting. "Trix," said Hermione. "Have you taken a good look at the painting? What do you make of the reflection of the unicorn in the pool?"
"Hm, good question," said Bellatrix, remembering that in the painting, a regular stark white unicorn was peeking into the pool and saw the reflection of a unicorn which was black as night. "There's no such thing as black unicorns. Doesn't matter if the pool reflects past or future, it can't show what doesn't exist."
Hermione seemed lost in thought for a moment, staring rather intensely at her oncle's painting while nibbling down on her lip a bit. It looked, honestly, rather cute. "Perhaps... it is looking through the pool at something else entirely. This warrants further investigation. Have you found the original myth the painting is based on?" Hermione asked.
"I have," said Bellatrix. "It's in a book called 'Verlorene magische Geschichten aus dem Schwartzwald' but our library doesn't own it. In fact, no library in the UK owns it, but there are two existing copies in the German state library. Curious how a book about lost tales is in the verge of becoming lost itself, isn't it? Sadly, I didn't have time to get it, and getting books from the other side of the channel is a complete pain anyway."
"Let me," said Hermione. "I can ask a friend in the Ministry if he could put in a requisition form for it with the German Ministry. Requests from aurors always get fast-tracked. Well, fast-tracked is a relative term, but it should take weeks, rather than months."
"I'll take it," smiled Bellatrix.
Hermione suddenly let out a sigh. "Oh, bother," she muttered.
"What?" Bellatrix asked.
"This is a unique and rare magical phenomenon and we haven't been documenting any of it since we've started our chats," Hermione sighed. "Honestly, I could kick myself!"
"Never too late to start, I suppose," Bellatrix replied. "But I think we both enjoyed our chats a bit too much to really think about the particulars."
"There is that," Hermione smiled. "Again, great work, Trix. I'll see if I can find out more on my end and share what I find. Seriously, though, the artist Achille Rosier is actually your uncle?"
Bellatrix chuckled. "He certainly is. I'm glad you've heard of him," she said, rather gratified to know that her oncle was still well known for his work thirty years from now.
"Heard of him? It's hard not to know who he is," said Hermione. "He's a celebrated artist and a famous recluse."
"Yeah, he's not very social," returned Bellatrix. "Not outside of his family, really. If you ever have the chance to meet him, just tell him you know me and he'll chat your ears off, no doubt. Might even paint you something if he's in the right mood."
Hermione went really quiet for a moment. "I'll keep that in mind," Hermione spoke in a soft, almost neutral tone. Bellatrix found that a bit odd, but was in too good a mood to pay much mind to it.
"How was your autumn break?" Bellatrix asked. "Did you enjoy your time with your parents?"
Her answer came in the form of a slight nod and an ever slighter smile. "It was good. Funny thing is that you simply don't realize how quickly time passes until it's too late. I've spent far too little time with them over the past years. It always seemed that other things seemed more important at the time, you know? I've decided that I'm going to join them on their skiing trip over Christmas holidays. It's been a while since I've hit the slopes, so I think I'll be a little rusty."
"I've never skied," replied Bellatrix. "Seems a little dangerous to me."
"Skiing? Dangerous?" Hermione laughed. "Trix, you are a chaser of a Quidditch team!"
"So?" chuckled Bellatrix. "That's not dangerous. The worst thing that could happen is that I fall off my broom for a bit."
It was a statement that made Hermione sputter and struggle to form a responsible. "At, what? Twenty-five miles an hour speed?!"
"Not nearly as dangerous as standing on bits of wood in the snow," pouted Bellatrix. "I mean, come on, Hermie, how would you even stop once you get going?"
"It's quite easy, actually," replied Hermione. "You just fold your legs a little so that your ski's cross a little and the friction will slow you down."
Bellatrix made a face. "That sounds like a recipe for snapped ankles."
"Falling off your broom from a twenty meter height sounds like a recipe for snapped necks," Hermione replied.
"Nah, it'll fine," Bellatrix shrugged.
"Anyway, how was your autumn break?" asked Hermione, her face showing that kindly smile of hers.
"Fun," replied Bellatrix, meaning it. "I mean, once I got past the wedding rehearsal and usual bollocks. Got to spend a lot of time with my sisters at home, just enjoying ourselves, so it wasn't all bad. Had a good conversation with my father too. Oh, do remind me to show you Catterborough Woodhouse some day. Our mansion is a sight to behold."
The corners of Hermione's mouth formed a bit of a half-smile. "I'm not sure your family would like to have a muggle-born guest."
"Pfft," Bellatrix snorted. "I'll handle them. The servants are nothing but polite, oncle won't care, I'll keep my sisters in line and the house if big enough that you could stay there all week without even seeing my family once."
"I'd like to see it," said Hermione. "But there's a little bit of an issue."
"Thirty years apart," sighed Bellatrix. "And yet I feel we are so close together."
"Same," smile Hermione, just as the pool started to shimmer. "Oh, bother. I'm so sorry, Trix. I'll be on time tomorrow, I promise."
"It's fine, Hermie," replied Bellatrix. "Go get some sleep and we'll talk again tomorrow."
After the girls said their goodbyes and the magic of the pool faded away, Bellatrix set towards her final task of the evening, which was to put all the research she had done into the box, magically lock it and bury it underneath the root so that Hermione could find it in the future.
As she was doing so, her thoughts drifted back to Hermione and how relieved she was to see her today: no kidding, Bellatrix had really been worried about Hermione be it for having accidentally insulted her or her being injured somehow. And when she had appeared in the Fae Mirror, having that wonderful fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach. An angel in denim, such an apt description: Hermione was smart, witty and was someone who was willing to put up with her antics... someone she could trust.
Pretty too, though from her chats she could tell that Hermione didn't consider herself to be a pretty girl. Well, she was wrong. That lovely brown hair of hers, those eyes... that brief cute little half-smile dancing on her lips she shot at her whenever she told her something which amused her.
She briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips.
Instantly, Bellatrix froze, her hands hovering over the box she had just set in place to bury.
Kiss those lips?
Where had that come from?!
Bellatrix let out a sigh. The point was moot anyway, as she reminded herself once again that they were indeed thirty years apart.
Hermione had been dead tired all day and running all across the Forbidden Forest certainly hadn't helped. Truth be told, she simply hadn't slept well after returning to Hogwarts straight from the Burrow. Perhaps her encounter with Pansy had been to blame, she had first considered, but dismissed that theory quick enough. Though seeing Pansy again had reignited old hatreds, perhaps even unfairly, it was falling back into the same routine she had been since the start of this school year which had been bothering her.
Sneaking back into the castle and getting back to her dorm room was easy enough, but sleep deprivation was starting to get the better of her. At least her first scheduled class tomorrow would rather late in the morning, so her schedule permitted her to sleep in. This, of course, meant that she would have to skip breakfast, but she needed sleep more than food at the moment. Hermione had a few chocolate bars on reserve, one of which would cover her until lunch time tomorrow.
Still, Hermione knew that she wouldn't catch a single wink of sleep if she wouldn't take care of one little thing first. Prepared as always, Hermione sauntered over to her oft-used and loved writing desk and opened a drawer containing all sorts of paperwork. One of those was a requisition form for books not owned by the Hogwarts library. Normally, she'd fill these out and hand them over to Madam Pince and, usually, Hermione knew not to bother unless it was for a long-term project since it would be a matter of months before she'd get the books in, especially if the book wasn't even on British soil. This is where Ron came in.
After filling out the form to requisition 'Verlorene magische Geschichten aus dem Schwartzwald' from the German State Library, she picked up another scroll and started writing a letter.
"Hey Ron,
I'm sorry that we didn't have a chance to speak much at the Burrow yesterday, but I still had a fun time there. So, you and Pansy, hm? Harry told me a bit about how you and Pansy started dating. Don't worry, I'm not angry. Just surprised! Next time we speak, you should tell me all about how it happened. I'm certain it'll be a tale of circumstance worthy of a Weasley and I mean that in the best possible way.
Anyway, I'm hoping you could help me out. I'm trying to get my hands on a certain book and you know as well as I do how slow the Ministry gears grind. But if an auror were to requisition it, it would take six weeks to get here rather than six months. I've already filled out the entire form. All you have to do is sign your name and file it.
We'll talk soon. And thanks for helping.
Yours,
Hermione."
She put down her quill and started to blow out the candles. Hermione'd bring the scrolls to the owlry tomorrow, but she wouldn't be whom she was if she didn't have everything prepared in advance. But now, it was time for bed. Clothes were shed, a wash was had and her teeth were brushed. Stomping from the wash basin in the formerly communal bathroom to her bed as if she were a zombie, she let herself drop down onto the mattress and pulled the cover over her and her nightly companion.
The life-sized tiger-plushie her dad had bought her at London Zoo had not been given a name: Hermione was no longer a child, after all. But it was large enough to be a big artificial cuddle-cat. She wrapped her arms around it and pressed her body against its soft fur.
Nice. That was nice.
To lie in bed and hold something soft and warm, to pull it close and embrace it tightly.
So nice.
It only it could hold her too. Maybe if she flipped it around a little so its paws could simulate arms. But she was simply too tired.
Tomorrow.
She'd have the tiger hug her tomorrow. Sleep now.
Sleep. Sleep and dream that someone would hold her while she slept to keep her warm and safe.
Thankfully, she was out like a light almost immediately.