Chapter 10: Handing Over the ReinsNotes:
Okay, you lovely people have spoken. It would be cruel to end it there, wouldn't it?
So here's another chapter!
Chapter Text
Hermione managed to spend two hours at the café before her warring thoughts got the better of her, forcing her to her feet and out the door. Much to the relief of the other customers and waiting staff. She may have been muttering to herself rather loudly.
She's nearly back at the cottage now, her feet dragging, desperately wanting to run for her life again in any other direction. Her very soul is screaming at her not to do this. But she must. For the fate of the world.
She crests the final sand dune and—
It's not there. The cottage. What? Are her concealment charms back in action? Is her magic back? It hadn't worked a few minutes ago in the café.
She walks over to where she knows the house used to be. Nothing. Not even a trace of— ah!
Hands appear from nowhere and grab her by the front of her cloak, pulling her forwards and throwing her to the ground.
Her hands fly out to catch herself, just managing not to get a face full of sand, and then she's being wrenched onto her back, a gnarled wand in her face.
She gulps up at Lestrange. Yep, her plan is beginning to feel extremely idiotic right now. The witch looks furious, hair and dress blowing in the wind, glaring down at her, the cottage now visible behind her.
Hermione's heart begins to jackhammer, and everything starts to blur, her ears ringing. She tries to concentrate on her breathing, hands digging into the sand.
Keep calm, Hermione. You don't have to fight her. Not this time.
The waves crash and the sand blows around her face.
Lestrange doesn't move.
Uh.
Why hasn't she said anything? That's not like her. Is it her? Or is it someone else in polyjuice?
Hermione just stares up at her.
Then Lestrange kicks her in the stomach. Hard.
"Ah!" Oh gods. She can't breathe. Please say she isn't going to—
She kicks her again, this time in the back as she rolls sideways. A cruel grin creeps across her face.
What should…should she defend herself? She can't just become a punching bag!
Lestrange crouches down, wand against Hermione's throat, just below her jaw. Hermione takes a shaky breath, clenching her teeth against the reaction to pull away.
Stay calm. She can't kill you. She needs information.
She looks into the gleeful face before her…and watches as the smile slips, turning into a pout.
Lestrange huffs out a sigh and stands. "You're no fun! Where's your fight gone, Gryffindor? Don't you want to play?"
Yes! It's working! Talking is a lot better than aggression. And…
Hermione slowly sits up, wincing, and studies the witch. Could it be? Is this a stalling tactic? Or even curiosity?
"I don't want to fight, no. I'm too worried about the paradox I might create."
Stay neutral. Don't blame her for anything, don't ask for help or mention working together. Not yet.
"Yes, you've been very naughty, messing with time. Don't think you should be trusted with it. Maybe I should tie you up and sort this out for you before you destroy the whole world with your muddy little hands."
Tie her— oh dear. She hadn't thought of that.
"You don't need to tie me up. You're right, you know much more about this than me, probably. I won't do anything to alter the timeline, I just want to get home so nothing bad happens."
The witch cackles. "Oh the poor little Mudblood is scared and wants to go home! You should have thought of that before you lied your way into our world. You think you're a real witch? A real witch knows not to interfere with time magic, filth!"
Argh she is so—
Hermione gets to her feet, shaking sand from her robes. "I didn't! I didn't do anything, something happened to me in the Department of Mysteries. Someone pushed me! I was leaving, I know how stupid it is to change time! Why would I—ah!"
She's slammed against the side of the house, jagged stone digging into her back.
"You dare argue with me, mudblood? I've read your simpering little letter. Do you think we're going to be friends now? That because of some prophecy we're suddenly equals? You are nothing more to me than a walking, talking pensieve. So tell me. Tell me everything you know and then I will decide if it's worth keeping you alive."
Hermione lets out a shaky breath. Don't let her scare you. You have a brain, use it. De-escalate.
She inhales slowly, softening her features. Like Snape did. Except more friendly. "Yes, of course. I can show you what happened, if you'd like? In my memories? Where would you like to do this?"
She brushes some hair out of her face and looks at the woman calmly instead.
Lestrange frowns at her and takes a step back, head tilted, wand spinning between her fingertips. "Inside."
Okay. Hermione nods at her cautiously, and then turns her back, heart racing, to walk in through the front door. All the hairs on the back of her neck are standing on end. All of her instincts telling her not to lose sight of the witch. To keep the predator in sight.
But she just swallows and heads over to put the kettle on. If she doesn't want this to be a fight, she has to show that. Apparently slytherins read actions and body language as well as playing word games.
She's so glad she'd ended up in Gryffindor.
She fills the kettle and takes a cup from the cupboard. "Would you like something before we start? Tea? Coffee?"
The scrape of wood on tile floor comes from behind her, and Hermione holds back a flinch.
Lestrange scoffs. "Why would I want anything you've touched with your filthy fingers?"
More taunting. So…she's trying to stay in the familiar. She's uncomfortable. Unsure…
Or just hates Hermione's guts.
Stay casual. Friendly casual.
Die die die you awful woman! Touch me one more time and I'll kick you in the head, stab you again and aim for your heart.
And breathe. Friendly conversation. Giving up control. "Okay, it's your choice. What would you like to see in my mind? Or I can just tell you about the future. Anything you want to know. Oh! Is there anything you don't want to know? It is easier not to change your actions if you don't know anything that should happen, but I'm afraid I've ruined that already, sorry."
She goes and gets the teabag and throws it in the cup, walking over to get the milk, hands trembling, avoiding looking at the witch for the time being.
"Why are you doing that?"
What?
Now she does turn to the woman. She's sat on top of the table, kicking her legs, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. The kettle whistles.
"Umm…what do you mean?" Hermione walks over to carry on making her tea, distracting herself, turning around once it's ready to lean back against the counter and blowing into her cup.
The witch hops off the table and walks closer. And closer. Hermione tries to keep her breathing steady and not react.
Bellatrix takes the cup of tea from her grasp, putting it on the side, and then pushes up against her. Hip to hip. Nose to nose.
Hermione's eyes dart back and forth between the dark ones before her as she cringes back. What is she doing? This isn't the same as before, what is that expression? More intimidation? Trying to make her snap? Push her?
She really is looking a lot healthier. There's colour to her cheeks, her lips. Her eyes brighter, face less gaunt.
Stop staring, Hermione. It's strange.
She looks away to the side at her tea, sat there steaming.
Lestrange tuts. "Why are you not using magic…where is your wand?"
Oh. Hermione's licks her lips, trapped against the sink and really wanting to move before she admits…
"It's in my pocket. I've damaged my magical core, it's…it's taking a while for my magic to recover. So far I've managed some sparks…that's it."
She reluctantly turns her head. And meets a burning gaze. And then a hand plunges into her pocket.
Hey— ow! Hermione jolts automatically at the unwanted invasion, only managing to smack her head into Lestrange's forehead. This is why people need personal space!
"Where?"
Hermione rubs at her head and reaches into her other pocket, pulling out her wand for the witch to see.
"This pocket. Look."
She turns sideways slightly, giving herself a bit of room for the wand movement, and focuses on her cup of tea. "Wingardium leviosa!"
The cup vibrates, just the tiniest amount, and then nothing.
Hermione sighs.
The witch pushes away from her with a laugh, waving her wand so that the cupboards begin to open and shut, an orange flying towards them into the centre of the kitchen and peeling itself in mid-air.
Okay, ha ha, very funny. No need to rub it in. Show off.
Lestrange snatches the peeled orange from the air and then hops back up to sit on the table, beginning to eat.
Showing off…and hungry. And more relaxed.
Good. They're on track.
"So your magic is gone. As it should be. Just shows how weak it was to start with, you probably stole it. Or your filthy parents did. Now everything is as it should be."
Ignore the taunt.
Hermione shrugs. "I think it will come back soon enough, I can still feel my wand buzzing, so my magic must be there. And I'm sure I'll need magic to travel back to my time…however that will work. Do you think it's worth asking the centaurs? They did make our prophecy after all." She takes a cautious sip of tea.
Lestrange glares at her. "I don't need your advice, mudblood!"
She slashes her wand through the air, and Hermione feels something burn across her cheek.
Ah! She flinches, only just managing not to scald her fingers as some tea splashes over the edge of her mug.
Oh Merlin, it—
She curls herself around over the sink, bringing a hand up to her face. Ah! It stings! Did she cut her? Or burn her?
Fine. Take a breath and move past it, Hermione. She splashes some water on her face and then turns back around.
Lestrange just grins at her, a slice of orange clasped between her teeth, giving her a wide orange smile. Child. Hermione fights not to glare at her. Twisted madwoman.
The witch rolls her eyes and swallows. "You're the mad one. Why should I run off to talk to some horse about the stars?"
What! Did— did she just read Hermione's mind? She breaks eye contact. You need eye contact for legilimency.
"Nuh uh, none of that. Look at me. You promised. Be a good girly and show Bella what she needs to see, or I won't ask so nicely."
Hermione closes her eyes with a sigh. And then cautiously looks back up.
Lestrange's wand snaps into her hand in a flash.
Here they go.
"Legilimens!"
Chapter 11: A Constant CompanionChapter Text
As it turns out, Bellatrix wants to see everything.
And she means everything, from Hermione's first time meeting Harry on the train, back in first year, all the way to the end of the war, and then skipping to the last few days here in the past, at the Ministry and in the cottage.
Hermione had expected her to be obsessive about Voldemort, about her cause, but this has caught her rather off guard. It's like she's the witch's own personal TV screen and she has the remote. Skipping the boring parts, fast forwarding until Hermione's head is fuzzy, and re-watching her favourite bits over and over.
It does worry Hermione that she's revealing all of the Order's secrets, all of her own personal secrets, thoughts, and fears. Even that she won't be useful once Lestrange has seen everything.
But there's nothing she can do. She can't fight it, not really. Hermione has dabbled in the arts of legilimency and occlumency over the years, but she's not a master. It would take an enormous mental strain to even attempt to go against her, and she's not sure she wants to risk it.
Look what happened to the Longbottoms.
And besides. She did promise to show her whatever she wanted.
She just keeps reminding herself that the witch is technically dead and buried. And she can't tell anyone Hermione's secrets without changing time, there's that too. So, yes, Lestrange has a lot of blackmail material and personal information. So what? It all works out in the end. It has to.
And so she watches as the years pass, watches as her life unfolds, day by day. Let's herself relax and reminisce. She'd forgotten how much she's changed, through the years. How young they all were. The clothes! The hair! How dreadful!
And Lestrange watches too, a presence in the back of her mind. Always there. Laughing, grumbling. Asking questions and making cutting remarks.
They watch Hermione as she makes plan after plan, all of the late nights in the library, in her room. Watch her figure out friendships and romance along the way. Watch her laugh until she cries and cry until she laughs.
And as much as Bellatrix scoffs and tries to skip past it, as much as she sneers at Hermione's past…there's no avoiding it. Hermione grew up with the war. Her life was the war…in a way. Or at least fighting Voldemort. Helping Harry to survive. Every little piece of information about Harry, about the Order, about Voldemort and how they stopped him…is tangled together with Hermione's life.
So yes, Lestrange laughs and mocks. She bickers, pokes at Hermione's weaknesses.
But she also listens to everything. Sees everything. Hums in thought or asks questions, her running commentary becoming comforting in a way. As the years go on, through the fighting, the darkness and the fear…a familiar presence. Someone who talks over a horror film, reminding you that it's not real. That you're safe.
Some of her comments are even quite funny in a bizarre way, snide remarks about Snape, Lucius, Umbridge, Lockhart.
And then there's her emotions. Emotions that the witch doesn't seem to be able to hide, always filtering through, washing over them both until Hermione is feeling them too. Hatred, yes. Disgust. Fear…curiosity, amusement. Sadness.
The years drift by, and suddenly, it's the end.
Hermione comes back to reality with a gasp, falling onto the floor, cold tea spilling over her.
It's dark. How long have they been in Hermione's head? Merlin she's thirsty.
She staggers to her feet, muscles aching, and feels around in the cupboard for two glasses, filling them at the tap and coming to sit on the table next to a dazed Bellatrix. Hermione hands her a glass distractedly, still not used to the real world.
She has her thoughts back to herself. She can feel the wood of the table. She's alone in her head…how odd. She almost misses…
Gosh, this is bizarre! Maybe they broke some kind of record for the longest legilimency ever.
She glances at the witch sat on the edge of the table next to her. Even Bellatrix looks out of it. She's drinking the water!
Hermione concentrates on grounding herself. Breathing.
Oh. She really needs the bathroom.
She finishes the glass of water and quickly stands, tucking the chair back under the table.
"Umm…I'll see you in a bit. I really need to go to the loo, and I might have a bath whilst I'm there."
Bellatrix just stares into the distance.
Okay?
Hermione hurries off to the bathroom, feeling around in the dark until she can fumble the door handle open to her room and grab a towel.
Once in the bathroom, she feels around for her wand and directs it at a candle. Maybe she can try…
"Incendio!"
Nothing. She grits her teeth. Use the rage.
"Incendio you bloody thing! Incendio!"
A spark! But it doesn't light.
Argh! Why won't her magic— "Incen—"
"Lumos."
Hermione whirls around as all of the lights come on around her, and gulps at the sight of Bellatrix leaning against the door frame.
The witch looks her up and down, and then stalks forwards into the small room.
"Too slow, mudblood. My turn."
She yanks the towel from Hermione's hands and then shoves her out the door, slamming it shut as Hermione falls against the banister, catching herself.
Wha—?
She bangs on the door, and then twists the handle. Locked. "Bellatrix! I really have to pee, let me in!"
A laugh comes through the door. "Then piss outside, there's a good pet. Don't dirty the floor now."
Hermione grits her teeth, pointing her wand at the lock. "Alohomora!"
Nothing.
More laughter from the other side of the door. "The little muggle can't open a door. How pathetic. I think I'll take my time with this bath."
She hears the sound of running water. Oh no she really has to pee now.
"If you let me in I'll…I'll make dinner! You must be hungry too, I'll make dinner for us."
Silence. And then some splashing.
The door clicks open a crack, and Bellatrix peers through. Hermione steps back against the banister, heart pattering and confidence waning without the barrier between them.
"You would have made dinner anyway. I saw your little plan to be nice to me. To do whatever I tell you."
Oh. Oh dear, complete transparency is very awkward.
"I…yes. Probably. But I can make you something in particular. That you like. You've seen everything about me, you know what I can cook…is there anything you'd like?"
More silence.
And then the door opens fully and ah!
Hermione jerks her head to the side, flustered.
She's not wearing any clothes.
A cackle from the doorway. "Well? You had no problem ripping my clothes off before. Why so shy? Oh yes, you like witches, don't you, mudblood? Now don't go getting ideas. I'm not interested in filth like you."
What?!
"I don't— argh hold that thought."
She pushes past the woman and hurries into the bathroom, door shutting behind her. She is so desperate.
Laughter follows her. She concentrates on peeing and then washing her hands.
Shit. She'd just shoved the witch. How did she forget— she's dangerous, Hermione! She's not just a bickering voice in your head anymore.
Which reminds her.
She opens the door, looking carefully over the other witch's shoulder.
"I don't like witches. Where did you get that idea? You just saw my whole life over the past however many hours. I've never been with a witch!"
Bellatrix steps into view, raising her eyebrows at her. Hermione hastily moves out of her way and stands back against the banister again.
"Exactly, mudblood. I saw everything. There's no hiding from me."
She smirks and walks back into the bathroom, leaving the door open but getting into the bath.
"Now go make my dinner. I'm sure nothing you make will be very good, so it doesn't matter what it is. It will have to do. And no calling that creepy little elf to do it for you, or maybe I'll kill him early."
Argh that horrible, disgusting, sadistic—
Hermione stomps down the stairs.
Maybe she will make something awful for dinner. Just to spite her.
She makes her way towards the kitchen, glad to see that Bellatrix has lit the lights down here too.
She starts grabbing different things from the cupboards. She's going to just make pasta. It's simple, and she doesn't have the time or energy for anything else, not really.
And she's made it so many times now it leaves her brain free to think.
She feels like they were gone for years…
It's actually strange not having the other witch in her head. Not hearing her thoughts, feeling her reaction.
She—
Maybe even some of the hatred is gone. She doesn't know how, but…
It's like Bellatrix has been with her her whole life. She knows it's not true, but her brain can't help—
Maybe there's a reason people don't use legilimency for that long. It blurs the line between the reader and the target. Two minds intertwined.
And if these two…do not drift asunder…though not without the other.
Oh.
It's just hitting her that…Bellatrix now knows her better than anyone else on earth. True, she skipped over Hermione's childhood and home-life, didn't pay attention to a lot of her everyday activities…
But that's more than her own parents know about her.
There are so many things that…
She's seen her crying alone, seen her get her heart broken, seen her terrified for her life.
That was the worst part. When they got to Malfoy Manor, watched Hermione be tortured. It had been…to have the memory right in front of her as well as the monster in her head. It was…
Actually, it wasn't as bad as she had imagined. That's what was frightening. It was like watching it happen to another Hermione. A clone. They'd both just seen the year on the run, they both knew Hermione was telling the truth about the sword.
She could sense a certain…embarrassment? From Bellatrix. The witch had been wrong, desperate, scared. They hadn't lingered on that moment for long. It was a failure to the woman. As much as it hurt Hermione, she hadn't stopped to gloat as expected.
It had been…odd. She hadn't predicted it at all, waiting for the moment, anticipating it, and then…it was skipped over.
That's what made it even the more horrible. That such a significant, traumatic event in her life, that Hermione would never forget, was just…breezed over.
The woman is so unpredictable. Snape can tell her to use her mind all he wants, apparently Hermione will never get it. Maybe it's a Slytherin thing. Everything the witch does or says is—
Like saying Hermione likes witches. Where did that come from? She saw Hermione cry over Ron, go to the Yule Ball with Viktor. Kiss Ron. She'd skipped through the years after the war, but she must have noticed Hermione dating Ron.
Maybe she actually is insane. Hermione had kind of forgotten about that. Everyone knows that Lestrange is, well, strange.
And she is! What kind of adult witch sits on tables and plays with oranges? Tells people not to pee on the floor and parades around naked?
She pours the finished sauce in with the pasta.
Of all the people to have to live with, to stop the end of the world with, why her?
That stupid prophecy! She's definitely going to have a word with the centaurs about this!
She starts grating some cheese.
She doesn't like witches. She doesn't. When has she ever fancied a witch?
Ginny is just a friend. So is Luna. They're the only female friends she has.
Well, there's Fleur, kind of. She's more of a family friend, one of the Weasleys now.
And she knows Fleur is attractive. Everyone knows that.
And Ginny is quite charming in a way. She's funny, and confident. Those are attractive qualities.
And Luna is sweet. Kind. Mysterious, always catching her off guard with her wisdom.
These are all just good qualities. There's nothing— They're just friends. She hasn't ever—
Ginny is always teasing Hermione that she had a crush on Professor McGonagall but that's—
She respects her. Sees her as a mentor. A role model. The things that the witch can do with magic is astounding! The things she knows about transfiguration—
Ah!
Hermione jumps as the saucepan flies off of the hob and away behind her. What the—
She spins around. The bowl of grated cheese hovers away towards the table too. And some plates. Bellatrix is sat smirking at her.
"Told you, mudblood. I can't trust you with anything. Burning pasta? What were you daydreaming about? I hope it wasn't me."
Hermione tries to calm her racing heartbeat and then groans, walking over to slump into a chair opposite her. "No! Of course I wasn't thinking about you!"
The woman's smirk widens into a sly grin. "So you were thinking about someone else, I see."
What?!
Hermione spoons some pasta onto her plate. "You can't know that! I could have been thinking about anything! I do have a lot to think about at the moment."
She starts eating.
Silence.
That's unusual. Bellatrix is hardly ever quiet. It's unnerving.
She steels herself and looks across the table at the witch. Who is frowning at her.
"What is it? It's not poisoned or anything."
The witch continues frowning at her. "Try to lie to me."
Umm…
"Umm, alright. I poisoned your dinner."
The witch rolls her eyes. "No, you brainless— lie about anything. Two truths and a lie. Try to fool me."
But—
"But that's impossible! You know everything about me! What is the point?"
"Do it. Or I'll hex you. I won't ask again."
What on Earth is this about?
"Umm…alright. I…my favourite season is autumn, my favourite subject is transfiguration, and my favourite drink is firewhisky."
She looks down at her plate, not wanting the witch to cheat and read her mind.
"You were thinking about McGonagall."
Her head jerks up in shock.
"That wasn't the game! That wasn't fair! How did you—"
A chuckle. "Such a Gryffindor. It's not fair. You shouldn't trust people to play fair. This is going to be a problem. You're going to have to be confined to the house. Or maybe I'll just kill you."
What? The pasta suddenly loses its taste and she swallows harshly.
"What? Why? Why now all of a sudden? What— what did I do?"
Bellatrix pushes some pasta around her plate and then sighs, accioing some wine from the cupboard, nose crinkling as she sees the label but pouring herself some anyway.
"You can't lie. You're terrible at it, always have been."
"What about—"
"Yes, I know. Your little club. Lying to that pink toady woman. I went to school with her, you know, she's not that bright."
Hermione grumbles around a mouthful of pasta.
"No, you've barely been in the past for half a week and you've already told absolutely everything you know to your worst enemy. It doesn't get more stupid than that. And not only that, but you've told Snape too, the slimy bastard. I always knew he was in Dumbledore's pocket. No, you can't hide for shit, muddy."
Hermione squirms in her chair. This is the second time this week she's had her weaknesses shouted at her.
"I…at least you're hidden. And Snape will do anything for Lilly, and he'll die in a few years, so—"
"So he has nothing to lose! And neither do I, seeing as I die too!" the witch yells across the table, her voice echoing through the room. There's just the sound of the wind and the waves as everything falls still.
And then Bellatrix slowly rises to her feet, wand in her hand and sparking.
The lights begin to flicker, the tabletop shakes and the plates rattle. The wine glass tips over and then rolls onto the floor with a smash.
Accidental magic.
Hermione slowly stands up too, beginning to back away into the centre of the kitchen
"I have nothing to lose. I will lose. Everything."
No no no. Hermione scrambles backwards as plate after plate flies from the cupboard to smash on the floor.
"You think I care about the world? About the universe? You think you understand me?"
The glasses begin to shatter and the windows crack.
Get out, Hermione.
She can't. She's frozen in shock, heart pounding and breathing ragged. She can't move.
Water bursts from the tap and begins to spin in droplets through the room, soaking them. Bellatrix just stands firm, wand vibrating and crackling in her hand.
"You dare put this on me! Make me choose!" she bellows. "You show me my death! The death of my master, my cause, my life, and ask me to fall down in defeat? To painstakingly recreate my own doom, or see the end of the universe? All for the minute possibility that, just maybe, I might be able to survive? As if that makes it all worth it?"
She walks forward through the whirling storm, crunching through glass and shattered plates to stand in front of a terrified Hermione, eyes crazed.
"You foolish witch! You stupid, self-righteous, misguided— how did you know?!" she shouts.
And then her eyes fall shut.
She stands as close as ever, panting, breath harsh as it sweeps across Hermione's face.
"How did you know I wouldn't let the world crumble?" she rasps.
And everything stops. The room stands still. The water falls to puddle on the floor, slowly dripping from the surfaces. Everything stops and it's just the wind and their ragged breaths in their ears.
"How did you know I…I could destroy everything," she croaks.
Hermione doesn't know what to—
She looks scared. Actually scared. Sounds scared. She knows that voice by now.
She—
Hermione swallows. "I didn't. But I trusted the prophecy. I knew we had to do this together somehow and…I knew you were clever. I knew you were strong. And I knew nothing could ever control you. Not even the end of the world would stop you. So you were my best chance. The world's best chance."
Lestrange opens her eyes and Hermione clears her throat uncomfortably. "Logically speaking. I do like logic. It's all I have. As you said, I'm not very good at lying, grey areas, reading people. It was the only logical argument that didn't end with myself, and then the world…gone."
Lestrange just stares at her.
Hermione smiles weakly, the water soaking into her socks.
What a mess.
Chapter 12: An Unexpected DistractionNotes:
Thanks for all the comments and kudos, and I hope you're enjoying the slightly new dynamic!
Onwards!
Chapter Text
The lights have flickered out. Hermione isn't sure why, surely the witch can hold a lumos, no matter how upset she is.
And she is. Upset.
Hermione really is bad at reading people. Snape was right, she needs to use her mind.
How would the woman not be upset at everything she just saw in Hermione's head? It was the end of a war. A crushing defeat for Voldemort and his followers. And now Lestrange has to deal with this whole mess too? Of course all that anger and fear was building up somewhere. She'd felt it.
What an idiot. Bloody hell, way to go Hermione.
…Now what?
Bellatrix is…terrified. Lost. Her whole world as shattered as this room. She really has given Hermione all the necessary visual clues.
Hermione's eyes drift through the room, taking in the chaos.
And when Bellatrix is scared, angry…
Oh no. She attacks.
The storm isn't over. She's just in the eye of the hurricane.
She needs a distraction, anything, something to catch her off guard so she can get out of here and fast.
A wand slowly comes up to press into Hermione's throat.
She swallows. Too late.
"Cru—"
No, she can't! Hermione can't go through this again. But she doesn't have her magic. What can—
Shut her up! Stop her!
And then Hermione does something very stupid.
She kisses her.
Lunges forwards and kisses her desperately, takes the cruel word from her mouth.
This worked when Bellatrix did it, back at the ministry, left Hermione dazed and distracted.
Lips freeze beneath hers.
Good. No curses yet. She just needs to—
She tangles a hand into the witch's wet hair, and pulls her closer with the other, tugging at the witch's lip urgently and feeling her just beginning to respond. Hermione's heart is pounding. It feels…
It's working. She's not pulling away. Now if Hermione can time it right, she can maybe make it to the door before—
"Bellatrix? Miss…Granger? Am I interrupting?"
She jerks back with a yell, feet skidding on wet tile as she turns towards the living room.
"Expelliarmus."
Bellatrix's wand flies into Snape's waiting hand.
Well. Just shows. She had distracted the witch.
"Snivellus, you slimy traitor! Give me back my wand!"
Snape just raises his eyebrows at them. "Lumos."
The light returns. Wow, the kitchen really is a mess. And…Bellatrix is soaked through, dress clinging to her, hair plastered to her head, stuck up in strange places. Hermione probably looks just as bad. She shivers.
Well, this is all very awkward.
She decides to just ignore everything for now, walking towards Snape, who watches her closely, and then past him to sit in front of the fire. It's getting chilly.
Bellatrix storms after her and grabs her before she can quite sit down, throwing her to the ground with a thwack. Hermione's chin hits the wooden floor hard and she yells out in pain, rolling onto her back.
Bellatrix kneels on her chest. "How dare you—"
"Reparo maxima…tergeo maxima." Snape's low murmur comes from behind them. Is he…tidying?
Bellatrix growls and her head whips around. "Stop cleaning, you overgrown house-elf! What is wrong with you? You…"
She trails off. Hermione can't blame her. It is a bit…out of character. Wait. She strains to look too, frowning.
And then grabs Bellatrix's arm to get her attention.
She thrusts her hand down to grip Hermione's throat, ready to strangle her, but Hermione just looks her firmly in the eyes, oddly calm. Listen. How do we know it's Snape? She thinks.
The other witch's hand loosens. Good. She can hear her.
Why would Snape be cleaning? It's so odd! She thinks again.
Bellatrix moves her hand and knee off of her, to Hermione's relief, and leans down.
"Leave this to me, no talking," she murmurs in Hermione's ear.
Leave it to—
Well…Okay, probably for the best. Sneaky isn't her strong suit. She nods.
And then Bellatrix pulls out her silver dagger and holds it to Hermione's throat.
Hermione's breath hitches. She's definitely not going to have any trouble staying silent. She doesn't dare move, can hardly think. Her hands brace on the floor, palms sweaty.
Just a tactic. She still wants Hermione alive…doesn't she? She needs to get it back into her head that she can't trust the witch! What is wrong with her? She should have gone straight out the door instead of trusting Snape to protect her…or Bellatrix not to hurt her.
"Give me my wand, Snape, or the mudblood dies."
It's fine it's fine it's fine. Distract yourself.
She can't see much from her position on the floor. It's infuriating.
"I admit I'm rather confused, a moment ago you were kissing the witch, and now you bargain with her life? I'm afraid I don't follow. Perhaps you could explain some things to me."
…Well that doesn't solve anything. Is it Snape or not?
Bellatrix pulls them both up from the floor, the knife getting dangerously close to her neck. But at least she can see better now, pulled against Bellatrix and held from behind. She pulls her head back, away from the blade.
"I don't have to explain anything, Snivellus. I know how much you love filthy mudbloods. So sad you lost the last one. Give me my wand before you lose this one too." She presses the knife in harshly and Hermione lets out a whimper at the sting.
"What are you talking about, Bellatrix? Why should I care if the girl dies? Go ahead. And then perhaps we can begin discussing things. There is much still to talk about, wouldn't you agree?"
Hermione feels Bellatrix go very still behind her.
And then she drags them sideways, knocking the floo powder into the grate and pulling Hermione into the fire. "Black estate!"
What the—
Fire whirls around them, and then she's shoved out onto a cold wooden floor.
"The bastard! I knew he couldn't be trusted. And now he has my wand!"
Hermione stumbles up from the floor with a groan. "So it was Snape? Then why did we leave—hey!"
But Bellatrix is already reaching around in Hermione's pocket. She pulls out Hermione's wand and looks at it in disgust, holding it with the tips of her fingers.
Hermione darts a hand out to snatch it, but the witch is too fast, moving it out of her reach and marching off down the corridor, lighting the way as she goes.
Hermione runs along after her. This place is…
Huge. And creepy. Like an Elizabethan Mansion but with magical creatures mounted on the walls between moving portraits.
Was that a phoenix?! That's barbaric!
"So? Why are we here? All my stuff is back at the cottage! It's just Snape, he's on our side!"
"Tiggy!" Bellatrix screeches, coming to an abrupt halt.
An ancient looking house-elf appears with a faint pop. Hermione skids to a stop before she can bump into the pair.
"Yes, Mistress Bellatrix?" Its voice is a soft rumble, so unlike Dobby's or Winky's that it surprises her.
"I'm expecting a breach of the wards at some point over the next few days. Inform me at once if anyone attempts to pass, no matter who they are."
"Of course, Mistress Bellatrix. In fact, Tiggy must inform you, Tiggy is seeing Mr Lestrange at the edge of the wards this morning, Mistress."
Bellatrix snorts. "That's nothing to worry about and you know it."
The house-elf's face cracks into what astoundingly appears to be a toothless grin. "Indeed, Mistress, but Tiggy is knowing how much this is pleasing you to hear."
Bellatrix hums and then carries on down the corridor past the elf. "Bring some tea. I'll be in the library," she calls over her shoulder, turning left and out of sight.
Hermione is still stood gaping at the house-elf, who looks back at her with a chuckle and pops away.
Did Bellatrix just…joke, with a house-elf?
Is she the imposter?
Hang on.
Library?
She runs down the corridor after the witch, ignoring the scowling, shushing portraits, and turns left into…
Wha—
This is—
Morgana's tits this is—
Her feet carry her further into the circular room until she reaches a central fireplace and a very long dining table. She falls into a chair, only just conscious of the heat warming her wet skin as she gazes around. This is incredible. Like a—
"A beehive. This is—"
The room, while at first appearing to be a tall, bell-shaped, dome, on closer inspection is made up entirely of hexagon shaped corridors, with books lining every wall. The corridors along the ground level leave the wooden floor bare, but higher up even the bottom sides of the hexagons seem to be made up of books, with no stairways or places to stand. Every inch of space taken up.
Except for this warm centre. A brightly burning fire surrounded by tables and chairs of different heights, materials and sizes.
She turns her astonished eyes to the woman opposite her, who has at some point dried herself, and is ignoring her completely, flicking Hermione's wand in different directions so that books fly towards them from different hexagonal corridors.
"How do you—"
"Broom."
"Did you create—"
"Yes."
"How is it—"
"Expansion charm."
Hermione frowns. "How are you—"
Bellatrix slams a book down on the table and turns to glare at her. Hermione winces. She really should be more careful with such an old book. The spines are fragile and the glue—
"Because, I've had the recent pleasure of being inside your head. For years. I know you sickeningly well. Don't faint at the size of my library."
Hermione scowls. But she is feeling a bit lightheaded. All this knowledge…
"So that's why we're here? For the books?"
Bellatrix pulls another book towards her and begins flicking through at great speed.
"It wasn't Snape," she murmurs.
What!
"What! Then who was it? What are you looking for? Why not fight them? You're powerful enough to—"
"Silencio."
"Hey! Oh…I can still talk!"
Bellatrix glares at the wand, and then points it at Hermione. "Silencio!"
"Umm…it must still see me as its owner. The wand chooses the wizard. Or witch, in this case."
Bellatrix growls. "Then it will choose me, or end up on the fire. Silencio!"
Hermione swallows. How sentient are wands? Will it understand that?
She decides to keep her mouth shut, just in case.
Bellatrix goes back to reading, pulling another tower of books towards her.
Oh, Hermione is just itching to ask more questions! And read the books…but they could be jinxed. She'd learnt that lesson long ago. Some books bite back.
She peers over at some of the titles…
They're all in French or German or Greek or…is that Italian? Latin?
She'd taught herself Latin. Very useful seeing as it makes up most incantations. What does that say? Art…unseeing art…conjuring invisible art? That can't be right. She's a bit rusty with her cases.
She reaches towards it. Bellatrix smacks her hand away without looking up. "Cursed. You'd be dead by morning. I wouldn't care of course…but the book would become permanently invisible, and I haven't finished that one yet."
Hermione winces and sits back. So she was right. Deadly books.
The library is starting to feel a lot more dangerous.
A pop interrupts her thoughts. Tiggy, with a tray of…that's not tea.
That's a lot of potions. And a bar of chocolate.
Is…is Tiggy…still all there? Should she say something? She doesn't want to get the house-elf in trouble. Or risk opening her mouth and finding out if the silencio worked.
Bellatrix just reaches for the chocolate without comment and ducks a book flying overhead, casting a swift protego at another that is letting off lightning bolts menacingly.
This is a madhouse!
The elf disappears once more, taking the tray with it.
What?
"Why did it have to be time travel?" Bellatrix mutters to herself around the large slab of chocolate. Her table manners are almost as bad as Ron's. "How will he…he won't but he…interfering old coot!"
Old coo—
"It was Dumbledore?!" Hermione yells, unable to hold her tongue a second longer.
Bellatrix shrugs. "Perhaps not, but who else would Snape let pretend to be him? Who else would Snape tell about the cottage?"
"You think Snape let the person polyjuice as him?"
Bellatrix slowly looks up from the book, and eyes her as if she's insane. Then she points the bar of chocolate at her. "Of course. It's Snape."
So? He doesn't seem like the kind of person who would let anyone pretend to be him.
Hermione just stares back, frowning in confusion.
Bellatrix groans. "You are so terrible at…it's Snape! A potions master! A triple-crossing bloody spy! You think he wouldn't have precautions against polyjuice? Would let someone beat him at his own game? I hate the slimy bastard, but he's a key player on both sides for a reason. You think his weakness is potions?"
Oh. Well she hadn't thought of—
Argh bloody slytherins! It's like there's a whole invisible world she's only just finding out about where you can hate someone, but still know everything about them. Either literally or figuratively read their every thought.
Bellatrix smirks at her. "Speaking of which, you need to learn to occlude your mind, muddy. You're an open book. And I need to check something. Legilimens!"
Ah! Oh.
Memories of Dumbledore. Of course! If he knows, then he might have left clues in her memories, said something nonsensical that makes sense in hindsight. He was always doing that.
Let's see…
Oh. But…how is that possible? Has she never been alone with Dumbledore before? Never, between the end of fifth year and the end of sixth year when he passed away? She'd thought maybe…
Was he avoiding me on purpose?
There's some frustrated confusion from Bellatrix, and then the witch seems to change tactics, replaying Hermione's interactions with Snape over the past few days.
And she's back in the library. She manages to not fall out of her chair this time.
And then Bellatrix jolts to her feet, smacks her hand against the side of the fireplace, and launches herself up onto the table, sprinting at full speed along its length, hurdling books as she goes.
What—
She reaches the end and doesn't stop, hurtling off the tabletop with a laugh. She's going to crash to the—
Something speeds out of the fireplace, and as the witch jumps, meets her mid-air, coming up beneath her.
A broom.
She doesn't know what model, but it's fast.
Bellatrix blurs through the air and off down a corridor before Hermione can blink.
What?
She keeps a broom in the chimney?!
What kind of—
It's wood! The witch is bonkers! This whole place is—
Hermione slumps forwards against the table.
She's too tired for this. And aching. Everywhere. What time is it? How— What's the plan? What on Earth is going on? Why did they even come here? Who cares if Dumbledore knows? He won't mess with time…
Will he?
Over the years, she has become slightly…wary of the man. He…means well. Mostly. But what he did to Harry…
Harry deserved a better childhood than that. Love. Care. Protection. More than just wise words coming too little and too late.
Dumbledore won them the war but…he sacrificed Harry to do it. And Snape. And Sirius. Lupin. All the little lost boys who came running to him for help. At their weakest.
And Dumbledore may have offered them a home, a mentor, forgiveness…but he kept them weak. In the dark. He made sure he was still the most powerful. In control.
It's all about control.
What if he decides to control this?
Hermione grimaces. Her life is already being controlled by enough mysterious forces. Heck, it's hard enough letting Bellatrix take control. She doesn't want Dumbledore adding his own games into the mix.
This could be bad.