Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12430557.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange, Harry_Potter/Voldemort
  Additional Tags:
      Necromancy, Dark_Hermione_Granger, Morally_Grey_Harry_Potter, Weasley
      Bashing, Dumbledore_Bashing, Out_of_Character
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-07 Updated: 2018-01-11 Chapters: 2/? Words: 19305
****** Zombie Queen ******
by EvenEcho
Summary
     Hermione isn't who she seems to be. No; not at all.
***** Chapter 1 *****
     Darkness. That’s all there was. With a thud and an excruciating amount of
pain, he was back in his body. His soul mingled with his body and finally,
after hours of paralysis, Harry Potter sat up and threw his legs over the
medieval bloodletting table. What the hell were they going to do to his corpse?
That was very disconcerting. He frowned as he looked around the rooms. The
contents were unnerving to say the least, but he wasn’t going to linger. He
needed to get out of wherever he was and he needed to get out fast. He felt a
chilly breeze and shivered, hugging his arms around his body. When his hands
slapped against his bare skin, he realized he was completely starkers. He
groaned, knowing him, of course it had to get worse. He grabbed a coroner’s
robe (even the coroner’s wore robes? That had to be unsanitary or something)
and put it on. It smelled like dirty socks and farts after eating chili. It
wasn’t pleasant, but that didn’t matter. He just needed to get covered up.
     Thank God Hermione lived close to here, which he discovered was the
Ministry of Magic, and by that he meant in London. He knocked on the Granger’s
door after walking there, bare feet slapping against warm concrete still heated
from the day’s rays, and receiving many odd looks for wearing a long trench-
coat like robe with large pockets and overall disgusting look. He looked like a
homeless person only homeless due to being unable to function in day-to-day
life rather than not having the money. So, when Hermione answered the door, he
was very relieved.
     “Harry!” She exclaimed, dragging him through the door and up the stairs
into her room. She slammed the door shut after tossing Harry on the bed. He
knew Hermione was strong and he knew that he was scrawny, but damn, she could
have dislocated his shoulder for Merlin’s sake. He looked up, rather
sheepishly.
     “Do you have any clothes I can wear?”
     “How are you alive? You’re dead…”
     “Obviously not, but I am naked and I’m sure you don’t want to see that,”
he looked around her room and ignored the Dark Arts books that littered the
unoccupied space on her bed and her desk (she also had a pile stacked beside
her bed on the floor, it was nearly as tall as Harry when he stood up to his
full height and he wasn’t  that  short). She nodded and left the room. Whatever
Hermione was saying to her, presumably, parents was muffled by the door
although there was a silencing charm to keep the noise out of the room while
she could still listen to what happened outside of her room. It was
interesting, and Harry didn’t even know that silencing charms could be
manipulated like that. Hermione came in a moment later with a handful of her
father’s old clothes. He handed them to Harry who was quite used to old, used
clothes. The only difference with there were that they were nice and fit
comfortably rather than being four sizes too large. Hermione cleared her bed
off, putting her books in a second trunk, very clearly not the trunk she took
to Hogwarts, she hid it in her closet and was very private about her life. She
didn’t want Harry to see the Black crest on the trunk so she hid it with her
body as she rearranged her books.
     Taking a seat beside Harry, Hermione stared at her best friend for a
moment before throwing her arms around him and hugging him. She started to cry
into her father’s shirt.
     “You wouldn’t believe what Professor Dumbledore said! You wouldn’t believe
what any of them said. It was horrible,” she couldn’t stop herself from
weeping. Harry tried to comfort her the best he could, so he awkwardly rubbed
her back with a nervous smile dancing his lips. He gingerly pulled her off of
him and wiped away her tears away. She was quick to recover herself but her
cheeks were puffy and her eyes were bloodshot, clear signs she had been crying.

       “What did they say?”
      “Terrible things,” she said, “How you were attention-seeking and a bully.
That you mocked those who weren’t as wealthy as you and that you used your fame
to get everything you wanted. That was just Ronald. What Mrs. Weasley and
Professor Dumbledore said was much worse. Professor Dumbledore was sure you
killed your family and then yourself. You’re a criminal because he testified
that you were working with the Dark Lord. Mrs. Weasley said that Ginevra was
pregnant with your child and that she needed access to the Potter accounts to
pay for the baby. The worst part was nobody but me stood up for you and when I
did, they called me a liar!”
     “I’m sorry, Mione,” was all Harry could say. She pushed him over playfully
before crawling up into her bed and resting her head on her pillow. “If I had
known, I wouldn’t have died… how did I die, exactly?”
     “Well, Professor Dumbledore swore that you killed yourself after you
killed your family and the Aurors believed him of course. But I looked it over,
after sneaking into the headquarters with Sirius, at least he’s still loyal,
and it looked more like they killed you and went to snap your wand and when
they did the influx of magic backfired and killed everyone in the house. It
wasn’t just the humans dead, all the birds on the property, within the wards,
were killed as well as all the bugs and rodents,” Harry nodded. Of course
Hermione was right, he didn’t know for sure, but her logic was immaculate as
always. He felt a little better knowing that Sirius was still on his side, but
he was very angry with the Weasleys and Professor Dumbledore, he had trusted
them and then they turned on him when he was no longer of use? He lay beside
Hermione and soon he was slipping into sleep.
      Of course, when Hermione told him that she had been in contact with the
Dark Lord (as Hermione called him) he had been appropriately upset and
betrayed. He let Hermione talk to him though, he let her try to explain herself
and her actions. He felt as if she had just stabbed him through the heart.
Apparently, she had been conversing with the crazy snake-man since she first
wrote to him in first year.
      “After first year, he stopped sending letters, but in third year he
started to pen me again. By the end of fourth year, he was writing me with
letters the length of my most overachieving homework,” Harry balled his fists
and bit his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid. She had comforted
him, gave him clothes, she had done everything that a good friend was supposed
to do and yet here he was thinking about how betrayed he was. Perhaps he really
was a selfish person like Ron insisted to Skeeter. Harry didn’t notice it when
Hermione started packing her trunk and other trunks. She pulled out a wand, not
the wand she got from Ollivander’s but Knockturn Alley, and shrunk her book
trunks and neatly stacked them in her large trunk like building blocks. She
added clothes on top of everything and packed her father’s old clothes as well.
     If you told Harry that Hermione was a dark witch he would have laughed at
you had he not seen all the Dark Arts books littering her room. If you told him
that dark witches had piggy banks, then he would laugh, but right before his
eyes, Hermione was shaking a plastic piggy bank and getting all the money from
it. She had added an expansion charm so there was a little more than it seemed.
Of course, Harry eventually suggested to just smash the damn thing but Hermione
was adamant about it being precious and therefore unsmashable, Harry promptly
pouted until Hermione laughed. He liked hearing her laugh, he liked it when
Hermione was happy, his friends in general.
     Hermione left a note for her parents, who were both at work at their
respective dental offices, and carted her trunk out with her before holding out
her wand. The Night Bus arrived and she paid Stan a bit more to keep quiet
about Harry’s reappearance. He took them to Diagon Alley and Hermione gave
Harry a cloak to hide himself as she covered herself in one as well. She looked
surprisingly ominous in a cloak with frizzy, if not curly, hair poking out of
the hood that obscured her face in shadows. Her hands appeared to be enlarged
and her arms appeared to be skeletal due to the slimming black of the fabric.
She dragged her trunk with her, and the Black Crest on the outside was enough
to warn others away from them in fear of pissing off the richest House in the
British Wizarding World or of being cursed with the dark magic that flowed
through the Black blood, only exacerbated by the infamous Black Madness.
     “What are we doing in Knockturn Alley?” Harry hissed quietly, hoping
Hermione didn’t hear the fear in his voice. He was honestly terrified of the
hags that haunted Knockturn. Ever since the incident before second year, he has
been utterly horrified to travel back down the gloomy alley. In comparison to
Diagon, Knockturn was dreary and seemed eternally overcast despite the sun
shining brightly only five meters away. They were getting deeper and deeper
into Knockturn, in fact Harry passed Borgin and Burkes a while ago at
Hermione’s insistence. She finally stopped and turned abruptly into a smaller
alley and then she tapped the bricks. It opened up to a large room with
cushions on the floor and candles lighting the place beautifully. The colours
were rich and the textures were exotic. It looked like something Harry would
have expected to see on the interior of a Gypsy caravan or some orientalists’
rendition of a harem.
      “This is my usual summer retreat if you will. I was planning on staying
home, hoping that Knockturn would be spared from the usual raids, but this is
the perfect place for us to hide out. Nobody knows where it is but you, me an-
- just you and I of course. Now, help me unpack the trunks. I have money, I can
go to Gringotts and convert it and I will see what I have in my account. My
parents put money into the bank for me and I spent it all on stocks. Those
shares did pay off if I say so myself,” she humphed, “and Ron thinks he the
best strategist. Well, nevermind that though. I have enough for what I want and
to take care of us for a few months. Thankfully there are plenty of jobs that
we both can get, down here there’s a strict no questions asked and nobody cares
about your identity. You could call yourself the Dark Lord and you would either
get laughed at, not turned in, or respected if you could prove yourself,” she
and Harry started to unpack the clothes and put them in a tall, gold wardrobe
with intricate designs etched and carved into the wood. She hung her cloak up
and started to unshrink her trunks with books. She lined the books up on the
bookshelf inside the room. There were plenty of books already on the shelves
but she just kept adding more and more and when it was full, it expanded to
make more space. Harry wondered absently just how many books Hermione was
keeping stored on her shelf. She pulled out some very nice dress robes and hung
them up in the wardrobe before taking off her boots and kicking them to the
door. She put her Ollivander-made wand in her trunk along with her school robes
and school texts, before she used her other wand to levitate things to herself,
like blankets and pillows. She made a little fortress of softness and promptly
fell asleep.
     “We’ll work at night when this part comes alive,” she had said before
slipping off into dreamland. Harry thought they would have to go to the goblins
but she was already asleep. He held his knees to his chest, unsure of what to
do, unsure what to think. Eventually he got up and perused the books on the
shelves. Hermione was learning some pretty  dark  stuff. It was actually
frightening to know how well Hermione performed in school and how she could
retain information and then think of her brilliant mind and power being put
onto destruction. She could raze the entire island if she wanted to, he was
sure. Harry grabbed a book, a little nervous that when he opened it, it would
scream at him like the only Dark Arts book he had ever touched, in first year,
had done to him. He opened the book and nothing happened. It was a regular book
with parchment and letters printed by an old printing press it seemed. The
pages were yellowed and curved with damage, but it looked like Hermione was
trying to keep the books safer than they had been before. He sighed, oh
Hermione and her love for knowledge and books. It’s a surprise she wasn’t in
Ravenclaw.
     By sunset, Hermione had awoken and made them something to eat with what
little she had stored in her pantry. She made them tea and she observed Harry
reading one of her many books. Never in her entire life had she taken Harry for
a studious type of person, but he read the book in his hand with a fervor that
she had never seen in him, especially not during school. He even asked her
questions for clarification. It made her think that perhaps Harry just hadn’t
been applying himself as he seemed earnestly interested. Harry ate the canned
fruit and vegetables with a plastic fork before he sipped his tea. He hadn’t
realized how hungry he had been. Hermione had given him double of what she was
eating and he was still famished, but he wouldn’t dare let Hermione know in
fear of making her give up all her food. No, he wasn’t cruel and he wouldn’t do
that to his friend.
      By the time they set out, they had once again adorned themselves with
thick cloaks to hide them. They looked like lethifolds in the night as their
cloaks swayed as they walked and their heads turned to look about. Their hands
gloved in black dragonhide.
     At Gringotts Hermione formally and authoritatively demanded to see her
vault manager to take up why she had stopped receiving letters on how her
finances faired. The goblin sneered by called for her manager, who then took
them to a back room. Like Hermione’s whatever-it-was-that-she-lived-in, the
room was decorated in rich colours, but this room was mostly navy and gold. It
was honestly a very nice colour combination and he reminded himself to get some
robes in those colours eventually. He didn’t have that much money, so he was
shit out of luck if he wanted more than his school supplies. While Harry was
staring off into space, Hermione did her business and withdrew quite a hefty
amount of galleons.
      “We would like to see a list of all that my associate, Harry Potter, has
in his vaults as well,” Hermione demanded, which shocked Harry out of his
daydream. He looked at the goblin and first apologized for Hermione’s rudeness
(he didn’t notice when Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him) before telling the
goblin that it wasn’t necessary. The goblin insisted it was necessary if it was
important to his client and went off to get a list of all contained within
Harry’s vault(s). When the little goblin came back he handed Harry a folder.
     “There must be a mistake, I only have one vault,” he started, the goblin’s
ears went red.
     “I do not make mistakes, Mr. Potter. These are all of your vaults. Us
goblins have had a very difficult time keeping your galleons out of the greedy
clutched of the bumblebee too,” the  you should be thankful  went unsaid but
still hung in the air. Harry muttered a thank you before looking at all of his
money. He was rich! Filthy stinkin’ rich! He showed Hermione who nodded, not
letting any excitement or emotion betray her by showing on her face. Harry was
put off by this action, never had he seen Hermione so stoic unless she was
taking an exam. He ignored it and then asked if he could withdraw money. The
goblin raised an eyebrow and took them to his vaults where he withdrew a very,
very large amount of money in an expandable satchel before they both went back
to Knockturn.
     Harry supposed it was dangerous to walk around with such a large amount of
money on them, especially in a seedy place like Knockturn Alley, but he also
knew that the situation couldn’t be helped. Hermione opened her room/house
again and locked the door (or was it a wall?) before she started to hide her
money. She suggested that Harry do the same and keep only an exact amount on
him to stay safe in the alley. Harry hid most of his money behind the books
before keeping a small (but still sizable) amount of money on him. She nodded
when he finished.
     “It’s time to get you a wand that is functional and cannot be traced. I
think we should stay out of Hogwarts, obviously, and self study to take out
OWLs and NEWTs. It won’t be terrible at all and I’m sure that if Be--  my
friend  is asked to help, she would help us with studying. She’s especially
good with charms, actually,” Hermione noted abruptly before unlocking the wall
and dragging Harry out to the street.
     There was a dark tavern not too far away, The White Wyvern. Harry didn’t
understand why they had to look for jobs since he now knew how much money he
had. Hermione insisted upon it however. Once they walked in, he realized how
empty the place was. There were many chairs, tables and booths but nobody
occupied them. There wasn’t even a bartender at the counter. He followed
Hermione’s eyes and saw a cloaked individual, much like them and she waved her
hand, signally for him to follow, before approaching this stranger.  
     “Hello little otter,” the man said, his tone was almost pleasant. Hermione
smiled and was thankful Harry hadn’t seen it since her smiles had grown more
crooked and less friendly with every passing year and even more so when she met
with her  friend . Harry was offered a seat with a cordial gesture of the hand
and Hermione sat across from the cloaked man. She let her hood fall but made
sure to let Harry know his needed to remain up still. The man dropped his hood
as well and Harry sputtered, trying to find the words.
     “Hello father,” Hermione greeted back and Harry turned to look at her. He
assessed the situation the best he could and he knew that Hermione would not
have joked about such a thing, no, she was no clown. The most frightening part
is the man that Hermione just referred to as her father was Tom Marvolo Riddle,
at least what the diary form of himself manifested as, but twenty years older.
He looked aged, but not weary, not old, but wise. He was actually quite
attractive and the fact that Harry even thought of such a thing made him sick.
That was the man that killed his parents, or was it? Voldemort didn’t even have
a nose since the last time Harry had seen him. Why was he here now looking like
this? Harry flinched away from Hermione and she didn’t seem to notice, she had
noticed however and she felt a little hurt but Harry’s actions were also
understandable.
     “Harry, this is my father, Tom. You may call Him the Dark Lord,” she
smiled at her father with uncommon pride in her eyes. She loved him dearly, he
had been a better friend than her actual friends and when she had received the
letter after being sorted, she could only admit that she had originally been
chosen to go to Slytherin but the hat changed it’s mind. Hermione knew someone
had tampered with her and the swaying of her friendship was mostly so she could
spy, but she also grew to love Harry like her brother… a younger, stupid
brother. She too could speak parseltongue, but she was not nearly as moronic to
reveal her talent to the entire school and she had quite purposely asked for
the basilisk to paralyze her. She was of course, a little angry that her father
had told the king of serpents to go after her since his diary-self thought she
was a mudblood. She hated muggles, and she avoided her family, her muggle
family, as often as possible. After fourth year, no matter how tragic it had
been for Harry, he had to learn that he was on the wrong side. He needed to
know that they were no good and that he should go with them, with Hermione, his
loyalest friend (because Ron definitely wasn’t loyal. He didn’t have a loyal
bone in his body).
     “The Dark Lord is your father? You knew that the entire time?”
      “Just since second year…! Harry, I never meant to hurt you, and father,
well, he wasn’t entirely right but he did have good intentions. You need to
understand that war and real life are different. He hurt--”
     “Murdered!” Harry growled.
     “Yes! He murdered your parents, alright? It was a war and they were
holding him back! Your precious Headmaster killed my mother and put me with
muggles… he did the same to you and they were terrible, were they not? How can
you even like muggles? Knowing how cruel they are.”
      “I have a moral compass and respect for humanity, but I’m sure neither of
you know what that means, hmm? I’m leaving, let me go,” Harry tried to shake
Hermione off.
      She released his hand and he stumbled back, shocked that she was letting
go so easily. He didn’t expect to see the manipulative look on her face when he
looked up at her. “Where do you plan on going? The way I see it, you either
stay with me or you go to Azkaban. I don’t see much of a choice there, but if
you like dementors then go right ahead and leave me,” she turned back to her
father as if Harry wasn’t there and started telling him about how much she
disliked her muggle family and how they had restricted her from the sweets he
had sent due to the sugar and the possibility of cavities. When Harry took a
seat beside her, she smiled at him and held his hand.
     “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so cruel. I just want you to understand
that they,” she motioned towards the door, “aren’t your allies anymore. Your
use to them has run out and now, you either stay with us or you rot away and I
can’t lose you, you’re my best friend.”
     “I understand… So, why did we come here? I thought we were going to get a
job.”
     “We are, my father needs us to kill someone, and I happen to be a very
accomplished assassin on my nights off,” Voldemort, Hermione’s father, slid her
a wand, an untraceable wand -- a third wand. Harry wondered what it was for,
but Hermione picked it up and offered it to him. He knew now. They wanted him
to become a murderer. He was still having a hard time processing Hermione’s
involvement in all of this madness. He let out a self deprecating laugh before
shaking his head and rubbing his face before his hands slid through his hair in
a dramatic display.
     “Who?”
     “Igor Karkaroff,” Hermione said, as Harry took the wand from her. She
didn’t let the smile she wanted to give grace her face, instead she leaned
across the table and let her father plant a kiss on her forehead before she
ushered Harry out. She pulled a rope out of her pocket. “Grab ahold, we’re
going up North,” Harry took a hold of the braided rope and when Hermione
activated the portkey, they we drifting through the air until they crashed
outside of Durmstrang. Only Voldemort would be able to locate the unplottable
school. Hermione disillusioned them and grabbed Harry’s hand before taking him
inside. She navigated the school as if she had been attending for years. She
knew all the twists and turns and when they finally approached the headmaster’s
impending double doors, Hermione paused to glared at them as if they offended
her. She took a second to send out pulses of energy to mark the spots of all
the furniture in the room and then to see where the Headmaster was currently.
It took only a few seconds before she took hold of Harry’s hand.
      “Just watch and learn, alright? Don’t step in the way or try to play
hero. That’s no longer your job,” she cupped Harry’s cheek in an affectionate
gesture of friendship before her smile turned into a grimace and she turned.
She kicked the double doors in with a powerful stomp before rushing into the
room. Karkaroff had gotten up to run, a poor attempt at hiding and escaping
danger. She sent a silent  incarcerous  towards the traitorous Russian wizard
before he could make it to safety. She walked over to him. He lay prone, bound
and breathing strenuously with adrenaline and stress coursing through him. He
was going to die.
      “Well, well, well,” she hummed, “It looks like the traitor knew we’d be
coming for him,” upon hearing Hermione’s voice, Karkaroff struggled even more.
He had no idea who this girl -- no, woman -- was and therefore she had to be
dangerous if she was here alone. She still sounded young too, it was
terrifying. He nearly urinated himself, but he had too much dignity to do so
just yet. He was, however, sobbing and pleading for forgiveness.
     “You are saying  sorry ? Does the Dark Lord look like a bitch? Do you
think you can just apologize to Him and be let off scot-free? I think you are
sorely mistaken on who He is, let me give you a demonstration, from Him to you.
I am, afterall, his heir,” she smiled as she grabbed one of Karkaroff’s arms
and bent it back at a horrible angle. A sickening snap followed by a howl of
pain only helped to satisfy Hermione’s growing bloodthirst. She tried to keep
her own pleasure from Harry, not wanting to scare him, but Harry was honestly
as terrified, if not more so, than the victim on the floor, now lying in a pool
of piss and tears.
     “P-Please, help me!” He started to scream, changing his tune. He had
originally begged for forgiveness and when that didn’t work, he was willing to
subject Hermione’s ire unto those who came to assist. Harry reached out to
touch Hermione but she shrugged his hand away before smashing her foot in the
small of Karkaroff’s back and pulling his head up, causing his torso to lift
from the ground, by his hair. She hissed something in parseltongue that Harry
didn’t understand despite also knowing the snake language before she smashed
his head forward, into the hard stone floors. She let out her own maniacal
laugh, so similar to her father’s but still so chillingly different.
      “You will receive no aid,” Hermione continued to torture Karkaroff for a
fair amount of time. Pulling teeth and nails, degrading him with words and
phrases that even Harry felt embarrassed to hear, and more intimidating was her
spell use. She was very creative, using ‘light’ spells to do damage before
intensifying the pain by dark curses. She finally finished by decapitating the
Headmaster with a simple  diffindo . She grabbed his head and took hold of the
portkey before holding it out for Harry to touch. Once she set it off, both of
the teens and their extra head were transported to a large, looming manor.
Hermione nodded her head towards the mansion and pushed the door open. She
walked into her father’s throne room and rolled the head to him like a bowling
ball before sitting in a smaller throne beside him. She waved for Harry to join
them. There were no Death Eaters in the room with them, in fact, Harry was
confused as to why Voldemort was sitting in an empty throne room.
     The Dark Lord summoned the head to him and set it on the table, the open
eyes, with the expression of fear and frozen with death,  facing outwards
towards where his Death Eaters would be sitting. Blood leaked onto the table as
it continued to dribble from his severed gullet. Harry felt powerful magic wash
over him and noticed others starting to enter the room. The first that he saw
was Bellatrix. He almost wanted to attack her, but she hadn’t done anything
wrong to him, she was just the most notorious Death Eater, although with
Hermione’s act he wasn’t sure of that title anymore. Harry missed Sirius, and
Remus, and all of his other friends. He loved Hermione, she was his best
friend, but he also missed his only connection with his family. He felt as if
he were intruding on this family’s activities and he didn’t want to be a
burden . He was also still shocked that Hermione had befriended him despite
knowing her father killed his parents.
     Bellatrix sat to the right of Hermione and Lucius took the seat beside her
while Draco and Narcissa filed in behind him. The Lestranges entered and took
their seats on the left side of the table, beside Harry and then Severus Snape
and Peter Pettigrew entered. Harry glared at both of the last men to enter.
     “Do you have an issue, Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice no longer
friendly, nor was it commanding or whiny in her usual sense. She sounded like a
Queen, an Empress or a Goddess, she demanded respect and commanded it was ease.
Severus Snape was shocked upon seeing Hermione beside their Lord, but none of
the other Death Eaters, bar Draco and Narcissa (who weren’t really Death
Eaters… yet).
      “No. Just curious as to why you let two traitors join you,” Hermione
chuckled when Bellatrix snapped and threatened Harry with her wand.
     “You dare question the Dark Queen? You question my Lord? Who are you?”
     “Bellatrix!” Voldemort waved her back to her seat and she bowed her head
in submissive respect. She silenced immediately and Severus stiffened while
Pettigrew whimpered, how pathetic.
     “No, they are here as our guests tonight,” Hermione’s grin was sick and
sadistic. She was pleased that Severus had the gall to show up and Pettigrew
was a snivelling coward who was scared of his own shadow, but he was even more
fearful of the Dark Lord, only showing up due to his fear of painful death from
Voldemort or worse, his daughter. She turned to Bellatrix and reached out to
pet her crazy curls.
      “Don’t worry, they are going to get what is coming to them,” she stage-
whispered, hoping to scare their newest victims and discovered traitors. She
turned to face their betrayers, the ones not-so-loyal to their cause. She stood
up and walked towards her old Potion’s Professor and the one who sold Harry’s
parents to her father in return for protection. She grabbed their shoulders and
grinned widely, looking across the table at Bellatrix who was eager to help her
Queen and Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco who looked shocked, uncomfortable, and
terrified respectfully. Severus’ face didn’t betray him or his position as a
spy, he simply looked up at his old student, a student he had been planning to
see again this upcoming year, and knew that she knew because she had seen him.
She had been with the Order, she had known it all and she had been a much
better spy than him. She seemed to have the innocent look of a child down in
the eyes of the Headmaster, and she had the rest of the Order fooled, but he
knew now that she wasn’t the bookish, know-it-all that they all thought. She
was far worse than a genius. She was insane, powerful and a mind that absorbed
new information like a sponge in water.
     “Professor Snape,” she said, almost cordially, but her face betrayed her
sweet voice for the madness it all really was. It seemed to be a game to her.
She really hadn’t fallen far from her father’s tree. “I will see you in about
an hour or so,” his eyes widened, unsure what she meant, but once he felt the
binds and then the tug of apparation, he knew that he was being confined to a
cell in some of the most horrid dungeon that he had the displeasure of coming
across. She returned empty-handed, having deposited her long-term prisoner, and
ready to cast on Pettigrew. She bound him as he stood and he thumped to the
ground. He was crying with honest absolution to Lily and James Potter. Hermione
didn’t have to do much and she sat back, taking a front-row seat to the torture
and death of Peter Pettigrew: the coward and rat. She watched as Harry stood
up, flinging his chair back and sending all the hexes and curses he knew at the
man. He wanted to cast some of the spells that Hermione had used, but he wasn’t
anywhere near that level of magic yet.
     When Harry attempted to use the killing curse and failed, he looked to
Hermione for assistance, a pleading look in his eyes. Hermione nodded and sent
the spell with as much rage as her father had, as if she had anger stored in a
never-ending tank ready to be used at will. Harry righted his seat and sat back
down. Hermione took up her throne again. Voldemort started to debrief the rest
of his death eaters, those whom he considered his most loyal. He would have
called in Yaxley, McNair, the Carrow twins and the rest of his followers, but
they had their own meeting where they would yet to learn of his daughter who
would be safely in her little private room in Knockturn with Bellatrix and,
unfortunately, Harry since she did care for the boy (enough as to so much as
bring him back to life). The magic that had originally washed over Harry had
disappeared and Draco was the first to point his wand at him, although his hand
shook.
      “Put your wand down, Draco. He is on our side, for now at least. It would
do Mr. Potter well to remember who brought him back to life, and who his true
friends are,” Voldemort added quickly, lazily motioning towards Hermione for
the Gryffindor who couldn’t piece the information together on his own if
Voldemort was to judge by his confused look.
     “How did you bring me back?”
     “I am a necromancer. The first in centuries from the Slytherin line. In
fact, it was only for our interbreeding with the Peverells that allowed the
gift to be passed down to me,” she offered with a more Hermione-like smile.
Once filled with the kindness he had always associated with his best friend.
She didn’t go into further detail because judging by the rest of the shocked
faces, it was also a new revelation to the rest of the table. Except for
Bellatrix who Harry was sure was Hermione’s mother. She had heard about how
fiercely loyal to the Dark Lord she was, and that meant that she was likely to
provide him with an heir, even if that heir wasn’t technically an heir due to
gender. (Honestly, Harry still didn’t understand how that whole deal worked, so
he couldn’t really go theorizing publically based off his information. He could
however, make a private assumption.)
     “So it is finally revealed, Hermione,” the Dark Lord smiled at his few
followers at his table, “Let’s continue. So…” There were plans to raid the
Ministry of Magic and it was to be led by Hermione. It was her first real task
that involved her cooperating with other Death Eaters. She didn’t count
Bellatrix as Death Eater as she was really one of Hermione’s own now and Death
Eaters followed her father explicitly and whoever he told them was in charge.
     Harry was to stay at Hermione’s ‘Summer Retreat’ while they went out and
he didn’t complain. He didn’t want to go out and raid the Ministry. He hated
that place with a passion. Hermione seemed all too eager to go and kidnap Madam
Amelia Bones, Minister Fudge, Aurors Shacklebolt and, hopefully, Moody.
     Harry followed Hermione back to her little room in Knockturn and waited
for her to open the wall. They walked inside and Harry collapsed on the lush
pillows. He had seen Hermione kill someone, he had attempted to kill someone
only for Hermione to kill the rat for him, and then he had been told his best
friend, and possibly his only friend at the moment, was going to endanger her
life on orders from her father. He fell asleep in moments, but Hermione stayed
awake, eventually moving through the room like an experienced alley cat. She
found her own large pillow to sleep on and curled up on the plush cushion,
pulling a warm blanket over herself despite it being warmer outside, and fell
asleep. She hadn’t even changed out of her clothes, simply stripped her outer
robes.
--
     It was a week before Hermione departed for the Ministry. She left Harry
with a kiss to his forehead and the promise to return relatively unscathed. She
took a portkey to her father’s mansion and then was apparated by Bellatrix to
the Ministry of Magic.
     The Ministry, despite it being well after dark, was bustling with people.
Hermione could imagine the horror of trying to get something done during the
day if it was so busy at night. She was wearing the same robes as all the other
Death Eaters, only her mask was by far scarier than all of theirs. It was white
but it was covered in painted cracks and had lips painted on. It looked eerily
reminiscent of a Venetian Masquerade mask, but it was by far scarier due to the
deep green tones and random white flowers, tinged with dried blood, that scared
so many. The leader’s robes were just like Voldemorts, but this new leader was
significantly shorter than Voldemort.
      Hermione liked the panic that spread. From the atrium, Death Eaters were
flooing into the Ministry as well. Hermione and Bellatrix started to take down
the ground floor, either killing, maiming or stunning (but mostly the former)
the bystanders. The made their way down to the first floor through the elevator
and then they met with the other Death Eaters somewhere in the middle of the
lower half of the Ministry. There were two levels to go before they had to see
the Aurors, but the Aurors had long since heard the alerts of Death Eater
activity and were swarming the group. Hermione pulled Bellatrix to her and
twirled around her body, dodging a spell in the process, before taking a stance
back-to-back with the Death Eater that she felt was closest to her in skill, if
not more talented just due to age and experience. Hermione shot down two newer
Aurors easily while Bellatrix was shouting at the idiot Death Eaters who hadn’t
caught onto the activity and were fumbling around dumbly. Hermione had to admit
that once she felt Bellatrix cast the first offensive spell, she could feel the
familiar power radiate through her, unique to only Bellatrix. She felt it every
time they went and fought together. Her father said they made a great team, and
Voldemort had commented on them advancing a relationship more than once.
Hermione liked to pretend she didn’t hear it, but her affection for Bellatrix
was growing and she hoped that Bellatrix somehow had the capacity to feel
something similar.
     Bellatrix downed a few Aurors on her own as well before they left to find
more prominent targets and complete their mission. Hermione was the first to
have a spell fired at her, which she promptly blocked and redirected in the
dark direction in which it came. From the darkness Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody
emerged, preemptively striking with a flurry of spells sent towards the door.
An ambush. How uncharacteristically Hufflepuff, but then again Mad-Eye was far
beyond his school days and both Hermione and Bellatrix had seen better than the
pitiful badger. Moody was good at sending spells, and he was good at
redirecting them, but if he didn’t move fast enough, which was difficult for
the cripple, then he would just get hit with something painful. Hermione was
tempted to throw out an entrail expelling curse, but knew that her father
wanted him alive. She and Bellatrix only sent stunners his way. They were both
thrown off their game when idiot Death Eaters came up behind them in a poor
attempt to help, managing to push both women forward and closer to their
opponent. Bellatrix turned to fight with the lesser minions and Hermione pushed
Moody back until he was cornered in the otherwise empty Auror office.
     “Where’s your precious order now?” Hermione asked, revealing her voice for
the first time. Moody’s one real eye widened. He was a trained Auror and he
recognized that voice. He was shocked, but Hermione Granger, muggle-born witch,
couldn’t be behind that mask, could she? No muggle-born would be allowed to
fight alongside the pure-blooded Bellatrix Black, would they? While Moody was
stunned by his own shock, Hermione disarmed him and bound him, quickly pulling
all of his other wands and weapons from him as well as checking for portkeys
and removing those from him as well. She pushed the bound Moody forward before
stunning him and sending him with Draco. Hopefully the little elitist was good
for something and could deliver their prisoners to the dungeon. Hermione heard
shouting from behind the other Death Eaters and saw that the lower ranks were
being picked off and arrested by the Order of the Phoenix. This was really
going to be a night. Hermione pushed through to the frontlines and started to
cast with fury. She didn’t have to verbalize most of her spells, but when she
sent the killing curse, it was in the same crazed voice her father used. This
scared people and when she saw the Weasleys join she aimed her wand at them,
ready to fight. She was most angry with Ginny and Molly. She loved women, and
she didn’t single them out because she thought them weak, in fact, she was sure
that Arthur and Ronald were by far the weakest of the Weasleys. No, Molly was
fierce, but they had both been the biggest shock when they betrayed Harry. A
girl who claimed to be pregnant with his child, and lied about it for money and
fame while her mother only encouraged such vile behaviour. They should be
ashamed of their gold-digging behaviour and dishonesty. She removed her mask,
thinking of dishonesty and wanting them to know exactly who they were up
against. She threw her mask to the ground, calling silently for a house elf to
collect it while she guarded the poor creature.
     “Blood traitors!” She called out. The Weasleys, five of the nine, were
there to fight. Percy was at his apartment, likely crying after a hard day
brown-nosing the Minister while Charlie was busy in Romania. The twins were
likely busy at their joke shop and even then, Molly had disowned those children
unofficially. Ginny turned towards the voice first, recognizing it but not.
Molly turned towards her as did Ronald.
     “Hermione?” Ronald gasped, his brain not catching up with his eyes. She
snorted and sent a killing curse his way. Molly pushed Ronald with an  everte
statum   in an attempt to keep him out of harm’s way. Molly turned towards
Hermione and suddenly it was as if there was no fight going on around them.
     “Hermione Jean Granger,” Molly demanded her focus and Hermione didn’t give
it. “Hermione, you will stop this immediately. You are confused and you are not
evil,” but it was clear that Molly wasn’t so sure of that. Ginny sneered and
shot a cutting hex towards the brainiac. Hermione cast  protego , effectively
blocking the simple charm. She cast the entrail expelling spell and it nearly
hit Ginny. Bellatrix finally made it up to Hermione and stood behind her,
placing her hands on Hermione’s hips. It was Hermione’s turn to feel out of
touch with reality. There was nothing but static going on around her and
Bellatrix. Bella efficiently blocked and cast spells with one hand as she
stroked Hermione’s hip bones with the other, her lips so close to her ear as
she whispered horribly erotic things to her. Things that no ‘normal’ person
would find arousing. Hermione snapped out of it when Bellatrix was too close to
a  diffindo  and she sent a curse blindly in front of her. It hit someone by
the scream -- wail -- and the squash of entrails being splattered on the ground
in a squelching mess. Hermione turned her attention to Arthur Weasley who was
face-down in his own organs. Molly was screaming as if she were a banshee
before attacking Hermione again. Bellatrix sent an improved severing charm
towards the Weasley Matriarch before Hermione drew the power inside her and
animated Arthur’s organ-less corpse to grapple Molly to the ground. She only
shrieked louder while others had stopped fighting to look upon the first
reanimated corpse that was capable of actions beside an inferius (which also
hadn’t been seen for many, many years). Hermione allowed the heavy body of
Arthur to collapse lifelessly on his wife and Ginny struggled to free her
mother while Bellatrix easily cut Ronald’s arm off. He bolted from the room
while screaming and clutching his severed arm in the process, his wand left on
the floor only to be stepped on.
     “You wretched little girl!” Molly cried as she and Ginny tried to remove
Arthur’s corpse. Hermione stunned Ginny, sending her flying back in the air in
the process before she put the heel of her boot on the back of Molly’s neck and
forced her face down.
     “You horrible mistake of a mother,” Hermione countered before sending a
severing charm just below her heel, effectively beheading her opponent. Bill
ran off to help Ginny and make sure that Ron was safe now that their parents
were dead. Hermione had managed to create seven orphans in one night and she
was actually quite proud of herself. She turned to see Dumbledore arrive along
with Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a
few others. He put a stop to the pointless fighting with merely his presence.
Hermione pushed through the people, stopping to wait behind Lucius who was
still covered in his robes. Draco, behind the rest of the Death Eaters, took
the portkey, straight through the wards around the Ministry, with the Minister
stunned in one hand and a prone Amelia Bones in the other. He dropped them both
into a cell and was relieved from duty by Voldemort as he grabbed his wand and
flooed to the Ministry and subsequently to his daughter’s side. The Dark Lord
made his way through the crowd of Death Eaters, sending many of the less
competent fools back to their homes to recover from their activities. Voldemort
looked to his side, beside Lucius, and down at his daughter who was far shorter
than him. She looked up at her father and nodded towards the dead Weasleys.
Voldemort reached down and ruffled her hair before asking Lucius to take a few
steps to the side so Hermione may be revealed.
     “Hermione?” Dumbledore questioned. “Tom, you do not want to harm her, she
is just a little girl.”
     “I’m nearly fifteen, Albus,” Hermione said as if bored. She felt Bellatrix
behind her, the warmth and magic radiated off the woman and oozed from her
pores. Hermione shivered, which only a few noticed, and those who did were
either amused, aroused or wholly disgusted by her reaction to being so close to
monsters .
     “Hermione?” Sirius asked, he took a few steps forward, “What’s going on?
Get away from her! Bellatrix is insane! She’ll kill you!” Sirius charged
forward, a reckless Gryffindor at heart, and Hermione stunned him. He collapsed
to the ground. Remus ran forward to check on his friend and Voldemort sent his
own stunner at the werewolf. Lucius approached the two men and dragged them
towards them and handed them off to the Lestrange brothers who took them to the
floo and down to the dungeons at Slytherin Manor. Dumbledore frowned and looked
at his fellow Order members. There were only a few left. They had been
decimated by a teenage girl.  Tom Riddle’s daughter , Albus reminded himself,
fully aware of Hermione’s true parentage. He had simply hoped if she was put on
the right track, kept away from the magical world, away from her father, that
she would become one of their greatest assets. Hermione rolled one of her two
wands between her fingers lazily. She had no problem using either of her wands
yet due to being known as a Death Eater, it didn’t matter what she did, she
would be hunted now. She was now a wanted criminal… or at least a criminal with
a known identity.
     “I see you have chosen your father, a monster, over the light. People who
loved you and cared for you?” Dumbledore tried to play on the girl’s guilt. It
had always seemed to work in the past, but now that he was examining his
memories, it seemed that Hermione had always known and perhaps she had actually
been using  him . He frowned, not pleased with the idea. The Order members
gasped, all unknowing of Hermione’s parentage.
     “Yes. I have chosen the  right  side,” she added, not nearly effective
enough to be swayed towards the Light again. She was clearly full of pride,
something that Dumbledore had been crushing by leaving her with muggles he knew
would dislike her for her drive for knowledge and outcast her making her self
conscious. The way Bellatrix Lestrange, the deranged sycophant of Tom’s, was
looking down at a fifteen year old girl made Dumbledore uncomfortable, but of
course nobody on  that  side would be disturbed by such perversion.
     “Bellatrix,” the Dark Lord commanded, “take up stance with your niece,
Hermione you have Shacklebolt all to yourself my darling. I will deal with this
old man myself,” Bellatrix moved and fired the first spell at her niece,
Nymphadora while Shacklebolt hesitated with Hermione until she sent a rather
dark and nasty curse his way with nothing more than a school-girl’s innocent
smirk on her face. He had never thought he had seen true evil until he saw the
pleasure that Hermione took from causing mayhem, meaningless destruction and
murder. Before anything could be started, Dumbledore forcefully apparated all
the remaining Order members and all those still in the building without the
Dark Mark, or direct blood relations with Voldemort, were taken out of the
Ministry. This left Albus in a shivering heap as his magic had been
overexerted. He was straining himself, he was not as practiced or young as he
used to be. Order members flocked to his side.
     Not even Albus had managed to snag the blue beetle pestering the Death
Eaters as she buzzed around them. Rita Skeeter was just loving all of this
information she was gathering. She didn’t stop to think she had been found out
until Hermione snatched her from the air and threatened to crush her if she
didn’t reveal herself. The beetle made a soft sound when it’s hard shell hit
the marble floor of the Ministry before it turned into the horrid writer of the
featured articles for the Daily Prophet. Hermione didn’t give her a chance to
do much as she had her bound by magical rope, runes and sigils braided into the
strands of rough cord, and unable to transform back into her easily-missed
insect-version of herself. Hermione had to admit she prefered it when Skeeter
couldn’t talk, but she also recognized the buzz of the beetle’s wings and the
buzz of the gossip from all of her sensationalized articles and reports as
equally annoying.
     “Ms. Skeeter,” The Dark Lord started. The animagus shifted uncomfortable.
She was scared that this was her last day to live. “I would like you to write
an article about tonight’s events. You will show  us  in the light, and make
sure to send it to my daughter,” he motioned to Hermione, “Hermione Granger, so
she can proof-read and make sure you kept your word. If you fail us or
disappoint us… well, let’s just say it won’t look good for you. Now,” he turned
away from Skeeter and towards his remaining Death Eaters, “You are dismissed,”
he grabbed a hold of Hermione’s hand and apparated through the shattered wards
while the rest of the Death Eaters felt around first, making sure they wouldn’t
be forcefully apparated and splinch themselves. Thanks to Albus, the Ministry
was now at it’s weakest. How perfect for their plan.
***** Chapter 2 *****
     Seventeen years earlier…
     On September 19th of 1979, Rhea Slytherin, formerly Rhea Darcy, gave birth
to a healthy and beautiful baby girl. Like all stories, Rhea’s husband rushed
in, excited for the birth of his  son . He was shown his daughter and his face
twisted. A daughter? She couldn’t take up the position as the Dark Lord after
him, she could not hold the Slytherin heir title. She was an heiress, good for
marriage and birthing the next generation. She was nothing to him. He was
highly disappointed. Outside the door waited Bellatrix Black, a twenty-eight
year old woman, a woman unlike any other in power and viciousness. She was
practically bouncing on her heels, her hands scrunched up in her skirt as she
hopped from foot to foot. The door swung open to reveal a put-out Dark Lord and
she immediately fell to the floor and begged for forgiveness for her eagerness.
He didn’t punish her, instead he told her to leave him. She obeyed as she had
since she was a child.
      It wasn’t until All Hallow’s Eve in 1979 that Voldemort didn’t regret his
offspring. He was sitting with one of his prized followers, a seer in all her
glory. Atropos was the last of her sisters, having originally been a trio of
triplets, but now they were dead. Fallen at the hands of the Order of the
Phoenix and Atropos was dying due to a rather nasty spell that hit her during
the latest raid. She hadn’t been a fighter, but her sisters had been attacked
days earlier and the Order sent a raid of their own to her residence and
village of purebloods known for their darker magic use and she was wounded in
an attempt to save some of the children she watched for extra money. Although a
pureblood, she was by no means rich and prefered to work. She happened to like
babysitting children since neither her nor her sisters were fertile.
     “Hermione,” she said, “She is worthy of your attention, my Lord. She… I
can See her future and if you care for her, she will thrive, and if you don’t,
she will be your downfall. They tell me,” she let out a cough that sounded as
if it should be confined to a tuberculosis ward, “that she will be your
strongest fighter, your greatest mind and the most revered ally. There is a
boy, he is powerful. He will harm you, but only if he has Hermione’s help.
Please, my Lord, please promise to treat her well. She is, I can’t explain how
great she will become under your tutelage. She is, or will be, so brilliant if
allowed the chance to learn and to be loved,” Atropos did one of the things
that most Death Eaters and associates were far too scared to do and she grabbed
his arm. He stared down at her hand, white-knuckled as she fisted his sleeves.
“Promise me you won’t push her away. She will win you this war. When she unites
with your loyalist warrior she will be unstoppable.”
     “IS this a prophecy? Are you Seeing her greatness?”
     “No. This is no prophecy. It is the future, two different outcomes and
Destiny and Fate wanted me to let you know that you need to rethink your views
of your child. They tell me many things, and none have been as urgent as this.
You must heed their warning. You cannot let her slip through your fingers, you
must promise to be there for her. I know you wanted a son, but she is far more
powerful than any son of yours could be,” she could feel Voldemort’s rage, but
she hadn’t anything to live for anymore, “She, if guided by your wise hands,
could become far greater than you, than Dumbledore, than…”
      She started to slip into eternal darkness and Voldemort shook her
shoulders, “Tell me woman!” Atropos was gone though. It took another three
weeks of silence from the Dark Lord, loneliness and hatred towards her daughter
for driving her and her husband apart from Rhea and terror for the baby
Hermione who didn’t know what had happened to make her mother and father
dislike her, before Voldemort truly let Atropos’ words sink in and he analysed
them carefully. He wrote them in parseltongue and stored them away in one of
his many journals. He wrote Atropos; words down verbatim and hoped that one day
he could truly understand the significance that his daughter had. He then
gathered Rhea and cared for Hermione as best he could. He was by no means a
lover, he wasn’t really a fighter either, he was a sociopath and that made him
intelligent beyond typical human function. The fact that his wife was a distant
cousin of his, as she was related to Antioch Peverell, the eldest Peverell
while he was related to Ignotius, the second brother, there was a chance that
Hermione had the power of the Peverells, but it wasn’t likely. There was a part
of Voldemort that wanted to drop Hermione off the top of the manor and see if
her magic manifests, but another part, a more sentimental part, wanted to hug
her close because she was his precious baby daughter and although he wanted a
son, he wanted to love her. The prediction of her power growing to be far more
than his, than his nemesis, made him feel more paternal towards her. He had
originally thought her a defenseless girl, similar to the way he saw his
mother, but then if she was destined by Fate to be magnificent, then who was he
to question such an immortal personification of future magic.
                                 Current Time
     Voldemort looked on at his daughter who was reading, making notes and
marking off places on the blueprint they managed to pocket from the Ministry of
the Ministry. He was drinking a shot of firewhiskey, his only shot for the
night, and he savoured it for a second before finishing it and setting the
glass down on coffee table between him and his daughter. Bellatrix was likely
fighting with Rodolphus from the sound of vases crashing against stone walls
and irritated shrieks so reminiscent of Bellatrix. Every time Rodolphus shouted
back followed by a crash, Hermione twitched and it grew very obvious to the
Dark Lord that Hermione was quite soft when it came to Bellatrix, and harsh
when it came to Rodolphus. Perhaps it was jealousy, but then Voldemort never
knew romance from a distance, hardly knowing it when it involved himself and
his lost love, Rhea. She had died many years prior, he had read of her death
upon his revival and had since stopped hoping to find her.
      “Father,” Hermione started, her voice unsure unlike her normal tone which
was always so confident, “I was curious as to your opinion as to whom I decide
to wed. In many families, I have read and heard, the Patriarch chooses the
spouse of their child. I admit I am unsure if this is a wizarding tradition or
simply a pureblood idea that has somehow tainted the rest of the wizarding
world as ‘tradition’ when it isn’t truly.”
     “No, it is simply a way that purebloods keep their blood clean,” he
responded monotonously.
     “Then, may I have my choice in partners? Of course, I am only so old, so I
will ask for permission from you. You are my father and I care about your
opinion and your judgement is likely greater than mine considering your frontal
lobe is completely developed,” she started to ramble but was silenced by her
father’s chuckling.
      “Don’t worry. I trust you to make the correct decision. I must be off
now. Why don’t you ask Bella to escort you back to Knockturn Alley before she
destroys the rest of my castle.”
     “Yes, sir. Good night,” it was faint but she added, “Sweet dreams, I love
you,” at the end and it warmed the Dark Lord’s frigid heart just enough to make
him have a second of human-like warmth rush through his body. He repeated her
words in his head as he walked towards his heavily warded chambers. Hermione
did as her father suggested and went to Bellatrix to take her to Knockturn.
While Hermione was by no means vulnerable on her own, it was always safer for
known Death Eaters, as that is what Hermione now was, to travel in groups in
case they were ambushed. Hermione cast  reducto  at the shooting vase causing
it to explode mid-flight. This caught the attention of the not-so-loving
spouses. Bellatrix smiled and perked up at Hermione’s presence while Rodolphus
physically hunched over. Every time the little chit was near, he was punished
for things she perceived him to do wrongly and Bellatrix was praised. He didn’t
like the Dark Princess, but he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to challenge her.
She was far fiercer than Bellatrix, who was the most dangerous Death Eater of
them all.
     “Madam Black,” Hermione’s lip curled up in a smirk when Rodolphus flinched
at hearing his wife’s maiden name, “Would you accompany back to Knockturn
Alley. I’m sure that my guest has missed my presence and I am aware of the
dangers of Death Eaters travelling alone,” she turned to Rodolphus. “You are
not needed. I suggest you head to bed, Lestrange. I have many plans for us to
carry out and you will need your rest.”
     “I would be honoured, sweetheart,” Bellatrix straightened her dress and
walked to Hermione’s side before both women made their way towards the edge of
the castle before apparating to Knockturn Alley. They walked hurriedly down the
street and towards her hidden rooms. She tapped her wand against the bricks and
they pulled open to shape a door. Hermione walked in and beckoned Bellatrix to
follow her. She saw that Harry was asleep with candy wrappers surrounding him.
It had been three days and he had been, essentially, confined to this room for
the whole seventy-two hours she had been absent. He was sure to have been
worried and he had always drowned himself in candies when he was nervous. She
had a feeling it was the textures he felt against his tongue and roof of his
mouth that calmed him, but it was only a theory. One doesn’t remain someone’s
friend for five years and not know or speculate their habits. She was also much
more observant than the typical friend. She wrapped him up in a blanket while
Bellatrix walked around, picking things up and observing where her Lord’s
daughter called home. She did notice the variety of colours, not very prideful
of her Gryffindor House nor her Slytherin Heritage as her Lord was. Hermione
looked around the room and sat down on a cushion. The door had long since
closed but there was still a chilly breeze coming from the direction of where
her configured wall-lock was.
      “He’ll likely remain asleep for quite some time. Coming back to life, a
spirit being forced back inside its shell, is quite an arduous task,” Hermione
motioned for her father’s most loyal to sit beside her. Bellatrix lifted her
skirt slightly and took a seat on the floor. She had never sat on the floor in
such a way. Perhaps she had been on the floor for more  interesting
activities, but never to just  sit .
      “I suspect it would be even more so for the necromancer performing such
burdensome magic.”
     “It was tiring, honestly, it was a rigorous process to even set up the
ritual even more so to actually perform such magic. It is nearly unheard of,”
Hermione flushed, she hadn’t meant to be bragging. In reality, it was simply
impossible for someone like her to channel such magic. If only she and her
father knew what gave them such power. They were unstoppable together, and with
Bellatrix, it was nearly unfathomable to even think that they could lose this
war. Harry… well Harry wasn’t going to be in this war any longer. As Harry’s
friend, Hermione had asked her father to spare him from a war he never asked to
be plagued with, so the Dark Lord acquiesced to her plea to spare the boy.
Harry no longer had to worry about being the Chosen One, he simply had to worry
about passing his OWLs and one day his NEWTs. He hadn’t the need to worry
himself with the war that lay so close to being won. Without him on the Light’s
side, there was no way for them to beat Voldemort, so Hermione knew that
victory was theirs, but if Harry decided to go back to  them , she wouldn’t
hesitate to take the life she had given back to him. He, for all intent and
purpose, belonged to her and she was his puppet master, holding onto his
strings, controlling when he lived and when he died. He was practically
immortal until she herself no longer wished for him to live or he asked her to
let him die. (Even then, whether she grants his request is debatable but there
really wasn’t a reason she could see that would make her deny his request.)
     “You and my Lord both have a tendency to do the impossible,” Bellatrix
stated before picking at the fraying lace of her dress.  Like turning her into
a docile witch , Hermione thought to herself. Bellatrix continued to speak, “I
am so very grateful to be serving such a powerful witch and wizard.”
     “And I -- we -- are grateful for your servitude,” Hermione lay back on her
cushion before Bellatrix followed suit. Bellatrix’s thick mane fell around
Hermione’s own untamable hair. It twisted together as they relaxed and shifted
around the lumps in the second-hand but authentic Gypsy cushion they rested on.
“Bellatrix, I would like you to know that I think no-one more deserving than
you to be the Death Eater’s highest ranking lieutenant and second-in-command,
and if you allow me, and with my father’s permission, I would like to procure
your loyalty. I yearn for the devotion you have for my father and his cause.”
     “I think I need to be leaving,” Bellatrix said quickly. Too quickly to be
natural or comfortable.
     “Did I say something wrong?”
     “No, no, you didn’t say anything wrong at all,” Bellatrix stood up and
gathered her wits. It was highly embarrassing to be craving the affection and
attention of a school girl, she had never considered herself a peadophile and
she still didn’t, but she couldn’t refuse that she was drawn to and attracted
to Hermione. It wasn’t just the magnitude of power and the force of her will,
there was a multitude of things that were seductive about her, but she couldn’t
give into those desires. By Circe, she was married and had been married for
decades, and while she would never deny her love for her Lord, she didn’t love
him in the same way she loved Hermione, if ‘love’ was the right word.
     Hermione jumped to her feet as well and took Bellatrix’s wrist, “I’m sorry
if I made you uncomfortable,” she realized that holding onto her wrist like
this likely didn’t make her statement seem true, but she earnestly didn’t mean
to make her uncomfortable. Bellatrix enjoyed the warmth from Hermione’s hand.
She was so young and full of life, and she was a crone, cold and haggard in her
years after imprisonment. She just couldn’t see Hermione wanting her for very
long, one could say, but she definitely saw the appeal that Hermione brought.
The Slytherin mind of hers was reasoning that becoming involved with Hermione,
the Dark Lord’s daughter, offered her protection unlike any of the other Death
Eaters, that it gave her rank over all the others, even more so than she had
now, but it also wanted her to stay safe, and while she was expected to jump in
front of a Killing Curse for the girl now, she would be fully obligated to do
so if they became intimate in any way. There was a much softer, more true part
of Bellatrix that just wanted to be with someone who appreciated her talents,
saw that she wasn’t a monster, and perhaps, one day, could love her.  How
pathetic , she scolded herself upon thinking such gushy thoughts. She was no
love-struck fool and she would be damned to ever admit or say that she would do
anything to jeopardize her own life. Self-preservation was a great talent and
she would not throw that away for some little girl, no matter whose daughter
she was.
     With a firm grip, Bellatrix snatched her hand back and held it to her
chest before walking to the wall. Her brows furrowed as she tried to open the
door with her mind as she refused to humiliate herself by failing at opening a
bloody door. Hermione hissed something in Parseltongue and the brick wall
opened before Bellatrix quickly exited the room and stalked into the darkness
and likely back to the argument with Rodolphus. Hermione watched as the bricks
reformed into a wall behind the fiercest Death Eater in their ranks and she
sunk back into her cushion. It had been so comfortable with Bellatrix beside
her, radiating power unmatched by anyone she knew besides her father. She
quickly fell into the embrace of sleep, happily slipping away from her
albatross situations in life and preparing herself for the upcoming
confrontation with Harry, who would no doubt be curious as to where she had
been for the past few days.
      Hermione was correct because as she awoke to Harry’s outcries at her
House Elf, Tinky, over the morning news, he turned his attention on her due to
her loud stirring from slumber. She hardly had enough time to reach up to push
the tangled mane of hair from her face, and even less time to prepare herself
for the onslaught of questions from her best friend. After the fiftieth
indecipherable question, Hermione reached out and touched his shoulder in an
attempt to calm him. She tried to pulse bursts of calming energy into him. It
worked poorly, but it was enough to put a lid on his panic.
     “Okay, start from the beginning and ask me one question at a time,” he
merely held up the Daily Prophet and pointed to the cover page where there was
a picture of her and Bellatrix along with Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic
surrounded by Death Eaters and corpses. “I can explain,” she started calmly,
but Harry interrupted her with a scoff.
     “Calmly?” he seethed, “Calmly!” He panted, trying to calm himself. He
finally relaxed enough to run his fingers through his hair and hold his
forehead as if the weight of the world still rested upon his shoulders. “Mione,
I didn’t think you were going to reveal yourself to everyone yet… Did you
really kill Mrs. Weasley?” His last words sounded far more like a child asking
his druggie mother if the lights would turn back on even though he knew she
forgot to pay the bill in her hazy stupor, rather than a boy of nearly sixteen.
      “I did,” she was cold, “I hated that cow, she was the first to turn on
you, you know, and her daughter had the loyalty of a maggot in search of
rotting corpses,” she caught Harry when he fell forward and into her arms. She
rubbed his back, she felt bad for him. He had never asked to be involved in any
of this. “You are no longer a part of this war, my father has agreed it is best
for you to stay here and let me bring tutors in to teach us, or I can simply
teach both of us. You don’t need to fight, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to
fight with the man who killed your parents,” he flinched, “nor would you want
to fight with people who betrayed your friendship so easily, after they
murdered you.”
     “Thank you,” he whispered into her shoulder.
      “Of course,” she pulled back and offered a smile, “That’s what friends
are for, right?” Harry just nods before dropping the issue. There is no point
in arguing with his friend and her extracurricular activities when she has
literally saved his life from people preparing him for a war he never wanted to
fight. How her dear father will react to his new desire to join their forces,
perhaps as a healer or something out of the direct line of fire, is completely
unknown and no matter how smart Hermione was, he doubted even she could
accurately predict the unpredictable Dark Lord’s reaction.
     Over the next few days, Hermione and Harry lazed about the summer retreat.
Harry found that he was much better at potions when Hermione was helping him,
and when he had incentive to actually make the potion besides foul words from
his professor. In this case, his reason for making the potion currently brewing
was that he was going to get a little pay back from Severus, his dear potions
professor. The goal of this potion was to cause the man to smile. Yes, the
thought was quite disturbing, but it would also be insanely hilarious for the
dour man to smile at a meeting with a bunch of death eaters or even in the
presence of the traitorous Order.
     “Don’t add that!” Hermione nearly shouted, her hand darting out to grab
his wrist and keep him from adding the gillyweed from his potion. She took a
deep breath, “You couldn’t have caused quite an accident. Don’t add this yet;
here add this though,” she traded his handful of slimy gillyweed for a tangled
ball of acromantula silk. He waited for further instructions on how to prepare
the silk but she just looked at him then to the potion before setting the
gillyweed back down on the chopping board. He did so and soon added the
gillyweed, this time without any interception from his only friend, and
finished the potion. The next meeting, Harry was joining his friend so that he
could ask to help heal and learn possibly. Hermione had entrusted him with the
information that Voldemort was wary to place him anywhere that could harm their
cause, and healing was definitely one of those positions, but she also trusted
him with the information that Voldemort, the perverted old man, wanted Harry to
stick around so he could try and ‘woo’ him. Whether it was over to their side
completely or into his bed, he was unsure, but from Hermione’s suggestive
raising of her brows, he could only guess it was the later and the idea
disgusted him but it also gave him something to work with in trying to get his
way. Manipulation was the way to work with the Dark Lord, and Hermione had
already told him as much, in fact, she had suggested how he could manipulate
her father’s desire even further to get whatever he wanted. The Slytherin
opulence was quite vast, far more than both the Malfoy and Black’s wealth
combined, and the Potter fortune wasn’t nearly as much as the Malfoy or Black’s
worth.
     At the meeting, Hermione sat between her father and Bellatrix with Harry
beside Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione was  kind  enough to dish out tea to the few
selected guests. Hermione was joining her father for breakfast, and had consent
to bring Harry as her guest. There was to be a small meeting with the top tier
of the Inner Circle that morning as well and because of their loyalty, they
were invited to breakfast as well. Harry looked at Draco with anxious eyes, and
the arrogant snot looked down at Harry with the typical animosity seen at
Hogwarts. Little Malfoy was not pleased that he would have to go to school for
the upcoming year while the mudblood and Potter got to be homeschooled by the
most brilliant wizards and witches of their time. He was actually very bitter
about this.
      Hermione poured Severus his tea and with a slip of her hand added a few
drops of the potion while she fixed it, adding the correct amount of sugar
cubes and the dash of milk. She knew that any normal potion would have been
recognized by the potions master, especially a potions master as paranoid and
cautious as Severus, but the potion Harry created was one of her own creations
and therefore very unrecognizable as there were little outward appearances to
give it away. Severus accepted it, not paying much mind to the tea that his
Master’s child gave him, she had no reason to tamper with his drink and if his
Lord allowed her to poison him, then so be it. He had also been far too busy to
pay Hermione much mind as he was glaring across the table at the Potter heir.
He was greatly untrusting of the Potter scion due to his father and more
importantly Lily. She had betrayed him due to his dabbling in the Dark Arts and
his father resented him for it. The boy had always appeared to care deeply for
what his parent’s would have thought of him, and if they saw him at the Dark
Lord’s table, he was sure that James would become violent and blame Severus
just because he was a real piece of work. Hermione finished serving all of
their tea, making sure to brush her hand against Bellatrix’s with a less-than-
innocent glance at the older woman. Voldemort recognized this and immediately
frowned but when Bellatrix only appeared to be uncomfortable, he was appeased.
He was greatly pleased that Bellatrix wasn’t having an affair with his
daughter. He would become rather violent if that was the case and he didn’t
want to have to get rid of his favourite and top Death Eater because his
daughter wanted to become intimate with the woman.
     “Severus, what’s wrong with your face?” Voldemort questioned, his
follower’s mouth suddenly twitching up into a smile. Severus was frowning
deeply on the inside but to the outside his mouth was frozen in an
uncomfortable grin. His eyes showed his clearly annoyed expression. He rolled
them and settled his gaze on Hermione who didn’t even flinch at his glare; this
either meant she was guiltless or that she was guilty but she was simply immune
to his harsh stares. He really hoped it was the former. Severus sighed and
pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked up to the snickering faces of his
colleagues, none quite as cheerful as  Potter . His nose scrunched in disgust
as being caught off-guard by the likes of an idiot such as Potter, but he could
truly only blame himself… and Granger, or should he say Slytherin, because
there was no way Potter managed to get one over on him without her brilliant
mind.
     “It seems he has been slipped a potion,” Narcissa frowned, one of the few
who managed to stay serious through this humiliation of Severus. She had cast a
finite  and a  finite incantatem  and nothing seemed to happen, therefore she
came to the conclusion that it was a potion. “My Lord,” she added to the end of
her sentence with haste, as she had forgotten to do so in her unsure
announcement.
      “Yes, it seems so,” Voldemort didn’t hide his smile. There was no need to
hide his amusement in his follower’s suffering. He slid a potion across the
table after extracting the phial from the inside of his robes. Severus took it
on his assurance it was safe and would counteract the effects of whatever
potion was used on him. He had seen his daughter slip the potion into his tea,
and was curious as to what it was, and how to mask other potions and poisons of
such quality as she had done. Severus downed the potion at his master’s nod and
his lips sunk back down into their usual scowl. He glared at Harry, this time
he was far more intimidating since his entire face seemed to be on the same
page. Harry’s snickers silenced and Voldemort could only summon the unbreakable
phial back to him and slide it into his pocket as he started with their topic.
     “That was great entertainment, but next time let’s refrain from poisoning
my followers,” he shot a look at Hermione before turning to Harry where he
offered an almost genial smile. He placed all of his fingertips on the table
before transfiguring the silver tray before them into a map and the extra cups
and other fine china into chess-like pieces. He moved the dark green pieces to
one side and the red pieces to the other before animating them in a battle.
     “This is us,” he gestured to the green pieces and then to the red, “these
are our enemies. I want my two best fighters,” mini-figurines of Hermione and
Bellatrix entered the battlefield and attacked two faceless people, “to stand
beside me when I take down the old man,” Dumbledore and Voldemort stood in the
center and fought, wands at the ready. Little lights sparked as the miniatures
shot spells at each other. Voldemort ended the demonstration wit his
representation shooting a green spell at Dumbledore and then their tea flooded
from his little porcelain body. A house elf came to clean up the mess and bring
them more tea. “This is our plan, overall, as it has been for years. However,
we have two new players. My daughter is going to be joining us on the
battlefield as she previously had been stationed at Hogwarts as a spy. She and
Mr. Potter will now be residing here at my home and will be trained for their
Hogwarts education as well as for battle, in Hermione’s case, and for healing,
in Mr. Potter’s case. See, Narcissa, I have sat Mr. Potter beside you because
you are my best healer, he will be training under you and Severus,” he turned
to his potions master, “you will cease your animosity towards the boy and train
him as if you were training a younger version of myself. Bellatrix, Lucius, you
will train Hermione. You, young Draco, have a task. This is the only reason you
are staying at Hogwarts, as are your friends. If I had my way, you would all be
pulled for your safety,” in reality, he cared very little about the Malfoy boy
and his friends’ safety, but he had to appeal to their compassion.
     “There is a raid in three nights time, I would like for Hermione to lead
this as well. She did an excellent job the last raid and I would like for you
all to show her how to improve her skills. She is my heir,” Lucius cleared his
throat and Voldemort’s eyes narrowed at him. “Do you have something to say,
Luciussss ?”
     “N-no, My Lord,” in fact, he wanted to tell him that a female heir -- an
heiress, to be exact -- wouldn’t be accepted and therefore was useless to him.
It was better to rid of female children since they couldn’t carry on their
family line as a male could. Voldemort didn’t miss the belittling look from his
follower’s eye and the death glare he received from both Bellatrix and
Hermione, two very proud and very powerful women.
     “Good,” he offered a smile, reserved only for Rhea and Hermione, to his
daughter, “Hermione, I would like for you to go, take the Potter boy with you,
to the library and research the basic healing techniques. There should be quite
a few spells that are useful in the midst of battle that would be wise to learn
and Mr. Potter,” he turned to Harry, “It would be ideal for you to start
learning on your own. I will not allow for you to slack off on studies just
because you are learning from the best. I expect you to do everything Narcissa
and Severus ask of you and it will be done to no less than perfection, am I
understood?” Harry nodded before Hermione sent a stinging hex under the table
at his thigh. He yelped before covering his mouth and partially covering his
scarlet cheeks.
     “I mean, yes, my Lord.”
     “That was unnecessary, but wholly welcomed. You two may be excused. Draco,
why don’t you go to Mr. Zabini, I’m sure he has missed you this summer. I
haven’t let you or your family out of my sight for quite some time and I
believe it is unfair to keep such close  friends  apart,” he offered a
saccharine smile to Draco who only looked ill before thanking his Lord for his
‘graciousness’ and leaving, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. Hermione and
Harry left Voldemort and his inner circle for the library. Voldemort turned to
his followers and nodded at Bellatrix who stood up and jumped onto the table,
she pulled a side of her long dress up and kicked Lucius’ teacup over his
shoulder. The porcelain shattered against the back of the wall and Bellatrix
had her wand out and pressed to Lucius’ throat. Narcissa sat stoically, not
lowering herself to a petty show of emotion at her husband’s clear distress.
     “Thank you Bella,” The Dark Lord started, “Why don’t you show him why
you’re my most trusted lieutenant,” he urged with a sadistic grin. Bellatrix
obliged and cast the cruciatus curse on the arrogant prick. Lucius’s fingers
clenched around the wooden chair arms and his toes curled in pain as opposed to
what one usually paired with the curling of toes (pleasure). He could feel his
teeth begin to ache dully through the sharp pains that attacked and pulled at
his muscles and organs. His blood was on fire and his nerves were raw and
damaged. Bellatrix flicked her wand, ending the spell, and he slumped forward
in an attempt to try and keep his red face from being seen. He was forced to
sit straight in the chair when Bellatrix pushed the heel of her boot into his
shoulder and forced his shoulders against the tall-backed chair.
     “Now, if I ever see you doubt the abilities of my daughter again, I will
do much worse than Bellatrix. You need only to know that Hermione is more than
capable to take up the duties regarding her heirship. In fact, she would be an
amazing brain on the Board of Governors, in the Wizengamot and at the Ministry.
However, while her political knowledge is vast, she is far too powerful to lose
herself in paperwork like some of you here,” the jab to Lucius’ ability to
perform advanced magic was felt deeply, “and she will join us and take a much
more active role than she has thus far. Am I clear?”
     “Yes, my Lord,” Lucius whispered, blood staining his teeth since the tip
of his tongue had gotten caught between furiously clenched teeth and snipped
off along with a thousand or so tastebuds. Lucius was excused along with the
Lestranges, Carrows and the few others around his table. The only people
remaining were the Dark Lord, Bellatrix, Severus, and Narcissa.
      “Narcissa, Severus, would you go relieve Hermione of her babysitting of
Mr. Potter and teach him something. From what my daughter has informed me, he
is nearly as incompetent as the Weasley boy and that will not be acceptable
here if he wishes to join my ranks officially,” Severus and Narcissa nodded
before rushing off towards the main library, the only one they were allowed to
enter, to find Harry. “Bella, I took you under my wing at Hermione’s age and I
taught you everything I know… Hermione knows all of that now, and she knows not
only the information that I taught you, but she has absorbed more. She is quite
an eager learner and avid reader. I would have been afraid to lend her books
had she not shown such respect for the leather bound tomes I entrusted to her
care. Now, you will teach her all that you have learned as she will continue to
learn from me and her sources unknown,” unknown to the vast majority but not to
the Dark Lord. However, the treasure trove of knowledge that he and his
daughter have found would be better off hidden from the majority who doubt its
existence outside the realm of fiction.
     “I will, my Lord,” she offered politely, despite her very haggard
appearance. She had always been so sweet, such a beautiful and charming young
lady and she was still very much like that. Years of Azkaban hadn’t entirely
ruined her, but they didn’t help her hefty dose of the Black Madness that drove
her to torturing in the first place. Knowing that Bellatrix enjoyed inflicting
pain as much as Hermione did was at least a little settling for his
rambunctious mind. He didn’t have to worry about Hermione running to someone
unknown and dangerous for thrills when she had Bellatrix loyal to her and her
family for eternity.
     “Long ago,” Voldemort started, “I asked you if you would join me, and when
I asked you this question, I made sure to ask if you would stay by my side for
eternity . You agreed. I’m adding to our conditions, you will stand by the side
of my family for eternity. It has been done. Hermione has created her first
horcrux, and likely her last until she deems it safe through many years of
research. You are now being assigned not as a guard to my daughter, but as a
companion. I am not going to inform Hermione of this development, I just wish
for you to keep an eye on her and report back to me with what you find. If she
does anything…” he hummed and curled his hands, rolling his wrists and flicking
his fingers out dramatically, “ inappropriate , shall we say? You will inform
me. I already know how she sees you, how she looks at you. It is quite obvious,
but I doubt you could see the longing hunger in her eyes when she stares at
you, yes, she stares and it is always so amusing to find you not realizing her
eyes on you.
      “It is not my place to set her rules, no, she is far to old and ruthless
for any rules. Too bright to accept any of the demeaning laws I could place and
far to cunning to follow them. She would find a way to break every single rule
or code of conduct I set for her using loopholes that couldn’t be seen by
anyone else, I admit that sometimes I cannot see loopholes and other such
things as clearly as Hermione does. Since there are no rules for her to follow,
she will be restrained out of the idea of obedience and of what a ‘good’ child
would do in order to stay in their parent’s grace. I want you to teach her
independence, more than I have. I am ordering you to show her that one day she
will find something wrong with me and that she is fully capable of battling me,
and to do so is ‘OK’. I don’t expect her to be a follower, just as I have never
considered you a lapdog like I consider most of my followers, or an
untrustworthy little ferret like I consider dear Lucius,” he let out an
exaggerated sigh, “I want her to have happiness that I feel is lost to me, lost
to the rest of the world, lost to most except the small few who manage to seek
it long enough to take a taste before their untimely deaths due to disrupting
the cruelness and punishment to live in such darkness from the Gods,” He sighed
much deeper this time around. He slouched in his chair, his body tired, his
mind tired, he was utterly exhausted in all ways. “Can you do this Bella? Am I
wrong for entrusting you with the last piece of my happiness and likely my
humanity?”
     “You’re never wrong, my Lord,” she answered after a moment of thought.
This brief pause didn’t register in either of their minds as disrespectful, in
fact, Voldemort took it as a sign of thought on Bella’s part and Bella had
needed a second to gather the courage to announce her own desires and plans.
“My Lord?” He nods and motions for her to continue as he stares outside the
tall windows sandwiched between velvet, tied-back, royal purple curtains along
the stone wall. “She, your daughter, accosted me, the other night…” she didn’t
continue her train of thought but Voldemort understood. At least Bellatrix
wasn’t daft to the affection that Hermione felt for her. “I wish to dissolve
the Lestrange marriage I was forced into as a child. I ask for your assistance
with this, my Lord.”
      “Anything, darling. Run along now. I’ll speak with Rodolphus… and I’ll
speak with Narcissa and Lucius as well. I think I have a plan for all of them.
Go to Hermione, she will likely be curious as to where you are at since you did
not join Severus or your sister to gather Harry,” Bellatrix thanked her Lord
and stalked off in the direction of the library she knew Hermione would have
moved to after her sister and Severus had taken Harry from her hands. Her
personal library was on the third floor of the manor and in her wing, the West
Wing. She knocked on the door to the library and it creaked open rather
ominously. Bellatrix thought nothing of it. Hermione always had an air of
perilousness around her, it added to her charm.
     “Bella!” Hermione called from the second level of her library. She looked
over the wooden railing and turned back to close the three books spread out
around her and to dry her notes quickly with a wave of her wand. She closed her
leather bound notebook full of her own creations and research notes before
straightening her robes the best she could in her position in a slouched over
heap on the floor beside the warm fire. Bellatrix made her way up the steps and
towards Hermione.
     “I’m glad you’ve arrived, I was just creating theory for a possible spell
and I would like someone to join me in the dungeons to practice it until
perfected. It, in theory, should turn the body inside-out much like a kappa
does to it’s victims,” Hermione beamed up at Bellatrix with a smile that could
fool an innocent eye. It however betrayed far more to Bellatrix than it did to
the simpletons who usually received such a smile. Hermione’s smile fell quickly
after Bellatrix didn’t reply. “Is that a no?”
     “Hermione,” Bellatrix folded into herself, collapsing onto the floor
beside Hermione with a gracefulness seen little elsewhere. “I am going to be
free of my husband for the first time in decades,” she started, almost sadly.
It wasn’t that she would be rid of Rodolphus, but the fact that she would be
alone. She hadn’t be ‘alone’ in so long, even in Azkaban she was a married
woman, and Rodolphus was only two cells over, Rabastan to her right and Sirius
to her left (until the bastard escaped).
     “Oh,” she grinned, “Good,” but she saw that look on Bella’s face, that one
that meant she was uncomfortable and she hesitated, honestly unsure on how to
proceed. “What’s wrong?”
     “I’m alone, and I’ve never been alone before,” she admitted, there was no
shame in being lonely, in fact, many of the Death Eaters joined simply to make
friends, or to have a purpose. Loneliness bred darkness that consumed the most
pure hearted people and twisted them into something bitter. Bella was already
quite bitter, so she couldn’t see herself changing much. Maybe she would grow
ill instead, sick in her loneliness and apathetic in her solitude and
isolation. If she had the chance to isolate herself that is. She highly doubted
that either Hermione or the Dark Lord would allow her to become a recluse, and
her own extroverted nature would fight her as well.
     “You are never alone,” Hermione, like a mother more than a lover, reached
forward and pushed Bella’s messy hair from her eyes, revealing red-rimmed eyes
with tears leaking over the kohl-lined water-lines. She took a sharp inhale of
breath.
       “I know, thanks,” she didn’t know how to react to the kindness she was
being shown. Her Lord had a point. She had been raised by him, her father was
the same as Hermione’s in the sense that the man had taught her all that she
knew, all that was useful anyway, and she had a relationship in a parental
sense with the Dark Lord far before Hermione was even created. She remembered
when her Lord had been violently angry about his wife birthing a daughter, but
then he changed like a switch being flipped. He was proud of Hermione suddenly
and he was treating her with the care and love he would have treated a male
heir. There was a time when the Dark Lord was just as ashamed of female heirs -
- heiresses -- as most pure blooded men were but then that little seer changed
his mind and she and Hermione had proved that they were by far stronger than
any of the male followers in Voldemort’s ranks.
      “I believe you came up here for another reason. Would you like to go
practice those spells I mentioned or would you prefer to do something else?”
She wouldn’t admit it aloud, even if she had already informed Bellatrix of what
she wanted mentally and through body language, but she could enjoy the
familiarity of reading by the fire in Bellatrix’s presence. In fact, she
wouldn’t mind that at all and would like to do such. Neither needed to answer
because within moments they were comfortably curled up with books and
enraptured by their volumes. Hermione was particularly fascinated in the vast
selection of necromancy books that appeared in an understandable language by
those blessed with the gift of the dead and Bellatrix was reading a memoir
written by Salazar Slytherin’s son who was one of the first and most ruthless
Dark Lords, this was around the time when male witches became evil rather than
their female counterparts like Circe, Morgan Le Fay and the Witch of Solomon.
     Harry was having a much less relaxing session. Narcissa was calm but stern
and Severus hadn’t much changed in his disposition towards Harry nor did his
teaching methods become less severe. He was still equally as horrid to the
Potter heir and Narcissa was shaping into a wonderful teacher who soothed the
burns of Severus’ words.
     There was not an ounce of necromancy talent in Harry, but that didn’t mean
that he lacked the healer’s touch, in fact, that was a blessing of his. He had
the ability to channel energy to his patients and heal them with efficiency
very few had, Narcissa was one of these few. Narcissa was the first Black in a
long time who had the talent of healing whereas most of the Black family was
gifted with the talent of destruction and chaos, much like Bellatrix who
inherited the Black Madness and an inclination towards the Dark Arts and
Blackest of Magics. Andromeda was neither cursed nor blessed and was a very
common witch who knew what she was taught, although she was exceptional with
transfiguration, her skill in this branch of magic may be the cause of her
daughter inheriting the gene of a changeling.
      Harry was left in silence to read three set compendiums and with a list
of potions and herbs to become familiar with from Severus while Narcissa left
him with a kiss to his forehead and a promise to reconvene the following day.
She was a kept woman, there was no need for her elsewhere and she was very
pleased in the fact she could help teach someone with the same gift as her. It
was three chapters into the first book given to him to read, and Severus had
only allowed him a week to read three giant book that bastard, when the Dark
Lord strode into the room. Voldemort’s long fingers slid down the spines of a
selection of books before he chose one and he sat in his designated chair in
main sitting area of the library near the then unlit fire. He was entranced in
his own book when Harry realized he wasn’t alone and jumped out of his seat as
he saw the Dark Lord. He reacted on instinct and his heart was pounding too
fast, he was trying to calm himself, for him to notice the smirk that graced
Voldemort’s features. The Dark Lord was very amused by Harry Potter, and while
he had promised to allow him the choice to stay or leave this war, he wasn’t
going to give up his own curiosity. He had been searching for the now young man
since he was an infant, there was no way he would relinquish his chance to meet
and learn about the great vanquisher of the dark (said with sarcasm).
     “Quite a reaction, Mr. Potter,” Voldemort’s smirk was scary and it only
caused Harry’s heart to pound harder. When claret eyes bore into his own jewel-
tone irises, he couldn’t stop a shiver from riveting its way up his spine,
causing his entire body to shudder in a harsh physical reaction. If Voldemort
had seen, which he had, he didn’t mock nor mention the short display he had
witnessed and instead licked his thumb and forefinger before grasping a
yellowed page between his fingers and turning it Harry tore his gaze away from
the other man and closed his book, grumbling to himself about the injustice and
unfairness of his life. Voldemort would have been amused if he hadn’t been
royally annoyed at the immature behaviour he was seeing. He ignored it though,
sure that Hermione wouldn’t be pleased with him if he tortured the boy he
promised to leave alone.
      Voldemort watched as Harry left the library, clearly too nervous to stay
in his presence alone. It only served to arouse the older man. He loved what
his power could do, and he loved that both he and his daughter were so
beautiful and erotic, eliciting inappropriate, but delicious nonetheless,
reactions from their followers. He continued to read, not noticing when Harry
returned and tried his hardest to ignore the man who sat so regally in his
seat, him. The Dark Lord. He was sensual and perfect, and Harry wanted to be
felt by him, but he also wanted to hide from him and pretend that the man
wasn’t his best friend’s father, that he hadn’t tried to kill him for years,
that he hadn’t killed a person in front of him when he was only fourteen, that
he hadn’t abused and tortured him for dozens of minutes before attempting to
kill him for another countless time since he was only fifteen months old. His
desire outweighed his fear, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to
feel something like lust for his friend’s father. He absently wondered what
Hermione was up to, as he thought of her father in the most inappropriate of
ways.
     Hermione was with Bellatrix, both of them hunched over blueprints with
little transfigured figurines of their death eaters. Hermione sat back and
groaned, rubbing her forehead before her fingers threaded through her hair as
she pulled the tight curls and tangles out with her digits. Bellatrix looked to
her, turning her head, curious as to what she was thinking. Everyone had
moments when they thought of what someone else was thinking, and Bella was
having one of those moments. She also wished that Hermione couldn’t read her
mind, an illogical thought since she was a great occlumens, but she nonetheless
was nervous that Hermione, the Dark Lord’s daughter and a prodigy far better
than him, could break her walls and do so without alerting her. Just then,
Hermione let out a soft chuckle which did little to hinder her paranoia.
     “Have you ever thought about Harry getting along with us Dark witches?”
She laughed again. Before she had groaned and paused in her placement of
figurines, she had fumbled with Harry’s figure and Narcissa’s along with a few
other medi-witches and healers. She didn’t want them in the line of fire, but
she knew that if anyone was qualified to fight as well as heal it would be
Narcissa and Harry. She had placed them behind the third tier -- lowest ranking
-- soldiers and guarded by three of their elite (which would be the Carrows and
Yaxley in this case) so that they could safely gather the injured from the
battlefield and heal them in safety and relative peace so that they could send
the injured back into battle with a chance at surviving rather than leaving
them for dead. Bellatrix relaxed, knowing that Hermione hadn’t been reading her
mind and sequentially laughing at her fears and paranoia.
     “No. I’m surprised he’s stuck around this long,” she admits and Hermione
smiles.
     “I agree,” Hermione started, “but I didn’t expect him to go back to those
traitorous cowards either. He isn’t a genius, but he is far more intelligent
than I think we give him credit,” she rearranged her figurines again, shifting
her third tier soldiers to the sides and replacing their places with their
lowest tier, the fourth tier. That made more sense since they would be more
sheltered by the better fighters, the first, second and third tier, and they
would make shields that were expendable. While she did care for their Death
Eaters, she also knew that the weak needed to be weeded out of their ranks and
replaced with the best. They couldn’t win a war if they were accepting any poor
soul who thought they had the brawn to do what was necessary. Deep in her heart
however, she truly did hope that the majority of their ranks survived their
latest -- and largest to date -- raid. She didn’t want to have their blood on
her hands, at least not if they were innocent in her eyes. If they were
traitorous or offensive to her rule, then their punishment, which could be
death, would not bother her so. Bellatrix hummed as she looked over their
makeshift chessboard and placed it under stasis so that they could take an
intermission from their diligent work.
     “Kreacher!” Bellatrix called. The house elf appeared, looking horrific and
glaring at Hermione before muttering about a mudblood. Bellatrix didn’t correct
him because Hermione was no mudblood, but if she had been, Bellatrix would have
agreed with the aged elf (although she would never admit to agreeing with a
lower being such as a house elf). “Bring us some tea and I want a strawberry
cake,” she demanded, waving him away to bring them refreshments. Hermione
didn’t say anything on the way Bellatrix treated her house elf, rather, she
lauded the treatment of the bastardly Kreacher. Bellatrix, no doubt, had her
own house elves from the Lestrange properties, her family home and needn’t be
using Sirius Black’s house elf, her cousin’s used things, but she had to admit,
the little cur had his uses and was the best for testing the most horrendous
spells upon.
     Kreacher brought a silver tray filled with tea things and in the center of
it all was elegant strawberry cake frosted with white cream and decorated with
fresh strawberries still glistening with pure water and a light sprinkle of
dissolved sugar. Bellatrix waited a moment and finally motioned for Kreacher to
continue and make their tea and cut her a slice of cake. Her movements were
impatient and she let out a little yelp of anger before crossing her legs and
staring at the inept house elf.
      “I wonder why Auntie Walburga kept such a foul creature such as you
Kreacher,” Bellatrix commented as he handed her a perfect, dainty cup of tea
fixed without flaw. In a childlike display of pettiness, Bellatrix drank all
the tea down, scorching her lips and tongue in the process, before making
Kreacher remake her tea just as before. She dismissed the elf once she was
finished torturing the thing. “Miserable whelp,” she mumbled in reference to
her sorely lacking elf before Hermione let out a giggle at Bellatrix’s antics.
     “You’re so cruel,” but it was a compliment that Bellatrix understood and
heard. She ate a forkful of strawberry cake and nodded approvingly. It was
okay  but it wasn’t perfect like she would expect from a house elf who served
the Noble House of Black. She set the cake aside, not really enjoying it, and
sipped her tea. She appeared to be a Lady in those moments, but then she spoke
and it was revealed that she was a warrior and a sadistic and powerful dark
witch.
     “Perhaps you should have the Potter boy dish out some torture. Harden up
his resolve, he’s quite a weakling. Too much time in your presence or your
father’s and he may just break.”
     “You’re right, of course,” Hermione sighed, “Perhaps I should just have
him torture Severus, he has always hated him,” she had her own doubts, but it
would be the fact that she attempted that would be important. “He’s always
going to have a saviour complex. Perhaps I should have left him dead.”
     “No, you were far too unhappy with him dead, you did the right thing,” of
course the right thing was the thing that would please her the most. Hermione
raised her brow before smirking. She was unsure if Bellatrix was saying things
just to get on her good side or if she truly believed them. Either way, it
didn’t matter because it was boosting Hermione’s ego.
     “Is this the plan we are to go with, my Queen?” Bellatrix asked, leaning
over the blueprints of the Ministry.
     “It is,” she smirked before taking a deep breath.
                                      --
      The Ministry of Magic’s wards were weak if not completely shattered.
Security was a joke and the Death Eaters, under their leader at the moment,
Bellatrix, stalked into the department proudly and without a fear in the world.
Hermione, much like her father, planned to arrive for the final battle when the
real opponents turned up. She monitored the soldiers with their Dark Mark and
colour coded her people before her mind warped into that of a giant chess
board. She called out numbers and directions which Bellatrix promptly shouted
at the Death Eaters and when they started fighting the basic Aurors, Bellatrix
called in the healers where they were protected by a few of the Inner Circle
and started to levitate the wounded to them. It had been Hermione’s idea in
order to save precious wizarding life. Why kill so many wizards, especially the
ones on their side, when they had an ample supply of healers on their side as
well. It was true, but Voldemort hardly cared about the majority of his Death
Eaters, he hardly saw many of them outside of meetings, as any good leader
behaved. Hermione changed that by becoming more involved. She also wasn’t
entirely ousted to the entirety of the Death Eaters, but the ones who were
important knew of her existence and status and they respected that.
      It was only a few Junior Aurors in when The Order arrived. Hermione
promptly apparated away from the dungeons as she was watching their prisoners
and relaying the progress and damage to the Ministry back to them with
sadistic, malicious glee. She dropped her chess pieces as she left and
reappeared before Bellatrix.
      “That was earlier than expected,” She mused as a red curse flew past her
head and hit the unfortunate soul behind her. She took a second, Bellatrix
covering her back, and levitated the masked man towards the healers before
turning around and re engaging in the fight. In a flash of orange-red hair,
Hermione was aware of the Weasleys presence. Before her were the youngest two
children and Bill.
       “Ah, William,” she purred before sending her own curse towards him. He
shielded it with a  protego  and Ronald jumped headfirst into the danger like
the reckless Gryffindor that he was. He was using his non-dominant hand for his
wand since Hermione had severed the other during the last battle and it was
obvious he wasn’t entirely prepared for a true fight. Why he turned up,
Hermione could only guess it was his irrational hot-headedness that drove him
to try and take part in a battle he had no business in. That was a fatal
mistake, and Hermione was definitely cruel enough to use it to her advantage.
“I promised your brothers to let Ginny live, but I have made no promise in
regards to either of your lives. Draco, if you would,” she called and cast a
shield around Draco who dragged a shouting Ginny back into their ranks and took
her to an accommodating room at the Slytherin Manor. Hermione shot off a curse
that blasted poor Bill Weasley back into a marble wall, knocking him
unconscious and Ronald got a similar fate of impairment as opposed to the life-
ending depth of death. They were of no challenge to her and soon Dumbledore
showed his face. He gathered his forces and tried to plead with the Death
Eaters, hoping that they would fall for his grandfatherly act. Nobody was
stupid nor ignorant enough to fall for his petty lies and he ended up twisting
into space and time with a quick apparation. The Death Eaters continued to raid
the Ministry, taking anything they deemed important or that they were commanded
to take on behalf of orders or Hermione’s demands. It was a rather fruitful
raid indeed.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!