Chapter Text
A CROWN SO HEAVY AND DARK.
I.
PART ONE: THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE MOON.
In the end, it all comes down to loss and what we’re willing to do to avoid it.
Hermione spun her wand around her thumb, nervously biting down on her lower lip as Harry took the Prophecy and his eyes became glassy, as she’d sometimes seen Professor Trelawney’s do. She was sick to her stomach with the confirmation that this was indeed a trap, yet another one of Voldemort’s twisted games they’d fallen into, for that was made clear to her by Sirius’ absence and the way her brother was clenching his jaw in distress. But for God’s sake, she was the brains of the Golden Trio, the Brightest Witch of Her Age and a Gryffindor, she wouldn’t lose herself to her fear whilst the snakes were waiting to pounce and feast on tender flesh and bleeding hearts.
She needed to ground herself. Hermione needed to analyse the facts if they hoped to come out of this alive. Only she wasn’t a soldier nor a general, just a girl with too much hope and love in her, so she was starting to hyperventilate. Think, Hermione, think! One, Voldemort wanted Harry to do something he couldn’t and it had everything to do with the Prophecy. Two, knowledge came from books but also from observing, listening, and so she’d learnt to see the light that lived in Professor Snape, which had long ago led her to realise he truly was on their side, so it was likely that the Order had been alerted; Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t abandon them in one of their most desperate hours. Three, teenagers couldn’t overpower Death Eaters, but they could buy themselves precious minutes during which they’d defy the complete darkness that surrounded them. And since fate favoured the bold that was exactly how they’d push through. They would survive if only because Hermione Granger was much too stubborn to let her friends die.
The girl exhaled and scanned her surroundings, honey-brown eyes landing on a masked figure with distinctly long pale-blond hair. Lucius Malfoy.
“Harry!” she said.
The boy finally snapped out of it and walked to the front of the group, standing in front of his nemesis’ father. “Where’s Sirius?”
His arm shook slightly, but his voice never wavered. Brave, brave boy.
“You know, you really should learn to tell the difference between dreams and reality.” Lord Malfoy pulled his wand from his cane and dissolved his mask into shadows then. “You only saw what the Dark Lord wanted you to see. Now hand me the Prophecy.”
Ron looked at Hermione and they nodded their heads simultaneously. On the backs of their Thestrals, the group had discussed what to do if things went wrong and, somehow, blasting the Ministry to bits had won.
“You do anything to us and I’ll break it,” Harry threatened.
A childish, high-pitched laugh sounded, along with the clacking of heels against the floor.
“He knows how to play! Itty... bitty... baby... Potter,” the witch taunted.
The light that came from Malfoy’s wand illuminated her gaunt face, her emaciated frame. It revealed to them a demarcated and deathly pale woman, who was dressed in a black, low-cut dress that was held together by a corset. Her hair was a nest of black curls that framed her aristocratic features and her cheeks were sunken and her lips were painted crimson. And from her neck hung a raven-skull pendant necklace, the Blacks’ sigil.
True to the rumours, she looked like their worst nightmares made flesh.
A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine. “Bellatrix Lestrange,” she breathed, cutting off Neville and making herself the target of her ire.
She had researched her when the breakout was announced and her picture was printed in The Daily Prophet. Bellatrix Druella Lestrange née Black was one of the most feared dark witches who had ever lived and Sirius’ first cousin. She, too, was the Brightest Witch of Her Age, a prodigy the likes of which Hogwarts had only seen in Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle and herself these last two centuries. She was the pride and joy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the former heir to her late father’s title. Her beauty and genius had once been such, in fact, that her dowry was refused by the Lestranges, so honoured they were to have her marry their firstborn. And after she married and joined the Death Eaters, she acquired a thousand new monikers. She became Voldemort’s queen, his best soldier, his first lieutenant, his most loyal servant; the equal – in wit, viciousness, prejudice and inherent lunacy – he’d never searched for, but still, he found and seemed to treasure, as he had raided Azkaban first thing to get her back. The woman had had it all until she threw it away for what she’d surely call love but was an obsession.
“Mudblood,” Bellatrix said with venom and disgust in her tone. “A bit far from the safety of the library, aren’t we?”
Harry extended his arm, holding Hermione back as she seethed. It was the worst kept secret in Gryffindor Tower that under the right circumstances, Hermione was as easily riled up as he or Ron.
“A bit far from the loving embrace of the Dementors, aren’t we?” she quipped.
Bellatrix didn’t take too kindly to it. “You little…!” She pointed her wand at the girl as Malfoy mirrored Harry and restrained the dark witch without actually touching her.
“Let’s everybody just calm down, shall we?” His voice was strained and his movements were slow as though Bellatrix would burn down the whole room if provoked further. The man seemed scared of his sister-in-law, Hermione noted. “All we want is that prophecy.”
“Why did Voldemort need me to come and get this?” Harry asked.
“You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips,” Bellatrix whispered as she shook with pent-up magic and aggression, “you dare besmirch it with your half-blood’s tongue, you dare…” Her black eyes widened and shone with madness and bloodlust. And the fright caused by seeing her act like a bomb that was about to explode tempered Hermione’s anger. This woman was as powerful and dangerous as she was unpredictable and unhinged. “YOU FILTHY HALF-BLOOD!”
She’d seen pictures of her at galas and such, and the woman in front of her couldn’t compare. She had been turned into no more than a shell. Though her beauty had taken the greatest toll, it was her eyes that were unrecognisable. Back then they had been just as dark, but Hermione could shamefully admit that they still had enthralled her. But now there was nothing else in them, or in her, to suggest that she’d once been as much a star as her namesake. All that was left was barely restrained madness in once bewitching orbs.
And Harry was about to set the beast loose. “Did you know he’s a half-blood too? …Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a muggle – or has he been telling you lot he’s pure-blood?”
A Stunner was sent his way and Luna, Ginny, Hermione and Ron had to reinforce Harry’s shield to stop her. Malfoy had tried to deflect it, but he had been unable to since Bellatrix was so incredibly quick.
Finally, Harry made with his left hand the peace sign to tell them that it was time.
God, why had they ever agreed on that?
“REDUCTO!” Hermione cried, and so did the others.
The Death Eaters who had cornered them dodged and redirected the glass, although some gave chase.
“Prophecies can only be retrieved by those about who they are made! Haven’t you always wanted to know what was the reason for the connection between you and the Dark Lord?! Why he was unable to kill you when you were just an infant?! Don’t you want to know the secret of your scar?!” Malfoy spoke as the six of them ran. “All the answers are there, Potter, in your hand! All you have to do is give it to me!”
Hermione knew that he must have used the Sonorus Charm to magnify his voice, but it felt like he was in her mind. What an awful thing for Harry to endure when she already wanted to scream at him to stop.
When they were almost at the door, Bellatrix started cackling and Luna got startled and tripped. Hermione helped her up and sent a Stupefy to the masked figure closest to them.
“C’mon! This, no, this way!” she said.
She didn’t fancy going back into the rooms they’d crossed out, but by helping her friend they had gotten separated from the others. Safety in numbers. Jesus.
They ran some more until they reached what the brunette remembered was the Time Room, and Luna abruptly stopped.
“Hermione?” the blonde asked.
Her blue eyes were uneasy and regretful, full of sorrow in a way Hermione had never thought her capable of. This startled her enough not to fight the blonde as she dragged her into the room.
“Yeah?” Hermione choked out, trying to regain her breath.
Once inside, Luna threw her arms around her neck and embraced her. “Please remember that we love you. That we’ll always love you no matter what you do and how far away fate takes you from us.”
Then, she stepped back and attacked. “Levicorpus!”
Before she could defend herself, scream or demand answers, Hermione was yanked upwards by her ankle and then she was dropped from the ceiling. It was much too high a fall, so when she landed she heard and felt her ribs crack and her ankle snap.
Tears formed in her eyes, identical parts of emotional and physical pain. “Luna… why?”
This was an unbelievable, unbearable betrayal.
She wouldn’t ask for forgiveness for she didn’t deserve it. Just as no one had asked to spare her from the burden of the Sight, as she was strong enough to do what was needed.
Luna looked down at her trainers and hugged herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But the truth is a terrible thing. It cuts like a knife and you never stop bleeding out.”
Hermione frowned. “What…?”
“I’ll see you in the Hall of Prophecy when you come back, ‘Mione. And please do say hi from me to her,” was all Luna said before she trained her wand on her once more. “Confundus!”
As her consciousness was smothered by the fog, the door closed. Luna was gone.
╶
In the end, it all comes down to faith and the monsters it makes of men.
“Morgana! You’re the only bloody wizard who thinks it a good idea to monologue when, UGH!” Another shelf came crashing down and Bellatrix made an arc over her head with her arm and turned it to dust with a non-verbal spell.
She blew a rebellious white curl off her face and saw another come down for Rabastan. “Diminuendo!”
For fuck’s sake. What a pain it was to be surrounded by dimwits who gave turtles a run for their galleons.
“By the gods,” Bellatrix crossed her arms and pouted, “you couldn’t be any less suited for-”
“I heard you the first fifty times, Bellatrix,” drawled Lucius, clearing out the path with his cane.
Fuming, Bellatrix fisted her hands and stepped on a large shard of glass and stomped it with her foot. “Well then, you’ll hear it again! I will never understand how you managed to convince the Dark Lord to put you in charge, Luci! You’re not suited for leadership, and you’re unworthy of his trust! I told my master as much, but he wouldn’t listen and now look what you’ve done! We had him and his pitiful friends!”
“Until you tried to stun Potter!” he shouted. “It was but you, dear sister, who jeopardised the entire mission for the lies of a cocky brat!”
Bellatrix had been born a being that was made up of contradictions. A Black, a pure-blood witch who was half-Gryffindor, with how loyal and brave she could be. Willing to do anything for those she loved no matter the cost time and time again. Nonetheless, before she’d had restraint, had possessed more cunning than bloodlust. Lucius remembered her as a force of nature with dark intentions, but the creature beside him didn’t hold a candle to the witch who’d bewitched the Dark Lord himself.
To him, it would always come back to Azkaban and the way it had diluted the Slytherin in her. How it had left her more a wounded animal than a woman of ravenous ambition.
“At least I didn’t try to negotiate with the boy! Gave him answers!” Bellatrix said as she dug her long nails into the fair skin of her palms. “You absolute prick!”
Hearing them bicker, Crabbe snickered loudly as he was getting rid of the shelves that blocked the door.
The tips of her fingers turned black and the floor shook and broke underneath her boots. “Something funny?” growled Bellatrix. She came to him with brisk steps, the cracks following behind her and tracing her path. “Is something funny, you stupid git?!”
Impulsively, the witch took her dagger from its holster and threw it at Crabbe Sr, magically stopping it from colliding when the tip of the blade was mere centimetres away from his forehead.
Lucius sighed when Crabbe cowered and made himself small.
“N-no, Madam Lestrange,” he stuttered.
In the time that it had taken Bellatrix to have another tantrum, Antonin had managed to do away with the glass and the wood. So, he whistled, pointing at the doorknob with his wand.
“We’ll split into pairs and search,” Lord Malfoy nodded his thanks and materialised his mask, “and don’t forget, be gentle with Potter until we’ve got the Prophecy. You can kill the others if necessary.”
“No,” Bellatrix hissed, going very still. Her eyes had a dangerous glint, and her gaze darted from person to person until it settled on Lucius.
“What do you mean no?” Lucius questioned, vexed.
“The mudblood is mine!” screeched Bellatrix and red sparks came from the tip of her wand.
Then her voice turned impossibly low. “If any of you idiots put your dirty paws on her, I’ll make sure the Dementors are the least terrifying thing haunting your nightmares, do you understand?” The Death Eaters in front of her shared a look, and Bellatrix turned her wand into a whip and choked her lord husband with it before lashing him, having read his thoughts. “DO – YOU – UNDERSTAND?!”
Before Azkaban she wouldn’t have ever lost it over things so petty as this, alas, his sister-in-law was but a woman lost to the horrors within her broken mind.
“Bella, she’s yours.” Lucius put his hand on her shoulder, catching Bellatrix by the wrist moments before she slapped him. “You’re right. The Dark Lord will be most displeased if the girl gets away when Potter will risk everything to get her back.”
He let go, and in response, Bellatrix wrecked the door to bits and turned it into ash with Incendio.
As he watched her go and adjusted his cuffs, Lucius addressed the other Death Eaters. “Do heed her words, gentlemen. We all know how darling Bella gets when someone touches her toys without permission.”
Dumbly, they nodded.
“Now move!” the blond man boomed.
Chuckling, Lucius put on his mask. What a willful girl, luring Bellatrix to her like that.
May the gods have mercy on Miss Granger. She’d certainly need all the luck she could get.
╶
In the end, it all comes down to love and what we’re willing to do for it.
Get her, get her, get her, get her, GET HER!
It had always been loud inside her head, that much Bellatrix knew not to be yet another reminder of her time in Azkaban. So, she tried to ignore the lightning in her veins and the animal in her ribcage as she searched for her mudblood.
“Oh, muddy!” sang sung Bellatrix.
She’d spent an hour memorising the blueprints of this floor before coming here, and still, the Department of Mysteries was a like maze, impossible to navigate.
At least those brats had seen it fit to mark the places where they’d already been to and would most likely use as hideouts.
“Muddy, muddy, muddy!” the dark witch called as she traversed the hallway.
Bellatrix opened one of the doors and cursed under her breath. What imbecile had thought it a good idea to allow the Ministry to experiment on human brains? Friends! No matter, her spell would disintegrate the many monstrosities that were coming at her. “Bombarda Maxima!”
After the dust settled, she looked at what remained of the room. Bellatrix shook her head, tsked and slammed the door closed.
Good fucking luck to the poor sod who got tasked with cleaning it up.
The Space Chamber proved to be a lost cause. Much the same as the Love Room, where Bellatrix got dizzy from how many curses and spells she used to try and get the door open.
Back in the hallway, she started getting frustrated. Before Azkaban, she would’ve found her in no time at all, but now she was unable to track people by their magical cores, having lost her gift to the Dementors. Briefly, as she looked around and tapped her foot, Bellatrix considered letting her go and focusing solely on her mission, the Prophecy. His most loyal didn’t have time to waste on whims and filth.
You do! it argued. Just think about her bruised-up throat under your hand! All lovely blue and black! Think about all the screaming and screaming and begging! All the fun to be had! THINK!
Pressing her wand to her throat, Bellatrix modified her vocal cords with an incantation of her own making so her voice sounded like Potter’s. “Hermione, help! Help me, please!” She scowled. That did not sound right. The boy was too much of a hero to ask for help when it was he who needed it. “Help us, Hermione! Please!”
It had taken Hermione long to come out of her daze and even longer to heal herself, which she could admit she’d done poorly. So only now she had awoken. And just in time, it seemed.
She groaned, holding her hand to her ribs. “Harry!”
Swallow her up! Swallow her up whole!
Smirking, Bellatrix continued. “Hermione, Dolohov got Neville with a curse and almost nicked him in half! Where are you?! We need you!”
Hermione cast yet another healing spell on her ankle and limped to the door. None of them had learnt anything other than Ferula and Episkey though, so it only lessened the pain somewhat.
They really should’ve devoted more than one class to healing.
“Over here! I’m in the Time Room!” Hermione said.
As soon as she said that the door was blasted open with a violent BAM! and a smug-looking Bellatrix came in.
“You,” she muttered, aghast.
“Hello, pet,” Bellatrix cooed as she closed the door with the heel of her boot. She smirked, tilted her head to the side and put the tip of her wand on her lower lip. “Missed me?”
The dark witch had that look on her again as she advanced towards her, and Hermione stepped back, overwhelmed by fear. She was running on pure instinct.
“Incendio!” she shouted.
The spell was aimed directly at Bellatrix’s chest and, for a second, Hermione thought she’d kill her, nearly tackling the woman to save her from being incinerated. But it was unnecessary, for Bellatrix caught the fireball with bare hands.
Never had Hermione even read of witches who were capable of controlling an element. She paled, hands growing clammy and heart beating a mile an hour.
Blood ran down her nose and into her mouth as she looked up and grinned. “I oh-so-love them… feisty… and bold,” Bellatrix purred, high on the thrill of the hunt.
Sweat gathered on her brow and her chest strained almost painfully against her corset as she squeezed the fireball together with both hands until it gave out. Panting, Bellatrix cleaned the blood trailing down her cleavage and licked it off one ash-stained finger.
Impossible. It was simply impossible to do as she just had!
Bellatrix grinned once more, eyes wild and pupils blown, and Hermione paled even further.
She had to get away from her right now!
“Stu-stupefy,” Hermione stammered, whimpering with fright.
Usually, Bellatrix would’ve already Crucio-ed the girl and had her on the floor writhing in agony, but she’d found silence. Here, in this stupid little chamber and with the foolishly naïve, she’d found blessed quiet for the first time in thirty years. Keep her. So, instead, the witch deflected her spells with ease, with practised and familiar wrist moves.
“STUPEFY!” she screamed.
The Dark Lord, ever so generous and benevolent, had promised her a reward for her loyalty and sacrifice. Anything and everything that she wanted to take would be hers to have, he’d vowed. Bellatrix had chosen. She wanted her. She, who wore clothes the colour of pomegranates and was just as ripe for the taking. She, whose heart was pure and kind, filled with light and all things nice. She, who was trapped like a rabbit in a snare and just as damned.
“Nebulus Maxima!” Hermione roared, desperate to buy herself more time, a way out of this.
Hermione bolted for the door whilst Bellatrix was still distracted, but with her ankle, she was much too slow. Which made it so that when she was passing her, the woman stripped her of her wand, put her free hand on her chest and pushed her down onto the floor.
Bellatrix straddled the mudblood and put her knees on the girl’s biceps, rendering her motionless. “Merlin,” she gasped, “even filth looks tempting like this.”
Hermione would’ve found the amount of skill and ability to think clearly amidst the chaos impressive if it had been displayed by any other person. She would’ve been awed at her strength, both mental and physical, considering the years she had spent in Azkaban and how severely malnourished she still was months after leaving. But instead of being star-struck, Hermione was terrified of the wraith atop her. Disgusted that her wand was in Bellatrix’s possession, held in the same hand as the dark witch’s own. Irrationally upset at the drops of blood that were falling from Bellatrix’s nose and onto her face.
The woman smiled and pressed her dagger against her throat. “You’re so lucky I’m not my husband, muddy. So very lucky.”
“Oh, yeah. Believe me, I’m delighted that it’s only his mistress,” she snapped.
“Me? His mistress?” Bellatrix laughed, unhinged and dark. “And you think that offends me?”
The woman’s pupils were blown wide, wide, wide. God help her.
An ugly snarl formed on her face and Bellatrix bent forwards and rested her forehead against hers. “For the Dark Lord, I will do anything that he wants me to. Become anything that he wants me to, anything at all.”
It was a reverent whisper, a sinful confession, and it only served to confuse the girl and make her mind swim with questions. What could she mean by ‘become’?
“Let me tell you a secret, mudblood. For a woman, there are much worse forms of torture to endure than Crucio.” At that, Hermione was ready to beg for mercy. Nonetheless, Bellatrix removed the dagger from where it was and a terrible cry was ripped from her lungs. “Crucio!”
Hermione felt like she had been set alight. Like she was burning alive. Like someone was repeatedly stabbing her with a million needles.
She screamed. In pain and agony, in fear.
On top of her, the woman moved her hips to the rhythm of the tortured body convulsing underneath her own. “See? So easy. So cold. Such delicious pain that one can even learn to enjoy it,” Bellatrix crooned and the pain was gone in an instant.
But the respite was not meant to last.
“CRUCIO!” she screamed.
That one lasted much longer. Until she was ready to vomit.
And when, at last, the torture stopped, the dark witch cut open her jumper by the middle. “This?” Bellatrix gently traced the girl’s collarbones with the barest brush of her fingertips and Hermione began sobbing. “Barbaric. Filthy. Horrible, appalling, terrible, rotten… unforgettable.” The dark witch looked away and closed her eyes, shushed her and then pressed a quick kiss to her damp cheek, staining it with lipstick. “So yes, pet, thank the gods I found you. Thank fucking Dumbledore if you have to.”
“And now… a parting gift. A lesson. You’re fond of those, right? Here, have an everlasting one.” Bellatrix shifted to the side, leaving herself open to being attacked, but Hermione was too weak, too spent from the Unforgivable.
Her blade lacerated the skin of her forearm and Hermione screamed louder and sobbed harder than she ever had before. “Stop! Please stop! Please, please, PLEASE! STOP!” she begged. “PLEASE!”
Crazed and wild, Hermione tried to grab the woman by the hair, but she only managed to break the necklace’s chain before a burst of accidental magic sent Bellatrix flying back. So strong it was that it enlarged the Time-Turners too, which burst and covered the girl in sand.
Bellatrix bolted to her feet and ran to her mudblood, who was disappearing before her very eyes. “No, no, no, NO!”
She tried to grab the girl, but her fingers passed through her as though she was made of water. “No, you cannot take her! She is mine! My mudblood, my toy, my property! MINE!”
Voldemort destroyed and Bellatrix devoured, Hermione realised. Unaware of why, as her consciousness and the world around her faded, making that distinction seemed like salvation and ruination all at once.