Chapter Text
The wizarding world was at war. It wasn’t that surprising, it was a situation that had been developing for years, decades even, with one man stoking the fire of hatred. He wanted pureblooded witches and wizards to believe that muggles were an inferior species, and that muggleborns did not belong. To that end, he had formed the Death Eaters, a feared group of bigots who wanted to cull what they called “The Infestation of Mudbloods” in order to achieve total pureblood supremacy.
But of course, for every every push for hatred, there was an equally powerful show of strength and protection from witches and wizards who believed that everyone was welcome, and they were fighting to rid themselves of the Death Eaters. They fought as a group, an order: The Order of Merlin.
There was a bit of an irony to the entire situation. Whereas the leader of the Death Eaters showed his face to the world - a horrible and inhuman appearance due to the many years he spent getting distorted with power - his followers and lackeys all hid behind metal skull masks. The Order was the exact opposite, the fighters would proudly show their faces, while their leader hid under a hood and behind a mask. It was porcelain white, seeming like the wearer had lopped off the visage of a marble statue of Merlin, and stuck it on his face.
But Dumbledore had trusted Merlin, up until his dying day, and that was good enough for most of the Order. Though lately, things had been tense - with the war ramping up and both sides wanting to gain an upper hand - and Merlin’s mysterious ways were being scrutinized by everyone. Charismatic he might be, which made it easy to trust him, but some could argue that the Death Eaters’ beloved leader Voldemort was charismatic as well.
Which was exactly what two wizards and a witch were currently arguing about.
“Come off it, Hermione, Merlin has his shady moments, and you know I don’t like him at all,” said the first person. Ron Weasley was a simple man, if someone were to ask him, he’d much rather be playing chess right now in front of a fire, rather than being outside in the middle of the night, freezing his arse off, which might have been a contributing factor for his foul mood.
Hermione Granger, the singular witch in the vicinity, huffed. “I call it hiding your identity for everyone’s safety, and it’s not like he doesn’t come with a pretty glowing recommendation - from Dumbledore no less!”
The third person in the group, Harry Potter, cringed. “Yeah well, he’s conveniently dead, isn’t he?”
The trio fell silent. The Hogwarts Headmaster had been a staple in the wizarding community for what seemed like forever, even Voldemort had a grudging admiration for the man. Rumour had it that he had once gone to Hogwarts and asked Dumbledore to stand aside, to not participate in the war, with Voldemort’s guarantee that he would be spared. Dumbledore refused, of course.
“It’s not like it’s his fault he died, it was those bloody crazy Lestranges,” Hermione noted.
No one knows what really happened that night. Seventh year students were celebrating their graduation, the festivities spilling out from the Great Hall into the courtyard. As far as the official story goes, Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange had gone to talk to Dumbledore, presumably about Merlin, trying to get him to divulge the identity of the blasted Order’s leader. But one of the Lestranges didn’t want to come back empty-handed, and killed Dumbledore with a swift Avada Kedavra and threw him off the Astronomy Tower onto the courtyard below. Bellatrix Lestrange escaped, but Rodolphus Lestrange was found dead in the Astronomy Tower, also killed with the same curse. Who killed Dumbledore was still up for debate, but the guilty party for at least one killing curse was obvious.
“No matter, he can’t vouch for him anymore, and that doesn’t mean he’s not shady, or maybe he’s changed his ways, pressure can do that to a person.” Ron countered. “How much longer? I swear if this intel is wrong-”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “And this is what happens when we go off books. Sirius is great and all, but you can’t really expect him to have better intel than Merlin.”
The boys had to agree, and Hermione sighed. She never would have thought she’d find herself here. She was so excited to go to Hogwarts all those years ago, learn everything about magic, and then once she graduated, work her way up the Ministry ranks to become Minister for Magic. But the saying about best laid plans was true for a reason. Seven years after her graduation had found Hermione fighting for her freedom and right to live as a muggleborn in the Order, with little time for a job or career aspirations.
Thankfully she didn’t have to worry about money, between the Order’s funds and staying at Sirius’ place, she was set. At least for the time being. Surely she wasn’t expected to be part of this war for her whole life.
And yet, for some, it had been. Like Harry, whose parents were the first casualties in this war, and had birthed the fire in him that saw him fight for most of his life, even while in school.
The mission tonight was simple: Sirius had overheard a discussion about a meeting. He had been disguised as an animagus, currently being a persona non grata in the wizarding world, and rather than taking the intel to Merlin, he took it to the trio.
“All you have to do is go there, and see who is meeting,” Sirius had said, leaning back on his chair, until he was balancing it on the back two legs; he had put his hands behind his head, the total picture of nonchalance.
Hermione had bitten her lip. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous? I mean, what if it’s a trap? Shouldn’t we send it to Merlin first? See what he says?”
“Sod it all with Merlin and his cheeky greetings.” Sirius had sat up and jabbed his finger onto the table. “This is happening tonight, and I’m bloody sure that by the time Merlin gets the note, the meeting will be long over. This is our chance to see something new, not just follow after Merlin like obedient house elves, waiting for our next interminable list of tasks.”
Hermione had been very reluctant, but agreed, if only because Ron and Harry were going, and she knew they would be a disaster without her. Not that she was an excellent fighter, because she definitely wasn’t, but because the two of them shared one brain cell and more often than not were incapable of being subtle and thinking about strategy. Now, that she was good at.
So here they were, hidden under Harry’s invisibility cloak, crouching behind a dumpster in a dark alleyway across the street from where a meeting would be presumably taking place.
“There!” Harry pointed to where two men were talking and walking across the street. One of the men was Yaxley, if the photos were correct. The other man was unknown. They were whispering as Yaxley fumbled for a key.
“This must be a safe house,” Hermione commented. But they couldn’t hear anything from all the way there. “We have to listen in.”
“Oh!” Ron fumbled as he fished something out of his pocket. “Fred and George gave me one of their extendable ears.”
For all his frantic searching, he accidentally smacked his elbow on the dumpster, which made a dull thunk.
“What was that?” They had gotten the Death Eaters’ attention, whipping out their wands as they began to walk towards the alleyway.
“Who’s there?” the unknown man said, casting Lumos to light up the alley.
Both men were at the entrance, and Ron, impulsive and ready to fight as he was, pushed himself out of their hiding spot, casting a knockback jinx.
“So much for recon,” Hermione muttered. But it fell on deaf ears as Harry also pushed himself away from their hiding spot to fight by Ron’s side. Hermione swore. Was it impossible to do a simple mission? Staying under the cloak, Hermione watched as the fight now had moved to the middle of the cobblestone street. Thankfully they were in a wizarding neighbourhood, otherwise this would be very awkward. She edged closer to the action, staying hidden. Perhaps she could serve as backup if things began to go sideways.
She saw that Yaxley was losing ground, and like Death Eaters were wont to do, he decided to cheat. Hermione saw him Disapparate, and then appear behind her friends without Harry and Ron noticing.
Hermione had to do something. She couldn’t very well run out with the cloak, she’d trip most likely, so she shed the piece of fabric, shoving it into her expandable bag with one hand, and pulled her wand out of her sleeve. She had to warn her friends. “Behind you!”
As a last minute thought, she quickly sent a jinx out towards Yaxley, hoping it’d stop him.
Meanwhile, Harry and Ron both turned around at Hermione’s warning, and that’s when things really went from bad to worse.
As everyone else was focused on Yaxley, the other man used this time to send a quick Flippendo towards Hermione. At the same time, Harry had cast a Protego to bounce whatever jinx Yaxley had sent back towards him, but the latter quickly erected a shield that bounced not only his own spell, but Hermione’s, and he directed it right back to Hermione.
It all happened too quickly. Much too quickly to erect a shield of her own. All three spells hit her in the chest at the same time, sending her flying back onto the dumpster, hitting her head against the metal edge before she collapsed on the ground. The last thing she could recall was her friends calling out her name, scared. And then everything faded to black.
When Hermione came to, she felt way too many things all at once. The pain all over her body was immeasurable, the searing discomfort in the back of her head was making it hard to concentrate, and if she tried to open her eyes, the bright light above her was blinding.
“Hermione!” she heard Ron’s shrill screech from her left and cringed.
Her throat was dry as she ground out, “’m right here, no need to yell.”
She honestly wasn’t sure if that’s what actually came out of her mouth.
“Oh thank Merlin,” Ron breathed.
She heard Harry’s voice in the same direction. “Hermione, are you okay?”
“Not particularly…” she managed to say.
“You’ve got to get us out of here,” Ron said, panicked.
Hermione groaned. “What?”
Harry sought to explain. “They took us to this compound, and we’re locked up, but you’re not. We have to get us out of here before they come back.”
She cracked her left eye open, squinting against the light before she slowly managed to turn her head to the left to see her friends suspended by their wrists against the wall. She could barely move her arms, but felt the loss of her wand. “I can barely move and I don’t have my wand.”
“Can’t you do wandless magic?” Ron asked, aghast. Then, seemingly asking Harry. “D’you think she hit her head a bit too hard?”
Hermione groaned and gasped as she breathlessly responded. “I have a banging headache, so…. attempting a wandless spell would be disastrous, and I will remind you that wandless magic-” The sentence dropped off because Hermione did not have enough energy to explain that wandless magic was far from reliable.
“So how the bloody hell are we going to escape?” Ron asked. He was afraid, that much was obvious. Gone was the bluster he had displayed in the alleyway that had gotten them here in the first place.
Hermione used as much energy as she could to try and sit up, but the pain that shot up from her right shoulder before she could raise her head quickly ended that attempt. Clearly she was in such a state that the Death Eaters hadn’t even found her to be worth the trouble to lock up.
Before anyone could try to come up with any ideas, they heard sounds of approaching footsteps. “What the hell is it that you wanted to show me Yaxley? I have important things to do for the Dark Lord…” could be heard from outside the doorway.
It was muffled a bit, but the voice was unmistakable. Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort’s most trusted Death Eater. Just as unhinged as he was, and with the same convictions and ideas, but more volatile if the stories were to be believed. Hermione felt her heart drop. Their chances of escaping just evaporated.
The door opened and presumably Yaxley and Lestrange strode inside. Hermione couldn’t be sure of the fact - her body was growing tired and she felt weak, she couldn’t move her head to find the door and look.
Then, a figure stepped into view, decked in a black cloak, hooded and wearing the typical Death Eater mask. Try as she might to school her features, the mask had been a frequent visitor in her nightmares, and thus seeing it brought a visceral fear to the pit of her stomach. She tried to move away, but once again found that her body was of no help. Even flinching and the sharp breath that followed caused her pain.
The figure, who Hermione surmised must be Lestrange, regarded her for a moment before looking at Ron and Harry. Once she spoke, her voice confirmed her identity. Shrill and mocking, there was no doubt who it could be. “And here I thought you were going to show me your bones collection again. The Dark Lord will be pleased. Potter and his allies, caught. He might actually forgive you and Carrow after your last fiasco.”
Yaxley chuckled and added, “Yeah, I figured it’d be worth something.”
Lestrange hummed and with a flick of her wand, removed her mask. She lowered the hood and regarded Harry and Ron.
Ron, ever the confrontationalist in the face of a Death Eater, had regained his bravado. He gritted his teeth and looked Lestrange right in the eye, straining against the shackles holding him to the wall. “Leave them alone Lestrange.”
Lestrange narrowed her eyes. “Incredible, I murder my husband and yet people still think that I kept my married name.”
“I don’t give a damn what you call yourself, leave them alone.”
With a rich, albeit unsettling laugh, Lestrange responded, “And why would I do that? I could kill the three of you right now, you have no way to fight.”
“You’re a spineless lot, thinking you’re better than everyone. I’m one of you lot aren’t I? Pureblood? Doesn’t that grant me a chance to fight you or something? Some ancient honour code?”
Lestrange whipped her wand to point it at Ron’s neck. Harry made an exclamation of surprise tinged with fear, but Lestrange didn’t waver, and instead smirked wider. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? We are better than everyone. But because of your ideals, you are nothing more than a simpleton, which is why you align yourself with blood traitors. The Weasley name fell out of favour many generations ago, and look where you are.”
“Better blood traitor than purist,” Ron ground out.
“You can claim all the supposed moral high ground Weasley, but we will be victorious, rest assured. Now, as much as I enjoy chatting with the hoi polloi, I have things to do.” She regarded the three of them in turn, eyes lingering on Hermione’s prone form last. “It seems that she’s at death’s door.”
Yaxley piped up, “The mudblood won’t last long.”
Lestrange rolled her eyes. “That is literally what I just said Yaxley, try to keep up.”
Hermione watched as Lestrange approached her. “Yes, I suppose I can torture her for information until her body gives. Then we can see what the Dark Lord would like to do with Potter and the blood traitor.”
“Leave Hermione alone!” Ron yelled out.
Harry also tried to get Lestrange’s attention. “It’s me you want, get away from her!”
Lestrange paused and turned back to the boys, and for a second they both thought that she was reconsidering. Hermione waited with bated breath. “I’m not sure what is funnier, the fact that Potter thinks he’s important enough to save his…”
“Mudblood?” Yaxley supplied.
Lestrange glared at him. “I was pausing for dramatic effect Yaxley. Anyway, Potter, you are nothing more than a nuisance. Your parents might have been the first casualties in this war, but let me assure you: you are not important enough to use yourself as a bargaining chip. The only reason the Dark Lord wants you is so he can tamp down on the Order’s inane ability to hope that you’ll defeat him. You have no value, and certainly not enough to save your little friend.
“And Weasley, maybe next time don’t blab someone’s name? A name can give us a lot to go on.”
Ron blanched.
“Now.” Lestrange used her wand to cast levitating charm on Hermione, but the resulting screams of pain at being lifted without support even an inch was enough for Lestrange to end the spell. “Change of plans. As I’d rather not lose my hearing via those banshee yells, we’ll do this the old fashioned way.”
Hermione was sure the old fashioned way would be something horrible. Instead, she was surprised when Lestrange picked her up, bridal style.
Yaxley looked like he wanted to say something, but wisely curbed his tongue.
Lestrange turned so Hermione was looking at her friends. “Now, take a long last look because it’s the last time you’ll be seeing each other.”
Harry and Ron’s yells and pleas fell on deaf ears as Lestrange carried her away. The door to the cell closed behind them, drowning out her friends’ screams. Yaxley quickly excused himself, leaving Hermione alone with the Death Eater.
As they made their way to their destination, Hermione was sure she was growing delirious. Because that would be the only way to explain why being carried by Bellatrix Lestrange wasn’t filling her with absolute fear. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe she had accepted her fate.
No matter what it was, she didn’t have much time to dwell before Lestrange was turning around to push a door open with her back, kicking it closed with her boot. Hermione felt the other woman shift as she held her hand out. Hermione turned her head and looked at the wooden table where she was sure she’d be placed on, bracing herself for discomfort.
When Lestrange put Hermione’s legs down, the latter was surprised that it seemed that her captor had cast a wandless Molliare, cushioning the table. Without looking at her, Lestrange gingerly lowered Hermione to lie down by holding her shoulders. Hermione was sure she was a bit out of it, because once she was set down, she was sure that one of Lestrange’s thumbs made a soothing sweeping motion from where it rested on her unhurt shoulder. But she probably imagined it.
Without saying another word, Lestrange summoned her wand, seemingly materializing it in her hand. She pointed it at Hermione’s shoulder, and the latter squeezed her eyes shut, preparing herself for the inevitable pain.
Except, she didn’t feel pain. She felt relief from the pain. If she didn’t know any better, she was getting healed. When she opened her eyes, she saw Lestrange now pointing to Hermione’s forehead. Her headache was subsiding, though the confusion at her current predicament wasn’t helping to get rid of the headache entirely.
“Where else are you hurt?” Lestrange asked softly, a far cry from the almost maniacal voice she had heard in the other room.
Hermione gaped, unsure if she should answer.
“Come on, we don’t have enough time,” Lestrange pressured.
“Are you serious?” Hermione asked.
“Dead serious.”
“You cannot possibly be Bellatrix Lestrange.”
“Again, murdered husband, so I’ve dispensed with the Lestrange name. There’s no way I’ll continue playing the weeping widow. It’s Bellatrix Black.”
Hermione nodded slowly. Le- Black regarded her without blinking, forcing Hermione to do so as well.
“Injuries?” Black prodded.
Hermione pointed out a few other points, especially in her back and her cranium. She watched as Black healed each point in turn, gingerly turning her to get to her backside. Once again, she felt the soothing motion of the thumb on her shoulder. She only felt the back-and-forth motion twice, but it still made her pause.
“I’m assuming your ribs are in a poor state too,” Black commented once she was done. She headed to the other side of the room. “I don’t have time to heal everything, certainly no time to get rid of the blood, so you’ll have to get someone else to do the rest. I did just the bare minimum to make sure your health doesn’t continue deteriorating.”
As Hermione looked around the room properly, she saw that she was in an infirmary of sorts, though it could arguably be construed as a torture chamber with the right motivation.
Black returned with a cup of a murky liquid. She placed it down to the side and helped Hermione to sit up and swing her legs to the side so she was sitting facing Black. Grabbing the cup again, she held it out to Hermione “Drink up.”
Hermione eyed the cup warily. It was bad enough she was still very much out of it, and was practically seeing two cups in front of her. Hell, the whole thing seemed surreal. Bellatrix Black, one of the most ardent blood purists, was helping Hermione heal. And being soft with her. Surely she must either have lost all of her marbles, or she was hallucinating.
“What is this?” Hermione timidly asked, eyeing the contents of the cup.
Black sighed. “Well there’s two options here. Either it’s Skele-Grow, or some dreadful poison. Take your pick.”
Hermione took the cup. It smelled horrible, and she held her breath as she downed the contents. She returned the cup once she was done and made a face. It was Skele-Gro.
“Now, can you stand up?” Black asked.
Gingerly, Hermione tried to stand up by sliding off the table. She stumbled and nearly fell, getting Black to rush forward to catch her by slipping her arms under Hermione’s, holding her up.
They were close now.
Very close.
Way too close.
Hermione could see every detail in the other woman’s face. The dark, almost black eyes, some errant curls that flew to the front of her face. She looked young, much younger than Hermione would have imagined. But that wasn’t the most puzzling thing.
She was expecting vitriol from Bellatrix. She would have understood seeing a glint of maliciousness in the Death Eater’s eyes, followed by harsh words and actions. She was sure Black would push her away and mutter about dirtying her robes with her mudblood hands.
But she was not at all prepared to look into those eyes and see worry. To hear a soft “Are you okay?” To feel once again a thumb brush twice on her back where the other witch’s hands had come to rest.
“Yeah,” Hermione breathed. This could not be Bellatrix. Black, Lestrange, or otherwise.
“Right. Now, for your escape.”
“What?”
Bellatrix stepped back as Hermione used the table to hold herself up. “Escape. Surely you don’t want to stay here? You need to rescue your friends and get away from here.”
Hermione just stared blankly at Bellatrix.
“Oh for the love of-'' Bellatrix let out a weary sigh. “Listen to me. I want you to pay attention because I’ll only say this once. On that box over there-'' Bellatrix pointed towards an open box beside where the Skele-Gro was “- is your wand and your friends’ wands. You then can Apparate into the cell, but to Disapparate out of the compound, you have to exit the cell. Do you think you can do that?”
“I-” Hermione tried to take a step forward but fumbled, getting Bellatrix to once more step closer in order to keep Hermione standing by holding on to her upper arms. After she was sure she wasn’t going to collapse. She looked back up at Bellatrix’s eyes, trying to find the trick. “What?”
“You really are out of it, aren’t you?” Bellatrix remarked. “You must be concussed.”
Hermione’s surprise that the woman in front of her had knowledge of such a muggle condition was making her head spin. Sure, wizards could get concussed, but for the other witch to call it that just seemed so out of place.
“I know it won’t fix it, but for now, you need a rush of adrenaline.” After a few soft pats on Hermione’s cheeks that did nothing, Bellatrix moved forward…
And kissed Hermione on the lips.
That definitely kick-started Hermione’s senses. She had to get out of here fast.
The kiss was chaste and didn’t last for more than a few seconds, but once they parted, Bellatrix smiled victoriously. “Seems that did the trick.”
There was no malicious smirk, no snarky comment about her status or infatuation. Hermione couldn’t waste any time though. She braced herself against the table with one hand, and the other used her entire energy to concentrate and held out her hand towards the box. “Accio wands!”
All three wands flew to her hand, and Hermione barely had time to catch Bellatrix’s proud smile and wink before she Disapparated.
She wished she could say she had a smooth landing, but the fact was that her hand had been on the table when she left, and thus she took the table with her. Once she arrived at her destination, the table made a loud clanking noise, splintered and out of shape.
That caused Hermione to promptly collapse against the table that had originally been there. She braced her arms against the tabletop while her legs practically became jelly.
“Hermione!” came the twin surprised shouts of Harry and Ron.
Hermione, for her part, was trying very hard to stand up rather than holding on to the table for dear life in order to not crumple to the ground. She managed to twist around enough to see her friends, transferring the other two wands to her left hand as she used her right to point her wand at the wall shackles. A quick Alohamora opened them and the boys sprang into action, rushing towards Hermione. They grabbed their wands from her before they each grabbed one of Hermione’s arms to sling over their shoulder and carry her. “We need to leave the cell in order to Apparate out of here,” she instructed.
Harry and Ron nodded, unlocking the door easily. When they were in the hallway, Harry Disapparated the three of them out of the compound.