Author's Note I: I'd like to thank the exquisite beforeyouspeak for her unwavering friendship, the lovely undomybackzip for her staunch support, and the wonderful imperfectionisunderrated / bellatrixshorcrux for prompting this story in the first place. Please note that while this is an epilogue of sorts, I consider this chapter to present only one possible extrapolation. My headcannon diverged on two paths: ending with either Chapter 8 or this. And since I'm a fan of cake and eating it too...this resulted.

A healthy candlemark later, as lips wrapped clit, they certainly didn't notice Cissy's knock. (Seeking lip-height perfection, Bella had hauled Hermione out of the sunken bubble tub and perched her on pool edge.) Lost in their world of silk, blonde diatribe forced through the door; the annoyed sass banged to their ears. One set flushed. The other amused. Both stilled momentarily. Realizing Cissa thought they were…done.

"For fuck's sake, Bella. If infomercials serve well, then I think the muggles would call you Hoover. You couldn't have soundproofed the bloody room? I literally had to knock out your nephew. He freaked out and fucking broke my favorite breakfront. I swear to all that is holy you will fix it or I'll bugger your familiar with a broom. Now do come out. You two have been bubble-huddled for long enough."

Well. Black sibling threats were always a fun mix and variety show.

Bellatrix couldn't help but be heartwarmed at the underlying connotation. Cissa's open candor meant the blonde had fully accepted Hermione as a sister (no longer caring if the girl saw or heard her…personality). It was Narcissa's way, akin to batting someone out the kitchen with a wooden spoon. Hermione would come to this revelation later, but at the moment, mortification coated her face. Terrified the woman would catch them in the act. But Bellatrix chortled, deciding her mouthy sister deserved her own brand of propriety-death. Between Hermione's thighs, the wicked witch brought a shushing finger to lips, sparkles skating in clever eyes: Hermione's own widened, filled with the-fuck-you-can't-be-serious mantras. Her throat failed miserably as Bella's tongue was an expert. (Hermione let out an appalled squeak, a snort, and then a stifled moan.) The witchling quite thought this situation made up for the teenage years she missed, chasing after a madman.

And then a madwoman.

"Amongst her hot air, there's pun in there somewhere…isn't there Muddy?" Bella licked whispered amusement around the swollen clit, ignoring her ill-timed sister. She traced labia in feral and domestic ways. Nipping, teasing. Hermione yelped louder, breath quaking and making it through the door.

"BELLATRIX YOU'RE A FUCKING ANIMAL. I heard that! Have you no propriety? For heaven's sake, you've been at this for hours. Let the girl rest." She huffed. "I made pancakes."

"Animal?" Bellatrix about died laughing into her wife's pretty cunt. "You're the one standing there while I frig my wife off, idly threatening to fuck my cat, and demanding we eat your failed confections."

"You're wanker."

"Quite literally at the moment, Cissa-dear."

"Bella…" Hermione's admonishment whispered, eyes rolling at the disturbing and idiotic banter. Her breath hitched at the proximity of air between two sets of lips.

Warrior took this as invitation to slip in fingers. Hermione's hands tangled in her hair, incensed and gasping. Pleading for ambiguous things. Bellatrix smirked.

"And Cissy, if I'm such an animal, then do take your bestiality bugger threats elsewhere. I'm busy at the moment." Lick. "And well." Lick. Quim quivered under her tongue. "If anyone is to take anyone like that at all…it'll be this one, taking me."

Eyes locked with her scandalized and aroused wife, on the precipice of apex. Just how Bella liked her. A deliberate rasp of teeth and she sucked Hermione to wailing come. Again. Hermione fell apart, laughter bubbling out her chest, followed by Bella's lighthearted cackle. And Narcissa's drawn-out ewwwww.

She had family. She had love.

Life lived. With levity.

One year later.

Narcissa had given up on regular pancakes. But today she attempted potato pancakes, deeming them an acceptable substitute. The oil sizzled something lovely, and the lingering smell of onion processed the room. Faintly, she pitied the muggles, who couldn't magic such potency away. Though, in all honesty, she found the plebeian smell…comforting. As did she the muffled screaming from below her marble floors.

It lent nice harmony to the oil boil.

On the wind, traveling giggles sprung into her griddle, wafting from outside. Fondly, blonde turned to the window. It was uncracked and unblemished; a shining artwork in sunlight. Yellow patches refracted, waltzing patterns onto her wall. Her cheekbones. And from Cissa's vantage, vista met her. Just there. Before the far off crest of hill. Two ridiculous curly forms could be made out with (she squinted) flailing limbs sprawled on the iced-over lake.

A pile of awkward love and ice skates.

She tsked, amused at Bella's determination to master another blade sport. Had the wind carried more, and had the lake been closer, the blonde would have heard…seen raunchier things.

"Fuck Bella, that's cold!" Whimpers. Greedy mouths and hot flesh. Skirts tangled and soaked on the ice.

Icicles.

"I told you ice would be interesting," Bella rasped, her lips cold and tongue hot. She cackled like murder, having found new addiction.

The Gryffindor lodged no complaint as firm hands molded to her hips, and giddy mouth snaked up her thigh, devouring its queendom come. Hermione trembled, wild hair, clever eyes eating at her.

Their own brand of love.

"Be a good Mudslut for Mistress. I promised you I teach you to blade. And I think it's high time my mouth and I fucked you back into madness." This hummed against Hermione's cunt; a fitting metaphor for their lives.

A knife distinctly unsheathed and flipped around in Bella's hand…brandishing its hilt.

The wind wasn't needed to carry the scream of completion. Startled mid turnover, Cissa accidentally flung the potato cake ceiling bound. And then swore something awful. She glanced around furtively, praying Draco hadn't returned home yet. She had no plan to let him see her concession: Bella was indeed inclined like her pancakes. Utterly untimely and wayward. She sighed.

Still.

She was rather amused at the sizzles in her pan and on the ice lam. And as her sister-in-law crested none too softly (again), a distinct scream pierced from the dungeons below. Crassly, Cissa decided she could grow to love cooking to the soundtrack of retribution. And orgasm.

All was well.

Author's Note II: R & R, dearies. Alas, this is the end of our story. But I'm not knocking out the possibility of a sequel. However, there are several other projects I'd like to work on first. Thank you all, lovelies, for coming along for the ride. Until next time. *tip of the hat*.

(Credits for entire story: Coheed & Cambria – Welcome Home; Counting Crows – A Long December; Edwin McCain – I'll Be; Damien Rice – 9 Crimes; Don McLean – American Pie; Florence + the Machine – Howl, No Light, No Light; Fun. – Some Nights; Green Day – Longview; Gregory Maguire – Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West; The Harry Potter movies; Idina Menzel (Frozen) – Let it Go; J.K. Rowling – the Harry Potter series, Once Upon a Time, the TV show; Savage Garden – Tears of Pearls; Sholom Secunda – Dona Dona; Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,the Disney movie; Sweeney Todd, the movie; Third Eye Blind – Semi-Charmed Life; Walt Whitman – I Sing the Body Electric; The Wizard of Oz, the movie)