Love's Odyssey in Death's Design

XVI

If she were being honest, Bellatrix found her offer to be quite fair. Reasonable, even. She hadn't locked the little twerp in some dark, damp dungeon. She had not threatened to torture or kill her. The affects of the Cruciatus Curse didn't exactly kindle feelings of love and romance. Also, depending on the exact inner workings of this bond they shared, it wouldn't do for Bellatrix to hex or curse the girl only to have the magic rebound on her in some way. Wasn't that what had happened to the Dark Lord that fateful Halloween night? Was that not what had made the fight against he and the Potter boy so complicated? Because they had also been mysteriously connected. Not many in His ranks had been privy to that particular bit of information. Perhaps the wizard so many had blindly followed throughout the years would realize it was a lost cause they were fighting for if they had been. It's what she should have realized. Before the false promises, the prophecies, the murders, the tortures, Azkaban, her own twisted piece of soul that was compelling her to right so many wrongs with the threat of death hanging over her head.

But all of that was now beside the point.

She had been allowed to keep her wand. The knife of course had been confiscated. But she did have the freedom to roam the house and island at her leisure. Granted, she would find herself in a world of pain if she tried to compromise the wards, but the Granger girl was supposed to be smart. Bellatrix doubted she would be dumb enough to try. There was enough food to feed an army and the House Elf took care of all the cooking and cleaning, so there was no need to make a servant of the girl. Essentially, she was being treated like a guest. She should be counting her blessings.

But how had the Mudblood expressed her gratitude for these mercies? She had locked herself in one of the spare bedrooms of the manse and Bellatrix had not seen her for seven days.

At first, that was completely fine as far as the dark witch was concerned. Out of sight, out of mind. The most important thing was the girl being here so this whole unsavory situation could be properly sorted. By her demented Horcrux's decree, they had just over ten months to do that. Also, there were those incapacitating episodic flashbacks to work out. And the slowly but surely strengthening metaphysical bond. Bellatrix was sure all of it was connected in some magically complex way. But the hows, the whys, the what ifs, they were driving her mad. She had been a Lieutenant in her prime, not a sodding Unspeakable.

After the fifth day, Bellatrix summoned Kritter, just to make sure the girl had been eating regular meals. It wouldn't do to have her starve to death. Especially when she wasn't sure how such a thing would affect her overall.

"Yes Mistress Bella," the rather matronly, everly dutiful Elf had affirmed, "Little Mistress is eating all her food. She's even eats all her seconds."

Ah, so the Mudblood was trying to acquire some strength, probably in the event of another physical altercation. Very well, then. At least she wasn't in there wasting away.

"Little Mistress is asking Kritter if Kritter may brings her some books from the library," the House Elf reported the next day, popping into the room some time in the late afternoon. As she had spent the past week, Bella was lounging upon a settee, her face buried in yet another tome.

"No. If she wants something she can bloody well ask for it herself," the former Death Eater muttered, not even looking up from the page. The small pop of the Elf disapparating away after a beat of silence filled her with a very small amount of satisfaction.

The satisfaction, however, was short lived as she continued to read, one particular paragraph seeming to all but jump off the thick yellowed page.

"Hatred is as pure as love, just as clean. Just as powerful. The power of love people spout sonnets, devote odes to, but likewise people fight for love, bleed for love, murder for love, die for love. As they so do in hatred. They go hand in hand. Just as strong. Just as encompassing. Just as consuming. Just as binding..."

Sweet fucking Salazar.

Bellatrix let the book close, unable to stomach another word. She had hated a great many things in her life, people as well. Both the first and second wizarding wars had been fueled by hatred. On the side of the Dark Lord at least. The hatred towards the disgusting Muggle influences that were filling the Wizarding World with a perverse sense of acceptance and equality between wizards and their non-magical counterparts. It was a cause she had wholeheartedly believed it. Had been bred to believe in and even now, to some degree, still believed in. Hermione Granger wasn't the first Mudblood to fall victim to her torture and hadn't been the last, considering her involvement in the Battle of Hogwarts. So why her? Why this slip of a girl? What was so special about her? Why had the Horcrux chosen her for its sick little deal? It made no sense! She hated the girl. Hell, even if she didn't hate her, she doubted she would like her much. Not with her swotty little know it all attitude and her light is right morals. This wasn't right. It couldn't be right. She wouldn't allow it to be.

She was feeling suddenly light headed, her heart pounding hard beneath the confines of her corset. There was a tingling, pins and needles sensation in her limbs, her breathing coming out much too fast and heavy, short and rapid pants that made her shoulders rise and fall. Was this one of the episodes returning? Was her Horcrux deciding to toy with her again? Bellatrix's hands sought purchase in the soft cushions of the settee, her nails digging viciously into the fabric, trying to brace and ground herself for the incoming onslaught of old memories, old pain, old weakness.

Movement coming from the doorway of the library managed to catch her attention through the throes of the tumultuous ordeal and Bellatrix's face darkened furiously as her blurred gaze focused on the very last person she wanted to see in that moment.

After a week of hiding, Hermione Granger had finally shown herself, raggedy bushy hair and all.

"Go. Away." Bellatrix snarled through clenched teeth, "Get out of here before I tear you apart."

The threat would have sounded a whole hell of lot better had it not been for the strained, breathless tone of her voice. And the way she was clinging to the furniture as it were an Abraxan stallion rearing back to buck her off of it.

Hermione pointedly ignored the remark, stepping further into the room, drawing closer and closer to the dark witch.

"Don't lay one filthy finger on any of my books," Bellatrix snapped, losing some of the breathiness, tone almost shrill, even as she gasped for air, "If you dare -"

"Shut up!"

To say Bellatrix was stunned by the scathing command, was an understatement. Struck dumb was the better description, dark eyes widened, face set in a murderous expression that had once made many a full grown wizard cower before it. But the Mudblood wasn't affected in the slightest as she drew nearer. Bellatrix felt her throat tighten almost painfully, making it harder and harder for her to get enough air into her lungs. She was beginning to hyperventilate and somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if the girl might have hexed her without her being aware of it.

"You're having a panic attack," the younger brunette went on, coming to stand before Bellatrix, lowering herself into a crouch. Though her acerbic tone did not change, the volume was softer. Her expression remained stoic, impassive even as she reached out to cup pale, angular cheeks in her hands.

Bellatrix's first instinct was to wrench herself away from the touch, those small, soft hands. Those warm hands. Dirty hands. How dare the girl touch her? How dare she approach her in the first place? How dare she attempt to silence her? And why was her touch, her disgusting touch so bloody soothing?

"Focus on slowing down your breathing. In through your nose, hold it, and then out through your mouth. Slowly." The brat prattled on, as if she were quoting something out of a textbook, firmly and detatched.

There was nothing comforting in the gesture, nothing compassionate. It was strange, Bellatrix thought, as she did as the girl instructed, trying to slow her inhales, fighting against the maddening instinct to greedily draw air into her lungs as quickly as she could. She found herself staring into a pair of hazel eyes that were utterly devoid of warmth, of happiness, they were dark. But not the dark that was usually equated to wickedness or evil, dark as if the light in them had been extinguished. A flame blown out. Those eyes appeared as if they had gone up against a Dementor and had lost. There was something soulless about them that made Bellatrix shudder. There was a familiarity in that darkness too, as it had for a while stared back at her whenever she happened to look into a mirror after the mass breakout in Azkaban.

The Mudblood averted her gaze, clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. But she didn't let go and Bellatrix could feel a slight trembling in the fingers against her face, fingers that now felt clammy rather than warm.

"I could feel your panic," the words were muttered, though possessed a bite to them, something accusatory, "I could feel it as if I was feeling it myself. And instantly, I knew where to find you. All my thoughts, every bone in my body just screamed library. Why is that?"

It was Bellatrix's turn to feel uncomfortable now, using the emotion to fuel her ire. She forcefully removed herself from the girl's touch, the girl's nearness, putting a safe amount of distance between them. She trusted anger, she trusted disgust. And she cloaked herself in these secure feelings, covering up the weakness, the unsurety, the vulnerability.

"Don't ever touch me again," she barked, pacing about the room in furious strides, the sound of her heels clacking against the floor helping to clear her head, "I'll have to bathe for hours just to remove your grime from my skin."

Hermione rose to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the dark witch, following her every step about the large room as if waiting for her to strike.

"It's how you found me at that pub, isn't it? How I found you in that clearing. There's something between us, something connecting us. Isn't there?"

Bellatrix rounded on the girl, her wild curly hair spilling over her shoulders as she did so. "Caught on have you, girl? Took you long enough. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." She cackled mirthlessly before resuming her pacing, "Spending all this time stuffing yourself with my food, crying into you pillow while I've been here trying to figure out how to fix this!"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione squawked, her fists clenching as her face reddened in indignation, "If you've known about this all along, you should have told me that when you decided to kidnap me! I could've gotten help from my friends."

"Oh really?" Bellatrix sneered, throwing one hand on her hip as she rolled her eyes, "Help from your little friends. The same friends who all believe me to be dead? Or the other friends who want to commit you to the loony ward?"

"How do you know about that?" the brunette asked, her anger slowly starting to bleed away to be replaced by confusion. How exactly did Bellatrix know all of that? Could they read each other's minds too? Was she using Legilimency on her? Just to be safe Hermione put up a mental barrier. She hadn't had any formal training in Occlumency but had read some books on the subject before she, Harry, and Ron had gone to search for the remaining Horcruxes.

The former Death Eater laughed again, that hideous, bloodcurdling cackle of hers and twirled one of her thick curls around her index finger as she stared Hermione down. "Read the Daily Prophet, dearie. Those friends of yours certainly had a lot to say about you. And you weren't even there to defend yourself. Doesn't sound much like friends to me. No loyalty whatsoever."

The sharp worlds pelted Hermione, the accusations staggering, the hidden, begrudging truth in them venemous. Harry and the Weasleys had gone to the Daily Prophet? They had told all of Britain about her? Made her out to be mad? They were all against her, in support of the Minister wanting her to be put into St. Mungo's? Merlin, was that all everyone would think she was? Some poor Muggleborn witch driven insane by the War. But it was no matter, as it had been for the 'greater good'. Just like all the others who had died, disappeared, lost their minds.

No, she decided in that moment. No, not if she could help it. She was tired. Tired of all that had come with being in the middle of Harry Potter and his fight against Voldemort. And now, after everything she had suffered, everything she had lost, she was now in some way connected to who had been Voldemort's most fearsome follower. And there was no one around, no one to comfort her, no one to support her. No one who truly cared whether she lived or died, really. After all, who was she to the Wizarding World? She was not the Boy Who Lived. She was not the Chosen One. She was not the Savior. She never had been. She had just been collateral damage, a necessary sacrifice. Just like Ron. Except the only difference was unlike Ron, she was still breathing.

"I don't need them," she heard herself say, "They took everything from me. My parents are gone because of them. And never, not once did they thank me for what I've done."

Bellatrix's brows furrowed at the sudden change in the Mudblood's demeanor, the deadened quality in her tone, those eyes of hers like bottomless pits of misery. She almost felt bad for her. Almost.

"We'll figure it out," Hermione went on in that terrifying monotone voice, "How to break the connection between us."

"What makes you think you can?" the dark witch whispered incredulously. What did the Mudblood have up her sleeve? Why the odd change of heart? Could they even work together without attempting to destroy each other? It seemed impossible at best, crazy.

"Everything can be fixed, Bellatrix. Even if it means breaking apart something else to do it."

Hermione turned to leave the room but just as she reached the door, she glanced back at the other witch, a witch who had been known as one of the most wicked in the wizarding world. A witch who had done unspeakable things to both her and countless others. A witch whose emotions she could now feel. And amidst the onslaught she had felt during those earlier moments of panic, and even now, she was picking up on something she never thought a person like Bellatrix Lestrange could ever feel. It felt something like defeat. And it did not feel right.

Author's Note: Yeah I know this is a couple days late, sorry about that! But whoa, now Hermione has figured out that she and Bellatrix are bonded! What's going to happen now? How's Bella going to be able to appease that Horcrux when they are still so wary of each other? And what does that passage from the book really mean? Will the T rating ever be changed to M? Gah so many questions and they will all be answered in due time! Do you have any speculations? Things you wish to see between these two? Let me know! Thank you so much for all the views, the reviews, follows, and favorites. It means so much to me that this story seems to be so well enjoyed. Until next time folks - bellanoire, over and out!