Chapter Text
It truly was an eerie atmosphere in the Hall of Prophecies. If Hermione wasn’t running alongside her friends and trying her best to make sure they wouldn’t harm themselves in this trap, of which she was sure it was one; she would take a moment to marvel at the sheer size of the chamber she currently ran through. Massive shelves were stocked up to the ceiling with globes filled with a white, milky swirling mist. She was unable to see how many shelves there were, nor how high they actually went. The sheer number of globes with prophecies inside was mind boggling to her, as she had always found the subject of Divination to be a hoax. Here, in this place, she might have to reevaluate the thought.
“Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven! It should be here!” Harry’s voice shook her out of her marvel, as he frantically looked around. “Sirius was laying here at this spot.”
Ginny and Luna exchanged unsure looks, not knowing if they should speak up. The eerie atmosphere added to the uncomfortable feeling every member of the DA felt. Neville, being the rear guard, kept looking up and down the walkway to see if they might have missed Sirius while Hermione and Ron approached Harry, who became more and more erratic and distressed.
Cautiously, Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry. Mate. I- “ He nervously licked his lips. “I don’t think he’s here.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped in defeat and Hermione felt awful for her friend, having no choice but to helplessly watch how he would beat himself up again. Wanting to try and comfort him, she took a step forward, ready to embrace him, as her eyes were drawn to the rows of spheres.
“Harry?” she softly called out to him, not wanting to agitate him further.
“What?”
“This. It. It’s got your name on it,” said Hermione tersely. This whole place went against everything that she stood for. Rationality, causality, reason. In her third year she dropped Divination for a reason, seeing no point in furthering her education in a subject that was made up out of reading someone’s blisters on their hand, or the not-yet-dried tea leaves. But in the here and now, with her friends and two of her closest friends at that, she stood in front of a globe of milky smoke that was labelled as a prophecy. It had the name of her best friend written on it. The same friend who had a penchant for getting himself into dangerous situations every year. She wanted to grab her hair and scream. Rant about the so-called Fate, the Above All. Yet she took a deep breath and gestured to the sphere and took a step aside, knowing that she would not be able to deter her friend from grabbing it.
“My name? Let me see,” Harry said curiously, the earlier emotions of defeat almost forgotten.
No sooner had his hands touched the glass globe and taken it out of the socket, a snobbish drawl called out to the group of young witches and wizards.
“Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me.”
With slow and measured steps, Lucius Malfoy approached the group. His silvery hair was, as always, meticulously styled and flowed over his shoulders, offering a stark contrast to the black robes he was wearing. Even his hands were draped in dark gloves, making it almost impossible to point him out in the barely lit room, if it wasn’t for his light hair colour and the illuminated wands from the teens in front of him. In one hand he held his wand, loosely yet still levelled at the group, the tip also illuminated, giving his already pale skin an even more unnatural pallor. The other hand was outstretched with its palm up, waiting.
Black shapes, clad in similar robes as Lucius, appeared from the rows to the left and right of the group. Some were wearing silver masks in the shape of skulls. Their wands were trained on the young witches and wizards, effectively blocking their escape routes. Hermione knew now with certainty that they had walked right into a trap, as she feared since they first entered the Ministry. Sirius had never been here.
The members of the DA huddled closer together, back-to-back with their wands facing outwards, determined to not go down without a fight, even if they were outnumbered two to one. The tension was palpable in the air. This is what the DA had trained for, even if no one had hoped for it to be real, or even having to use their new knowledge in an actual fight.
Hermione threw a quick glance over her shoulder to her friends, wanting to see how they were faring. Neville’s arms tensed, Ginny’s eyes flitted from her adversaries back and forth, scrutinising them and trying to find a weakness, her Quidditch expertise making itself known. Luna cocked her head to the side, studying the adult in front of her as if he was a mysterious creature her father had told her about and she needed to figure out what it would do. A whimsical look glazed over her eyes. Ron stood next to Harry, jaw clenched. His eyes showed fear, but he would not back down. His shoulders were squared and while his grip was loose, those who had observed him during Quidditch games knew that Ron had a great mind for strategy.
Then there was Harry.
Hermione knew that for him there were the highest stakes in this stand-off. If something were to happen to any of them, he would blame himself. Shaking herself out of her overworking mind, she focused on her opponents. Two masked, black-robed men, most likely. It was hard to tell which gender the opponents were with such flowing robes. Mentally she went through all the spells that she could use to cause harm, protect and get to safety. She listened to the exchange between Harry and Malfoy as she recited the spells, flicking her wand in short sketches.
“To me, Potter,” Lucius issued the command.
“Where’s Sirius?” Harry demanded to know.
Several Death Eaters laughed, yet one laugh made Hermione perk up. A harsh female laughter rang out loud among the others. A woman gracefully emerged from the rows that held the prophecies. A mane of thick, dark hair framed a gaunt face, which looked like it hadn’t been combed in quite a while. The cheeks were sunken-in, and while one was able to see that she had a light skin colour by nature, she looked unnaturally pale. Her high cheekbones and sharp features gave her an air of nobility and grace that even her haggard appearance could not erase. The most striking feature that captured Hermione’s attention though, were her eyes.
In the dim light of her Lumos, she was able to make out that that woman’s eyes were a deep purple. They shone with an intensity she rarely encountered before, and she struggled to turn her gaze from them. The violet eyes spoke of hunger, thirst, chaos, but also intelligence. Hermione saw the woman’s lips moving, chapped and dry as they were, yet she couldn’t make out the words. Too drawn was she to her appearance, captivated by her. She realised slowly that she was mesmerised by one of the most notorious Death Eaters in Voldermort’s command, Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Littly bitty baby Potter does know how to play.”, the woman mocked Harry in a child-like voice, making both Ron and Neville flinch. For Hermione though, this voice had a different effect. Like Bellatrix’s eyes, she was drawn to it, wanted to hear more. Spellbound, her rational mind supplied. She tried to shake off this alien feeling and took stock of the situation. Everyone was tense and coiled for a fight. She wondered what had happened in the few moments that she wasn’t able to pay attention.
Harry’s position had shifted, he looked as if he was shielding them all. Neville was shaking, Ginny and Ron were throwing glances at Harry as if they were waiting for orders, for a signal. Luna still looked whimsical, though Hermione had learned through the time in the DA that this did not have to mean that she was not alert. And the Death Eaters also had closed in. Their mouths are moving, but why can’t I make out their words? Hermione realised with a start that Harry had kept talking with Bellatrix and Lucius, and Lucius answered. But neither of their words registered in her ears. Whenever she tried to draw her eyes away from the older witch, eventually she would feel an urge in herself to focus her attention back on her.
Conflicting emotions stirred in the young witch. This foreign sensation overwhelmed her, partially due to the situation they found themselves in. Surrounded by Death Eaters, adults who fought in the first Wizarding War and were convicted in Azkaban had cornered them and all she could do was pay attention to how beautiful Bellatrix’s eyes were, shining in the dim light of the glowing orbs and wands, how the purple of her irises reflected like gems. Combined with the thick mane of dark hair, it gave her an appearance of a Muggle’s description of a nymph, or siren, drawing you in with their allure and making you theirs.
Realising that she, again, was giving in to this foreign feeling, a blush crept up her face. She felt embarrassment for her thoughts, though she also felt a lot of shame for being so vastly distracted.
“Potter needs more persuasion?” Bellatrix said, letting her eyes wander slowly over the group of Hogwarts students. “Let’s take the girl-” Her voice cut off abruptly. No sooner had her eyes met Hermione's, something snapped in place.
Both stood still for quite a while, trying to make sense of what exactly they experienced just now. Out of the corner of their eyes they were able to see their respective groups moving slowly, as if they were underwater. Hand gestures and lip movements were slowed down and kept getting slower and slower. For Bellatrix and Hermione though, time moved normally. Breaking the eye contact, Bellatrix started cocking her head to the side, examining the young witch in front of her as well as the space that they were enveloped in.
Gone was the madness she had shown in the newspaper, gone was the mocking, fanatical display she showed Harry. In front of Hermione stood a witch with years of experience in the Dark Arts and it appeared as if they were trapped in some sort of bubble that neither of them could explain, yet. Seeing how fast Bellatrix switched from mad, to baiting, to analysing made Hermione realise why this woman was Voldemort’s second in command, and this was a terrifying thought for the young witch. If they were truly trapped in here, she would stand no chance in a duel against her.
“I know you.” Bellatrix’s calm and measured voice ripped Hermione out of her thoughts and brought her attention back to the raven-haired witch. The purple eyes stared right into her own. “Draco told me about you. You’re Potter’s Mudblood. Smartest witch of her age.” The last bit was a sarcastic drawl. “Tell me, Muddy. What is this? An elaborate trap? Wanting to take me out of the equation?”
The older witch started circling Hermione, her eyes roaming over her body, looking for any signs of a possible danger. Though, for Hermione, those accusations made no sense. She was trapped in here with Bellatrix, not the other way around. Not to mention the unexplained attraction she felt towards the older witch.
Her gaze never left the Death Eater, both out of the pull she felt and out of fear of being attacked. She couldn’t help but notice the fluid grace Bellatrix possessed as she moved around. Every step was deliberate and carefully taken, and she never gave off the impression that she wasn’t in control of the situation. Hermione’s eyes flickered to Bellatrix’s hands. Long, pale fingers gripped a curved wand and held it slightly to the side of her body. Even her hands were beautiful, Hermione registered, and she had to fight the blush that was starting to dust her cheeks in a light red. The demeaning words Bellatrix hurled against her were completely forgotten already.
Having noticed the young girl’s blush, Bellatrix’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Or could it be that you wanted me all for yourself, Muddy?” With a few quick steps, she stood in front of Hermione and looked down on her, her face only a few inches away from her. Her smirk still present and her eyes shining with a veiled hunger. While she was not all that much taller than her, her whole demeanour gave Hermione the feeling as if Bellatrix towered over her, wanting nothing more than to back away and put distance between the two. Yet, with the Death Eater being this close, she noticed far more details. How the dark hair faintly crackled with magic. How there was a light scent of roses in the air, and leather? How her high cheekbones accentuated the air of nobility that surrounded her. How there were freckles dotting her cheeks, too light to see if you were not close to her. But Hermione was most focused on her eyes, once again. Purple clashed with hazel. Fear, curiosity and the unexplainable pull she felt kept her from turning her eyes away, trapping her.
“That’s - that’s ridiculous! How would I even be able to do this?” With every word her voice climbed higher, and she tried to back away, putting some distance between herself and Bellatrix, ignoring the Death Eater's last question completely. Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed, contemplating if the girl in front of her was telling the truth or not.
“No. No, you probably wouldn’t be able to. A Mudblood like you,” the Death Eater said, mumbling about 'ancient magic' and 'ignorance' as she backed away, causing Hermione to let out a deep breath of relief. The young girl watched as the older witch resumed her pacing and waving her wand around, casting spells under her breath.
Normally this would make Hermione seethe. Year after year she proved that she was capable of magical feats far beyond the levels of her peers, proving again and again that she deserved her title as the brightest witch of her age. But the way Bellatrix said this, as if this was a simple fact like stating the weather, or noting the colour of leaves, made her reign in her temper. She was, after all, trapped with her in this bubble, and Bellatrix showed no sign of her usual madness. She was calculating and calm, which made her a lot more unpredictable and dangerous. Hermione clenched her jaw.
“This has nothing to do with me being a Muggle-born, Mrs. Lestrange,” Hermione said quietly but firmly.
This made Bellatrix stop in her tracks. With her back still turned towards Hermione, she laughed.
“Oh Muddy. How wrong you are. What kind of magic is this, take a guess,” Bellatrix said, goaded almost.
Hermione had to bite her tongue. It wouldn’t do to get snarky. So instead, she focused on the bubble and observed it. She mimicked Bellatrix and mirrored the steps the older witch took, using her wand to poke the air, illuminating it to see if something would react to her magic. Sadly, the results were nothing. She noticed how the two groups outside of their little bubble appeared to be almost completely still now.
Both sides seemed to be in the position to strike at a moment’s notice. Hermione wondered when this had happened. She also did notice that the murky mist in Harry’s orb swirled slowly, very slowly. Trying to walk closer to her best friend she noticed that her own steps became heavier and more difficult to take, as if something was stopping her from leaving, or going too far. Using this new information, she walked to the other side, standing almost next to Lucius and walked from there a few steps and experienced the same issue. Frustrated, she stopped next to Bellatrix, who looked at her amused.
“I’m waiting for an answer, Muddy. And I’ve been told I’m not the most patient… teacher, if you will.” Her sarcastic drawl cut into Hermione’s thoughts as she still tried to organise the newfound information.
“I- “ She paused. “I don’t understand. It appears as if we are trapped under an invisible dome? That would be the best way I can describe it. Time flows differently for us here. And it does appear I, rather we can’t leave.”
“Yes.” Was the short answer. The dark-haired witch started walking again, and now Hermione noticed how Bellatrix seemed to struggle with her movement the further she distanced herself from her.
“What have you noticed?” the young girl asked.
“Why do you think I would share my information with the likes of you?” Bellatrix didn’t turn around for a reply and kept marching forward. Stopping in front of a spot with neither Death Eaters nor teenagers near, she started flinging spells at the invisible wall separating the two women from their groups. Green, red, purple, yellow, all kinds of colourful spells hit it, yet all fizzled out, leaving the older witch in a frustrated state, her shoulders heaving and her hair crackling with the excess magic.
Hermione walked up to her, noticing with confusion how she started to feel lighter with every step she took in Bellatrix's direction. “The way I see it, we are both trapped in here. And there is more to this than just trapping us in here. You feel it too, don’t you?” Her voice had taken on a fearful tone. Of what she was afraid of, she didn’t know.
“Feel it too?” Bellatrix repeated. “Feel what, Muddy? Be more specific. I don’t have all night.”
Hermione came to a stop next to the Death Eater, facing her. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she raised her chin.
“You know what I am talking about, don’t pretend otherwise, Mrs. Lestrange. The pull, the way every step becomes heavier and more difficult to take once we get further away from each other, the unexplainable feeling of being lighter the closer we are. You must feel it as well! I know it!” At the end, Hermione was almost shouting at Bellatrix, the current situation getting to her. Her hair had started to crackle with magic now as well, mimicking the thick, black mane opposite of her. Bellatrix goading her and throwing insults her way didn’t help her in the slightest.
Bellatrix slowly turned around. Her eyes had narrowed dangerously and gone was the smirk, which Hermione thought would be a permanent fixture for the time they’d be trapped inside the dome. Once again, she moved up to Hermione, using her height and domineering presence to make the younger girl cower. She laid her hands on the young witch’s shoulders, gripping them harshly and moved her face close to Hermione’s.
“This was the second time by now, Mudblood. Either call me Bellatrix, if you must. Or Madam, with the respect I deserve. But not Mrs. Lestrange. Am I clear?" Bellatrix's voice was cold. Gone was the toying around, the goading. The question was punctuated by a squeeze of her shoulders. And yet, Hermione was confused that she felt no pain. Surely by now she had crossed a lot of lines for someone like Bellatrix to hurt her, but she was still unharmed. And she did see the muscles in the Death Eater’s arms flexing as she squeezed her shoulders, so it was not for lack of trying. Hermione’s eyes widened the same time Bellatrix’s narrowed further.
“You can’t hurt me,” she whispered her realisation. Bellatrix clenched her jaw. She tried again, using more strength and pressure, but again, Hermione felt no pain. She wriggled out of Bellatrix’s grip and pulled her robe aside, wanting to verify for herself if the older witch’s nails left marks. Faint intends were seen, though from the force that Bellatrix seemed to have used, she should’ve carried clearer evidence than that, especially from her nails. Hermione was ecstatic. She turned her eyes back to Bellatrix, who looked at her with a contemplative look, not having moved an inch.
“You can’t hurt me,” Hermione stated again, clearer this time.
“I heard you the first time,” Bellatrix answered right away, clearly frustrated that whatever held the two in place played around with them far more than she anticipated. “Draw your wand, there’s something I want to see.”
“What? No! Just because you can’t harm me physically doesn't mean your spells won’t either!” Hermione protested.
“Listen, Muddy. Either you draw your wand and pretend to be able to defend yourself, or I will fire spells at you without your wand drawn. I give you a chance, aren’t I nice?” Bellatrix said with a faux smile.
Hermione huffed, unable to retort knowing full well that if she hesitated now, Bellatrix would just start attacking her. She readied her wand and aimed it at the witch. “Ready.”
“Loosen up, pet. This is for research. Just stay still or my aim might, you know, be a tad bit off,” Bellatrix said tauntingly. Then she laughed out loud, as she saw how Hermione blushed at the pet name, which only made the young girl’s blush deepen. The Death Eater readied herself after regaining her composure and looked at Hermione. “Truly ready?” Hermione nodded. Too fast for Hermione’s eyes to see Bellatrix’s arm swished, and her wand shot out a light green colour. The spell hurtled towards Hermione, targeting her throat, though before it could reach her, it fizzled out.
Bellatrix hummed in thought. “It looks like you are truly protected from both my magic and any physical harm I could inflict upon you. That was a mere Diffindo I tried. You do it. See if this protection works both ways.”
“On one condition. You answer my question. That you feel this too. I want clarity,” Hermione stated firmly. Gone was the fear she felt towards the Death Eater. The knowledge of being unable to be harmed by her filled her with a new sense of bravery, foolish bravery perhaps, but bravery nonetheless.
“Oh. Little Mudpet learns to negotiate with the big bad Death Eater. Such a brave lion. Fine. I accept. And you will do the same, after all you have yet to answer my own question.” Bellatrix's tone was haughty, giving Hermione no chance to gage if she did in fact felt the same things as she did.
“Good. Fine. Oh. And I want you to stop calling me Mudblood, or any variety of that! I have a name, use it!” she stated firmly. Before she had finished her sentence, Bellatrix was in front of her, gripping her hair and tilting her head back.
“Listen, girl. I might not be able to harm you . But make no mistake that if you don’t reign in your impudence soon, as soon as we get out of here, I will go after your little friends out there one by one. And I will revel in it. For every time you do not show me the proper respect, they will suffer more. Do you understand, Mudblood?” Every word was hissed through clenched teeth, but the madness was not felt. This was said in absolute clarity. Hermione shivered in Bellatrix's grip. She was a fool for thinking that she was truly safe with Bellatrix Lestrange. She nodded mutely, hoping that she could get this over with quickly and spare her friends torture and harm at the hands of the female Death Eater who was currently looking at her with boiling fury in her eyes. Satisfied for now, Bellatrix loosened her grip and resumed her previous place, raising her wand at Hermione. “Good. Now cast a spell with the intent to harm me. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”
Gritting her teeth, Hermione had to remind herself not to reply to such condescending notions. She survived Umbridge, she can survive this. Deciding on the same spell as Bellatrix, she cast a Diffindo at the Death Eater’s throat. The same phenomenon happened again. Shortly before hitting Bellatrix, the light green spell fizzled out. Both women sighed. Knowing that this meant something bigger was at play than a simple trap.
Bellatrix sat cross-legged on the floor and patted the spot beside her.
“Sit. I don’t think we'll get out of here any time soon.”
Timidly, Hermione sat down beside the older woman, pulling her knees close to her chest and propping her chin on it.
“You agreed on a deal, Madam Lestrange.” She cautiously broached the topic again.
Bellatrix let her head fall back and let out a long breath, staring distantly out. “Yes. I am aware.” She paused, her brows furrowed. “Yes. I feel those things too. It’s disorienting. Why can I not move away from you. Why does my body feel lighter when you are close. What is this pull.” The older woman sounded genuinely frustrated as she listed all the questions she had no answers for. “The most incomprehensible thing in all this though is... why did this begin as soon as our eyes met?”
“So it wasn’t just me,” Hermione muttered out loud.
“No, pet. It wasn’t.” Bellatrix’s voice had taken on a gentle tone, soothing and comforting.
“Did you... Did you also feel this attraction?” Hermione shyly asked. Her blush creeping back up her cheeks, causing Bellatrix to chuckle next to her.
“Again, yes. It’s hard to ignore such a feeling when the person of said feeling is in such a close proximity to oneself. Add to that that it almost felt like I drank a vial of amortentia, just without the feeling of losing my mind.”
“That’s how I felt too. Well. I can’t speak for amortentia. I only read about it. And we will discuss it next year in potions. On that topic though, why aren’t you mad? If I may ask. The newspapers kept portraying you as this insane madwoman. Even Sirius talked about your -” Hermione searched for the right word. “Rather unstable mind.” At the end of her sentence, she had laid her head on her knees and looked at the other witch curiously, hoping she hadn’t offended her, the threat from earlier still present in Hermione’s mind.
“Ah. That. It also ties into this.” Bellatrix vaguely waved her hands towards the air around them. “As soon as I laid my eyes on you, something snapped into place. And with that it was as if a fog was lifted from my mind. Things got clearer, sharper and were put more into focus. Who knows. Maybe once we leave this bubble, or whatever this is, I will go back to being the scary, mad Bellatrix everyone knows. Morgana’s tits. I can’t remember when I was able to think this clearly. I quite like it.” She sounded wistful as she talked about it. Her eyes focused on something far away and Hermione smiled sadly at the woman opposite of her. If what she said was true, losing her mind must have been terrifying, something Hermione herself always deeply feared.
“I must admit, Madam Lestrange. It quite confused me, I was expecting the kind of Bellatrix Lestrange that the Daily Prophet described, not the one sitting next to me and talking almost amicably with me.” Hermione chuckled softly, followed by a chuckle from Bellatrix. Neither could ignore the irony of the situation. “Will you make good on your threat? As soon as we are out of here you will go after my friends and torture them?”
“Ah, pet. You are behaving quite well. So no, not in this capacity, but we are still on opposing sides. You would be naïve to think I would not carry out my Lord’s orders simply because whatever this is binds me to you. You are a child, you have no place in this. Leave while you still can. Take your friends with you. That’s the only out I can give you,” Bellatrix solemnly said. A tiny speck of hope could be heard in her speech, hoping that the young witch would take her advice and would leave the Ministry.
“I can’t do that! I would never abandon Harry, and you can not tell me that you and the others would let Harry go without a scratch. Your so-called ‘Lord’ has been after him for almost every year your! Why would now be any different?!” Hermione protested strongly, bristling at the insinuation of leaving her friends behind. At the end of her sentence, she had stood up, glaring down at the older witch. “Maybe this makes me naïve in your eyes, but he is my friend. We have already gone through far more than most witches and wizards your age. I will stay by his side and fight with him.”
“Gryffindors and their bravery.” Bellatrix snorted, then she shrugged. “Alright, fine. It’s not like I warned you. There are twelve of us against six of you, and from what my comrades currently know, something took out the brains of your little group. Which should put your friends at a disadvantage.”
“And you are a renowned duellist and Voldemort’s second-in-command. And trapped here as well,” Hermione fired back instantly.
“Don’t say his name!” Bellatrix hissed.
“What else then, huh? He’s not my Lord, and He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named just sounds ridiculous!” Hermione said in the same furious tone.
Both women glared at each other. Sometime in the intervening time, Bellatrix had also stood up. Both crackled with magic, having been charged up by their emotions and each other. Eventually Bellatrix let out a deep breath and relaxed her stance.
“You are insufferable.”
“So are you!” came the instant reply. To which the older woman only threw up her hands and walked to the other side of the dome.
Curiously for both witches, they noticed how the feeling of pressure was absent this time. Bellatrix’s steps weren’t as difficult to take any longer and weren’t sluggish. The Death Eater stopped in her old position, where she had stood when the bubble had formed.
“Muddy. Tell me, do you feel that?”
Hermione ignored her, crossing her arms in front of her chest she turned her back to the other witch. Having had enough of being called insulting names, she walked to her own old spot and took position next to Harry, taking note how he seemed to be completely frozen in time, with his wand raised, ready to attack.
“Muddy!” Bellatrix shouted frustrated. Which only earned her a snort from Hermione.
“Ugh fine. Granger! There. You insufferable witch. Now tell me. Do you feel this too?”
Hermione turned around, a smile on her face, it felt great to have won this small victory.
“I do. The pressure is gone. But why? We haven’t done anything different,” she pondered.
Bellatrix gritted her teeth. It didn’t feel good to give the younger witch what she wanted, though in this situation, she had to cooperate. She needed to get out and fulfil her mission, no matter what she was feeling right now.
“Yes. Exactly that. I do have only a vague theory. Tell me what you think about it,” Bellatrix said, waiting for Hermione’s nod before continuing. “When we first entered this dome, we obviously were very much on edge. We still are but have somewhat accepted the inevitability of the situation. We then started to acknowledge that the other experiences the same feelings and symptoms. And finally, our talk just now. After this, symptoms that bothered us lessened and only the positive ones, positive in the eye of the beholder, are left. With me so far, Granger?” Hermione nodded.
“Good. This leaves me with the conclusion that whatever this is, wants us to acknowledge something. During our…. amicable talk, we acknowledged that... Ugh. Do I have to say out loud? Surely you must know this, Granger.” Bellatrix sounded hesitant, but stopped speaking, giving Hermione a chance to respond.
Bellatrix watched as Hermione processed what she had been told just now. She knew that the girl grew up without the knowledge of a wizarding household, though she still held the hope she wouldn’t have to say out loud what she thought had happened to them. The young girl in front of her had her brows furrowed in concentration and her tongue flickered over her lower lip, something Bellatrix’ eyes immediately focused on.
“I-” Hermione paused. “I think I don’t know what you are referring to, Madam Lestrange. I’m sorry.”
Bellatrix waved the apology away; she couldn’t have known. It seems it was up to her now.
“Granger. We are bound to each other.”