"Sit down, sit down, forgive the mess."

Hermione, aka Bellatrix, dropped into one of the old armchairs and crossed her legs. She could hardly believe she was in her friend's body.

Again.

Only this time, she felt much more alive. Almost braver, starring in the face of the dark lord.

"So, Bellatrix, what brings you to me? After all, the next meeting isn't for another week."
Hermione bit her lip, "My lord, I have a matter on my mind."
The dark lord curled his lips, "On your mind? Then it must be something extremely important, Bella."

Bella.

Since when had he called her that?
Since when did her nickname leave his lips?

"My lord, it's about my father."
"I am aware of his situation."

"Yes, and you are aware that a welcome into your ranks is quite urgent -"

Now Lord Voldemort settled himself in one of the chairs and rubbed at his knuckles.

"You are an excellent witch, Bellatrix, and we will take care of it. You can be sure of that."
"Of course, Master. I'm just wondering when I'll finally get the honor of wearing your mark on my skin?"

She sat as the blood-red eyes sparkled.

The dark lord reached for a whiskey glass and took a hearty swig.

"Your ambition is unique, and a special member requires a special initiation ceremony. As a shadow whispered to me, you are about to celebrate your eighteenth birthday."
"Yes - yes, my lord!" Hermione brushed a pitch-black curl from her forehead.

She couldn't be exposed. To do so would put her life and Trix's at risk.

"How about your birthday?" The dark lord put down his drink and eyed his student.

"Um - that's not good. I mean, my entire family will be present, and it would be too dangerous for you -"
"I'm familiar with your celebrations and traditions, Bellatrix. By midnight most will probably have left, and we'll have some time for your special moment."

But before she could object, the man of a monster leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, "I heard about the basilisk. You did a good job, Bella."

Hermione swallowed: "I failed, my lord."

Now Voldemort leaned back and looked down at the young woman.

"No, you didn't. We did. It was an accident, an accident, and you didn't die. You're lucky how it turned out for you. Didn't my parsel words I taught you work?"

What? Taught? - Parsel words?
The witch's heart began to pound.

"Um - um no, my lord."

"Don't worry, someday you'll get your chance to wipe out all those filthy mudbloods. Someday you will shine, like my little jewel."
A laugh tugged at his lipless face.

And then the witch with the now thick curls felt sick.

She held her stomach.

"Forgive me, my lord, however, I am not feeling quiete well and should return to Hogwarts. My professors are probably already wondering where I am." She rose and smoothed her robes with her hands.

"Certainly, I will keep you informed of any further meetings."
Now the false Black crossed the door. Her eyes fixed on the old floorboards.

"It - it was an honor, my lord."
"The pleasure is mine, Bellatrix Black."

 
Before she realized it, she was wandering down the cobbled path.

The young woman let her hands slide down the cellar walls.

Straight across the room, past the crackling fireplace flames, she trudged through the doorway.

"Back again?"

Her friend looked out of place somehow, standing in the middle of the room, her strands falling disheveled on her face.

Hermione looked down at her own hands. Her fingernails were still painted black.

The cowl over her shoulders was that of Black born. No. She had forgotten that she still looked like her.

The fake Selwyn started to stammer but couldn't get a whole word out, her black curls falling wildly in her face.

The young Black leaned forward tentatively and beamed into her own now twinkling eyes.

"Is my hair such a mess?"

"It's from apparition."

Fake Selwyn tried to take a deep breath but found no opportunity.

She jerked her eyes open.

The born Black had pressed her lips to her friend's, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as if to get it over with quickly.
This time the taste of vanilla was absent, perhaps because Hermione still looked like the young woman who was now attached to her lips.

Now her scalp began to twitch, and her ankles ached.
The witch's face suddenly became narrower, her cheekbones softer, and her eyes, which had been so bright before, lost their shine. She detached herself from her friend.

Now she was Hermione, Hermione Granger, and no longer her friend.

"I've always wanted to do that." Spoke Bellatrix, her face showing no trace of a smile.

"What?"
"To see how good as a kisser I am." The young woman with the curly mop of hair turned and dropped onto the end of her bed.

"Were you with him, doll?"

She replied with silence.

"You only fucked me to get my strand of hair for the Polyjuice Potion, didn't you?"
"I didn't 'fucked' you! Don't say things like that! It wasn't because of that!"
"Really?" Bella raised an eyebrow, "Would you have been so pushy yesterday if you hadn't wanted my lock of hair?"

"Um -" The witch with the shock of brown hair took a deep breath, "No. No, probably not."
Born Black pulled her wand from the leather holster on her belt.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" She spoke in a strong voice, and the paper plane on the bedside table soared into the air.

"Then aren't you just as bad as you think I am?"

Hermione stepped up to the edge of the bed.

However, Bellatrix didn't let her finish a single word, "Do you think I'm lying to you?"
"No! I trust you! Only not him!"

"You're telling yourself that, doll."

"No! No! You can, believe me, Trix! You would never -"

"Would never what?" The young witch straightened, her gaze determined, her hands clenched into fists, "If you think I would willingly put my sisters, my family honor, or you in danger, you are wrong!"

"By Merlin! I never said that!" Fake Selwyn slapped her hands over her head.

"But you were thinking it! Didn't you?"

"Do you know what your problem is, Bellatrix Black?"
"I think Madame Selwyn is about to tell me!" Her friend nagged her provocatively in the face.

"Every time you feel, that your pride is hurt, you push someone you care about away from you!"

"Why do you think I fucking care about you?"

Hermione wanted to say a tough line back to the pureblood student, but somehow she couldn't. Somehow the words that came to her mind did not leave her lips.

It was morning.

Somehow Hermione found the strength to get up. Somehow she survived the boring History of Magic lesson.

Yet somehow the thought of the black-haired eccentric witch did not leave her mind.

She ate breakfast with Andy and Cissy, devoured her honey toast, and strolled through the library in the afternoon.

Without further ado, she picked up her purple book and sat down on one of the oak chairs.

The young woman sank completely into the poetry that now gave her so much.

A good book was often a witch's best friend.

It didn't ask unnecessary questions, didn't make her despair or plunge headlong into emotional chaos.

She didn't know how long she and Bella hadn't exchanged glances, let alone a word, as she stalked towards her, head held high, leaving her standing in silence. She had been researching for her wizardry homework. The fake Selwyn was sure.

Bellatrix could keep a bold head even in such situations, even if it seemed almost impossible for her friend.

A few seconds later, however, Hermione got goosebumps.

"Ah!"

A shrill scream echoed through the castle corridors.

It was deafening.

Almost paralyzing.

That singular sound could only have come from a certain person.

Hermione thought only one thing to herself.

What had happened to her Bella?