Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. I'm merely borrowing them for a bit of Bellamione love. No copyright infringement intended.
King’s Cross.
Platform ¾.
She couldn’t believe that she was finally back.
It had been too long and not long enough.
Wizards and witches, young and old, were boarding the Hogwarts Express.
Some were chatting animatedly, others kept to themselves.
She had to get onto the train or it would leave without her, and yet she hesitated.
Was it the right decision to return to Hogwarts?
She had longed for home since the day she had left.
No, that wasn’t entirely true.
She had longed for her.
It had been the reason why she had stayed away.
She had to.
It was supposed to be a three year contract, far away in Azkaban.
Three years as the Mistress of Death that head turned into twelve.
She had seen things, done things, that would haunt her forever.
But not as much as she haunted her to this day.
After the third, and last, Wizarding War, a lot of things had changed.
The love they had found that summer all these years ago, well, it still couldn’t be.
They had known it from the start and yet they hadn’t been able to stay away.
Leaving Hogwarts, leaving her, was the hardest thing she had ever done.
It had hurt in a way she couldn’t describe to this day.
A pain so all-consuming that she had feared that she would lose her mind for good.
For a short moment they had dreamed of a life together but she had always known that it could never be.
It would have put both of them in danger and she would have never been able to forgive herself if something would have happened to her.
She wished she could have stayed but that hadn’t been possible either.
Seeing her every day, knowing that she would never be hers, she hadn’t been able to bear it.
And aside from that, it wouldn’t have been safe either.
She was too possessive, her thoughts, and her love, too dark and she had feared that she would destroy her with it.
That was why she had taken on the one job she had never wanted to take - head executioner in Azkaban.
Dealing with the vilest and most dangerous criminals the Wizarding World had seen.
The war criminals, the serial killers, the child molesters.
She had, together with her henchmen, interrogated and executed, in the name of a justice that could never fully be served.
Now, after her fourth term, after twelve long years, she had finally reached her breaking point.
She could have retired three years ago already but when that treacherous love still hadn’t faded, she had stayed, in hopes that after another three years of brutality and blood, it would finally die.
But it hadn’t.
The love she would never deserve, the love she should have never found, was burning as strong as ever, and a part of her despised herself for it.
She hadn’t been raised to be weak.
She had been raised by an unyielding father and a psychotic mother, together with her sisters, molded to serve Voldemort with absolute loyalty.
And they had.
Until the war had been fought, the Dark Lord had been beaten, and a new era had risen on the horizon.
They had lost both of their parents during the war and it had been for the better because they would have never been able to adjust to this new world.
Her husband, the husband she had been forced to marry, unfortunately had survived.
He had lost an eye and two fingers but that hadn’t stopped him from being the absolute brute he had always been.
It was all she had known until she had met her.
And then her whole world had come apart at the seams.
Not even the war had changed her as much as Hermoine Granger had.
A young woman.
A mudblood.
There was no such thing as a muggle anymore now.
These days they are all equal.
It was better this way, she had come to understand that once she had gotten to know Hermione.
Even though she had been raised to hate everyone that wasn’t of the purest blood.
The Blacks had been, and were to this day, the highest ranking family of the Slytherin Coven.
But what did it really matter?
Yes, she was wealthy, and she would be respected in Hogwarts, probably even feared.
They had feared her then, they would probably be terrified now.
No one had lasted in Azkaban as long as she had.
No one had been damaged by Azakaban the way she had been either.
Hermoine would probably not even remember her.
She was 56 years old now but she hadn’t changed much.
Of course, she had aged, but except for a few strands of grey, her hair was as curly and unruly as ever.
She had some additional wrinkles too but she still looked the same.
Her mind was still as messed up as it had ever been and her heart was as haunted as the day she had left.
No one knew that she was coming and so far no one had noticed or recognized her either.
Probably because nobody was expecting to see her and she hoped that it would stay that way.
At least for now.
She drew the hood of her black cloak further into her face, successfully shielding it from view, before she finally grabbed her bag and got onto the waiting train.
She was still Bellatrix.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
And she was going home.