"I suppose not." Bellatrix's smile widened as she leaned in. "You see, I chose power over children. Infinitely more satisfying."

Hermione moved to refill Rodolphus's glass.

"We seem to have differing views on 'power,' Bella," Narcissa said sharply. "The last time I checked, you still answer to a man."

Bellatrix's eyes whipped to her sister's. "The second you push a man's child out of you, you're his slave." She nodded at the two silent Lots on the wall. "No better than any of these girls. My only master is the Dark Lord."

She drained her glass and slammed it on the table. Slowly, stomach twisting with dread, Hermione approached Bellatrix with the bottle.

"Speaking of brats—" Bellatrix reached up, grabbed a fistful of Hermione's hair, and tugged her down. The bottle slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor, splattering blood red wine everywhere.

"Bella—!"

"You can't serve like an elf, you can't cook like an elf. But surely you're useful for some things," Bellatrix hissed in her face. "Looking forward to a long life on your back, darling?"

And then sharp claws dug into Hermione's mind. Black tunnels she couldn't see the end of bore into her.

The page of Afternoon Tea fluttered. But they were the only pages that did.

Bellatrix flew through her memories. Dolohov and the Mediwitches, the light turning red above her hip. Draco tearing her slip open. Trembling on the stones at Voldemort's feet. Draco pressing her against a wall, grinding against her on a chaise.

The claws in her mind threatened to shred the platinum string binding her together, but it held firm. Distantly, she heard a whimper she recognized as her own; a spoon clattered into an empty soup bowl to her left.

Bellatrix retracted, scratching on her way out, and Hermione's body was dropped to the ground as a satisfied laugh grated her ears. The glass from the broken bottle was nothing to the shredding of her mind, the pages of Afternoon Tea bleeding through its spine.

She tried to refocus, her eyes hazy and seeing red. The wine and her own blood coiling together on the stone floor beneath her cut knees.

A disgusted sound from above her. "Draco, come clean up after your pet."

Silence.

"What are you waiting for?" the voice hissed.

A cold hand on her arm shocked sensation into her. Draco hauled her up and muttered a spell to banish the blood, wine, and glass. He roughly pushed her to lean against the wall when she couldn't stand on her own. She felt the skin of her knees knitting back together. A slight brush of his hand on her ribs when she swayed, steadying her — and then he was gone, taking his seat.

"Speaking of pets," Bellatrix sang, "Rabastan, Marcus, why don't you go check on yours? We need to have a little family chat."

Hermione's eyes blinked open, the room still spinning, but coming back into focus. A throbbing pain behind her temples, but not nearly as bad as she'd expected.