5Prompt: "Oftentimes. when people are miserable, they will want to make other people miserable, too. But it never helps."
Bellatrix laughs, tearing the letter from Andromeda to shreds and tossing the pieces in the fire. The parchment curls and blackens just like any hope she ever had of reconciliation. She rounds on Hermione, all wicked fangs and jagged claws and pain fueled-aggression. "What do you think it said, pet? You claim mudbloods are just as intelligent as purebloods and then ask such stupid questions."
The remark hits, she can see it. Claws sink deep, and tears spring to Hermione's ears, but she blinks them back. Oh no, that won't do. That won't do at all.
"I'm trying to help you, Bellatrix," Hermione says, her voice remarkably calm. Bellatrix would admire it if she weren't determined to destroy it.
"What makes you think I need the help of a mudblood," Bellatrix snarls, her words claws sinking deeper, flexing. "It's all the fault of mudbloods like you that my family is in ruins."
There. Bellatrix sees the tears, sees them threatening to fall. Hermione fights them back and says, "Don't call me a mudblood. I know you're angry, I know you're lashing out, but please. If you love me..."
And there. Right there. Bellatrix sees the flash of the soft underbelly and strikes. "Love? You believed that lie? Oh, little mudblood, I don't have to love you, I don't think have to think you even human to find your...uses." She grins and purrs the last word.
She should have expected the slap the follows, that snaps her head to the side. She tastes blood. Bit her tongue, she expects, or maybe Hermione slapped her hard enough to split her lip. She isn't sure which.
Hermione storms out the front door without another word and slams it behind her.
And Bellatrix is alone.
She moves to the entrance hall and stands still, watching the door. Doesn't understand what she's waiting for, until the adrenaline of the fight, the thrill of the kill fades, and the manor is empty and quiet and cold. Or is that her? She isn't sure.
She watches the door. The clock ticks endlessly. Any moment Hermione will come back through the door to fight.
Any second.
The door doesn't open. No matter. Any second.
Her stomach churns, thinking back over the things she said. She had been so hurt, felt so vulnerable, she lashed out like a wounded animal as she always does. Did I really say I lied about loving her? She feels sick. Struggles not to throw up. She'll apologize when Hermione comes storming back through the door, furious but not gone. Will grovel and beg and hold her close and reassure her, and Hermione will forgive her and things will be fine. They will be fine.
The door doesn't open. No matter. Any second.
Any second...