"It’s just a curse," Bellatrix offered her one morning, her voice quiet and subdued. Hands slowly ceased the constant grinding of a mortar and pestle, tools left to lay atop her bench as she turned towards where Hermione lay sprawled out on the grass. Her hair was splayed into a halo all around her and fingers were dug deep into the ground. She fought in fits and starts to halt the tremble in her limbs, to cease the heat that poured out through her core.