The young witch walked back to the doorway, where the oldest Black sister stood. Briefly they both made eye contact and like a deep unsaid connection they both became more emotional. The panic, pain and deeply engraved trauma Bellatrix had suffered at the hand of her father had truly found its way into Hermione's heart. She sniffled and tried to gain control. Her voice breaking she tried to speak "well this won't do". A moment later and with some intense concentration Hermione managed to remodel the room. The floorboards re-established, a clean fresh gothic rug with a matching themed red and black four poster bed, a formal dresser and desk, enough candles to burn the entirety of parliament, and in the corner she had just seen the physical chains that restrained the woman she loved, a large oak wardrobe, accompanied with a mirror. A bedroom suitable for what the regal woman needed now she was not only a grown woman but a commander to a fair amount of rebels.