In retrospect, Bellatrix wondered if that was really the best decision she could have made, but Hermione had merely brightened at the suggestion and then bore down on Bellatrix with immaterial love made manifest in magic and blood. She’d skittered across Bellatrix’s skin, invaded each centimetre of her body until she was sweating and cursing, phantom hands caressing her swollen belly and jet black eyes peering down into her face, amusement and something near enough to love shining out of them.