Hermione approached her bed and slumped onto it, crying quietly into her hands. She didn't understand why, in showing her feelings, she had hurt others. Nor did she understand why she had been so terrified of that conversation as it unfolded. That had been the most sane she had seen Bellatrix, and yet it was the most terrified she could have possibly ever been of her. That woman hurt her, manipulated her. Yet still she had some form of feelings towards her. It was twisted. A real stockholm syndrome kind of sickness. It scared Hermione. It was one thing to kill or serve a darkness, but to love a woman without true meaning, that was true fear.