Freedom of a sort, at least. Liberty on the leash of a new master, a collar of molten silver that had been charmed and formed to be cold to the touch unless Bellatrix tried to stray. Hermione had run her own mutiny, she held onto no illusions about Bellatrix’s complacency. She wouldn’t deceive herself into thinking the dark witch would remain, would sit placidly in her grasp. Bellatrix would attempt to run the first moment that she could, and Hermione desperately wished to avoid any scenario where she would be forced to eviscerate the woman. After all, Bellatrix had been the one to heal Hermione back to some semblance of life after Greyback’s horrific attack, and she’d been the one to build a new family around them. She’d begrudgingly acquiesced to Hermione’s plans in abducting Andromeda and Nymphadora, and she’d not killed Narcissa when she’d been returned different.