At the very moment that wisp of black-red aura touched Hermione's skin, her body arched violently as if struck by an invisible sledgehammer.
A madness, bone-chillingly cold and extreme, washed over her will like a flood breaking through a dam.
Countless bloody, cruel, and frenzied images exploded in her mind, as vivid as if she were experiencing them firsthand!
The twisted faces and shrill wails of enemies under the Crucio;
The warm, sticky sensation of magic tearing through flesh;
The ecstasy from the depths of her soul after slaughtering her own kin;
Even a morbidly twisted love and adoration for her master... "Ah—hahahaha!"
Hermione let out a sharp laugh that didn't sound like her own, her body twitching violently, as the depths of her brown eyes were completely consumed by a morbid crimson.
"Hermione!" Lia barked softly, not a hint of panic in her sky-blue feline eyes.
Stepping forward, she cupped Hermione's face in both hands. The white magic halo unique to her instantly lit up, transforming into a supple chain that precisely "hooked" onto Hermione's soul.
It acted as an indestructible firewall, creating an absolute separation between Hermione's true soul and the frenzied "Bella sticker" on the outermost layer.
The laughter stopped abruptly.
Hermione's twitching ceased.
The pollution, which would have been enough to drive an ordinary person completely insane, was firmly blocked outside by Lia's power.
The aura of madness in the room vanished, replaced by a more restrained yet even more terrifying pressure.
Hermione slowly straightened her back. Her physical appearance hadn't changed, but her temperament had undergone a world-shaking transformation.
A cruel and elegant curve hooked the corner of her mouth, and her eyes held a madness that looked down upon others like ants.
Her posture, the angle at which she raised her hand, even the frequency of her breathing—she had become another person entirely.
A pure-blood aristocratic lunatic.
Hermione raised her hand, admiring her slender fingers as if she were appreciating a perfect tool for murder.
Then she spoke. Her voice was still the clear tone of Hermione Granger, but her inflection carried the sharp, neurotic distortion of Bellatrix.
"It feels..." she drawled, her tongue lightly licking her lips—a characteristic little habit of Bella's—"...not bad."
Turning her gaze to Lia, she gave a charming smile: "Well done, my baby."
In this moment, she had briefly "become" Bella.
She walked to the metal door and knocked lightly.
The door opened.
Sirius was the first to rush in, his wand pointed straight ahead.
But the moment he saw Hermione clearly, his entire body froze as if hit by Petrificus Totalus.
The color drained from his face instantly.
This face belonged to Harry's best friend, that smart and somewhat stubborn young girl.
But that look, that smile, that unforgettable aura of madness that woke him from every nightmare... it was completely his cousin, who should have long since rotted in hell!
This massive sense of cognitive dissonance was more terrifying to him than any dark curse.
"Bella..." he gasped, his voice raspy, the wand in his hand trembling violently.
"Good evening, my dear... cousin."
Hermione tilted her head, giving him a sweet yet malicious smile, her voice full of mockery.
"Did you miss me?"
Sirius instinctively took a step back, bumping into Harry.
The disguise was a resounding success.
Lia stepped forward and tugged at the hem of Hermione's clothes, looking up at her.
"Hermione," she said softly, "don't play for too long. This thing is still quite unsafe."
While the horror on Sirius's face had yet to fade, the "Bella-style" smile on Hermione's face had already quietly vanished.
She simply blinked, and that suffocating pressure of madness receded like a tide, replaced by her usual calmness and control.
Her gaze shifted from that of a bloodthirsty lunatic back to the logically clear Know-It-All top student.
Only the unconscious twitching of her fingers still held a trace of Bellatrix Lestrange's unique neurosis.
This near-inhumanly terrifying ability to switch at will sent a chill through Sirius's marrow, even more so than the disguise itself.
"Just a test," Hermione said calmly to Sirius, then looked down and rubbed Lia's silver hair. "I'll remember, Lia. We'll make it quick."
She put on a pre-prepared Gothic black dress, its intricate lace and corset outlining a slender yet dangerous silhouette.
When she used magic to coil her thick brown curls into the messy yet noble bun characteristic of Bellatrix Lestrange, the last trace of Hermione Granger vanished.
Now, she was the arrogant and cruel Mrs. Lestrange, about to inspect her family's vault.
"The plan is simple." Hermione turned to Harry and Ron. "Lia and I go in. Harry, put on your invisibility cloak and wait outside for backup. Ron, you and Sirius stay at the Leaky Cauldron. If we exceed the scheduled time, activate the backup plan immediately."
"What backup plan?" Ron asked nervously.
"Blow up the Leaky Cauldron and completely seal the entrance to Diagon Alley."
Hermione said nonchalantly, as if discussing what to have for breakfast tomorrow. "Trap all the Goblins and any potential Death Eater reinforcements down there forever."
This simple, crude, and cold plan made everyone gasp.
Harry and Ron's faces turned pale.
Then they realized—this was war; Hermione was just adapting faster.
"Lia, you..." Harry looked at Lia, who had shifted back into her pure white kitten form, with some concern.
Lia jumped onto Hermione's shoulder, wrapped her tail around her neck, and blinked her sapphire-like eyes, gesturing for him to be at ease.
Diagon Alley.
Under a gloomy sky, the once-bustling streets had become desolate and oppressive.
Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic officials they controlled patrolled the streets, every Wizard's face marked with fear.
Hermione walked down the center of the street with her head held high, each step rhythmic and as arrogant as a queen inspecting her domain.
When the patrols saw her, they all showed expressions of awe and fear, bowing one after another, not daring to look her in the eye.
That grafted "soul pressure" was the best pass possible.
Soon, they arrived before that crooked white marble building—Gringotts.
Two Goblins stood at the door holding polearms, their pitch-black eyes like abysses, scrutinizing every Wizard who attempted to enter.
As Hermione approached, one of the Goblins extended its polearm, blocking her path.
"Mrs. Lestrange," the Goblin's voice sounded like sandpaper rubbing together, "what is your business here today?"
Hermione stopped in her tracks but didn't answer immediately.
She tilted her head slightly, looking at the Goblin as if observing an insect, a cruel smile playing on her lips.
Lia yawned on her shoulder, seemingly impatient with the slow process.
"Griphook," Hermione finally spoke, her voice sharp and cold, "are you questioning my need to report to you when I am returning to my own vault?"
The Goblin who had been named stiffened.
Hermione took another step forward, the sound of her high heels on the marble floor as crisp as a death knell.
"Or has the Dark Lord emboldened you enough to think you can dictate to the ancient pure-blood families?"
...Happy New Year, everyone!
...
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