Chapter Twenty: A Strategic Turn
The room was quiet. "How about you have made enough demands and set enough conditions," Lady Tamar replied stiffly. "Will you keep trying to change the terms of the deal?"
"No, that's all," Bellatrix waved her hand, nervously airy. " I merely need the assurance that someone is willing to keep me free, at their own personal cost, and do what I require of them, to meet the terms of this agreement."
Tamar looked to Hermione. "Miss Granger," she said, still speaking in English, "I cannot, and will not, expect you to bind yourself to that monster."
Bellatrix's face twisted into a sneer at what she was called.
Hermione's pinched, clearly anguished face couldn't hide the emotions she felt. But she looked to Bellatrix, and thought. Can I really call myself a decent person if I don't try everything that I can? "If Stavka decides to support this, I need to obey. This isn't any different than being asked to sacrifice yourself in war. It even has much better odds."
Bellatrix looked to her, as if she were modestly surprised that Hermione had really consented, and so readily, too. She slowly pushed herself back to her feet. "Then I will see you tomorrow, muddy. I would like my daughter back now, and to depart. I will unilaterally keep the cease-fire in force along the front… The sooner you get word back to me, the better."
"We understand." Lady Tamar got up, her voice reserved coldness.
"Weasel, I'd like my daughter back!" Bellatrix shouted through the door to the other room.
Ginny emerged a moment later with Delphini, a look on her face, angry at the nickname, but also a little pale. Still, she smiled again for Delphini and gave her a hug. "You're going back with your mother now," Ginny added, and Delphini even waved goodbye to her before running over to Bellatrix, the woman picking her up, hugging her, and then setting her down to button up her coat.
With that, Bellatrix stepped out with her daughter to retrieve her men. The door slammed closed, and there was an aching silence in the old guard hut. Hermione idly wandered over to turn off the kerosene heater, as if it mattered. The snap of the switch was almost lost against the rush of the wind against the structure.
"Did we really just have this conversation with Bellatrix?" Nymphadora asked, shaking her head.
"We can talk back at the 27 th Division's headquarters," Lady Tamar noted tersely. "There's no need to remain in range of the enemy for anything."
Ginny still looked like a ghost, but Hermione obeyed Lady Tamar and didn't say anything. She waited for them to link hands, and apparate back out, from straight inside of the Guard hut, so that they stood in front of the building now housing the divisional headquarters, and went inside at once.
There was tea and food waiting, and Hermione didn't realise how hungry she was until she thought back on the brutal feeling of the wind cutting through her up on the ridge. In comparison to the interior of the divisional headquarters she also felt how little the kerosene heater had actually done. One of the Army cooks—since they were in winter quarters, they were trying to supply proper food—pressed a bowl of mushroom Solyanka to her and a slice of canned bread with a pat of butter on it. It might as well have been heaven. There was a staff meeting room, and they all clustered there with food. General Pronichev joined them, and guards were posted to keep anyone from listening in.
Pronichev listened to the summary patiently, not asking questions until Lady Tamar finished. When he was satisfied with the explanations, he turned to Hermione, who had finished eating her stew by that point, and reached out and gently took her hand. "Councillor, you are one of my officers," he said, though his expression was more like that of a grandfather than anything else. "You may well have signed up to die on the battlefield, by gunfire or magic. You can make the argument that the risk you will be undertaking is the same, but in fact, it is of a different nature, and I want to assure you that you would still be brave, and fully supported by me, if you refused the risks of this terrible oath, or infiltrating behind enemy lines. These are things which frequently lead to medals on tombstones, they are not what we regularly ask of soldiers. You do have a right to refuse. "
"Thank you, Sir." She hadn't seen her own father now in five years, and she felt somewhat like she badly needed that steady reassurance that she got in his eyes. But it didn't cause her to reconsider her plan. She spoke, feeling like Russian was almost more comfortable than English to her now. In English she heard the reign of Voldemort, in Russian she heard resistance to it. Certainly, Hermione had a deep loathing for the fact the British Wizarding community had allowed this fate to befall the world, herself personally, and it coloured her next words and made her feel resolute. "Still, it's one life for the sake of tens of millions under the Dark Lord's reign. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't make the effort, Sir. Not with that to gain. And the vow may not be invoked. We may pull it off in the Crimean. Isn't that worth it?"
"We need to alert the government now, Sir," Colonel Kabanov noted. There was no option in that.
Pronichev nodded. "State Councillor, Colonel, follow me to our secure comms station." He rose, but then paused. "Is there anything we should know to communicate, first?"
Ginny looked up from where she had been sitting, and gently cleared her throat. " I have something to report first, Sir."
"Go ahead," his kindly eyes, on an old face, focused on the redheaded witch.
"Bellatrix's daughter is Voldemort's. Delphi explained that to me. Her father is Voldemort."
"She had a child with Voldemort? And was able to escape with Voldemort's daughter," Hermione goggled.
Colonel Kabanov looked at Ginny. Even he noticeably paused for a moment, and then shrugged. "Yes, that's definitely going in the report."
The three senior officers left at once.
Ginny immediately turned to Hermione. "You volunteered to swear an unbreakable vow with Bellatrix … Black ?"
"Have you heard the rumours of the Siege of Sevastopol?" Hermione answered, sinking down to rest her face against her hands, propped on the table. "Anything we've seen is ten times worse there, they speak of things…"
"Bellatrix will make sure the oath turns you into a casualty if she's ever held accountable for her crimes, Hermione," Ginny said flatly. "Is that what you want? So it's not some small risk, it's literally, for the rest of her life, if they hold her accountable, you die. I'm certain of it."
"There's lots of ways to hold someone accountable without sending them to Azkaban or killing them or giving them the Dementor's Kiss," Hermione answered. "Can we be honest about something? Nobody deserves Azkaban." She looked at Ginny and Dora. "Nobody. I'm sorry. I know it's comforting, it's the way the Wizarding world has worked for centuries, that we win, and they're all either dead or they go to Azkaban. But the worst of the Camps—Kolyma—was better than Azkaban. It is not right to chain people to the wall of a cell with the ocean booming against it while Dementors suck out their ability to feel happiness- for decades on end. No matter what they've done."
She rose to her feet, her words getting a little bit heated, even at her friends, planting her hands on the table and leaning in toward them as she spoke with growing intensity in her voice. "I have and always will fight against this evil, against the Death Eaters and Voldemort, but I'm doing it precisely because of my moral convictions. I'm going to be honest, if there are Crimes Against Humanity trials at the end of this war, there are some people in the Ministry from before Voldemort's takeover who should be in the dock right alongside of Voldemort for participating in sentencing people, and incarcerating people in, Azkaban, and the use of Dementors to torture and execute prisoners. It was wrong. And maybe the fact that was part of our society was one of the reasons it was so easy for people to become Death Eaters. If the end result of this is that Bellatrix Black lives out the rest of her life under house arrest in some big villa in Sochi swimming in the sea every damned day, I will gladly pay that indignity to justice to liberate tens of millions of people from Voldemort—because, to be honest, it's less of a compromise than you think, because your perception of how people should be punished has been twisted by the acceptance of Azkaban."
Hermione let out a deep sigh. Everyone was silent in front of her. "I love both of you as sisters. But I had to say it," she bit her lip, and reached for her pack of belomors. "I'm going to have a smoke. This is so fucked up." With that, she turned, and saw herself out of the room.
As she left, she heard Larissa behind her say, "she is right, you know. Azkaban is ghastly, and we're fighting to win." And then she was away from her three friends and stepping out of the command post. Nobody was going to keep someone from smoking inside here, but Hermione wanted the cold winter air to clear her head while she did it, too.
A few minutes later, Nymphadora came out to stand alongside of her. She paused for a moment, and then asked, softly, "can you give me one of the cancer-sticks?"
"...I never thought you'd ask," Hermione grinned. She took out a second cigarette and handed it to Dora. "Have a light," she added as she reached for her lighter.
The older Witch took a drag from the cigarette and coughed immediately. "Oh Merlin. This is nothing like the Marlboro I had when I experimented with being a juvenile delinquent."
"I know. They're a nice Russian punch to the face." Hermione turned to face Dora. "Sorry about the strong words. But I had to say it."
"That's just the S.P.E.W.-founding Hermione that I know," Dora allowed with a smile. "Anyway, it's not wrong."
"Thank you for acknowledging that. I know as an Auror before the war, it hits close to home."
"It does," Dora agreed. "But you're right. Azkaban is hell. Not going to deny it. Larissa gave us an ear-full when you left. Brought up something about the English penal law of the 18 th century being called the 'bloody code' and something else boring and intellectual. You would have loved it."
"The Bloody Code," Hermione agreed. "Yes, I would have liked to hear her precis. But I probably knew everything in it."
"Okay then. So you're – cool with this?" Dora gestured with the cigarette in her hand. "Pretending to be her prisoner, infiltrating the Army in the Crimean, Unbreakable Vow, you name it?"
"Yes, I've made up my mind. God help me, I'm going to do it."
"I never hear you say something like that, Hermione."
"I am an atheist," Hermione acknowledged after a moment. "Magic is real. God is not. But I've never before agreed to… Everything you just said, either. So maybe now was the right time for the sentiment."
Dora sighed. "Fair."
"Now, I wanted to talk to you about something else." Hermione turned to her. "Dora, I'm worried. You stopped being Tonks, you became Dora to us. Your son is with your mother in Nizhniy. Your entire life is on the front, with the security services. And it's gotten so hard. You're still a funny woman but I've never imagined your sense of humour being as suppressed as this ever before. There's a hard edge. It's scaring me."
"I don't owe anything to myself anymore," Dora answered, sharply. "But I do owe this to Teddy. So if you're wondering who I have become and what I've done to Tonks, there's your answer, I'm a mother. I've got to end this shit so my son can have a normal life. And if I don't? Well, I could just as easily be dead for him, at least this way I can see him grow up."
"Is that really it?"
"It is," Dora answered, sounding defiant.
"Then why not ally with Bellatrix to help win the war?" Hermione let those words sink in, and then added, softly: "This hate may seem like it's keeping you warm, but it's going to burn you up. Everything I've read agrees: Encouraging defections is the best strategy. Let's do it. It may even let us continue executing your original plan to lure in Voldemort. "
Nymphadora looked to her, and then nodded once. " Alright, Hermione. We'll do it. And… If it doesn't work out, I'm sorry, in advance."
"Don't be sorry. I did it to win."
The Kazakh officer who had arrived at the door of her apartment that morning had been assiduously polite. He gave her enough time to put on her best professional business suit, wash her face with rose-water, and wave a quick spell to finish her makeup. But there was no time for food; that was provided in the back of the Mercedes limousine on the way over, where sparkling water, gutap (deep-fried herb fritters) and lamb dumplings, both of which were convenient for eating in the back of a limousine without making a mess of your fine clothes, though of course there was a large white cloth napkin that she spread first. Both were absolutely excellent, and had been kept warm in a steel drum. There was also a thermos of tea, so that she was fully refreshed and awake by the time she arrived.
Though at first she had not been sure, by the end of the drive from her apartment, it was clear where they were headed. The Presidential Palace. Narcissa brushed down her jacket and adjusted her lapel pin and flipped up the mirror in the back of the seat in front of the passenger compartment to confirm that her hair was perfect. And then the limousine rolled into the broad circular drive in the front and came to a stop. A group of soldiers approached and came to attention on each side of the right-side passenger door, and one of them opened it as the others came to attention, hands in salute across their chests and rifles at ready, high peaked caps held on against the sharp blowing wind by their chin-straps.
"Madame Malfoy, this way, please." One of the soldiers offered his arm, the commander of the detachment.
She accepted it, and let him lead her. Though a few years ago she would have never let a muggle touch her, in this case it was a gesture of honour, and important to the show of her control and acceptance of the situation. And really, she appreciated being treated with the respect that would be accorded a powerful person by these muggles.
Inside the palace, a man whose hair was streaked with grey was waiting, dark eyes sharp and cautious, in the uniform of a Kazakh Senior Councillor of Witchcraft. He nodded respectfully. "Madame Malfoy, if you will follow me. His Excellency is waiting."
"Of course. Lead on." She gestured politely, and followed him up to the President's office, where a second Senior Councillor was staying near the President, and there were several aides—recorders, secretaries—as well as a full General, sitting quietly in the corner. And two guards at the doors, which were closed after Narcissa entered. She drew herself up before the President, sitting in his chair at his desk, and gave the wily old man a polite curtsy, as much as it pained her before a Muggle, he was a very, very cunning and dangerous Muggle, and she did respect that.
He in turn rose, and made a polite dip of his head like a gentleman, then took her head. "Madame Malfoy. Please have a seat." He gestured to the chair which had been provided in front of his desk. "We have an important and, with my apologies for the lack of warning, extremely urgent, matter to discuss." He was speaking in Russian, since it was definitely their shared language.
"I am happy to be of assistance to our shared cause in any way you need, Your Excellency. What is this matter?"
"I want to talk to you about your sister, Madame Malfoy." He looked extremely serious.
For a moment she was so surprised anyway that Narcissa thought of Andromeda. That lasted for just a moment. No, he meant her other sister. Bellatrix. "Ah," Narcissa delicately cleared her throat. "Bellatrix Lestrange, certainly… We have only seen each other infrequently in the recent past, Your Excellency."
"I understand she is calling herself by her maiden name at the moment—Bellatrix Black," President Nazarbayev answered. "She spent fourteen years in the infamous prison of Azkaban?"
"She did, Your Excellency. It destroyed her, in a fundamental way." Narcissa was scrambling to think of why they were having this conversation and why it was important. They didn't capture her, did they? You idiot, Bella… "Before that she was highly competent and highly skilled, they called her the brightest Witch of her age. It was justified. She did her duty to the family as the older sister, and honestly, she was the good one, who covered for me and my elder sister, Andromeda. I was the youngest, Your Excellency."
Nursultan Nazarbayev was quite capable of having a disarming smile like a kindly grandfather in a moment like this, but Narcissa knew his real reputation. He wanted an accurate assessment from her. He wanted information.
"I understand they say she is insane, now," he continued. "Do you agree with that?"
"Not in the conventional sense. She was damaged, and left unstable, by the conditions in Azkaban… Are you familiar with them, Your Excellency?"
"I was briefed," he gave a single nod.
"Her behaviour has been erratic since that point, but I believe part of that was the effect of rediscovering emotions, after they were dampened and eater by the Dementors, Your Excellency. It is nothing like a normal prison because of their presence, or indeed anything we can imagine." Narcissa remained as cool as she could. She still was being told nothing about the situation, and it bothered her, but she was not the one with the advantage here.
"What is your Government's formal position on Azkaban, Madame Malfoy?" He leaned back and regarded her sharply.
"It will be closed and a thorough investigation into the influence the practices of the Ministry of Magic in dealing with magical criminals had on the current situation will be commenced," Narcissa answered. "Dangerous criminals who cannot be safely confined in human conditions should be executed."
"Including your sister?"
"I believe in a prison of lesser regime that she could have been rehabilitated," Narcissa answered, keeping her eyes focused and her face composed.
"Rehabilitation would imply a separation of her loyalty from Voldemort, would it not?" His poker face still revealed nothing of the situation. The two Wizards in the room meant there was certainly no finding out by any other means, either.
"It would, Your Excellency. She followed Voldemort originally because it was an 'acceptable' way for her to chart her own course in life. My sister lost her dignity, and her intelligence, to be drawn into his service and validated by it. She was damned in small steps, and if she could see the whole picture… she might realise how far she has fallen."
President Nazarbayev listened to her impassively. Then, thoughtfully, he became to speak. "Since I assumed leadership of the effort to resist Voldemort, I have considered the experiences of my ancestors and predecessors who were often faced with unfathomable or unexpected choices in the execution of grand strategy during the Great Patriotic War. My supporting your formation of a government in exile for Britain—the country which many regard, with some justice, as Voldemort's home, his primary base of support, and therefore the cause of our pain—was based in the consideration of the fact that, within years, the German Democratic Republic became a loyal ally of the eastern bloc for forty-five years. And doing the war, of course, many governments in exile were formed, but not one for Germany. Yet the evidence from after the war suggested to me it would have been as effective and reliable as the others."
"Now I am faced with one of these unexpected choices," President Nazarbayev continued before Narcissa could respond. "Bellatrix Black reached out across the lines early this morning in the Caucasus. She has offered to turn her Army on the other Death Eaters in the Union, including seeking to turn the siege Army in the Crimean. If I allow her the attempt, and it succeeds entirely, eight divisions of Janissaries will switch sides, and half a million of the magically controlled troops supporting them. The whole of the southern front would be subject to an absolutely decisive turn in our favour. She calls it an alliance, Madame Malfoy. Do you believe she is sincere? I ask you as a Head of State asking a friendly leader, but also as a man asking a woman to tell him the mettle of her sister."
Narcissa, with iron control, clamped down on any visual indication of the emotional storm within. She was so angry at Bellatrix for some things, for getting caught, for leaving her alone as the last sister, for chaining herself to Voldemort like a slave. But she had repaired her relationship with Andromeda, and now all she could do was think of the total impossibility which had just been made real. She could have a relationship with both of her sisters again. She could regain Andromeda and Bellatrix. It was too late for Lucius, who despite it all, she had really loved. But she could have her sisters.
This man does not want impertinence or emotion from you. "Your Excellency, she wears her emotions on her sleeve. Her passions are as sincere as they can, admittedly, be dangerous. She is not the kind of woman for wetwork. For Voldemort, she was the one who committed 'propaganda of the deed', instead. What you describe to me is a very dramatic way of breaking with Voldemort—exactly in line with her sincere execution of what she regards as her interest."
"Her interest, or her duty? I would think it the later from what you have said," the Kazakh President observed succinctly. "Which would make treason very odd, except for the fact that I know something that I had not told you yet, Madame Malfoy. She came with a child, a daughter."
"Delphini…" Narcissa couldn't help it, she whispered the girl's name. She had not told anyone else, she had not dared tell anyone.
"So you knew, then. Did you also know that the child—by the girl's own assertion, at least—was Lord Voldemort's?"
"I suspected. Bellatrix gave birth in the Malfoy Manor, Your Excellency. But there was no announcement, so there was nothing of relevance to share about a five year old girl." She took a breath, and regarded him steadily. "So now you know her duty, Your Excellency, and it should all make sense."
"It does. I will not impose the needless cruelty of waiting for my decision. I will accept her offer, Madame Malfoy. However, you will need to remain as my guest in the palace until the operation is complete. At that point, we will have to discuss the operations of the Janissary units, which I shall place under the authority of your government in exile if this operation is successful. But until that point, I cannot risk any leaks. I trust you understand?"
Narcissa rose. She understood perfectly. And it was simply how the game was played. "Of course, Your Excellency."
He rose as well, and extended his hand. After that, he gestured to one of the Wizards in the room. "Senior Councillor Niyazov will show you to your rooms, and arrange for your things to be brought from your apartment. You can ask for anything you like from the kitchens. Have a good day, Madame Malfoy."
Narcissa stepped out, not mentioning that since she had a house elf, she could easily break her isolation if she liked. However, out of the sincere hope her sister would pull off this mad scheme, she resolved to wait patiently, as the guest of the President.
Notes:
1. Solyanka - a thick, spicy soup made with the brine of pickled cucumbers as the base.
2. Kolyma - Refers to camps of very strict regime in the Russian Far East for the use of penal labour in the extraction of resources; established during the purges. It is objectively true that Azkaban is much, much worse than Kolyma, which was the location of the worst of the camps.
3. The Bloody Code - the infamous period of English history in which its law code mandated death for almost every kind of crime, even simple theft. During this same period, the Empress Elizabeth of Russia famously declared that she would never execute a single subject during her reign, and did so. Larissa invokes the Bloody Code to suggest that in both the wizarding and muggle worlds, English justice is much worse than Russian justice. The era of "Penal servitude" and "Transportation to Australia" was the attempt to make English law more humane and move away from the Bloody Code.
4. For the non-Russian audience, "The Great Patriotic War" is of course WWII.
5. Generally from reading his recollections on events and the objective fact that he was the last Soviet era leader still in power, one gets the impression that Nursultan Nazarbayev is a man of a great insightful intelligence and natural political acumen. I think there is little doubt if the Union had not disintegrated that he would have become General Secretary and Premier.