Responses:

alex1966 - thank you so much! The next few chapters get more interesting still, I promise. Particularly with Bellamione. :-)

char245 - You're very welcome. The universe is plotted out, and we're ending the first "book" soon, but this story has four (and substantial parts of the second are already written). :-)

Chapter Twenty-One: Power Play

When they got the message from Astana that the plan had been approved, Hermione had felt the room drop a few degrees in temperature. They were now committed, they had their orders. All through the night, Lady Tamar and General Pronichev and Colonel Kabanov would be busy, laying everything into readiness, making every necessary preparation. Everyone who was entering the enemy lines to take out holdouts would be under immense risk, since if Bellatrix did not hold up her end of the deal, they would be rapidly overwhelmed by the mass of the enemy.

Nothing was left to chance, and even with that, everything was a risk. They had gone over the plans extensively. The instructions from Astana had even included the terms that were to be required of Bellatrix during the Unbreakable Vow, as well as the confirmation that two magically sealed letters of guarantee were coming on the fastest aeroplane possible. They covered how they would impose the conditions on Bellatrix, and how they would move in to prevent any bitter-enders from sending out warning messages to Voldemort's forces beyond the Caucasus, with the support of jamming aeroplanes and technology as well as magic. At the same time, a flurry of messages went back and forth between Bellatrix's headquarters and the 27th division, providing locations that she was expecting assistance from the 27 th division in securing her own troops who would likely be loyal to Voldemort instead of personally to herself. The operation that Bellatrix was planning was being called "Aurora" by her Janissaries, and so that was the name they all adopted for it. Hermione found it strangely fitting, but couldn't believe it had been Bellatrix's idea.

Finally, Hermione was dismissed to get some sleep for the night, but she only drifted off for two or three hours. It was a fitful, miserable sleep, the kind where you wondered if it wouldn't have been better if you had just stayed awake. Particularly because, in her dreams, Bellatrix came to her, looming over her, with knife in hand. The insensible brew of arousal and fear tumbled through her dreams. Bellatrix had been like a cornered snake, coiled and hissing, during their meeting. Bellatrix's last devastating demand had suggested that her powers of intellect were not lost.

Hermione finally got up, pulled on the rest of her field uniform, and went for some tea. The field kitchen managed to give her a perfectly decent breakfast of two small sandwiches with sausage and canned cheese over bread. She ate quickly, as soldiers do, and waited for the dawn. It seemed like she would have to wait forever for it, that was the disadvantage of not sleeping, time refused to pass quickly, even though everyone was busy around her.

Overhead the scream of a jet split the night, coming lower. It approached the short airfield in the town Natakhtari nearby, and Hermione looked up to see the massive and sleek lines of the Tu-144. These old supersonic jets, the Soviet rival to the Concorde, had been deeply flawed and unsafe. After the war had started, however, the need for any aircraft which could be made serviceable had led to the expedient of using enchantments and spells to remedy some of their defects. The use of this aeroplane to deliver someone to the front implied the extreme urgency which the government was treating the situation with.

Only five minutes after the plane landed, an abrupt arrival by apparation appeared close to Hermione outside of the headquarters. She was in the uniform of a Junior Councillor, and had a massive duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Short but muscular, and obviously Kazakh, she came to attention and saluted when she saw Hermione. "Aiman Sadykova, Councillor," she introduced herself after Hermione acknowledged the salute. "You're Hermione Granger?"

"I am… How did you know?" Hermione couldn't help but feel a little stiff, for this Witch, Larissa had made clear, was acquainted with what in the west would have been called the Dark Arts.

"Larissa Sergeivna has told me about you," she answered, seeming amiable despite why she was there. "I need to report to Lady Tamar, is she inside?"

"She is," Hermione acknowledged. "Go on ahead."

"Thank you, Senior Councillor." She turned away, still carrying her duffel.

Hermione looked back to the east, to the rising sun, somewhere over the Caspian a few hundred kilometres east, was sunrise. They were in the pre-dawn glow, coming up fast. Ice fog in the valleys, mist on the hills. Men were moving quickly, making preparations. Briefings were being issued, explaining the situation to the troops. They would listen in wonder, in confusion, in fear. It was a change for a strategic turn in the war. It was risky, it was daring.

Those who were scared could lean on those who cracked jokes. The gallows humour was no doubt plentiful. There would be men like Draco who had learned to somehow fight despite their fear. There would be men like her Sergeant, Vasya, who always had a joke no matter how bad it was. And there would be men like Colonel Kabanov, who had the eyes of killers, and did not shirk from what had to be done, no matter what it was. Each kind of man (and more than a few women) would fight, and collectively, they would bring victory for their Motherland.

Take advantage of this and drive the sword in to the hilt, Hermione thought. That was the risk they were undertaking, to maximise the outcome of this defection. Then, somewhere over the hill, there was Bellatrix. Was she scared? Did she remember how to feel fear? Were her men terrified of what might happen if this failed? For all however horrible her death would be, it would certainly be much worse for the muggles who joined her in the endeavour if it failed. What kind of world was it where she had matter-of-factly advocated for Bellatrix to be their ally? The same one where you were aroused by her torturing you.

That was a nice riposte. It bit deep and made Hermione's heart ache, exactly like she had wanted it to. That night, where you were being tortured as a child soldier who was being used even by your own side, is long past. You can look at her now and see just how desperate and disillusioned she is.

Her thoughts were carried away by someone apparating in. Then her eyes widened—it was Flyorov. "Vasily Gregorovich, what are you doing here?" She could see a rather grim, but also content expression on his face.

"Ahh, Hermione Alanovna. I suppose it's natural you'd be in the thick of this, though it's a shame." He was heavily dressed for the weather, and she saw his wand, ready to draw quickly. "When a man gets old, some things become more important than life. You see, all this time, I've been confident my wife will come back to me from the front. But today she has a special mission, and it's the kind where, if it works out, we're all just going to sit in a building, shouting weird terminology into radio receivers." He paused. "And as you must know, if it fails, we're all going to die. So, I will either be there to watch history in a warm building where my old bones won't mind in the slightest, or my wife and I will die together."

"Happy to have you along," Hermione forced herself to say, and she extended her hand. They shook hands, then, just as Dadiani, Pronichev and Kabanov exited the headquarters building, with Nymphadora, Aiman, Ginny and Larissa following behind.

"I'm sorry, General, that I can't have you along," Lady Tamar was saying. "However, you are needed here at the Divisional headquarters, to contain the situation if it goes wrong, and this is your natural battle-post anyway."

"I know, but I'd rather share the risk." He shook his head, then gestured to Flyorov. "Your husband?"

"Yes," she said, and briefly introduced the two.

"If it's too dangerous for General Pronichev, why are you going, Lady Tamar? Larissa asked. "Surely it's not…"

"Oh, that's quite all right, Councillor," Tamar waved a gloved hand. "Quite the contrary, it is not too dangerous, for sometimes it is good for the lower ranks to see their commanders die. I am an old woman and my husband has volunteered to come with, there is quite literally no point in staying behind, and if this really works, we all want to see it, don't we? Alright, it's time. I have an image of Bellatrix's headquarters, and we'll be apparating directly inside. To me!"

They would all extend their hands… Hermione stepped forward, her stomach still filled with guilt at the exchange with Flyorov and Tamar Dadiani's own curt dismissal for the importance of her own life. She could see Wizards and Witches preparing to apparate with bodies of troops of their own all around them, usually a squad for each one. They would not be following them immediately, but they would follow as soon as they received the signal to commence the operation. For them, the tense waiting was now at its absolute height, like an arrow nocked to the bow, waiting to be loosed. She could also hear the helicopters which were flying overhead with the morning's light and that would form the next wave after they started their initial actions to secure the divisions.

Then, with the usual snap, they teleported across space and straight into the ski-lodge which Bellatrix had appropriated as her headquarters. A few nervous Janissaries immediately levelled their rifles, but there was an officer there, with grey in his hair and a sharp mustachio, who quickly ordered them to be lowered. "Welcome. Lady Tamar, Colonel Kabanov?" He asked, sharply, in English.

"Yes, that's so. Where is Bellatrix, if I may… General?" Lady Tamar asked, stepping forward, the rest of the group fanning out.

"Diaz," he supplied, and turned. "This way, please." He led them to the former dining room, and moved to sit down by the bank of radios. Bellatrix was sitting there with the pale and obviously very nervous Martin Kempler.

He was not Imperioused, but several of the other Wizards in the room clearly were. Hermione stiffened a little, but she also acknowledged that in this dangerous and deadly circumstance, Bellatrix and those she had suborned to her side against Voldemort certainly had felt they had no other choice, and that was probably a fair assessment.

Bellatrix had her head hung over a massive mug of tea. She ignored them as they entered, at first, and then looked at the chronometer on her wrist, and finally spoke. "Lady Tamar, do you have the sealed letter with the pardon from President Nazarbayev?"

"Yes, it was counterstamped with magical seals by the Actual State Councillors of Russia and Kazakhstan, and signed by the President," Lady Tamar answered, and presented the documentation after a nod to Aiman, who had presumably hand-delivered it to the 27th Division's headquarters, though Hermione knew that was not the only reason she was there. Bellatrix reached out and quickly took the document, inspecting it.

Then she looked up, satisfied with the wording and the signatures and seals. "The second letter, the promise for Anahit?"

The second letter was also produced. It contained only a promise that every reasonable effort would be made, within the context of the limitations of the war and the need to devote the total effort to the defeat of Voldemort, but that an attempt would be made even before the war was over. Again, Bellatrix read it thoroughly, checking her chronometer halfway through.

She tossed the two letters into a bag of holding and sealed it with a magical lock. "The Oath? Who will oversee it? It must be one of pure blood, even when you're swearing to a muddy."

"I will, she's my friend," Larissa stepped forward. "Come on, get up and face her, Black. She's an Officer and I won't let you slander her again while we do this."

"You can hardly stop me if you want to win," Bellatrix smirked, but she got to her feet.

Hermione swallowed, and turned to face her. "Bellatrix Black, maybe you should give some consideration to just how lucky you are," she made herself say, as her emotions tottered on edge. Bellatrix had already left one mark on her. Now she was about to receive a second, and this one, voluntarily.

"Hermione, do you need anything?" Larissa asked her friend tenderly.

"No Lara, let's get on with it." Hermione pulled off her gloves.

At that point, it was Bellatrix's turn to hesitate. Finally, she began to pull off her right glove. Her wrist was still covered by the flare of the engageante she wore. Larissa had drawn her wand, and held it ready close between the two other women. Dark brown eyes met brown eyes. There were close to twenty people watching, and there was absolutely no way to escape now.

Hermione reached out, and Bellatrix met her, and they held hands. Larissa extended her wand to touch their clasped hands.

Bellatrix took a breath. "Will you, Hermione Granger, use all of your power, magical, intellectual, physical, rhetorical, to guarantee my pardon and safeguard me from confinement, death, and the dementors' kiss, as executed by the Confederation of Independent States?"

Oh Merlin I really have to do this. Hermione sucked in her breath. "I will." Fire lashed between their hands and settled into her. She could feel the burn on her soul. Then she took her own breath. "Do you, Bellatrix Black, swear that you shall never again take instruction from, or obey the orders of one T om Marvolo Riddle, known also as Lord Voldemort?" Hermione could see the flinch in Bellatrix's face as she heard the natural name of her Lord spoken so plainly. She hesitated. Maybe she'll break the deal and we'll all be fighting for our lives in a moment…

"I will," left her lips like a defeated sigh. A bond of fire lashed from Hermione to Bellatrix, and Bellatrix flinched. For a moment, Hermione could not remotely imagine what the woman was going through, the betrayal of Voldemort after thirty years of loyal service and bearing his child.

Then, Bellatrix mustered herself, and set her own condition. "Will you obey me absolutely, faithfully, and promptly, in every order and instruction that I give you, for the duration of the Crimean Operation, placing your life between mine and any threat to it?"

Hermione froze. She knew that could well mean the Three Unforgivables. While her friends were willing to use them in war, for the sake of their patriotism, or sense of duty, or simply to win, she had not yet done so herself. Now she was being expected to do exactly that. Under Bellatrix Black's command. This is the 'strategic turn' that you wanted. She gritted her teeth. "I will." The second bond lashed into her.

Now she had a better idea of what to ask next. "Will you loyally conform your actions with the instructions of the lawful authorities of the Confederation of Independent States and serve as the leader of your army under their orders for the duration of the war effort against Voldemort?"

"I will." Her left arm seemed to be twitching, as if something in her body rebelled at the discordance between the Dark Mark and the Oath she was undertaking now. Her dark eyes were furiously composed and certain in a way the madness had never quite allowed before. "Will you faithfully protect me for the duration of my natural life, to the limits of your ability, from any attempt to confine me, kill me, or take my soul, by any person acting unlawfully and outside the authority of the Confederation of Independent States, including, by our agreement and by your own best effort, such duration as my life may be extended by the Lake of Anahit on Ararat?"

For life. The bottom fell out of Hermione's heart; she couldn't believe what she was just agreeing to, but here she was. However, to the limits of your ability meant it was a sincere bond; it was not unreasonable, it would not kill her for simply being away if someone claimed Bellatrix. She was being reasonable. "I will."

The third flame lashed into her, and she felt her entire arm quivering with magical power. Blinking hard, she started the final condition. "Bellatrix Black, will you subordinate yourself to the authority of the Government-in-Exile of Great Britain and obey its commands as its officer and subject for the rest of your natural life, against any other cause or bond you may espouse or swear?"

This one, Hermione had been actually more worried about than the others. She was not actually sure that Bellatrix would agree to subordinate herself to a nebulous British government in exile. Certainly it was true that Narcissa was in charge of it at the moment, but they were not telling Bellatrix that, intentionally, as a test. So it was quite surprising that Bellatrix got a huge grin on her face when Hermione spoke the words. "Of course I will."

The third bond lashed back into Hermione, and with a burning force, the magic of Larissa's wand sealed the Vow. It was done.

Grimacing, Bellatrix looked at her chronometer. "That took a bit longer than I thought. We need to get started now, General Diaz."

"Yes we do, Madame Black," he agreed, already sitting down at one of the radios, and then looked up and around at the CIS officers. "Ladies and Gentlemen, at the most, we have five hours. We either secure the front at the end of that time, or we will be found out." Then he activated the radio. "2nd Brigade, Sixth Janissary Division, the condition is now 'Aurora.' Brigade headquarters confirm."

"Confirmed!"

General Diaz adjusted to the next channel. "1st Brigade headquarters, Fifth Janissary Division, the condition is now 'Aurora.' Brigade headquarters confirm."

Hermione watched in some surprise as even Bellatrix grabbed a radio headset. "Wizard Post 202, the Condition is now Aurora," the woman's voice cut sharp like a knife. "Do you read me?"

The young witch reached for a belomor. She saw that Larissa had just started smoking, too. Five hours. Five hours for us to succeed at Phase I of the biggest blow Voldemort's suffered in this entire war, or die. And I'm going to be a glorified spectator for it.

Now, the helicopters moved in from their jumping-off points to the final positions of assault. The large numbers of teams waiting in stand-by began to apparate to their designated positions. Lady Tamar, Nymphadora and Colonel Kabanov were soon very busy with their own signalling gear, making sure that final position assignments were given and confirming that troops were on site, seizing and detaining those who had been identified were threats to Bellatrix's takeover, before they could reach out by any distant communication device and send warning.

The objective was nothing less than to completely secure the divisions—to eliminate anyone who could reach out to the Dark Lord or the rest of his forces—before that warning could be sent. Only then could the second phase of the operation—Bellatrix's effort to secure the defection of the forces on the Crimean Peninsula—begin.

And as the hours passed, the Hermione began to think they might just succeed. But for her, the tension only increased. Succeeding would mean two more acts, one against Bellatrix, and one against her, that would be incredibly difficult to complete. And she was now committed to them both.

The pack of cigarettes disappeared faster than she'd ever remembered before.

It was strange, though. One moment, in the corner of the room, she could have sworn that for a brief instant as she waited out the desperate hours, she saw a House Elf appear and quickly leave again. Maybe from the lack of sleep and the overdose of nicotine, she had started to hallucinate.

Everything had been done exactly as promised by the staff of President Nazarbayev's palace. Narcissa had been allowed to write an exhaustive list of everything she wanted from her apartment, and it had been delivered within hours exactly as she had wanted. First, though, she had done a quick test of the wards of the Palace, and confirmed that in fact, a House Elf would have difficulty with the defences prepared by the Kazakh Ministry of Witchcraft.

So she found a way around it. She requested her necklace be returned to the apartment for secure storage, and wrapped a small enchanted message into it. This message instructed her House Elf to hide in the old (and quite substantially large, the size of a cabinet) magical radio that she had enchanted for listening to magical broadcasts, which had seemed like a reasonable, if irritatingly awkward, request. It would be incredibly hard for even an elf to hide in it, but sure enough, by the time she was ready to go to bed that evening, Mardy was there, having been carried innocuously through the wards. By then, Narcissa had taken a bath, and coincidentally established some protective wards to make sure she could not be overhead, by electronics or by magic. She considered that a common-sense move that anyone observing her would expect even if her intentions were pure: She was a Pureblood Lady, not a moron, after all.

So Narcissa had written a message, enchanted to guarantee its authenticity, and given it to Mardy. "Get this to Mistress Bella," she ordered. Mardy had been one of the Black house elves who had followed her as part of her dowry to the Malfoy; that meant her magic was still partially linked to the Black and she would certainly be able to find Bellatrix anywhere in the world.

The message had been simple:

Bella,

I knew that ever since you helped me swear the unbreakable vow with Severus Snape and did not betray my confidence or my Son to the Dark Lord, that your heart still valued your sister more than your allegiance to the Dark Lord. On this hour, I would tell you that I have positioned myself to lead the government of Britain, and I will again bear true friendship to you if you will stay my side. The past has been Hell for you, I know, but the future is not written. Be my Bella, and I will be your Cissy. I am in a position, and have a plan, to protect your life, soul and freedom.

Sincerely,

Cissy.

Of course, Mardy would not be able to return to the Palace. "I will be leaving Mistress alone…"

"Mistress Bellatrix needs you more. Stay with her until I can send for you again from my apartment," Narcissa answered. 'Now go, and may your faithfulness guide you."

Mardy had apparated away, and left Narcissa alone in the admittedly wonderful suite to settle down for sleep. She slept better than most others involved in the effort that night. Narcissa was at peace with her decisions, because they were governed by her family, and she loved her family above all other things.

Breakfast had been as superb as everything else about her quarters. They were everything that a Pureblood could expect, if a little new and ostentatious in a way which reminded her that wealth and luxury had only recently returned to this city which until a few years before the war had just been an industrial town and railroad junction.

She was served sharlotka, and fried eggs with cheese, sausage, and dill, all with elaborate preparation. It was quite hearty, suited for winter, with the apples doubtless brought from Alma-Ata, which had more variety than any other place on Earth. There was nothing to do except to go over all of the business of the Government-in-Exile, to write up reports, to dictate to her auto-quill more messages to be sent out, to review documents. All of this had been allowed to her.

But in the end, the tension got to her, as well. She was not sure how long she would be held, or when she would be told of the outcome of the effort. Bella might already be dead, and Narcissa would not know. Perhaps not for days, or even weeks, depending on how her comfortable confinement was being interpreted as necessary for the requirements of state security.

After working for five hours or so and taking lunch, she moved to sit on the couch in the study, and stop working for a while. It had just gotten too much, and even lunch hadn't really distracted her from what might be happening. The chance to renew her relationship with her sister had been dangled in front of her, and now she would just have to pay a penance until it was done, or she lost Bella forever.

Notes:

- It should observed that the real risk in the operation was always from notification being sent out and imperilling Phase II.
- I assume much more effort to use magic to remedy defects in technology will be undertaken as the mingling of the muggle and wizarding worlds continues.
- Part of Narcissa's scene is retrospective, happening before the first section of this chapter.